Читать книгу Jack Murray, Sheriff - Janice Kay Johnson - Страница 9

“I WISH I COULD GIVE you better news,” Beth’s lawyer said, shaking his head. “We could go back to court and contest your ex-husband’s visitation rights, but frankly, I don’t think we’d win there unless you can bring proof that he’s done more than be late a few times bringing the girls back.” Mr. Knightley held up one hand to forestall her protest. “I’m not telling you what I think, I’m telling you what the judge will think. I have no doubt whatsoever that Mr. Sommers is at least trying to scare you. But we need proof.”

Beth let out a long breath. “Thank you, Mr. Knightley. I really didn’t expect anything else. But I hoped.”

The attorney was perhaps fifty, a handsome man who had gained more presence and authority with the addition of an extra thirty or so pounds that might have looked like fat on another man. He had done some legal work for her business, so she had turned to him when she decided to file for divorce.

“How do the girls feel about their father?” he asked, rolling a rosewood pen between his palms.

“I’m not sure,” Beth admitted. “The divorce upset them, of course, but also…” She hesitated. “I think they were relieved. There was a lot of yelling going on. And yet, until recently they seemed happy to see their dad and looked forward to their visits. It’s harder for Stephanie, because even though she only sees Ray every other week, she feels like she’s missing out on things her friends are doing. But lately…” She sought for words to define her amorphous awareness of their uneasiness. “I know they’ve both been, maybe not scared, but uncomfortable when he’s kept them so late. But I can’t in all honesty say he’s a terrible father or they’re frightened of him. That’s why I’ve hesitated about doing anything too drastic. I think it’s important for them to have a relationship with their own father.”

The lawyer nodded and set the pen back in its stand. “I wish I knew better how to advise you. Have you considered talking to a counselor? You might find somebody who’s an expert on anger management, who could at least give suggestions on the best way to defuse any situations.”

“That’s an idea,” Beth agreed, picking up her purse. “I won’t take any more of your time, Mr. Knightley. I appreciate the information you’ve given me.”

He stood, too. “If the police catch him red-handed pulling one of these malicious tricks, we might have the ammunition to go back to court. I think that would qualify as compelling evidence showing that Mr. Sommers is an unfit parent.”

And then what? Beth thought bleakly. How would the kids come to terms with a label like that put on their father? He was half of them; she had no desire to make them despise that part of themselves.

But what else could she do?

Nobody had any other suggestions, that was for sure. All she heard was “Call the police.” Wasn’t that supposed to be a last resort?

Well, one thing she could do, Beth thought, was talk to Stephanie and Lauren. It didn’t seem to her that a father could succeed in disappearing with a child as old as Stephanie without some cooperation from the child. On some level Stephanie especially would have to be willing to believe that her mother didn’t care, didn’t mind losing her, or would be hurt in some way if she called home. Beth’s job was to make sure her girls were unwilling to cooperate if Ray tried to take off with them.

So that evening she sat them down on the couch in the family room at the back of the house.

This was the time of day she had always—and still did—read bedtime stories to Lauren, who didn’t yet want to give them up although she could read herself. Stephanie, who claimed to be too old to listen, usually sat in the overstuffed armchair and pretended to read herself while eavesdropping avidly. Every few pages she’d ask to see the picture, and Beth would obligingly hold it up. “Why don’t you come and sit with us?” she’d ask, and Steph would curl her lip. “Little kids’ books are boring. I only wanted to see the one picture, that’s all.”

But tonight Beth patted the sofa next to her. “Come here. I want to talk.”

Her older daughter hovered in the doorway. “The phone’s ringing. I’ll go get it.”

“Just ignore it. Half the time nobody’s there anyway.” Beth had abandoned the fiction of wrong numbers. The girls had answered the phone themselves and found nobody on the other end too many times now. The doorbell hadn’t rung since that second night; the phone had, off and on. It hadn’t ceased to unnerve Beth, but the repetition had begun to make her impatient instead of terrified.

“But it might be one of my friends.” Steph was verging on a whine.

“Then she can call back,” Beth told her firmly.

