It had a little yellow bus on it.
“My bus driver says rough hands can be safe hands,” she said.
Silas looked over at me.
I pretended to check my mirrors.
Badly.
He took the keychain like it was made of glass.
“Thank you, Miss Kinsley.”
Then he went back to work.
Because some heroes do not know what to do with applause.
They only know what to do with responsibility.
A week later, Officer Tatum called me.
They had found the black sedan.
Not the way people wanted.
No big chase.
No dramatic arrest in our subdivision.
A traffic camera had captured a partial plate near the entrance to the neighborhood.
Mrs. Bell’s doorbell camera filled in the rest.
The car belonged to a man from two towns over.
He claimed he had been “meeting someone.”
He claimed he was “lost.”
He claimed a lot of things.
Officer Tatum did not give me every detail, and I did not ask for what I did not need to know.
