Chapter 5
I know enough not to blurt around Chief, although truthfully, I sometimes still do. Chief lets his gaze scan the alley, taking it all in. I don’t know what he sees that I don’t. I suspect this is a police chief thing.
“Where’s Malcolm?” he says at last.
“This isn’t Malcolm’s fault—”
Chief holds up a hand. “Katy, I’m just asking where he is.”
“Home, by now. Probably making dinner.”
Chief has an old-fashioned streak, and I’m not sure what he’ll make of this. That maybe I should be the one at home, cooking dinner? So I add, “I make better coffee. Malcolm makes better grilled cheese.”
Chief drops his gaze and rubs the back of his neck, and I can’t tell if he’s exasperated or amused. A moment later, however, he’s alert.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “Mr. Harrington-Hayes didn’t hur
