paint. After pulling curtains over barren rods and covering the window, she stripped of her clothes and sprinted for the attached bath. Cleansed by a hot shower, she dressed, reassembled the room, and scrubbed away the wake of her breakdown.
Paint, with gray. Too much white, not enough black.
The commute into town was peaceful. Mist hung low on the street, the sky still dark at an early 6 AM. Without Greg in the car, it was open season on the controls. With the air conditioner blasting and her mp3 plugged into the speakers, cherry nails tapped the steering wheel along to The Script.
Aly wasn’t familiar with the area, but she recognized the nearest streets well enough. With the few signs she eyed, twenty-five milesperhour wasn’t unreasonable. The switches to Greg’s SUV weren't overtly different from the spunky Honda Fit she shared with her mother before her father entered her life, so blinkers weren’t an issue. Her seatbelt held her firmly to the seat. Unless the lights weren’t working or a stop sign had been hidden in the brush, the flashing in her rearview mirror seemed unwarranted.
Easing to a stop, she silenced the speakers and lowered the window. She found herself fidgeting, waiting for the officer to run her plates.
I thought this was a warden and peace-monitor jurisdiction, unless it's a statewide trooper. Do they really need them all?
“Do you mind telling me why you’re operating a vehicle registered to a Mister Gregory M. Glass?” One man asked, stretching his lean frame to the full height, rather than leaning beside her. His partner rounded the other side of the car. With a twist of her fingers, she motioned to roll the window down.
This is bizarre.
Aly complied.
“Greg’s my father,” s he stated, forcing herself to make eye contact. The man’s were brown, murky and dull, not like the chestnut shine of Noah’s, or her own piercing blue.
“I wasn’t aware he had a kid,” the woman challenged. Veins in her neck shifted as she spoke. Her hair was tied into a tight bun, exposing small features and thin lips impacted in her ruddy face. “License and registration.”
How would she know? They don't even have an official police station in Ashland.
Thumbing her license from her bag in the passenger seat and pulling documents from the glove box, she handed them to the male. His partner glowered. He frowned and nodded, as though they expected an authenticity issue.
“I moved in a couple of nights ago,” she added, “He’s currently on a work trip.”
“Very well,” the female officer huffed. She sucked in her belly to push straying folds of her polo beneath the hem of her pants. She wasn’t heavy, but had a masculine build. The woman was graceless, moving like she had just stepped into her skin for the first time. “Are you aware he’s wanted for questioning?”
Aly quirked a brow. “It's news to me. What for?”
The male coughed. As the officers exchanged uncomfortable glances, she revised, "If you don't mind me asking, of course."
“Not at all," he said. "His facility, p articularly him, is in some trouble for unmarked traps, probably big game. Failing to tag is illegal and black bears haven’t been in season since June tenth. Several witnesses also claim he’s been marking off public trails for private recreation, and he’s not obtained any permits to do so. You see why it’s important he step forward and clear things up?”
“If he’s hunting, I’m sure he has authorization.” She was unable to comprehend why everyone in Ashland seemed to think her father was part of some bigfoot, cult 'researcher' conspiracy. The nagging feeling that she shouldn’t be hearing any of their accusations was becoming difficult to swallow.
Aren’t researchers supposed to sit in urban labs and stare at neon beakers? I can’t imagine him getting more adventurous than taking samples from an on-campus pond or something.
“We need to see them, either way, Miss. You need to have your father contact the fish and game warden or the state trooper’s office and proper investigative bureaus immediately.”
Aly suppresseda groan, eying the clock. She and Noah hadn’t agreed on a time, but she didn’t want to miss it, whenever it was.
“I’ll tell you what, on the nights he’s actually home, my best guess is he normally leaves just after six. I don’t know where he is, what he’s doing, or when he’ll be back. I’m assuming it’ll be today or tomorrow.”
“Alright. Can we take a name?”
“Alyson Mackenzie Glass.”
“Do you have a number we can contact you at?” He