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“Why the hell is he running from us?” Monk grumbled, his brow furrowed in confusion. “We didn’t even do anything.”
Mace’s grin was mischievous. “Yeah, but he obviously did something. I’m going to chase him, and you two go around the other way. We’ll cut him off and find out what he’s up to.”
Without waiting for a response, Mace took off after the fleeing figure.
“Are we really going to do this?” I asked, my voice tinged with uncertainty.
Monk shrugged, his expression determined. “I mean, might as well. Maybe it’s the squirrel killer, and he knows we’re after him.”
I chuckled, nodding in agreement. “Then let’s go.”
Monk and I headed in the opposite direction, circling around the block until we caught sight of Mace and the kid.
“Got him,” Mace called out, his voice triumphant.
Monk approached cautiously, his eyes scanning the young boy standing before us. “Don’t hurt him,” he warned, his tone firm. “We don’t need the cops being called on us, yeah?”
We stood in front of the kid, waiting for an explanation.
“What’s your name, kid?” Monk asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.
The kid’s response was defiant. “I’m not telling you,” he spat. “You’re not my dad.”
I couldn’t help but notice the fear and anger in his eyes, and I wondered what could have driven him to run from us.
“Why did you run when you saw us?” I inquired, trying to keep my tone neutral.
“Because you guys look like you’re casing the neighborhood. I was running home to tell my mom to lock the doors,” he shot back.
“Told ya,” Mace chuckled, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the neighbors already called the cops on us.”
As if on cue, the sound of a siren filled the air, sending a shiver down my spine.
“You gotta be kidding me,” Monk grumbled, frustration evident in his voice. “You sure you want to move to Barney Fife land?” he joked, turning to Mace.
“Imogen is here, so yeah, I do,” Mace replied with a grin, his eyes twinkling.
Before we could react, a police car pulled up beside us, and an officer stepped out.
“They’re trying to kidnap me,” the kid hollered, his voice filled with panic. “The big one said he was going to beat me.”
Mace’s expression hardened, his gaze fixed on the kid. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“That’s enough, Jimmy,” the cop called out, stepping forward to diffuse the situation. “Run home.”
Jimmy glared up at Mace. “You heard the barney, let me go.”
Mace let him go, and the kid took off down the street.
“What the hell is a barney?” Mace muttered.
“I’m assuming that’s Officer Chinny.” I nodded to the cop’s badge.
The cop stood before us, his stance wide and authoritative, as if assessing a potential threat. His eyes scanned over each of us, lingering on our faces for a moment before settling back on me.
“You boys new to town?” he asked, his voice gruff yet curious.
“I’m the new owner of the funeral home,” I replied, offering a polite smile in an attempt to ease the tension.
