Читать книгу This Hero for Hire - Cynthia Thomason - Страница 10
ОглавлениеTHE VOICE ON the phone sounded familiar. But it couldn’t be. Albee Rhodes? Governor Albee Rhodes? Why would Georgia’s esteemed governor be calling small-town cop Boone Braddock? But Chief of Police Stickler’s face had been unusually guarded when he’d insisted that Boone abandon the barking dog complaint he’d been filling out and take a phone call in Stickler’s private office.
“I just want you to have some privacy,” the chief had said.
Boone had wondered why he needed privacy. Had someone in his family taken ill or been in an accident? Boone had just spoken to his brother in Atlanta, and everything had been fine with his wife and Boone’s two adorable nieces. Boone’s mom and dad had been settled in a New Mexico RV park for the past week, enjoying retirement, so as far as he knew, everyone was fine in his world.
Trying not to read anything dire into an unexpected call, Boone had picked up the phone in the chief’s office and said, “This is Braddock.”
His announcement was followed by the booming voice of Georgia’s governor. “Boone, my boy! How are you? Long time no see, eh?” After a pause, the voice continued. “This is your governor, Boone.”
Boone sank into Stickler’s oversized desk chair and took a deep breath. “Governor Rhodes?”
“The one and only. I’m back in the bosom of my hometown for a short visit.”
“That’s nice.” What was he supposed to say? Wanna get together for a beer?
“How are your folks, Boone? Everybody okay?”
“Yes, sir, all doing well.”
“You and I haven’t had a real sit-down since your academy days.”
Boone couldn’t recall any time he’d had a “sit-down” with the governor. Maybe the man was talking about the one time after Boone received his associate’s degree in law enforcement when the family was celebrating his accomplishment and Rhodes, in full-on political mode, had patted Boone on the back in the Mount Union Diner. Did that constitute a conversation? Boone didn’t think so.
Undaunted by his misrepresentation of the facts, Albee continued. “Are you enjoying life as one of Mount Union’s finest?”
Boone thought of the barking dog report and didn’t know quite how to answer the governor’s question. Boone had never lived anywhere else, he loved his hometown and being a cop here had a lot of rewards, but heart-thumping excitement wasn’t one of them. “It’s okay,” he finally managed to say.
“Just had a long talk with Stickler about you, Boone. He says you’re doing a good job and that he can always count on you.”
“Nice to know.”
“Bet you’re wondering why I’m calling today.”
That was an understatement. “I’m curious, yes, Governor.”
“I have a special assignment for you, son. Stickler thinks you’d be perfect for the job, and I agreed with him. This is a family matter, Boone, and requires some tact, finesse, you know what I’m talking about.”
Boone didn’t know. He did know that Albee’s wife had left him years ago, so this detail probably didn’t involve Miranda Rhodes. And the governor’s daughter, Susannah, had left Mount Union at least fifteen years ago, if he remembered correctly. When the governor made one of his infrequent stops in Mount Union, he was almost always alone in his big house on High River Road. Alone except for bodyguards and staff, that is.
Boone gripped the phone more tightly. “What would you like me to do, sir?”
“You’re acquainted with my daughter, Susannah, aren’t you?”
Boone blinked. No way this had anything to do with Susannah Rhodes. Boone barely knew her, hardly remembered her.
“You two kids were in high school together. You must have crossed paths.”
“I think we were two years apart, sir. Susannah was a sophomore when I was a senior.” Boone’s mind jumped to a mind-boggling, impulsive moment in the equipment room outside the Mount Union High School gymnasium. A fresh-faced, pink-cheeked, honey-blond rich kid with a ponytail had pulled him alongside the wrestling mats and planted a remarkable kiss on his mouth. “I just wanted to do that,” she’d said before leaving him standing there like a beached bass gasping for air. Yes, he remembered Susannah and especially how she’d looked walking away from him.
She probably would have been Albee’s pride and joy if she hadn’t been in trouble most of the time. At least that’s what was rumored about the father-daughter relationship.
At the end of Susannah’s sophomore year, Albee had shipped her off to a private school for girls in Atlanta, and from that time on, she was only home during holidays. Because the Rhodes and Braddock families didn’t socialize—ever—Boone never saw her again. But he’d heard stories about her since, involving disciplinary problems at the school and even minor brushes with the law, mostly rebellious teen stuff. She traveled a lot, he knew that, seeming to prefer anywhere but quaint little Mount Union, Georgia. Boone wondered now if she’d settled down since she’d been out from under her father’s influence. Anyway, because of that awkward kiss, and many other reasons, Boone did not want this assignment to involve Susannah Rhodes.
