Chapter 11

Zack wasn't wrong. When they pulled up to Bob's house in Circleton in Zack's 1995 Blazer, there was a satellite van parked on the street with people milling around outside of it. The side of the van was emblazoned with "KZWT ACTION NEWS - FIRST ON THE SCENE" There was a huge numeral "7" between the phrases.

It looked a little like a used car lot with two cars in the driveway and another on the street in front of the van. A man was standing at the closed front door shouting something as they parked, blocking the driveway. The man turned and shaded is eyes, peering at them as they got out. His face lit up when he saw Zack, who he knew, and the man with him, whose identity he guessed, correctly for once. He hurried over to them waving to his camera crew. They lumbered across the yard, trashing Martha's carefully tended flower garden in the process.

"MISTER WINKLE ... MISTER WINKLE ... KIP JACKSON, ACTION NEWS ... MISTER WINKLE HOW DOES IT FEEL TO WAKE UP FROM A FIFTY YEAR LONG NAP ONLY TO BE BEATEN UP BY THE POLICE?" he shouted, trying to run and shout into his microphone at the same time. One of the camera crew tore off his headphones with a yelp.

Zack stepped in front of Bob and held up his hand and spoke in his most officious voice.

"Mister Winkle was not beaten up by the police and is not under arrest. He is a victim, not a subject, and is being sequestered from the press until he can make a full and complete statement. Leave him alone Kip."

"Come on, Detective!" whined Kip. "I have to get this story! I fucked up on live feed yesterday and they'll can my ass if I come back empty-handed."

"KIP!" yelled one of the technicians. "We're on live feed now!"

Kip's eyes opened wide and his face went blotchy red. He threw down the microphone, which is why half a million viewers of breaking news had to lean forward to hear Kip Jackson, Action News, scream "MOTHERFUCKER!! YOU SAID WE'D BE ON THIRTY SECOND DELAY!"

The cameraman, who had been trained never ever to break a live feed without being told to, held his camera on the scene. Kip Baldwin gave the viewers what they wanted as he had his breakdown, falling to the ground, kicking and screaming like a five year old. Zack couldn't resist yelling at the camera "Back to you, Jack!"

Martha met them at the door, a sea of feminine faces behind her. As she let Bob and Zack in the door she explained that, after a nice lunch in Sacramento, they came home and had just parked the three cars they'd driven to see Bob in when the Action News van screeched to a stop at the curb. Kip had erupted out of the car, peppering them with questions about where Bob Winkle was, and how did they know him, and why were they there, interspersed with verbal abuse directed at the other men lugging equipment out of the van, screaming at them to "HURRY THE FUCK UP!" Martha, who occasionally watched channel seven news, waited until Kip took a breath and said "I don't like you. I've never liked you. Go away!" As the women tried to get in the house and away from Kip, he tried to force his way in with them. Becca foiled his plan by the simple expedient of jerking the microphone out of his hand and throwing it out into the front yard. While he scrambled, cursing after it, they got inside and locked the door.

Kip was desperate and begged for entry outside the front door, occasionally going to peer into the windows before going back to bang and beg some more. That had been going on for half an hour when Bob got home.

When she finished with her account, Martha looked at Zack, who had stood quietly by.

"Who's this?" she asked. "What happened? They said you were under arrest! Ohhhh Daddy!" She ended up bawling as her emotions let down and she wrapped her arms around him.

"Detective Simpson!" said Val, stepping forward. "How delightful to see you again." she purred.

"Are there any policemen you don't flirt with?" moaned her mother.

Introductions were made and there was a flurry of activity making places for everyone to be able to sit down so they could ask all the innumerable questions, most aimed at Zack. Bob had already told them his version of events, while they visited, but didn't know, at the time, what Zack's investigation had uncovered. When it finally got to the part about whether or not Bob wanted to press charges, with the implication that the company would probably make a monetary offer to avoid going to court, Val yipped.

"I completely forgot!" She jumped up and ran to get her purse. Bringing it back she dug through it and came out with a card in her hand. "When I went back to pick Grandpa up and all the fire trucks and police were there and everything, a man gave me this." She handed the card to Bob.

