“Did that jerk just leave without me?” Janice asked, getting to her feet.
But instead, he opened the door. “Er, Janice, we have a situation out here,” Officer # 1 said with a snarl. “I told the little bastard—excuse my French—he could sit in the car. I didn’t tell him he could sit in the front seat. I swear to God he played me like a fiddle, and I was so worried he knew why I was called Ducky that I let him get my goat.”
“Sit down,” I told him, “Tristan does that to everyone.”
We got a third glass, and had another round. Incautiously I asked, “So why are you called Ducky?” But he refused to answer.
* * * *
Janice stayed another half hour. Only in small towns was this possible. She told me she’d pick up both me and Damon tonight on her own way to the reunion. I told her I’d never ridden in a police car before…
Right after she left, the phone rang.