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“Huh?”
“Kerra Bailey.”
“This isn’t about her.”
Glenn reached across the desk to take the sheet from the deputy and read the typed-in name. “Petey Moss.” He looked up at Jenks and frowned.
“His neighbor went over Monday evening to collect a ballpeen hammer Petey had borrowed from him,” Jenks said. “Petey wasn’t there. Neighbor’s been keeping an eye out for him ever since. He really wants his hammer back.
“There’s been no sign of Petey. Neighbor called his workplace today. His boss hasn’t seen him all week, either. The neighbor, who’s also his landlord, went over to his house again this evening, and when he got no answer, let himself in. Said Petey’s mailbox is overflowing, his goldfish are belly up, and everything in the fridge has gone bad.
“I told him the last time I saw Petey he was talking about cooling his heels in Tennessee for a while, but I agreed that it wasn’t like him to leave town without giving his boss notice and settling his lease.” He motioned at the report. “I thought you oughta know.”
“I’ll put somebody on it right away,” Glenn said. But he didn’t. He slid the form into a stack of other unattended-to paperwork and sipped from his mug of coffee. “Now to the real problem.”
Without even having to think about it, Jenks said, “Trapper.”
“They won’t let us see The Major at this hour,” Kerra said as she and Trapper stepped off the elevator on the ICU floor of the hospital.
“I won’t ask permission. If necessary, I’ll beg forgiveness.”
He had to do neither. They waited until someone exited the pneumatic doors and slipped through before they closed. The corridor was empty. Unobserved, they went into The Major’s room. It was lighted only by the glow of the various machines to which he was still attached. He was sleeping.
“This is the first time I’ve seen him since it happened,” Kerra whispered. “It comes as a shock. The last time I saw him, he was his robust self.”
“Stunned me to see him like this, too,” Trapper said. “The white whiskers really threw me.”
“I talked to him this morning—”
“It was yesterday morning.”
At the sound of his voice, both she and Trapper reacted with surprise and moved closer to the bed. The Major opened his eyes. She smiled down at him. “I stand corrected. It was yesterday. I’ve lost all track of time.”
He seesawed a look between them. “What have you been up to since we talked?”
Rather than address the question, Trapper asked how he was feeling.
“Fair to middling.”
“You’d look better if you’d lose the scraggly beard.”
“You could stand a shave yourself.”
Kerra interceded. “Are you eating yet?”
“Tomorrow. Broth and applesauce. I can hardly wait.”
“It’s progress,” Trapper said.
“Too slow.”
He told them he’d been tested on mobility, dexterity, and coordination, language retention and memory, and had passed all. “They did another brain scan today, looking for bleeders. None were found.”
“That all sounds good,” Trapper said. “How’s the breathing?”
“Better at times than at others. I’m still so damn weak.”
Hearing the discouragement in his tone, and knowing how the former soldier had prided himself on staying fit and strong, Kerra patted his shoulder. “Don’t rush it.”
