"No, Eric is not here," I say as he looks about.
He glances at Brady, slouched on the floor, knees up, eyes closed. Kenny lowers his voice and moves closer to me. "I know you can look after yourself, Casey, but maybe . . . You know."
I arch my brows.
"Look, I don't want to know what this guy did. If you say he's violent, that's enough for me. But whatever it is, I'm sure it involves women. Maybe leaving you here isn't . . ."
"Because I'm a woman?"
"No, just . . ." He makes this awkward motion, waving at me, top to bottom.
He's trying to come up with a respectful way to say that I'm attractive. When I arrived, Kenny was one of those guys who wouldn't see a problem with telling a coworker that a pair of jeans really showed off her "assets." He wasn't a jerk--he honestly didn't realize that was inappropriate. But as soon as someone points it out, he trips over himself to correct the behavior. Sometimes to rather comic effect.
"He's not that kind of killer," I say.
Kenny frowns, like he can't imagine any other kind. I could also tell him that those predators don't always target women they find attractive. At some point, though, that starts to sound like lecturing. So I just say, "He's an equal-opportunity killer, so watch yourself."
"Sure, sure. But then, maybe no one should be alone with him."
"Mmm, I'm not worried." Through the open doorway, I see Brady's lips twitch. "I am sorry it screwed up your departure, though. I know you were looking forward to getting out today."
Kenny shrugs and sits on the edge of the desk, positioning himself between me and Brady. "It's not like I have plans. I'm going to bum around, visit a few places before I decide where to settle. Which reminds me. . . . I know Eric got Storm because you like Newfoundland dogs. How about Newfoundland itself? You been there?"
I shake my head.
"You know much about it?" he asks.
"I had a detective partner who came from there. He said he spent his life waiting to leave . . . and now can't wait to retire and move back. City life wasn't what he expected, and he missed the open spaces, small towns, slower pace, friendlier people."
"That's what I'm looking for I think. A place like here but . . ."
"With Wi-Fi? Microwave ovens? Real indoor plumbing?"
He chuckles. "All the twenty-first-century amenities, which are the only things I missed from down south. I might even build my own house. Never imagined that before I came here. I barely knew how to hold a hammer."
"Join the team."
"Yeah, but at least you had the muscles to lift one. I want to keep doing carpentry. Become that local guy people call if they need a new bed or cupboards."
He settles on the desk, gaze going distant. "Maybe I'll meet someone, have a kid or two. Never did that. I always figured I would--it just seemed natural, you know. Then it didn't happen. I'll try harder this time. Put myself out there. Find someone who might not mind settling down with a guy like me."
Jen walks into the station, saying, "You want my advice, Kenny? Skip Tinder and go straight to mail-order brides."
"Personal experience, huh?" he says. "Or is that the real reason you stay in Rockton? There are so many guys, even you can get sex. You can get them to pay for it, too. Not much but . . ."
She scowls at him.
I shake my head. "You walked into that, Jen."
She walks around the desk, where she can put her back to Kenny, and then shoots her thumb toward the cell. "I want to talk about him."
"Casey doesn't need--" Kenny begins.
"It's fine," I say. "We should refill the wood, though. We're going to need to run the fireplace all night."
Kenny hesitates, as if considering whether he can pretend not to get the hint. Then he says he'll grab some logs and be back soon.
Once he's gone, Jen looks around. "Where's the fur beast?"