“Jesus Christ,” Cody grumbled.
Two young mothers were standing in the aisle and they turned when they heard him, and one of them lifted a finger to her lips to shush him. She was wearing a track suit and her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was vaguely attractive but already angry with him, so he looked to the other one. She was tall and slim with auburn hair and kind brown eyes and a nice mouth. Her face was wide open. She was pretty in a natural, athletic way.
He shrugged his apology and sidled up to them. He noted other mothers gathered along the windows on the side of the room.
“I’m looking for Bull Mitchell,” he said. “Do you know him?”
“Of course,” the tall woman whispered.“That’s him reading.”
“That’s Bull Mitchell?” Cody asked. “I can’t see him.”
“Here,” the tall woman said, stepping aside.
Cody nodded his thanks.
There, in the middle of twelve or thirteen kids gathered on the floor, was a big man sitting in a comically undersized chair wearing a heavy wool work shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots. His head was a cinder block mounted on wide powerful shoulders and his huge hands held
That’s when he noticed a tiny white-haired woman in a wheelchair next to the seated children. She had a wool Pendleton trapper’s blanket over her lap and she leaned forward to listen with a gauzy smile of pure enchantment.
“What’s with the old lady?” Cody asked the tall woman. “What’s she doing here?”
She reacted as if he’d slapped her. The blond woman rolled her eyes and snorted in contempt.
“What?” Cody said, genuinely surprised and puzzled.
The tall woman said, “He’s my father and ‘the old lady’ is my mother. She’s in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s, and this is the only way he can connect with her these days, by reading children’s stories.”
Cody slumped and sighed. “I’m such an asshole,” he said.
“Yes, you are,” the tall woman said. “But I can see you didn’t know.”
The blond mother shushed them both.
Cody said to the tall woman, “When he’s done will you introduce me to him?”
She almost smiled. “How can I introduce you when I don’t know your name?”
“Cody Hoyt,” he said. “I’m a cop.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Is this official business? You don’t seem to have a badge.”
Cody said, “It’s more important than that. Give me a few minutes and I’ll lay it out.”
“Angela Mitchell,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m the proud daughter.”
Cody thought,
The blond mother leaned toward them hissing,
And Bull Mitchell read:
* * *
Cody hovered behind Angela and Bull Mitchell as Bull pushed his wife through the aisles in her wheelchair to the van to return her to the nursing home. The children had joined up with their mothers or nannies and dispersed. Bull said to Angela in a flat, declaratory tone not unlike his reading, “So who’s the guy?”
“He says his name is Cody Hoyt. He wants to meet you.”
“Hoyt?” Bull barked.
“Yes.”
“I knew a couple guys named Hoyt. One was a drunk and the other one was a criminal. Why does he want to meet me?”
“Hey,” Cody said, “I’m right here. I can speak for myself.”
Bull paused and twisted slightly to a quarter profile, as if he wasn’t sure turning around to talk to Cody was worth more than that. He looked Cody up and down, said nothing, and said to his daughter, “Tell him not to interrupt my stories, goddammit.”
“I apologize,” Cody said. “I just wasn’t expecting a guy named Bull in the children’s room.”