Page 118 of The River We Remember

Angie sat down in the plastic chair on the other side of Bluestone’s wife and laid a hand gently on her arm. “I’m so sorry, Kyoko.”

Brody studied Kyoko Bluestone and thought about her alone and vulnerable at the farmstead. “They were just out there to shoot the dog?”

Graff said, “Why don’t you tell him everything, Kyoko.”

Brody listened to the woman who, only a few days earlier, had sparked in him an unreasonable anger simply because she was Japanese. What he felt now was a different anger, one directed at the kind of man who was cowardly enough to want an eyeful of a naked woman and then shoot her dog.

“You couldn’t tell who it was?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“You can’t stay out there, Mrs. Bluestone,” Brody said. “We need to figure out something different for you until this is all over.”

Kyoko, who’d been looking mostly at the floor, lifted her face and raised her dark eyes to Brody. “When I was a girl, I left my home and I lost it. I won’t leave my home again.”

Brody hadn’t learned her whole story yet, of the war and the terrible bomb, and so he didn’t understand what she was talking about. But it was clear that she was dead set against leaving the farmstead.

Graff said, “I’m staying out there with you, Kyoko. No arguments.”

Her smile was small, grateful. “Thank you, Connie.”

They all heard a door open and close down the hallway, and a moment later Mike Kearney, the veterinarian, stepped into the waiting area. Kyoko Bluestone looked up at him, her face awash with fear of the news he might have to deliver.

“Fuji’ll be sore for a good while, Mrs. Bluestone, but he’ll recover.” He nodded to the newcomers. “Figured you’d be here eventually, Brody. Evening, Angie.”

“Tell me about the dog, Mike,” Brody said.

“One bullet. Entered his left haunch. I’ve removed it and patched him up. I’ll be keeping him here a day or so to monitor his recovery.”

“You have the bullet?”

“Yeah. Looks to be from a twenty-two. You want it?”

“I’d appreciate that.” Brody turned to Kyoko. “I think it’s best for you to go on home, Mrs. Bluestone. It’s late and I’d prefer to explain all this myself to your husband. I’ll make sure he understands that you’re safe. If you’d like to talk to him, come by tomorrow morning. All right?”

He could see that she was disappointed, that she would have preferred to deliver the story herself, but Brody had much to do that night, and he wanted to get to it as soon as possible. He was grateful that she didn’t argue with him.

He took Angie home and saw her to her door. It had been both a marvelous evening and a hard one. He wasn’t certain if a kiss good night was appropriate, but she solved that question for him by pressing her lips briefly to his.

“You have work to do. Come by the Wagon Wheel for breakfast, okay?”

“I’ll be there,” he promised.

HE PULLED INTO Creasy Hollow and saw that Tyler Creasy’s trailer was dark. But there were lights on in the derelict-looking house where Creasy’s mother lived. He knocked at Creasy’s dark trailer, expecting no response, but in a moment, a light came on inside and the door was opened.

Del Wolfe stood there, rubbing his eyes as if he’d just awakened. Brody wasn’t fooled. The kid was hiding something.

“Is Tyler here, Del?”

“No, Sheriff. Just me and my mom. She’s sleeping.”

Brody had been to the trailer a number of times in the past, seeking Creasy for questioning or to deliver a summons. She’s sleeping was often the way Del had got around saying that she was drunk and passed out.

“Know where he might be?”

“No idea, sir.”

“Mind if I come in?”