“Thanks.” His hand drops.
I watch as two carts pull to the side of the road to let us pass. My eyes search the distance for any sign of smoke, and I try to keep my mind from wandering into all the fiery paths it insists on exploring.
Beau glances at me, his alert eyes filling with sympathy. “It’ll be okay.”
I nod again as we pull into Seaside Oasis, which shows no signs of smoke. That’s got to be a good thing, right?
We dash toward the entrance, and Sandra Barry emerges, heading us off. “It’s okay,” she says. “False alarm.”
I let out a gush of air, then look at her intently. “No fire?”
She shakes her head, but her gaze lingers on me, her lips pulling into a flat line. “You’d better come inside. You too, Officer.”
Beau nods and follows behind me.
Sandra leads us into the lobby, then down the hallway until I realize where we’re going: Grams’s room.
She’s sitting on her bed, a deep frown on her face and the walker nearby.
“Grams?” I rush over and crouch down so I can look up into her face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she snaps, shooting an annoyed look behind me.
I look at Sandra, a question in my eyes. Why did she bring me here? And, more importantly, why did she tell Beau to come along?
“She pulled the fire alarm,” Sandra says.
Beau’s brows shoot up, and I look at Grams.
“What happened?” I ask. Did she fall and the closest thing within reach was the fire alarm? I grasp her hand, fully expecting her to withdraw it, but she doesn’t.
Her eyes finally meet mine, and there’s a mischievous gleam in them. “I didn’t want to go to physical therapy.”
I stare at her. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Beau’s fist come up to cover his mouth.
“Grams,” I say, trying to control the twitch at the corner of my lips. “You can’t be pulling fire alarms to get out of PT.”
“I pulledanalarm, not alarms,” Grams corrects. “And it worked, didn’t it?”
Beau clears his throat. “Virginia?—”
“Mrs. Sawyer to you, buckaroo.”
“And ‘Officer’ toyou,” Sandra shoots back.
“Mrs. Sawyer,” Beau says, completely calm, “pulling a fire alarm for no reason?—”
“I had a reason,” Grams interrupts.
Beau nods. “Let me rephrase. Pulling a fire alarm when there is no fire is a misdemeanor.”
“Add it to my tab,” she says with an obstinate set to her jaw.
“Grams,” I say with censure. At this rate, she’ll have a rap sheet a mile long by the time she dies.
“It’s not just that, Mrs. Sawyer,” Beau continues. “There are potential fines to cover the cost of diverting limited emergency resources.”
“I’ll send you gas money,” she sneers. “What important business did I divert you from?”
