Thirty-Two
AFTER SWINGING BY SPROCKETS to grab dinner—I opt for the Triple-Triple-Triple, three hamburger patties, each with cheese and bacon, ignoring Helen’s dirty look when I do so—we go back to the station. Soon, we’re in her office, eating our dinner, waiting for Nate and Gladys.
“I wonder where they are?” I say, taking a bite.
“Gladys certainly sounded like it was important, though important and Nate rarely go hand-in-hand,” Helen says.
“Helen, you have really got to lighten up on the guy. He drives me crazy, too, but he really does a good job when he focuses. And, he loves Gladys. That says a lot about his good taste.”
“We’ll just see how long that lasts,” she says.
“Helen Parr, you are a cynic.”
“It’s a well-earned cynicism, Tom. Police work will do that to you. I’m actually
