Read Online Malevolent (Lieutenant Kane series Book 1) by E.H. Reinhard - Free Book Online
Authors: E.H. Reinhard
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dog Oscar. Now you have a new one that’s—again—identical, and you think Dad is getting senile because he called it by the old one’s name. I can pretty much guarantee you that I’d do the same thing. I didn’t even remember the new one’s name until you just said it.”
“That’s because you’re never around. Besides that, he’s having problems remembering other things too.”
“Like?” I asked.
“A lot of little things.”
“Mmm hmm.”
“Fine, if you don’t care… You know he’s going to be sixty-eight this year.”
“Sixty-eight isn’t that old, Mel.”
“He’s starting to slow down. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him.”
Her last sentence made me lean back and rub my eyes. My sister was about to take the conversation to her normal guilt-trip territory. I didn’t have the energy.
“Hey, I have a work call I’m expecting in a couple minutes. Let me talk to Tommy quick before I have to go.”
She didn’t respond, but I could hear her call him. A rattling on the other end of the phone followed.
“Hello?”
I put on my best talking-with-little-kids voice. It was a touch higher pitched and upbeat. “Hey, buddy. It’s Uncle Carl. How’s it going?”
“Hi, Uncle Carl.”
“How are you doing, pal?”
“I’m good. I got a new car.”
“You got a new car? You’re driving already?”
He giggled into the phone. “A toy car.”
“A toy car? What’s it look like?”
“It’s red and big. It has fire on the sides. When I pull it, it takes off real fast.”
“Sounds cool.”
“Yeah.”
Static and thumping came through the phone. He talked to someone in the room—my brother in law, Jeff, maybe. I had exhausted the attention span of a child on the phone.
“Okay, buddy. Love you. Be good.”
“Okay.”
“All right, Tommy, give the phone back to Mom.”
I heard more thumping through the earpiece. He ran the phone back to my sister. She came back on.
“You need to come up here, Carl.”
“I know. I’ll get something scheduled. I’m getting that call any minute, and I need to get some paperwork arranged first. I’ll call you soon.”
“Fine. I just e-mailed you some pictures of Tommy. Call me tomorrow.”
“Okay. Tell Jeff I said hi.”
“All right, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Yup. Bye.”
I hung up and blew a giant breath from my mouth. Every conversation with her went that way. A nephew sandwich on guilt trip bread was what I liked to call it. She laid on the guilt, I had a quick talk with my nephew, and she finished with a touch more guilt. When the sandwich was finished, I made up an excuse to get off the phone. The call did make me wonder about my dad’s state of mind. I made a mental note to call him in the morning.
I went through the cabinets and refrigerator for anything resembling food. No luck. The search reminded me that I was still out of coffee. I had zero interest in leaving my condo and going to the grocery store. A magnet on the refrigerator from a pizza joint down the street caught my eye. I called and put in an order. Some pizza, combined with the couple stray beers I had left in the refrigerator, would hold me over until breakfast. Sarah McMillian’s file lay spread out across my table. I dug back into it until the food arrived.
My pizza showed up a half hour later. I tossed the box on the coffee table and flipped open the lid. Butch perked up and came to investigate. He bridged himself between the couch and the table.
“No, Butch! People food. Not for cats.”
He cocked his head, looked at me, and then leaned in closer to the pizza.
“Butch!” I tried to put a tone of authority in my voice.
He dismissed my scolding and stuck his nose into a piece of the pepperoni.
“Get out of there! Bad cat!”
I was just about to shoo him away when he followed up his sniff with an exploratory lick. The piece was his. I’d seen what he licked in his free time.
“Fine, you want some pizza?” I took the slice from the
“That’s because you’re never around. Besides that, he’s having problems remembering other things too.”
“Like?” I asked.
“A lot of little things.”
“Mmm hmm.”
“Fine, if you don’t care… You know he’s going to be sixty-eight this year.”
“Sixty-eight isn’t that old, Mel.”
“He’s starting to slow down. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him.”
Her last sentence made me lean back and rub my eyes. My sister was about to take the conversation to her normal guilt-trip territory. I didn’t have the energy.
“Hey, I have a work call I’m expecting in a couple minutes. Let me talk to Tommy quick before I have to go.”
She didn’t respond, but I could hear her call him. A rattling on the other end of the phone followed.
“Hello?”
I put on my best talking-with-little-kids voice. It was a touch higher pitched and upbeat. “Hey, buddy. It’s Uncle Carl. How’s it going?”
“Hi, Uncle Carl.”
“How are you doing, pal?”
“I’m good. I got a new car.”
“You got a new car? You’re driving already?”
He giggled into the phone. “A toy car.”
“A toy car? What’s it look like?”
“It’s red and big. It has fire on the sides. When I pull it, it takes off real fast.”
“Sounds cool.”
“Yeah.”
Static and thumping came through the phone. He talked to someone in the room—my brother in law, Jeff, maybe. I had exhausted the attention span of a child on the phone.
“Okay, buddy. Love you. Be good.”
“Okay.”
“All right, Tommy, give the phone back to Mom.”
I heard more thumping through the earpiece. He ran the phone back to my sister. She came back on.
“You need to come up here, Carl.”
“I know. I’ll get something scheduled. I’m getting that call any minute, and I need to get some paperwork arranged first. I’ll call you soon.”
“Fine. I just e-mailed you some pictures of Tommy. Call me tomorrow.”
“Okay. Tell Jeff I said hi.”
“All right, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Yup. Bye.”
I hung up and blew a giant breath from my mouth. Every conversation with her went that way. A nephew sandwich on guilt trip bread was what I liked to call it. She laid on the guilt, I had a quick talk with my nephew, and she finished with a touch more guilt. When the sandwich was finished, I made up an excuse to get off the phone. The call did make me wonder about my dad’s state of mind. I made a mental note to call him in the morning.
I went through the cabinets and refrigerator for anything resembling food. No luck. The search reminded me that I was still out of coffee. I had zero interest in leaving my condo and going to the grocery store. A magnet on the refrigerator from a pizza joint down the street caught my eye. I called and put in an order. Some pizza, combined with the couple stray beers I had left in the refrigerator, would hold me over until breakfast. Sarah McMillian’s file lay spread out across my table. I dug back into it until the food arrived.
My pizza showed up a half hour later. I tossed the box on the coffee table and flipped open the lid. Butch perked up and came to investigate. He bridged himself between the couch and the table.
“No, Butch! People food. Not for cats.”
He cocked his head, looked at me, and then leaned in closer to the pizza.
“Butch!” I tried to put a tone of authority in my voice.
He dismissed my scolding and stuck his nose into a piece of the pepperoni.
“Get out of there! Bad cat!”
I was just about to shoo him away when he followed up his sniff with an exploratory lick. The piece was his. I’d seen what he licked in his free time.
“Fine, you want some pizza?” I took the slice from the
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