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the very least, let someone know where they were. |
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A little past six, Gleason found himself leaning back through the window to his police cruiser again, this time telling the dispatcher to tell Lucy he wouldn't be home for supper. He had just started back to the site of the cleanup when a long-legged young man in a pair of faded blue jeans fell into step beside him. He was carrying the classic black leather medical bag with him. |
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"Sheriff Gleason, you probably won't remember me, but I'm Jeff. Jeff Freeman. Roy's son." |
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The weary lawman stopped walking. It had been years, more years than he cared to think about, since the young Freeman boy had haunted his and Lucy's house on Cross Street on the pretense of looking for odd jobs. Even then Red realized it wasn't the boy's vocational ambitions but his daughter Julie's emerging bustline that was the real attraction. A rush of warm, all but forgotten memories flooded back on him, and he stuck out his hand in greeting. |
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"Love to talk to you, boy, but we got our hands full back here." |
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"I know," the young man drawled. "That's why I'm here." |
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"Don't tell me you're a doctor now?" Red Gleason shook his head. He had lost track of |
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