"Gus Gunderson, Attorney At Law" was emblazoned across the top in red letters. Under that was a laundry list of things that Gus Gunderson did to make a living. The list included "litigation for unlawful injury". There was a phone number, a fax number and a cell phone number listed at the bottom. Under that a website was listed: geteventoday.com. Penciled in behind that were the words "(under construction)".

Zack peered over Bob's shoulder. "Haven't heard of this one before. Must be new in town. It couldn't hurt to give him a call. You didn't hear me say that, by the way."

Zack stayed for supper. Martha had six pizza's delivered and Val ended up sitting beside Zack on the couch while they ate. Zack was one of those people who had a knack for getting others to talk about themselves. It was part of what made him a good detective. He used his skills on Val, enjoying just sitting and watching her as she talked. At one point she turned to him.

"Now that Grandpa isn't under arrest any more we could have dinner or something ... couldn't we?"

Zack would have loved nothing more than to spend time with this ravishing creature.

"Aren't I a little old for you?" he suggested.

"How old are you?" she asked.

Zack was surprised at how hard it was to answer. "Forty-two." he said. "Old enough to be your father, probably."

She wasn't fazed. "I already have a father. I don't need another one. But I'm not dating anybody right now." She glanced at Bob, who was talking to June, and remembered thinking of him as an "older man" for as long as she could remember. "I like older men." she said softly. "At least I think I do. You're the first one I've ever asked out."

"Aren't I the one who's supposed to be asking you out?" he grinned.

"I accept!" she said promptly. "I like movies and hiking and candle lit dinners - even though I've never actually been to one - and I like the zoo and swimming and..."

Zack held up his hand. "I don't think your mother would appreciate a man like me taking her virginal young daughter out on the town."

"Who said I'm a virgin?" asked Val, leaning her breast against his arm.

Women who have young daughters also seem to have exceptional hearing. Sunny's keen ears heard the word "virgin" over on the couch and she went on full alert.

"What, exactly, are you being interrogated about over there?" she asked.

Val looked at her mother. "Zack was just telling me about a recipe he likes. We were debating about sautéing mushrooms. He thinks butter is fine. I say you must always use extra virgin olive oil. What do you think Mom?" She said it with a completely straight face, in a completely normal tone of voice, so much so that she got away with it.

"Oh," said Sunny. "My ears must have been playing a trick on me. You know I never use butter any more dear." She went back to her conversation with Becca.

"Remind me," said Zack softly, "that if I ever do have to interrogate you, a polygraph needs to be involved."

Val smiled and Zack's prick began to stiffen as she said "You won't need that. I'll tell you anything you want to know."

In the end, when Zack left, he had a date with a beautiful young woman. He shook his head as he drove off, wondering if he was crazy or not. He hadn't actually broken any department policy in making the date. She wasn't actually a witness, in the strict sense of the term. Still, if anyone found out about it he knew he'd get a load of crap over it. He decided he didn't care. Spending more time with her would be worth it.

Since everyone was together already, they all agreed to go over to June's house, where Bob was currently staying, and where Rip's journal was, to hear another page or two. Sunny and Gidget expressed the most concern, saying how tired they were, and what a harrowing day it had been, and how they had to go to work the next morning. All the working women had called in sick to go rescue Bob. But, when it was suggested that they could wimp out and go home if they wanted, while the others listened to Bob read, they caved and went with them.

This was the part of the journal where Rip described going up into the mountains for squirrel, with Wolf, and how he heard a voice, and saw a little stocky man toiling up the mountain with a keg on his shoulder. Somehow the man knew his name, and called it out, asking Rip to help him with his burden. Then, alternating carrying the keg, which was heavy and sloshed, the little man led him to a deep ravine that, when the snows were melting, would have been running with water.

Now, however, it was dry, and there was a game of ninepins going on, conducted by more little squarely built men dressed in old timey clothing from the old country, where Rip's forefathers had lived.

All of this was described in page after page of tiny, cramped writing, down to the number of buttons that ran down the leg of the little man carrying the keg, and the fact that trees overhung the little amphitheater in which the game was going on. He described the noise of the game as sounding like thunder, and said several times that he had a strange feeling that something wasn't right, but was just too interested in the goings on to abandon them.

Bob closed the book with a thump that made three of the women jump.

