A Fountain Filled With Blood by Julia Spencer-Fleming Page B

had made a simple sentence sound like a threat. That group of teenage boys? They looked too young. That man with his wife? Too old. She rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. She was losing it. The attacks, and now this public pandemonium, had tipped her over the edge. She continued working her way to the back of the crowd, holding fast to the thought of her car, a warm sweatshirt, and a peaceful ride back to her quiet rectory. Small town rural parish indeed. She should have asked the bishop for combat pay before coming to Millers Kill.
     
     
    When Clare got home, the first thing she did was shower until her hot water ran out. She had never been so cold on a Fourth of July in her life. Then she wrapped herself tightly in a full-length terry-cloth robe identical to a monk’s habit, complete with cowl. It had been a gift from her brother Brian, who over the years had also given her a clock in the shape of an Apache helicopter, a pair of army tap-dancing boots, and a recruiting poster featuring Michelangelo’s God and the words I WANT YOU. She had just eased a half pound of linguine into a pot of boiling water in preparation for a carb fest when her phone rang.
    “Clare? Russ. I need you to do me a favor.”
    His voice was strangely hushed. “Russ? Where are you?”
    “At the Washington County Jail.”
    “What are you doing at the jail?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized how inane they sounded. “I mean, I thought you’d be back on patrol.”
    “It’s my mother,” he said, his voice as grim as she’d ever heard it. “I’m trying to get her out.”
    She decided not to mention that he had been the one to put his mom there in the first place. “Is there some sort of delay with the bail bondsman? Does she have to wait for a hearing or something?”
    “I put up her damn bond myself. She won’t accept it! She says she’s a damn prisoner of conscience and she’s not leaving until she gets to make a public appearance before a judge!” He was practically hissing at this point. “Scuse my french,” he added.
    “Why are you whispering?” she said, involuntarily whispering, as well.
    “I’m calling you from the booking room. There are about a dozen cops and guards here, and every one of ’em knows I arrested my own mother for disorderly conduct. You know what she kept calling me in front of the bondsman?” He dropped his voice further. “‘Sweetie!’ I’m never gonna live this down.”
    She bit the inside of her lip. When she knew she could speak without a trace of laughter in her voice, she said, “What do you need me to do?”
    “Get the dogs.”
    “The dogs?”
    “Those two beasts we left with Mom. She put them inside the house. Her hearing isn’t until nine o’clock tomorrow morning, and she may not be processed and out until noon. They can’t stay inside the whole time.” He exhaled. “I’d go up there and let them out myself, but I’m on duty until midnight and things are already picking up. I need to get out of here and back on patrol.”
    She looked at her linguine, the tomatoes and garlic cloves lined up on her cutting board, the wineglass waiting to be filled. “You know I’m glad to help, but…getting into your mom’s house…isn’t this something a family member ought to do? Your sister? Your wife?”
    “Janice took the kids to her in-laws for the weekend, and my brother-in-law is alone with forty cows. He wouldn’t leave them unattended if God himself got on the phone and asked him over. And I can’t ask Linda.” The tone of his voice did not invite further questions.
    “What about…” Her mind cast around for reasons why this was a bad idea. “But they can’t run around here in my yard. They’re big dogs; they need their exercise.”
    “Well, then, take them to the park and let them run off-leash.”
    “You can do that in the park?”
    “Hell, yeah. The park’s very animal friendly. There used to be two big water troughs there for