“I figure you have to recall Susie,” Rhodes continued. “She’s the type of girl a fella remembers.”
No kidding. “We were barely acquaintances, sir...”
“No matter. You’re still my choice for this assignment. In fact, if you don’t have any clear memories of Susie, it might be even better.”
Strange thing for a father to say. Besides, Boone did have a few personal memories of Susannah. Cute, spontaneous, popular and out of his league, despite that jaw-dropping teenage kiss.
The governor chuckled, an unnatural, practiced sound. “Susannah had some problems growing up, I won’t deny it. Mostly because she flocked to birds of a different feather, not our nice, genteel Georgia gals. Like her mama, Susie was always looking for the next adventure. But I wouldn’t want you to have any preconceived opinions about the kind of woman she is now. I think she’s finally worked that wild spell out of her system.”
Boone tapped a pencil on the top of the chief’s desk. He was getting a bad feeling about this whole conversation. “What is the nature of this assignment?”
“Susannah’s coming home, Boone. She arrives in...well, I don’t know exactly. Maybe one day, maybe three. I don’t have to tell you that this announcement took me by surprise. She’s been in Oregon for these last couple of years, and now, on the spur of the moment, she’s decided to come home to Georgia. Says she’s going to help on my reelection campaign.”
“I’ll bet that makes you happy, sir.” Again, this conversation between two near strangers was perplexing—Boone didn’t know what part he was supposed to be playing. He didn’t know if Albee and Susannah had maintained loving ties through the years, or if they’d hardly seen each other. One thing he did know was that he probably wouldn’t recognize Susannah Rhodes all grown up and filled out.
“Oh, it does. I’m pleased as can be that my girl’s coming home, but I won’t be here much of the time she’s back in the house. This is a big state, son. You know that. And I’ve got a campaign to run and a lot of people who need to be persuaded that Albee R. Rhodes is the man they want for another four years.” He chuckled again, a politician’s laugh. “I’ve got to be shaking hands statewide for the next few weeks, not babysitting a grown woman.”
“Babysitting, sir? Susannah’s only two years younger than I am. That makes her thirty-two. I can’t imagine that she’d need babysitting.”
“Well, of course not, Boone. That was a poor word choice.”
“So how exactly do I fit in with Susannah’s homecoming?” It was time to cut to the chase. He still had a dog complaint to file, and he was meeting the two high school football coaches at the tavern later for darts. His life was full and busy, for the most part, without adding a spoiled rich woman to his schedule.
“Susie’s a good girl,” Rhodes said. “She’s got a heart as big as all outdoors, but she’s always been a bit unpredictable. Her mother encouraged that trait, not that I approved....Well, it doesn’t matter. Susie can also be stubborn. Thinks she’s invincible, like all you young folks do.”
Boone didn’t think that about himself. He learned in the academy that no one was immune to the dangers in the real world. All it takes is one bullet or one out-of-control automobile. But okay, he’d go along with Rhodes. “What does this have to do with me?” he asked.
“She won’t let me put a security detail on her. Says it’s a waste of money, and she doesn’t need it.”
Figuring where this conversation was headed, Boone said, “She probably doesn’t need a detail, sir. This is Mount Union, Georgia. I doubt anyone will bother or harass her.”
“Not any of our good Mount Union folks, I agree,” the governor said. “But I’m sorry to say that there are people who want to see me toppled in my race for reelection, people with strongly opposing political beliefs. You may not be aware of this, but Georgia is becoming a hotbed of political strife these days. Blue counties, red counties, politicians with widely varying agendas.”
“Still, sir, I don’t think any of this strife will affect your daughter.”
“Can’t take that chance. These next few weeks are crucial as far as swaying voters is concerned. Someone from the press might hear that Susannah is in town and try to corner her for a damaging quote to use against me. Not that she’d intend to say anything that would hurt my chances, but I remember a time or two when some surprising things came out of her mouth.”
And Boone suddenly remembered that mouth in inappropriate detail.
“I want you on Susannah’s case 24/7,” Albee said. “Keep your eyes and ears on her and don’t let anyone you don’t know get her all flustered. Trouble seems to have a way of finding my little girl.”
