“Need some help?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he got started on untying the other end of the rope.
“Thanks,” I said. “The criminals must’ve all evacuated if the SEPD’s got time to help citizens with their hurricane prep.”
He smiled but then his face turned serious. Balling up his end of the hammock, he thrust the unwieldy mass into my arms. “I came to tell you something I think you should know.” He puffed his chest out self-importantly. “It’s about that Spaatz fellow you’re so keen on.”
I didn’t bother telling Hank I wasn’t “keen on” Glen Spaatz. The hammock was heavy in my arms and the raspy nylon dug into my skin, but I didn’t want to take it inside to stow it and risk Hank following me. He wasn’t much good at taking hints . . . witness all the hints in our marriage vows about “forsaking all others” that he’d completely missed. “What about him?”
“He had a run-in with the law in Los Angeles,” he said. His eyes gleamed with that “I was right, you were wrong” look he’d perfected when we were married and used right up until the day we signed the divorced papers.
His news startled me but I didn’t want to show it. “What, a traffic ticket?”
“Worse than that.” He paused, looking at me to gauge my reaction.
I refused to play his game and merely waited for him to speak, even though curiosity pricked at me.
“The ATF stormed his house,” Hank announced.
Ye gods. I wouldn’t have expected something like that. Maybe a little pot or something, but not a SWAT-unit-breaks-down-your-door type of offense. “What were they after?” I couldn’t resist asking.
He kicked at a fire ant hill, rousing the inhabitants to fury as they swarmed over the toe of his boot. “I dunno,” he admitted. “The file is sealed, but a buddy of mine was on patrol the night it went down.”
“So, Glen wasn’t arrested and didn’t end up in court or anything?”
“Just because we don’t have access to the details doesn’t mean something criminal didn’t go down,” Hank said hotly. “Damn it, Grace, can’t you see that the guy is no good? If the cops didn’t have something on him, why’d he leave LA and come here? Damn it!” The last exclamation was directed at the fire ants, not me, as Hank hopped around, slapping at his ankle.
“Who wouldn’t want to leave LA, given an option?” I asked.
Althea’s old LTD pulled up before Hank could answer, and she and my mom got out. “Hank Parker, if that’s your idea of a rain dance, I think you’ll find it’s unnecessary,” Althea said as Hank almost tumbled over trying to stop an ant that had apparently climbed up his shin.
“Fire ants,” I explained.
“These fu—These buggers sting,” he hollered.
I bit back a smile at the sight of him dancing around in his uniform, trying to simultaneously peel his sock down and smack the ants.
Althea shook her head. “That boy was born and raised here—you’d think he’d know better than to go stirring up a fire ant nest, which I’ll bet my last dollar he did.”
“I’ll get some calamine,” Mom said, disappearing around the corner of the house.
Hank had smushed the last ant and was sitting on the curb by his patrol car, one pant leg hiked above his knee, displaying large red welts on his hairy calf, when Mom returned with the calamine bottle.
“You could kiss ’em and make ’em all better, sugar,” he said to me with a smirk.
Eew.
“You want I should call the EMTs, have them come check you out, Hank?” Althea asked with spurious concern. “Doesn’t that look like an allergic reaction to you, Vi?”
The bites were red and painful looking, but I didn’t think Hank was in any danger of anaphylactic shock. Althea was just threatening to embarrass him in front of his cop buddies if he didn’t behave. Ant bites didn’t rank with a bullet hole when telling wounded-in-the-line-of-duty stories at the bar.
“Just give me the lotion,” he mumbled, holding out his hand. After using a cotton ball to dab pink dots of calamine on the bites, he rolled down his pant leg, muttered, “Thanks, Vi,” and got back in his patrol car.
“What was he doing here, anyway?” Mom asked as we watched him drive down the street.
I told them what Hank had said about Glen Spaatz. Mom pursed her lips and looked thoughtful. “I don’t suppose there’s any way Braden could have known something about Mr. Spaatz that he wouldn’t want spread around the school? That might even have cost him his job?” she asked.