The following day, and against the doctor’s wishes, Hutch checked himself out of the hospital to return home. He pulled into his driveway jus’ as Deputy Melton was preparing to pull away from the curb in front of Hutch’s home.
“Heard you left the hospital,” Melton greeted Hutch as both men exited their vehicles.
“Yeah, needed a decent cup of coffee and a little more bracing than a couple of Tylenol,” Hutch held up a brown paper bag in one hand and the sleeved-paper cup in the other, then strangely found himself smiling.
“Sorry about Lulu Belle,” Melton offered.
“Thanks,” Hutch said with a heavy sigh, “Twice she saved my life, but I doubt you came here only to offer your condolences.”
Hutch’s directness caught Melton off guard, “You’re right. I came here to tell you that the guy you killed, also killed Mr. Whitehouse or at least the rifle he used to shoot you is the killer’s weapon.”
“Anything else?” Hutch asked impatiently.
“Well, we still don’t know who the shooter is, no hits from CODIS as of yet, and the rifle is reported to have been stolen out of Idaho about a year and a half ago.”
“You’ll let me know if and when you find anything out, right?
“You bet, Mr. Fitzgerald.”
“Hutch…please, call me Hutch.”
“You got it. Hutch.”
“If there’s nothing else, you wanna come in have a couple of shots with me? No fun drinking alone. Besides, I’m drinking to my other, even deeper pain.”
Melton wrinkled his brows, not understanding the reference.
“Lulu Belle,” Hutch quickly answered his puzzlement.
The deputy looked at his watch, “Sure, what the hell!”
Happy to have company, Hutch slipped the key into the deadbolt, turned it, pushing the front door open. He didn’t expect the overwhelming silence.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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