“She gets massages from a good friend of hers in Asheville. I’ll schedule her an appointment.” Bronwyn rubbed her temples. “I should have already done that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.” Gray’s tone was kind but exasperated. “You were shot at. You went to the hospital with Mo. You’re already in a sleep deficit. You aren’t behind. You haven’t dropped the ball. Got it?”
Bronwyn sat straighter in her chair. “Yes, Chief.”
He gave her a sour look. “I do not understand women. Why do you assume you have to do everything? No one else expects you to do it all.” He gestured toward Mo. “He doesn’t expect you to. I don’t. Katrina doesn’t. She was worried about you and told me that I’d better not wake you up or call you in before you got the rest you needed. She also said that you need another massage because you undid all her hard work.”
Bronwyn dropped her head. “Okay, okay. I get it.”
Gray patted the files on the table and looked between the two of them, then focused on Mo. “Why don’t you start by telling me why Bronwyn’s been crying. You’re still speaking to each other, so I’m hopeful the answer won’t include anything about you being a moron. I’ve been given instructions from my beloved to kick your rear if you’ve done anything to, and I quote, ‘mess things up.’ And here you walk in together, but she’s been crying. I realize I haven’t lived here as long as most, but I’ve never seen her cry or even appear teary-eyed.”
Mo wanted to tell Gray to mind his own business, but Bronwynspoke before he had a chance. “Gray, you’re awesome.” She sounded amused and maybe a little bit touched by his words. “Thank you for the concern. But between you and me”—and at this her tone changed—“I’m going to have a chat with your beloved. We’re done with assuming that Mo has done something wrong. If he does something, that will be between us, and we’ll deal with it.”
Gray sat back in his chair. “Acknowledged.”
“This”—she pointed at her face—“is the result of a conversation I had with my parents this morning.”
Gray leaned toward her. “What happened?”
“Words were exchanged.”
Mo couldn’t let it stand at that. “She said some things she probably should have said a decade ago, and they didn’t like it.”
She cut her eyes at him. “As I said, words were exchanged. And I may or may not have a job anymore. Too soon to tell.”
Gray seemed to absorb that. Then he opened the top file in front of him. “Okay. Let’s talk bullets. We sent the bullet casing from Mo’s wound to forensics, but this isn’t a TV show and there’s no telling when we’ll learn anything useful. We have a BOLO out on the vehicle, but it didn’t show up on any cameras going in or out of town.”
“Is that normal?” Bronwyn asked.
“Around here? Yes and no. If they were from out of town, I would expect them to show up on the traffic cams we have set up on the edges of the county. But if they’re local, that truck could be in any of a hundred barns, sheds, or outbuildings by now. It could be parked in the woods somewhere. If they’re willing not to drive it, we might never find it.”
“It was a nice truck. No way they won’t drive it.” Mo pulled the file toward him. “Anything on the plate?” He’d seen the license plate and had given that info to Gray yesterday.
“Stolen off a Toyota Camry in Charlotte.”
“Awesome.”
“Mo, is there anything you’ve found in The Haven files that would account for this?”
“Maybe. There’s some hinky stuff going on. I can almost taste it. It’s right there. I have some searches running. What I need is time to work on it.”
“He has a headache and isn’t supposed to be looking at screens.” Bronwyn gave the phone in his hand a pointed look. “Not that he’s obeying that guidance.”
“If you can’t keep him in line, I imagine no one can.” Gray made the comment in such a matter-of-fact way, it almost slipped past Mo. But based on Bronwyn’s expression, it didn’t slip past her.
She frowned and looked from Mo to Gray. “Why would you think I could keep him in line?”
Gray looked between them and grinned. “Oh, this is going to be too much fun. I do believe I’ll let you figure that one out for yourself, Ms. Pierce.”
He opened another file. “Until we receive forensic results on the bullets or find the truck, there’s not much we can do. I’m sorry about that. However, I do need you to sign these statements.” He slid the papers to them. “This is what you told me yesterday. Please read it, make any corrections, then sign.”
Mo took his. It was significantly shorter than Bronwyn’s. Probably because he’d been bleeding at the time. When he handed his signed statement to Gray, he asked about the grocery store. “Was there any damage?” He couldn’t remember.
“Just to you. I’ve stationed an officer there today. Lionel’s been busy. He sold a lot of pizza at lunch. I think he’s relieved. He was worried people would be scared off, which wouldn’t be good for business. But he’s fine. The employees are fine. No one quit. So yeah, he’s good.”
That was a relief. Lionel was a good man. Mo hated for any of the Pierce family drama to have a negative impact on him or his business.
Bronwyn’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at it. Then she handed it to him.