“Has there been a specific threat against either you or your daughter?” Boone had to ask.
“Oh, nothing specific, but threats are part of the nature of the political arena. I wouldn’t worry if Susie weren’t coming home.” The governor cleared his throat. “Political campaigns are messy, son. You know that. Folks start digging for dirt that is best left unturned.”
Boone couldn’t help wondering what details involving the governor’s family were best left buried. “Well, sir, if there has been a threat, maybe you should advise Susannah not to come.”
Rhodes’s voice lowered a degree. “Like that girl would ever listen to me. And I don’t want to discourage her. Truth is, I’m pleased that she wants to help me. I’ve always hoped she would show a side more like me than her mother. I just want to be able to go out among the good folks of Georgia knowing Susie’s in the hands of an upstanding Mount Union boy.” He chuckled. “I don’t mean that literally, Boone. About your hands...”
“Of course not, sir.”
“Just watch out for her. And be mindful that sometimes she’s been known to exhibit small lapses of judgment. Susie is spontaneous, tends to speak before she thinks. You know what I mean.”
Boone didn’t know, other than that one kiss, which was spontaneous to a fault.
“That’s why I handpicked you—a single guy with no family responsibilities.”
“I do have responsibilities, Governor,” Boone argued.
“Oh, sure, but I want Susie to be your primary one for the next couple of months.”
This was perhaps the craziest idea that Boone had ever heard. He definitely was going to decline the opportunity to be a nursemaid to the governor’s daughter. “I appreciate your confidence in me, Governor, but, as you’ve pointed out, I already have a job, and it keeps me pretty busy.”
“Don’t worry about that, Boone. I’ve cleared this with Stickler. He knows you’ll be working private duty for a while. And I’ll pay you more than what you’re making on the police force. Normally I’d have two or three men staying at the house with Susie, but she won’t hear of it.”
“What makes you think she’ll want me hanging around?”
“She knows you...”
“Not really, Governor.” A nod or two in a high school hallway—and one impulsive kiss—doesn’t equal a lasting friendship. Boone had barely spoken to Susannah Rhodes before she went off to boarding school, and he doubted she would appreciate a local cop dogging her every move.
“You’ll move into the house, of course. Take your pick of five bedrooms.”
This was going too far. Boone had his own apartment. It wasn’t much, but it was his. And he was custodian of his grandfather’s land. He had obligations he couldn’t walk away from just because a high-brow politician decided he wanted to hire someone to keep his pampered offspring out of trouble. And that’s what this was about, Boone had decided. Boone was supposed to keep darling Susannah from causing a commotion that might cost her daddy the election. This was not what Boone had trained for.
He didn’t want to insult the governor, so he stalled. “Let me think this over, sir. I’ll get back to you.”
Rhodes repeated his self-deprecating chuckle. “I don’t know how to put this exactly, Boone, but there isn’t much to think over. Stickler suggested you. He praised your abilities on the force. And when he brought up your name, I recognized it right off. You’re a hometown boy, and that’s what I want—someone who knows the Rhodes family and how important this election is and will do his best to see that Susie’s homecoming is as smooth as glass.”
Boone stood and stared into the squad room. Chief Stickler was pretending to go over some reports, but he looked up when Boone let out a deep sigh. He cut a sheepish grin at Boone and raised his hands as if to say, “Nothing I could do.” Stickler then raised two fingers in the air and mouthed the words, “Two months, that’s all.” He followed the gesture with another one—the universal sign of greed, thumb rubbing against fingertips.
No doubt, Boone could use the money. His grandfather had left a modest bank balance to keep his small farm running, but eventually the financial responsibility would fall on Boone’s shoulders. Chickens would still have to be fed, two horses would have to be cared for and fences would have to be mended. The election would be in early November. Could he be a nanny for two months?
“Boone? You there, son?”
The governor’s voice brought him back. “Yes, sir. When did you say Susannah would arrive?”
“Couple of days probably. But you never know with her.”
“I won’t be able to be out at your place twenty-four hours a day. I have chores, things I have to do...”
“I know about your duties at your grandpa’s place, and that’s okay. Stickler said when you can’t be there, that nice young Officer Menendez in your department can fill in for you. Important thing is for you to be there at night and to guarantee that Susie won’t be caught off guard by someone who doesn’t have the family’s best interests at heart.”
