Patty hung up the phone when she saw him. “I heard what happened,” she said, coming over and giving him a hug. “I can’t believe it.”
He shrugged, not wanting to talk, especially where the girls could hear. “Yeah, well…”
“What’d Carl do? I heard he robbed a bank.”
“What?” Brad looked into her face. “Where did you hear that?”
“It’s all around town.”
“Jesus.” He shook his head. “That’s not what happened. We were just serving an eviction notice. Bank was foreclosing.”
“He didn’t—?”
“No!”
“Well, at least they got the bank part right.”
“Who starts these rumors? Shit.”
“So he….?”
“Yeah. Right in his front door.”
“How’d Chet take it?”
“I don’t know,” Brad admitted. “I let Hank inform the family.”
“Hank?” She frowned. “You think that was a good idea?”
“I guess we’ll find out tonight.”
Chet Yates, Carl’s brother, had the midnight-to-three slot on the Montgomery radio station, where he ranted about various conspiracy theories cooked up in the crazier corners of the internet. For years, he had been urging people to ditch their cell phones, convinced that the federal government not only used the devices to track individuals’ whereabouts but that the phones emitted targeted radiation specifically designed to cancel out certain genes in order to create future generations of designer citizens. He also believed that the Montgomery town council, in league with unspecified dark forces, was passing laws and ordinances whose sole purpose was to make the community more receptive to a military invasion.
Yet he’d always been considered the stable one in the family.
Patty took his hand. “My bet is you’ll get the blame. He’ll go after you and the department.”
Brad sighed. “Yeah.”
“And you’d better be careful. He’s going to rile up his listeners, who, let’s face it, aren’t exactly the most levelheaded bunch on the planet. Remember when the fire chief got a raise and he told his listeners to set more fires to make sure the chief earned his salary?”
“Don’t worry,” he told her. “I can handle Chet Yates.” He walked over to the refrigerator and got himself a Heineken. “So how was your day?”
“Looks like I’m going to sell that fixer-upper over on Williams, although the couple who want to buy it, the girl from APS and her husband, what’s his name, are going with an internet lender to finance it.”
“Are they sure that’s a good idea? I mean the reason that housing crisis—”
She patted his arm. “Honey, honey, honey. I know what I’m doing. I told you a thousand times, don’t worry about it. I’m not out to cheat anyone.”
“Yeah, well we don’t want another Carl Yates on our hands.” He shook his head, sighing. “At least I sure as hell don’t.”
“Oh, I stopped by the bookstore today at lunch. Got myself a Dean Koontz and you that Ladies’ Detective Agency book you don’t have.”
Brad smiled for the first time since he’d come home. He loved those Alexander McCall Smith novels. It wasn’t something he’d ever admit to Hank, Issac or, really, any of his men, but he found it soothing and relaxing to read about an African lady detective.