Clay eyes them suspiciously. “What’s going on?”
“Why you talking to the chief?” says Wahlquist.
“Because Teddy is missing. My father didn’t want to talk to her. So I did.”
“He spoke to us,” says Kimmich. “That’s good enough. You stay out of it.”
“Is it good enough?” says Clay. “Because the only thing youseem to be looking for is diabetes and a bigger belt. And I was just with your superior officer when she got a call from Sue. Sue thinks you’re out on patrol. How smart of a lie is that in a town with one street?”
“What happened to you?” says Kimmich. “Your father raised you to respect your elders. I’m not feeling any respect here.”
Clay says, “Why do you talk like an East Coast mobster, Andy? The farthest east you’ve ever been is Wisconsin.”
“If you weren’t the only child of my dear friend Judd,” says Kimmich, “I’d take you out back and show you a thing or two.”
Clay sighs. Ever since he returned three months ago, Wahlquist and Kimmich have been having a hard time accepting that he’s no longer a boy. “Anything else you guys want?”
“Don’t worry about your uncle,” says Wahlquist. “We’re leading the search for him. Got the word out in Chatfield, Preston, Lanesboro, St. Charles… All of Fillmore County. Let us do our jobs and we’ll get your uncle back to you. No need to get Zoey involved.”
Clay eyes the two men who are a few years short of retirement. He smiles.
“Come on, Clay. Don’t give us that look. We know what we’re talking about. Zoey’s not local like we are,” says Kimmich. “This is our—”
“Don’t sayturf,” says Clay. “Please stop talking like that. Nobody talks like that around here.”
Wahlquist pats his ample belly. “All we’re saying is we don’t need any interference in doing the job we’ve been doing for forty years. City council got a bug up their ass to hire a woman chief.That’s politics. But when it comes to actual police work, to protecting and serving the good people of Riverwood, Minnesota, Andy and I know how to get the job done.”
“See,” says Kimmich, brushing the crumbs out of his mustache with a tiny comb, “the city council is getting out of hand. Think they know how to run this town. They don’t know how to run anything. Half of them are salmon who came back during the pandemic because they could work remote. That’s why everyone around town calls the city council theclowncouncil. They’re a bunch of know-nothing knuckleheads. Mike here is thinking of running for mayor. Setting things straight.”
“I didn’t know that,” says Clay. “Congratulations, Mike.”
“Haven’t announced it yet,” says Wahlquist. “Saving it for the Fourth of July parade. And I’d appreciate your support, Clay. I was there for you when you were just a little guy. Now I’d like you to return the favor.”
Clay smiles. “Happy to.”
Wahlquist raises his eyebrows. “I’m getting the Ozempic,” he says. “Seeing the doctor on Monday. The pounds will soon be melting off me. I’ll need the energy for the campaign.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” says Clay.
“Clay,” says a woman.
Clay turns to see Steph Becker. She is Clay’s age, has long blond hair and clickety-clackety fingernails painted peach. They’re long and may or may not be real. A dark line surrounds Steph’s ice-blue eyes, and her lips match her peach nails. She wears tight jeans and a black T-shirt bedazzled with the wordCYNIC, and holds a to-go cup of coffee and a white bag with grease stains.
“Hey, Steph. How are you?”
“I just had a cancellation. I can cut you now if you’d like. Or see you next week as scheduled.”
“I’ll be there in five,” says Clay.
She sips her coffee, then lowers the cup, leaving a peach lip print on the cup’s white plastic lid. “Great,” says Steph. “See you then.”
She heads out, Wahlquist and Kimmich watching her as she goes.
“Clay, you never should’ve let that one go,” says Kimmich.
“She’s over forty,” says Wahlquist, “and could still win Miss Riverwood if she wasn’t married.”
“Guess I’ll have to live with that mistake for the rest of my life,” says Clay. “See you guys around. And thanks for looking for Teddy.”
