Jason set the two-dozen glazed donuts behind plastic panelling near the bread section, admired his handiwork, then picked up his phone again and opened Twitter.
Figuring out what might be referring to Carl was tricky—naming and shaming was evidently not something the Earnest Point cops were into. Although, more than one “could the owner of this bike please collect it from the station and stop parking it on the cycle lane bollards” was accompanied by a photo of the mountain bike that lived in Carl’s garage. Far more of Owen was revealed in these tweets than of Carl—in every third image he was helping some person or some creature or clearing up some problem. Helping elderly folks with storm prep, wrapping injured wildlife up in towels, posing with a class of schoolkids, settling a cuddly bear into an office chair—wait, what?
Anyhow, the man in these pictures didn’t look the sort to push something over if someone might get hurt as a consequence.
A few minutes of scrolling made it clear, though, that whatever Carl had been up to, it probably wasn’t that bad. Not that much of Earnest Point’s criminal underbelly was especially nefarious. Hilarious, more like.
By the time the bell over the door jangled to signal a customer, Jason was giggling more than he had in a long time. The things the cops got called out to in this town . . . hastily, he turned on the alerts so he’d never miss a laugh, and spun to face the door.
It was Owen’s nephew, from the station. He dripped his way inside and Jason grinned.
“Alex!”
Alex looked over, startled. “Hi, Carl.”
Jason watched Alex grimace as he pulled a wad of money from his pocket, and went over to him, wiping his hands of icing sugar. “What’re you after?”
“Dog food. I wanted to drive into the city but my car gave in down the road.”
“I had a spot of car trouble this morning too.” Alex counted the cash in his hand carefully, and Jason . . . understood. Being a student was tough.
Alex looked at him, tired and miserable. He was shorter than his uncle, and had a narrower frame, but Jason could see brief glimpses of Owen in the nose and the brow. Owen if he was much younger. Owen if he’d had a damn hard day.
Alex gripped his cash like he was afraid it might slip and be lost for good.
“Actually, we have half-off dog food today.”
He led the way to the appropriate aisle and helped Alex carry a giant dog food bag to the counter. He rang it up and handed over the change. “Will you need a hand getting this home?” Or to Owen’s? Mary was his, right?
Alex shook his head. “I live just up the road. The car was just for getting to polytechnic and work. I’ll just have to figure something else out . . .” Alex flung out a half-baked laugh, but Jason sensed the stress behind it.
“I’m sure your uncle would give you a lift?” He knew this to be true. The protective aura was thick around that Sergeant Owen Sterling Sir.
Alex bit his lip. “I can’t, y’know? He already does so much for me . . .”
“He does?”
He wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a question or a confirmation. He kind of felt like it had to be a fact, but Jason had always been nosy and Owen had become an important puzzle to solve. Especially if Jason were to convince him not to tell anyone the truth.
“Probably would’ve dropped out of school if not for him studying with me every day. He helped me get into polytech, and that’s . . . He’s just always giving up his time to me and Mum, especially since Dad left.”
Alex blushed and stared at the dog food. He looked like he wished he hadn’t said quite so much.
“Here’s an idea. Borrow my Jeep while yours is out of action.”
Alex stared, dumbfounded. “What?”
Wasn’t this what small towns were all about? Lending a helping hand and all that? Owen had helped Jason out just this morning. “Yeah. Borrow my Jeep. I’ll ride with your uncle.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, absolutely.” Jason paused and snuck in a cheeky smile. “I mean, there’s a catch.”
“Catch?”
“It needs . . . a little cleaning.”
Jason sagged into the passenger seat of Owen’s car, tucking a few bags at his feet. What a day. That his ruse hadn’t been discovered by anyone else was a miracle. How was he supposed to know Catbernet was a thing? It was logical he’d pluck a cabernet off the shelf and start spouting nonsense about how wild the grapes were with last year’s local vintage. The patron had wanted it for their missy, but it would’ve been helpful to know Missy was a cat, not the beleaguered ‘wifey’ of a misogynist.