Aquamarine by Catherine Mulvany Page A

severely strained, ushered the loudmouthed Mr. Walsh toward one of the partitioned cubicles.
    Shea raised her eyebrows. “What’s going on?”
    Kevin glanced meaningfully at the dispatcher. “Let’s sit down and I’ll fill you in.”
    Shea returned to her seat, and Kevin dragged a pair of chairs from the line against the wall, turning them to face Shea.
    “I don’t like this, Kevin, and my parents aren’t going to like it, either.” The redhead looked as if she were about to burst into tears.
    “Don’t worry, Chelsea. It’s going to be all right.”
    “What happened?” Shea asked.
    “It was awful!” Chelsea broke into noisy sobs.
    Kevin calmed her down, then turned to Shea. “What brings you here?”
    “Somebody broke into Teague’s apartment. We came in to report it. Now quit trying to change the subject. Tell me about your accident.”
    He shrugged. “Not much to tell. Old man Walsh got a snootful, then decided to play bumper cars in the parking lot at the club. He claims I was blocking him, but the truth is, he was too drunk to maneuver. It’s a tight lot, and I was parked close, but he should have been able to get out without damaging anything. This probably isn’t going to do my insurance premiums any good. They won’t care whether it was my fault or not.”
    “What’s the story, Kevin? Wreck your car again?” Teague had slipped up on them unnoticed.
    Kevin seemed to shrink in stature as the older man’s biting tone ripped away his thin veneer of sophistication; the boy suddenly looked younger than his nineteen years. He hesitated for a second or two, evidently trying to gauge Teague’s mood.
    “It wasn’t his fault.” The redhead spoke up. “Taggart Walsh bashed Kevin’s Fiat in the parking lot at the club. On purpose, if you ask me.” Her voice shook. “Look, is there someplace I can call my parents? It’s getting late. They’ll be worried.”
    “There’s a pay phone down the hall by the rest-rooms,” Kevin said.
    “I don’t have any money.” She looked as if she was going to start bawling again.
    Shea, Kevin, and Teague all whipped out quarters. The girl accepted Kevin’s money and hurried off.
    “Your father’s not going to be a happy camper whenhe hears what happened,” Teague said. “What is this? Your third accident so far this year?”
    “Yeah,” Kevin agreed glumly. “And he’s never gonna believe it wasn’t my fault. He’ll probably throw those gambling debts back in my face too.”
    “Gambling debts?” Shea echoed.
    Kevin gave her a shamefaced look. “I got a little carried away betting on football last fall. My allowance wouldn’t cover my losses, and I had to ask Dad for help. He was
not
pleased.”
    “To put it mildly,” Teague said. He turned to Shea. “I’m finished here for the time being. Why don’t I take you back to the lodge?”
    “I have my own car,” Shea reminded him.
    “So I’ll follow you. I want to make sure your room is secure.”
    They left Kevin at the police station feeling extremely sorry for himself.
    Shea’s room hadn’t been ransacked; that was obvious as soon as they opened the door, but Teague spent a good ten minutes checking the locks on the doors and windows anyway before pronouncing himself satisfied.
    “Thanks,” she said.
    “For what?”
    She smiled and his heart gave a jolt. “For caring enough to make sure I was safe.”
    He cleared his throat. “Least I could do. I suppose I should go back to see if the deputies have discovered anything.”
    “Probably.” She smiled again and he knew he wasn’t going anywhere. Not yet.
    He cleared his throat. “They’re probably waiting for me.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “They want me to inventory my stuff as soon as they finish dusting for prints. Apparently the intruder jimmied the back door. Used a crowbar.”
    “Not a pro then,” she said.
    “Kids, the cops figure.”
    “You don’t sound convinced.”
    He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m a suspicious bastard by