“No, not him. At least, he hadn’t gotten to it yet. I know you’re still mad at me, Casey …”

“I’m not mad. Just very busy.”

“Will you help me with this? Please?”

I tell her I will.

“Spelunking,” Dalton says, leaning over my desk.

“It’s an awesome word,” I say.

“It is. And we’re doing it tomorrow.”

“We are?”

He heads for the back door. I’ve learned this isn’t his way of avoiding a conversation—it’s him moving it to another location.

He takes his seat. I take mine, perched on the railing as we watch a raven hop along the forest’s edge.

“You gotta stop feeding her,” he says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He snorts. After a minute, the raven hops up the steps and onto the railing beside me. She waits. I count off thirty seconds. Then I take a bread crust from my pocket. She waits until I hold it out, gingerly snags it from my hand, and flies off.

Dalton sighs. Deeply.

“It’s your fault,” I say. “You gave me the book that says ravens are smart. I’m testing that.”

Another sigh.

“I am. She’s learned to recognize me and know that she will get exactly one crust per day. It’s a treat. Not a meal.” I glance over at him, going serious. “If you really want me to stop, I will.”

“Nah. Have your fun. But if I catch you giving her a name …”

“I won’t. She’s a wild animal. Not a pet.”

He nods, satisfied that his student has learned her lessons well.

“What was this about us going caving?” I ask.

“A few of us are heading out tomorrow. You’ve been working the case non-stop. A break will freshen your brain.”

I say yes quickly. Another lesson assimilated. If I want something, admit it. None of this pissing around pretending I don’t really care one way or the other. He wants me to care—one way or the other.

Four

It’s spelunking day. We’re closing up the station at noon. Kenny and a couple of the militia guys will be in charge. I joke that we should make Val man the station, and we spend the morning trading quips about that. Or Anders and I do. Dalton just rolls his eyes and mutters.

I’ve given up on Val. She reminds me of a principal I had in elementary school. We swore she was a vampire who could only arrive before dawn and leave after dark, which explained why no one caught more than fleeting glimpses of her. We’re sure Val is reporting on us via her satellite phone, but she comes out so rarely that we never have to worry about watching over our shoulder.

Val’s only defender is Beth. “She’s a deeply unhappy woman,” she’ll say.

“Then she should get off her ass, do some work, and be less unhappy,” Dalton replies.

“That’s not the solution for everyone, Eric. I think there’s a story there.”

“And I think you just want there to be one, to give her an excuse.”

Anyway, that’s Val. Dalton did tell her we were going caving. She didn’t care.

The idea of taking off for the afternoon seems very carefree and spontaneous. Like skipping school on the first gorgeous day of spring. Except I never actually did that, and I suspect if Dalton had lived down south, he wouldn’t have, either. So while we have every intention of cutting out at noon, the reality is a little different.

At ten, we get a call—which in Rockton means someone comes running through the station’s front door. There was a break-in at the greenhouse last night. All three of us go to investigate. It seems like a simple case of someone deciding, presumably drunk or high, that he really needed a tomato. Or an entire vine of tomatoes. One is stripped clean, with a tomato crushed underfoot as the thief made his escape.

Yes, it’s almost laughable. The Case of the Trampled Tomatoes. In Rockton, though, resource theft is a serious offence. It has to be.

We could abandon the investigation at noon. But it would send the wrong message to would-bethieves. Dalton sends Anders off to guide the others and says we’ll catch up.

At twelve-thirty, we find the thief. It takes actual detective work—interviewing two witnesses, examining footprints left at the scene, and then banging on the door of the suspect, who is sound asleep, with squashed tomato on her shoe and three ripe ones on her counter.

Jen protests her innocence. She accuses me of having a vendetta against her. She attempts to hit me. I put her down. Dalton is amused. He even smiles. Then he lets me escort her, arm wrenched behind her back, to the cell, where she’ll spend the afternoon, namely because we really do want to get off on our trip and this is the easiest way to contain the howling woman.

I’m finishing a brief report on the incident when Diana swings into the station with a wide grin. For a second, I forget anything’s happened between us.

“Hey,” she says. “I heard you had some excitement this morning, and I’m betting you haven’t eaten lunch.”

“I—”

“So I’m taking you out. No tomatoes. I promise.”

“Today’s—”

“Your lucky day, my friend. Having solved the great tomato caper, even your asshole of a boss can’t deny you an afternoon off.” The door opens as my asshole boss steps in and stands behind Diana. I try to cut her short, but she’s going full steam. “I have also wrangled an afternoon off, which means we are doing lunch and then going rafting. It’s gotten too cold for pond dips, but it’s still fine for raft lounging.”