“You just filled out the paperwork a few days ago.” I called into the dining room from the kitchen. “Have they even had time to get you on the list?”
I was already dressed and was brewing a fresh pot of coffee by the time Felicity had taken down the address of the scene and started slipping into some clothes herself. Now, I was removing the lids from a pair of oversized travel mugs while my wife gathered together the photographic equipment she thought she might need.
“Aye, would seem so,” Felicity replied, her words were forced squeakily through a deep yawn.
“Tired?”
“I’ve only had about an hour of sleep. What do you think?”
“What time did you get in?”
“I didn’t get here until almost one forty-five,” she replied.
“Why so late?”
“The shoot ran late, then I took a wrong turn getting back to the highway, so that took forever. It was a bad night all around.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“How about yours?”
“Uneventful. Took the dogs to the park, answered some email then looked at the news.”
“You seemed pretty zonked when I came to bed. I tried not to wake you.”
“You didn’t,” I called back to her. “I was going to wait up but finally called it a night around eleven-fifteen or so.”
“You…” the rest of the sentence was nothing more than a squeaky garble as she yawned again.
“What?”
“You didn’t have to wait up,” she said in a far more intelligible fashion.
“I missed you.”
“How sweet.”
“Okay, it’s a little early, so before this gets any mushier, what’s up with this call?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I thought this whole thing was supposed to be for the specialized stuff.”
“Or emergencies.”
“You never told me that part.”
“I didn’t?”
“No.”
“Must have slipped my mind then.”
“Yeah,” I grunted. “So this is an emergency?”
“Apparently.”
“How so?”
“Flu epidemic.”
“Yeah, that’s old news. What does it have to do with this?”
“Crime scene technicians get the flu too.”
“All of them?” I asked with a note of disbelief.
“The ones who know how to use a camera it seems. There’s a bit more to it than taking a few point-and- shoot snapshots you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Anyway, Ben said they were short-staffed across the board.”
“But, still, it’s a bit quick to be calling you out, don’t you think?” I pressed. “Didn’t they have anyone more experienced on the list?”
“Aye, this is really getting under your skin, isn’t it then?”
“No.”
“ Cac capaill, ” she mumbled.
“I heard that,” I said in reply to her under-the-breath Gaelic epithet. “And, where I come from we say ‘bullshit’.”
“Horse shit works too.”
“Okay. Yeah, so I’m not excited about it. But you already knew that. Even so, that didn’t answer my question.”
“You mean about experience? I guess. Maybe,” she replied, and I could almost hear the shrug in her voice. “Ben said he called four others before he got to me. I can’t help it that I’m the only one who answered the phone.”
“You didn’t.” I corrected her over my shoulder as I carefully filled the travel mugs. “I did.”
“Minor detail.”
“Oh yeah? Next time I’ll just let the machine get it.”
“I’ll only hit you harder.”
“Yeah, you would, wouldn’t you?”
“Aye.”
I plopped a trio of raw sugar cubes into one of the mugs then screwed the lid tightly onto it before continuing. “So you’re telling me no one else answered?”
“That’s what Ben said.”
“Lucky you.”
“Aye. Lucky me.”
I stepped through the doorway and nudged Felicity’s arm with the metal and plastic vessel. She looked up from the street guide she was intently studying and turned her head toward me.
“Here,” I said. “This might help get rid of the accent.”
She looked at me and simply shook her head then accepted the proffered mug and immediately took a swig. In a quick motion, she held it back toward me at arm’s length. “Needs sugar.”
“It’s in there,” I told her as I turned and headed back into the kitchen. “Just give it a good swirl.”
“You didn’t stir it?” she called after me.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You’re in a hurry, right? Besides, why dirty up a spoon?”
I heard her let out a heavy sigh. “How many then?”
“Three.”
“This is a big cup. It needs at least five. Maybe six or seven.”
“You’re sweet enough already. You got three.”
“Hah hah” was her exaggerated reply.
“So, do you have everything you need?” I asked, coming back out of the kitchen with my own mug of the brew. I had already donned my coat, and now I peered at her over the rim of my cup as I took a drink.
“Where are you going?” she asked after sizing me up.
“With you.”
“Why?”
“Because I ‘find it interesting’.”
“Rowan…” she huffed. “I’ll be fine. I can do this without you.”
I reached down to pick up the larger of the two camera cases she had sitting on the table then slung it over my shoulder and headed for the door.
“I know you will, and I never said you couldn’t.” I stopped in the living room and turned back toward her. “So… Are you driving or am I?”
My wife rolled her eyes at me then muttered, “Damned Pisces.”
“Damned Taurus,” I replied with a grin.
She simply sighed again and shook her head. A moment later she took hold of the other equipment bag, hefted it onto her own shoulder, then started forward and brushed past me while saying, “Aye, we’ll take my Jeep. I think I’ve got some sugar packets in the glove box.”
