Weaving the Strands by Barbara Hinske

around his neck. He crouched
down and ran his hands over the animal. His ribs showed and his hair was matted
and dirty; he’d been on his own for quite a while.
    “No worries now, buddy,” Haynes spoke softly.
“We’ll find you someone who will take care of you; you won’t have to live like
this anymore.”
    Haynes and the dog trudged back to the car, where
the backseat contained a kennel that Haynes regularly used for strays. It felt
good to stretch his legs on such a sunny day. He allowed the dog to sniff and
mark as many spots as it wanted along the way. They were no more than thirty
feet from the Mercedes when a black sedan with darkly tinted windows pulled
into the grassy area and blocked their progress.
    Haynes groaned inwardly as the portly form of
Chuck Delgado emerged from the car.
    “Frankie boy,” Delgado called. “What you doin’ out
here walking that piss-poor mutt?”
    Haynes ignored the question. “Why are you here,
Charles? I thought we agreed it would be safest for everyone if we kept our
distance except when we were both present for town council meetings.”
    “Somethin’s changed, Frankie.”
    Haynes raised an eyebrow.
    “Wheeler may be crackin’. Sources on the inside
say he’s tryin’ to cut a deal with that pansy Scanlon.”
    “We always knew that was a risk. He doesn’t know
anything that would link us to him.”
    “The boys don’t like it, Frankie. They think it
may be time for Wheeler to have an accident. Maybe an assisted suicide.”
    “Damn it, Chuck. We can’t go around murdering
people. For God’s sake, he’s got a wife and kids. I hear his thirteen-year-old
son is having a terrible time. We should be helping his family, not trying to
kill him.”
    “Don’t go gettin’ soft on me here, Frankie. You’re
in this up to your ass, like the rest of us. When he talks, we all go down.”
    “If he has a suspicious death, that’ll put the
spotlight on this whole mess even more. Are you guys clueless? That’s what
happens with cover-ups. We were careful. Wheeler doesn’t have any information
to trade for a plea deal. Did it ever occur to you that Scanlon might have
started this rumor to get us to do something stupid?”
    Haynes could see this possibility hadn’t occurred
to Delgado. God, what a moron the guy was. How in the hell had he ever let himself
get mixed up with this bunch of goons?
    “Okay, Frankie, I’ll talk to the boys.”
    “I’m out, Charles. I’m done with all of you. This
is our last meeting in private. Don’t contact me again.”
    Delgado lunged and grabbed Haynes by the lapel.
“You’re out when—and if—we say you’re out. You got that Frankie?”
He released Haynes with a shove that sent him stumbling to keep his balance.
    Haynes watched silently as Delgado swaggered back
to his car and pulled away, the stray dog whimpering at his side.

Chapter 11
    By the end of the week, Gloria
hadn’t run into Glenn at the dining hall or received a call from him. Probably
thinks I’m making a pass at him, the old fool, she thought with a trace of
irritation. She knew that other women swarmed the widowers at Fairview
Terraces. She had never chased after a man and was not about to do so now.
    Gloria picked up one of the volumes Glenn had
dropped off and turned again to Walt Whitman. She read a poem each morning,
right after her daily Bible study. Knitting and poetry—what an odd combination
of things he’d brought into her life, she mused.
    Across the complex, Glenn again checked his watch.
He had been up and out before six every morning this week helping to set up the
new food pantry at his church—way too early to take Gloria up on her
offer of breakfast. The whole idea was ridiculous, really. He didn’t even like
biscuits and gravy. But he longed for someone interesting to talk to. Not that
his children and grandchildren weren’t interesting. And God knows they had kept
close tabs on him since Nancy died. But he wanted someone who shared