“Higho, higho!” Owen shouted, giggling. “Do a undo-dog!”
Carlton waited for the swing to come back to him and grabbed the blue plastic of the seat, suspending Owen. “Ready?” he asked the back of Owen's blond head. “Hold on tight,” he commanded making sure the little boy's chubby fingers were securely wrapped around the chains. Then he ran forward, pushing the swing ahead of him and ducking under, the toes of Owen's tennis shoes grazing the top of his head.
Owen giggled and shrieked and when Carlton turned back to look at him, he couldn't help smiling. “A-din, a-din!” Owen managed, out of breath with laughter.
Carlton began making his way around the swing's trajectory to give Owen another push when his phone began to ring.
“Detective Lassiter,” he answered, giving the swing another push.
“Carlton,” Chief Vick replied in her usual crisp manner. “I just wanted to let you know that the Jamie Davis trial has been moved up to tomorrow afternoon. You and O'Hara are still going to be able to testify, right?”
“Of course, chief,” he said readily. The sooner that murderer was sitting behind bars with a life sentence, the better.
“Do you know where O'Hara is? She didn't answer her phone.”
“At a concert. She probably didn't hear it,” Carlton said, pushing Owen.
“I left her a message so make sure she gets it.”
“I will.”
“Thank you, Detective. I'll see you tomorrow.”
Carlton hung up the phone and gave Owen another push absently. The Davis case had really been O'Hara's; they'd been so swamped that week that he and O'Hara had been working separate cases, but Carlton had been with her to make the arrest. They'd caught him at the airport trying to flee the country with his nephew, Nelson Davis. O'Hara and Spencer had already discovered the murder weapon in Jamie Davis' apartment and the man had confessed almost as soon as they got back to the station. He remembered O'Hara saying something about the nephew but he'd gotten a lead on his own case and hadn't payed much attention to the follow-up on the Davis case.
“Higho, higho!” Owen cried.
Carlton realized he had been forgetting to push the swing and used both hands to give Owen a good push, forgetting about the Davis case for the moment.
The swings held Owen's attention for a few more minutes and then Carlton was cajoled into a game of hide-and-seek, even though there were few places to hide his tall frame on the small playground.
As it began to grow dark, Carlton coaxed Owen inside with the promise of a movie and a popsicle. Carlton unlocked the door with the spare key he'd found before leaving the apartment and Owen dashed ahead, making for the freezer.
As was his habit, Carlton closed the door and stood listening for a moment, just to make sure everything was as it should be. He heard Owen crossing the linoleum in the kitchen, and the flap of plastic blinds. He frowned. There was a window open somewhere.
“Owen!” he called, stepping further into the apartment.
The little boy came scampering back. “I have a possicle!” he said, reaching for Carlton's hand.
“Stay right behind me,” the detective ordered.
Owen looked puzzled but obeyed the stern command and pressed against the back of Carlton's leg as they moved into the apartment. Carlton headed for Owen's room first, his hand never far from the gun holstered at the small of his back under his pale blue polo.
The door to Owen's room was half-closed and Carlton pushed it open slowly, his eyes going to the window. Through the gaps between the plastic slats he could see that the window stood open, a light breeze rattling the blinds. As he stepped forward to close it, he thought he saw movement outside, and he narrowed his eyes and stared out into the poorly-lit landscaping behind the apartment complex. He didn't see anything else, and assuming it must have been the breeze moving the trees, he started to close the window but Owen cried out.
“No! It hasta 'tay open!”
Carlton glanced at him. “Why on earth does it have to stay open?”
“'Cause Mommy sayed it's too hot,” Owen said, pulling at Carlton's leg.
Now that he thought about it, Carlton remembered O'Hara mentioning their AC was broken. “All right,” he conceded. He was still suspicious about that movement he'd seen outside, but he didn't think it was worth fighting the little boy on. “We'll leave it open.”
By the time Carlton was satisfied with the safety of the apartment, Owen was bouncing with excitement about the promised popsicle. “I have a owange one. You have a bwue one,” he said, running to the freezer. He squatted down and then leaped into the air, fingers outstretched for the handle on the freezer door. He was still several inches short so Carlton opened it.
“You want orange?” he asked, pulling the bag out.
Owen started to nod, but paused. “Actuawy, I wanna puwpo one.”
“Are you sure you don't want green?” Carlton said, not realizing that the sarcasm would be lost on a three-year-old.
“Yeah! I do wanna gween one!” he said, pointing enthusiastically.
Carlton sighed and reached in the bag for a green popsicle. “Sit down at the table so you don't make a mess,” he said, unwrapping it and handing it to the little boy.
Owen took the popsicle but shook his head. “Daddy sayed we can eat possicles in the fwont woom.”
“I'm sure he did,” Carlton muttered.
“You eat a gween one too, Unca Wassie!” Owen said, jumping up and down. “And den you can watch a movie wif me!”
The little boy looked up at him with a big, hopeful grin. Carlton reached into the bag and drew out a green popsicle before putting the bag back in the freezer. “Do not drip on the carpet. Or the couch. Or your clothes.”
Owen danced around happily before dashing into the front room. He skidded to a stop in front of the wire DVD rack next to the TV and looked over the titles critically, sucking on his popsicle. Carlton unwrapped his own popsicle and sat down on the couch, wincing at some of the choices the DVD rack offered. He really hoped he wasn't going to have to sit through The Brave Little Toaster or one of Spencer's stupid 80s movies.
“Dis one,” Owen announced, pulling one out.
Carlton looked at it. “What the – High School Musical?”
“Uh-huh.” Owen put his already dripping popsicle on the TV stand so he could use both hands to open the case and put the DVD in the player. Carlton winced but decided he was okay with letting O'Hara or Spencer clean that up.
“Are you sure you don't want to watch Die Hard or something?” he asked hopefully as the little boy pressed play.
Owen grabbed his popsicle and hopped up on the couch. “Nope! Dis is bestest.”
The little boy leaned into Carlton, his eyes already glued to the screen and the popsicle back in his mouth. Deciding to make the best of it, Carlton licked his own popsicle and settled in.