“What?”
“Roscoe.” She pointed to the empty crate. “He was gone.”
“There was no dog.”
“Of course there was.”
Shaking his head violently, Gabe insisted, “There was no dog here, I swear. I saw the cat, yeah, but no dog.”
“Maybe you let him out by mistake—”
“I’m telling you! I did not see any damned dog. Okay? I know what a dog looks like! That pen thing,” he said, hitching his chin at the crate, “that was open, I think, but I didn’t take time to look around. The guy was chasing me. He’s ... he’s my mom’s cousin, I think. I met him a couple of times, but now he’s like ... like a Dog the Bounty Hunter–type of guy on TV!”
“Not quite,” she said, and despite the raw emotion pulsing through the house, she almost laughed aloud to think of O’Keefe compared to Duane “Dog” Chapman, the TV bounty hunter.
“Anyway, I finally lost him so I came back. Here. For you to help me.”
“And you thought I would do that, why?”
“Because you’re my mom. You owe me.”
“Whoa ... I don’t think ... I mean I’m not sure either of us owes anyone anything,” she said, trying to get a grip while her own emotions were stretched thin. She wanted to reach out to him but didn’t dare and then kicked herself for being afraid. Of what? Losing him again. “And the jewelry, you took that?”
“You think I stole your jewelry? Why would I do that?”
“To pawn.”
“No, I just wanted out.”
“There was some money.”
“Twenty bucks! That’s all!”
“And you took it.”
He hesitated.
“With the jewelry.”
“No! Damn it! I did not take any of your fuc—your jewelry. But, yeah—” His jaw set, again reminding her of Emilio, and he said, almost inaudibly, “I might have picked up the money.”
There was no “might have” about it. “I don’t care about it.”
“You don’t?” His eyes narrowed, as if he didn’t believe a word that she said.
“Well, yes, of course, but, no. Not right now.” She was sounding as confused as he looked. Holding up a hand, as if she expected him to interrupt, she said, “Okay! Don’t worry about the money. At least for now. Why don’t you go into the bathroom and clean up and I’ll get you something to eat? You must be starved. I’ve got some leftover pizza in the refrigerator.”
“I ate it. The good kind. Not that kind with the squash on it!”
“The zucchini?”
“Whatever! It was nasty.” He shuddered for effect as she walked into the kitchen and saw the evidence, the empty pizza boxes, a few wrinkled vegetables scraped onto the oil-soaked ridges of the cardboard that lined the boxes. He said from the other room, “I’m ... I’m okay. Don’t need a shower or nothing. Look, you just gotta help me.”
“I’m a cop.”
“I know that. That’s one of the reasons I came here!” He was getting agitated, a little frantic. “Look, I’ve got nowhere else to go and ... and I figure you might want to help me.”
“What?” she asked. “How do you figure that?”