The governor’s plan had underlying ramifications that Boone didn’t want to think about. How the heck was he supposed to dictate behavior to a member of Georgia’s first family? How was he supposed to keep her from saying the wrong thing if a person from the media showed up? Boone thought of his partner, Lila Menendez. He knew she’d hate this detail, too. Lila was a good cop, honest and hard working. But she wouldn’t want to take care of a Georgia peach who probably had never even had a bruise on her delicate skin.
After getting a few more details, Boone disconnected and walked into the squad room. He promptly thanked his chief for being part of an ambush that Boone was going to live to regret.
“Sorry, kid, but it was the governor,” Stickler said. “What was I to say?”
“Anything but yes,” Boone answered.
At least, if the governor’s timetable were correct, he had a couple of days before his duties would commence. Because there didn’t appear to be anything he could do to avoid this assignment, maybe he could at least put himself in the proper mindset.
Two hours later a call came into the station. A citizen was reporting that a truck had gone off the pavement on High River Road. Boone was dispatched to investigate.
Calls to High River were rare and usually involved a couple of old-time farmers bickering over whose cow was whose, or occasionally it was a minor vandalism report from one of the mini mansions belonging to Mount Union’s elite population. Of course, the governor’s personal residence was out there, too, and right now, that’s all Boone could think about.
When he reached the scene, he saw a truck on its side in a ditch. An older model Suburban was parked on the shoulder, perhaps a Good Samaritan who’d stopped to help. The lady who’d phoned in the report, a longtime High River Road resident, had called both the police and EMTs. Boone arrived before an ambulance, but he quickly deduced that one was not going to be necessary. The driver of the truck, a man Boone recognized, was outside the vehicle stomping around in the dust, waving his arms and shouting.
“Anybody need an ambulance?” Boone called to the driver.
“Not yet,” the middle-aged man hollered back. “But if I catch her, she darn well might!”
Who was he referring to? One of the hens he just noticed running around? The truck had been carrying chickens to slaughter, a common sight on Georgia roads. But these lucky broilers had postponed certain death by an odd quirk of fate that had sent their truck off the road. A few crates remained in the bed of the truck, the panicked poultry prisoners squawking and trying to flap their wings in the confined space. This was not how they thought their day would end up.
Not all the birds faced such a frightening scenario. Dozens of the doomed cluckers were right now scurrying over the meadow bordering Route 213. Free as...well, birds, Boone thought, hiding a smile. He watched the scattered hens run in circles in the bright sun.
The truck driver, a Mount Union citizen named Hank Simpson, darted among his escaped birds, trying to nab as many as he could. Grabbing a wild chicken by one leg wasn’t a pleasant job at any time, but it was fairly easy if the birds were packed into row houses. Trying to wrap your hand around the spindly appendage in an open meadow was nearly impossible. Boone had no interest in trying to help in a situation that would only make him look considerably less intelligent than a broiler. And necessitate him covering his peck marks with iodine when he got home.
“Give it up, Hank!” Boone hollered. “You’ll be lucky to round up a dozen.”
The driver, who’d obviously eaten too much fried chicken in his life, stopped long enough to pant and point a trembling finger at a figure bent down beside the ditch. “Arrest her!” he shouted. “She’s releasing hens faster than I can round them up.”
Oh, boy. This wasn’t just about Hank’s careless driving. The accident had another witness. Crouched in the dirt was a lady whose sole purpose was opening crate doors to let the birds escape.
“Hey, you there! Stop that,” he called.
The truck driver raced toward the woman, but she quickly outmaneuvered him and began working furiously on another set of crates. More chickens ran into the sweet late summer afternoon.
She wasn’t so lucky avoiding Boone. He grasped her arm and hauled her upright. “What do you think you’re doing?”
She breathed heavily as she struggled against his grip. She looked familiar. She was about five foot five, slim, dressed in jeans and a pink T-shirt. Well, it might have been pink, just like her hair might have been blond, if the woman hadn’t been covered head to toe in chicken feathers. A noxious odor that any boy raised in the chicken farming area of Georgia would know rose from her clothes and clogged his nose. He jerked his head away from her. “Phew!”
She made a half-hearted effort to pick a few feathers off her shirt. “You could offer to help, you know. Think how these birds must feel. They have to breathe this rotten air every day of their lives.”