"You can't stop there!" wailed Fran, who had leaned forward so much she was almost on her hands and knees.

"Sunny and Gidget are right." he pronounced solemnly. "They have to go to work and I need to talk to my daughters about what to do with this lawyer thing."

Moans of despair persisted, but Bob was adamant and finally they all left except Martha, June and Betty. Becca asked to stay the night, and her mother nodded after looking at June, who also nodded. It wasn't unusual for Becca to want to spend the night at her grandmother's. There was a guest bedroom. It just so happened that nobody thought about the fact that there was only one guest bedroom.

Well, not until Martha and Betty left. Then June remembered she only had one guest bedroom, and she was forced to let Becca assume that Bob was already staying in that room, rather than sleeping with his daughter.

"You can sleep on the couch, dear." she said to her granddaughter.

"Okay Grandma," said Becca dutifully.

"I need a shower," said Bob. He liked showers a lot. All they'd had when he went to sleep was a tub, and he liked them too, but showers were even better.

"Well, you know where it is," said June, tiredly. "I have a headache. Today was just too much for my old bones. I'm going to take a sleeping pill. You two are on your own for breakfast."

"Night Grandma," said Becca.

"Sleep tight," said Bob.

Bob stood under the shower head leaning against the wall. His face was still raw and blotchy red from the direct spray it had gotten. The doctor had told him how lucky he was that his eyes had been partially closed when the spray hit. Pepper spray wasn't supposed to blind you, but it burned, and it burned eye tissues just like it burned skin. It hurt if the water hit his face directly, so he let it hit the top of his head and cascade down over his face. He had the water pretty cool, and it felt good.

The shower door opened and Becca stood there jaybird naked.

"Is there room for me?" she whispered.

Bob groaned. "Your grandmother is in the next room, young lady." he said softly.

"I know," said Becca, stepping into the shower stall. "But she took a sleeping pill and I know my grandmother. She'll sleep like a log for hours."

Belying her teenaged sure-fire wisdom, the bathroom door opened and June's voice drifted over the top of the shower door.

"I washed the towels Daddy. I just got them out of the dryer. I'll put them out here. You want me to scrub your back?" she asked.

Becca crowded between Bob and the wall away from the shower door as Bob felt a tinge of panic.

"Thanks sweetheart," he said standing full on to the door to try to help hide the girl. "But I'm bushed. I'm almost done. You go on to bed. You need your sleep."

"I know," said June. "I just thought I'd offer. It looks like you could use a good scrubbing."

Bob looked down at his jutting prick, which was pointed directly toward his daughter. The wavy opacity of the glass kept her from seeing clearly enough to tell that there were two people in the shower, but she could see the shadowy shape of his erection.

"Uh ... I'll be fine." he said, not knowing what else to do.

June lowered her voice, to something louder than a whisper, but intended not to carry to the living room. "You just save that beautiful thing for me. When Becca leaves in the morning I'm going to be horny as a goat."

Bob sighed. "Yes dear." he said, as Becca's fingernails bit into his hips where she was holding on tightly.

The door closed with a faint "Night Daddy." and Bob turned to face his great granddaughter. She was wet and bedraggled, but the astonishment on her face was plain. She looked down at his hard prick.

"You ... and Grandma?" she said, her voice hushed with disbelief. "You two ... do it?!"

"It's a long story," said Bob, wondering how he was going to deal with this little problem. He hit upon an idea. He thought it was a brilliant idea. "Remember what you used to do when I was asleep?"

Becca was no longer embarrassed by that. Too much had changed. That day on the blanket had changed the way she thought about a lot of things. She nodded.

"Well you weren't the only one who ... experimented."

Becca's mouth dropped open and then snapped shut. "Oh my gosh, " she whispered loudly.

Bob put a finger up to her mouth to warn her she was getting too loud.

"While you were sleeping?" she gasped. "Grandma ... did it with you? While you were sleeping? She's your daughter!"

"You did things with me while I was sleeping." he pointed out.

"Well yes, I know but ... Grandma?" It was impossible, as it is with most young people, to visualize older people having sex, especially if it was older family members. Her face suddenly flexed and assumed a crafty visage. She wasn't a stupid girl.