Mary gaped then closed her mouth. “It is real, isn’t it? You wouldn’t be so worried about it if it wasn’t.”
“It is real. I’ve known about the existence of this strain of coronavirus since the end of December. Because of Maria’s Quest, I have a lot of contacts throughout the world, and many of them in medicine. I was a nurse too, you know. I’ve been praying since I learned about it that this virus wouldn’t turn out to be too much of a danger. But I have a feeling that, before long, the World Health Organization is going to declare it a global pandemic. I have no idea how bad it will be—and neither, sweetheart, do you. But that doesn’t mean we aren’t going to be as prepared as it’s possible for us to be.”
“Being prepared is the key, isn’t it?”
“Sweetheart, in life, it always is. You know how strongly this entire family adheres to the belief that we, each one of us, is responsible for our own actions and our own lives. We’re none of us alone, but we’re all of us responsible. Well, we’re responsible, and we’re not blind to reality.” Kate took a sip of her tea then sat back when Bernice returned with two plates each holding two wonderful cream puffs.
Mary’s plate had an extra good dollop of whipped cream on the side. She giggled with delight when she saw it.
One of the things Kate gave thanks for was the fact this sweet woman was still in touch with her inner child.
Too many adults traded joy for what they took as the expected sobriety of getting older—and it wasn’t a good bargain, not one bit.
“As you may imagine, we’ve been brainstorming, and we have disparate resources from which to draw. So let me tell you what we have planned and how we’re going to deal with this situation, going forward.”
“Yes, please, Grandma Kate. And then please tell me what I can do to help. I think if I stop thinking about all the what-ifs and do something—even something small—I’ll be able to cope better.”
Kate felt her heart swell with pride. She gave Mary’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I think so too, sweet girl. Now, let’s indulge in all this wonderful pastry and cream, shall we?”
Chapter Fourteen
While Anthony was off comparing notes with one of the uniformed officers who’d accompanied them on their last call, Toby finished writing up his report. He checked the bottom right corner of his computer screen. The day was winding down nicely. A part of his mind noted that several of his fellow detectives had returned from various assignments and were chatting as they grabbed coffee—or a safer bet at this time of day, especially when it came to the lining of their stomachs, a bottle of water.
Toby sensed one of his fellow detectives approaching. He saved the file then looked up from his screen.
“So tell me, Wyoming, is what I’ve heard true? Do y’all eat something out there in the untamed mountains called Rocky Mountain oysters?” Junior Wyatt—first name Eugene, which he hated—had pasted what Toby’s dad used to call a shit-eating grin on his face as he waited for Toby’s response.
Standing just beside Junior, his partner, Nathan Blaine, shook his head, trying to hold back his own grin.
A man didn’t grow up in a family like the Kendalls of Wyoming, with lots of male siblings and cousins, and not know how to take a ribbing.
And hell, lately he’d sharpened his wit at the Sunday supper table of his Aunt Samantha. Now there was a serious field for honing what was called in Lusty the art of cousin speak, where no quarter was asked nor given.
“It is true, son. I heard tell that once a man got a good taste of those, it changes him.” Connor Peterson, the fifth detective on duty for this shift was nearing retirement age. The man reminded him of his former partner, Beck. Just the way Peterson had said that, as soberly as a judge revealing the shrouded truth of the ages, sent a shaft of homesickness through him.
He missed that old coot. Maybe I should give him a call.
The more he thought about the theory that Mary had put forward, the more he became convinced that there really had been no dirty cop. Rumors, innuendos, and misdirection. That was all it had been.
It could very well have been that someone else, a person close enough to one of the cops in the department, someone with cleverness and guile had managed weasel out just enough information to have created those rumors, innuendos, and misdirection. Maybe, if he called Beck, he’d ask him if there was anyone he could think of who’d fit that bill.
Toby turned his attention back to his coworkers. He’d taken their shots. Now it was time for him to fire back.
“Y’all don’t have to be shy. We’re all compadres here. If you want me to send home for some Rocky Mountain oysters to help you out with your…um…stamina, why, just say so. I think there’s a restaurant that will ship overnight, in refrigerated containers, all safe-and secure. There are those who swear by those oysters for restoring a man’s vir-il-ity, so I can certainly see why y’all, especially, would be interested in getting some. Of course, I’ve never had cause to eat them myself, but there’s nothing to be ashamed of if a body—or several—needs help in that department.”
“No one can ever say you don’t go the extra mile to help your fellow officers, Toby,” Anthony said.
His partner had entered the office during his little shot. His grin said it all. And if it hadn’t, the high-five between the two of them did the job.
“Seriously…people really eat those?” Peterson asked.
“Bull testicles?” Toby shrugged. “Apparently. I meant it when I said I hadn’t tried them. Can’t see it ever happening, either.”
“Testicles! I thought you said they were test cases, a new breed of mollusks!” The look of disgust Junior shot Blaine was
