chapter twelve

word count: 488 words

Bud Kramer watched the garage door going down and got out of the car, slamming the door with an obstinate thud. Home at last. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was almost midnight. The extra time it took to drive home to the city from the prison really ate up time. And he's been at the prison until dark, even stopping by the shabby cafeteria to grab a hamburger. Only one lady was there, making preparations for tomorrow's breakfast before she closed down for the day. With a wink and a twenty-dollar bill, he got her to zap a burger for him.

He crawled up the stairs feeling his age, sixty-two. In a couple of years, if he had any other brains at all, he'd retire.

"Bud?"

At the sound of her voice, he rushed to the living room. "Jane," he said, kissing her cheek. A tall man, he had to bend low to touch her, sitting in a wheelchair like she was.

"You're late. I was worried."

"I got busy. I turned off my phone and forgot to call."

"I wish you wouldn't do that. I get frantic, especially when you're out in the field."

"We can't have that," he replied, holding her close. "You know you are the most precious part of my life." The words were murmured with such gentleness it would surprise the people he worked with. No one knew scary Bud had a soft side. Actually, no one knew he had a wife, let alone an invalid one.

"Drink?" he asked, heading for the bar.

"Just some white wine, dear."

"I was up to my neck in it today, trying to figure how that fetus in a canister at the prison got there."

"Well, it was on the news. Maybe someone will call in with a clue."

"In my dreams," Bud Kramer replied wearily. "So what's new on the home front?"

"Not much. My sister called. Sandy is pregnant again. Will that girl ever stop?"

"Again? How can those two hope to feed all those kids?" He handed her the wine while taking a long sip of Jack Daniels. He sat next to her. "Do you ever regret we never had any?"

"No, Bud, no! It would be too...complicated."

"Yep." His mind wandered. That Sandy...pretty soon Bob would have to rob a bank just to make ends meet. He'd end up in prison. Poor schmuck! Wheels turned in his head as Bud laid the glass down. Pregnant women...prison. Oh my God! Jumping up, he blurted out, "Those canisters came in from the outside. But that baby was born within hours of it being found. That baby was born inside prison walls!"

"Bud, you're right."

"I'm going to check out every woman who works at that place. It might be one of them. I'll find her."