That voice! He remembered it from high school. I just wanted to do that. No. This couldn’t be happening. Boone didn’t have time to contemplate the identity of this chicken savior, not with flashing lights from an approaching ambulance demanding his attention and the huffing, shouting Hank Simpson bearing down on them. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said. “What did you think you were doing letting all these birds out of the crates.”
“Are you gonna arrest her, Boone?” Simpson demanded.
Boone held up his hand, an attempt to calm the man long enough to get the facts. He continued staring at the woman. Maybe he was wrong, and she wasn’t Susannah. “Well?”
“I was saving their lives,” she said. “This truck practically rolled over. Most of the crates have fallen out and some slipped into the creek bed. If I hadn’t opened the doors, the birds would have drowned.”
“That’s hogwash,” the driver said. “I would have gotten the crates out of the water in time, and they would still have been full of chickens!”
“I don’t see how, Hank,” Boone said, taking in the number of crates that had landed in the creek. “I think the lady might be right about the chickens dying.”
“Of course, I’m right,” she said. “Now will you let go of me?”
“Don’t take off,” he warned. “What you did is still illegal.” He let go of her arm. “You can’t just go around tampering with other people’s property.”
“Even if that property consists of living, breathing creatures that can’t take care of themselves?” She stared with disgust at the old truck, which had obviously made many trips to the slaughterhouse in its years on the road. “What you see here, Sheriff...”
“Officer,” he corrected.
“Whatever. What you see is abusive treatment of the worst kind.”
“Ma’am, this is the way all broilers are taken to slaughter. Hank wasn’t doing anything that isn’t done on a weekly basis around these parts.”
“That, Officer, does not make it right. The way those poor poultry were stuffed into the boxes is abominable. Did you know that a quarter of them would have been dead by the time they reached Augusta? And many of those still alive would have suffered severe injuries.”
Boone scratched the back of his neck. “I’m really not up on my chicken statistics, ma’am, but I feel the need to point out the most relevant detail here. These chickens were destined for a fate much worse than being injured anyway.”
She stared off into the distance, where hens were scampering over the meadow. And she smiled. “There’s a right way and a wrong way to do a job,” she said.
“And a legal and illegal way,” Boone replied.
The ambulance came to a stop. Boone asked the woman if she had been in the accident and if she needed medical attention.
“No. I’m fine. And I had nothing to do with the truck ending up in the creek. Your buddy here...” She pointed to the driver. “He took that last curve with a bit too much enthusiasm.”
Boone dismissed the ambulance and went to his vehicle to get the standard incident report and a clipboard. When he returned, he said, “These birds are the property of Mr. Sam Jonas, and his driver here, Hank, was just doing his job.”
Hank pounded his fist into his opposite hand. “And someone’s got to pay for the loss of income this crazy woman caused today.”
“Maybe you should start by explaining to your employer that you can’t drive a truck!” she said.
Hank stepped forward, and Boone placed his palm on the man’s chest. “Let’s all calm down now. We’re obviously not going to get those chickens back.”
“Then do your job and arrest this woman,” Hank said.
“I intend to.”
“What?” The woman crossed her feather-covered arms over her chest and glared at him. “This would have been a massacre if I hadn’t come along when I did.”
Boone didn’t quite consider the loss of a few chickens going to slaughter as a definitive example of a massacre, but he knew better than to say that out loud.
“You caused a loss to one of our citizens, ma’am,” he said. “Hank’s right that someone’s got to pay, either for the loss of his chickens or by spending some time in jail—or both.” He swept his arm toward his squad car. “Sooo...if you’ll just follow me.”
“You’re taking me to jail?”
“For now, yes, I am.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” She looked across the road, where the large, weathered SUV was parked. “What about my car?”
“I’ll make sure it’s towed into town,” Boone said. “And I’ll call another tow to get you out of the ditch, Hank.”
He scratched the SUV’s license plate number on his report and stopped short. He hadn’t been wrong. The blond hair, the voice, the governor’s mention of Oregon. This day was only getting worse. “You’re from Oregon?” he said.
“Yes, so?”
“What’s your name?”
“Susannah Rhodes. Does the name Rhodes mean anything to you, Officer?”
Did it ever. It meant he had to tell this woman’s father that he’d put his worrisome little princess, covered in chicken dung, in jail. But on the other hand, it also meant he might have found a way out of this ridiculous assignment. Surely Albee wouldn’t want him for this detail now.
