Toward the early morning hours, Brenda dozed off just long enough to be refreshed. Jemimah had managed to put her head down on the counter, but hadn’t been able to close her eyes. She spent the last five hours trying to figure out how she was going to get herself out of this mess. At seven o’clock, the phone rang. Probably Rick. Brenda looked up. “Don’t answer that. Let it ring,” she said.
“I’d better answer it, otherwise whoever is calling will know something’s wrong,” Jemimah said.
“All right, but no tricks.” Brenda picked up the pistol and aimed it at Jemimah’s head, holding the phone to her ear with her free hand.
“Hey, Jemimah. Everything all right?” Romero said in his most cheerful voice.
“Yeah, sure. How are you?” she said.
“I’m okay. But you sound a little distant,” he said, figuring she was still pissed off at him for one thing or another.
“Sorry, I’m just a little unnerved. My dog Bobby got bitten by a coyote and I have to take him to the vet. You know how he pokes his nose where it doesn’t belong. I’ll probably be out of touch for the rest of the day. I’ll get back with you later.”
“Do you need some help with that?” he asked.
“Oh, thanks, but no. I’m sure Dr. Medrano can take care of it.”
Brenda motioned for her to wrap it up.
“Listen, thanks again for calling. I have to go now.”
Brenda checked the duct tape to make sure Jemimah couldn’t pull loose. She looked around the house and walked to the window in the living room. The dog was still laid out near the fence, hidden from sight. It would be a while before the drugs wore off. She wouldn’t have to worry about it until then. She would have just put a bullet through its head, but what was the point? The drugs had always worked on Charlie’s dog whenever she needed to silence him.
* * *
Rick Romero called Tim McCabe and asked him how Jemimah had been feeling the night before.
“Fine,” McCabe said. “We had one drink to keep up appearances while we were hanging out at the bar. She was in good spirits. Is something wrong?”
“Maybe. I just got off the phone with her and our conversation was pretty cryptic. Oh damn. Bobby … Medrano …” Romero said. “Shit!”
McCabe interjected, “That’s the Sheriff’s name.”
“I think our girl just might be entertaining an unwanted guest. I’m just leaving the house. I’ll swing by and pick you up. May need backup.”
“I’ll be waiting on the curb,” said McCabe.