Eleven years old, and Steph already had a sneer down pat. She sat reluctantly where Beth had indicated. Lauren curled trustingly against Beth’s left side.

She took a deep breath and began her prepared speech. “I just thought it was time we have one of those talks about safety.”

She’d expected rolled eyes, but instead Stephanie sat stiffly, looking down at her hands but not saying anything.

“Mostly we parents talk, just in case, about stuff that will probably never happen. This is one of those just-in-cases. I hope nothing bad or scary ever happens to you, but you should know what to do if it does.

“Once in a while, somebody steals a child. It isn’t always a stranger, either. Sometimes it’s somebody the child knows, like a neighbor. Sometimes it’s even a parent. Mostly with parents it’s when a mother and father are divorced and they’re fighting about who the kids will live with. You know your dad and I have already settled that. But I just wanted you to know that it isn’t always a stranger. It might be somebody you trust.”

Lauren’s blue eyes were wide and dark; Stephanie still had her head bowed. Beth could feel her tension as though it were a violin string quivering from the lightest touch.

“Now, if you took a child, not to hurt her, but because you want to pretend you’re her mother or father and she doesn’t have anybody else, you couldn’t keep her locked in the bedroom forever, right? So what you’d do is try to convince the child that she was supposed to be with you, that whoever she was living with really didn’t want her anymore.”

Tiny creases formed on Lauren’s smooth brow. “I would never, ever, believe anybody who said you didn’t want me,” she informed her mother staunchly. “’Cause I know you love us.”

Momentarily Beth’s eyes stung, and she had to blink hard as she bent to kiss the silky top of her younger daughter’s hair. Then she reached out and gathered Stephanie’s stiffer body into a hug.

“I just want to make sure you know that. That you don’t believe anybody at all who tells you different. If something like that ever happened, you should get away as soon as you can. You can call home—you know the number—or you could go to the police or most adults, like a grocery checker or a librarian. You tell them over and over again where you live and what your phone number is. Will you promise me to do that?”

Lauren nodded dutifully, her eyes still saucer wide. On Beth’s other side, Stephanie mumbled agreement.

“Then that’s all I have to say. I love you two more than anyone or anything in the whole world. And I always will.”

Lauren nodded, as though to say “Of course.” “Can we read some stories now?”

“You go pick something out,” Beth said, kissing her forehead before she released her.

The eight-year-old skipped out of the room on her way toward the bedroom bookcase. Once she was out of sight, Stephanie said, “This is about Dad, isn’t it?”

Treading delicately, Beth said, “Not altogether. I really don’t think your father would do something like that. This is the kind of thing we should talk about no matter what. But, yeah, it was his being late with you that brought it to mind. After I’d gotten over being scared that you’d been in a car accident.”

Her attempt to reassure apparently worked, because Stephanie gave her a look. “Oh, Mom.”

Beth was able to laugh. “I know, I know. I’m a worrywart. But I can’t help it, okay? Humor me.”

Stephanie nodded. There was a moment of silence, and Beth waited, sensing that she had something else to say. Suddenly Stephanie burst out, “I don’t want to live with Dad!”

A chill wrapped itself around Beth’s chest. “Did he ask you if you wanted to?”

“No…” She bit her lip. “Sometimes he says stuff…but mostly he talks about us all together, like he thinks you’re going to change your mind. Are you?”

“No. Do you wish I would?”

Stephanie ducked her head. “Not really. I mean, sometimes I wish we were like other families, and I didn’t have to go visit my dad, but… I didn’t like it back when he lived here and he always got so mad.”

“Me, either.”

“He gets so mad about even little stuff.”

That same chill held Beth in its grip. “At you?”

“No-o,” her daughter said uncertainly. “We never do anything to make him mad. Except when I ask him if it’s time to go home. But it’s just—” she shrugged and made a face “—everything. He yells at the TV when he thinks some referee made a dumb call, and he yells and flips off other drivers, and I was afraid he was going to punch some guy at the gas station one time because Dad thought the guy cut in front of him. It’s just…” She squirmed. “It’s scary. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Beth said softly. “I know what you mean.” She bit her lower lip. “I hate to send you on your own to deal with him. But I think under all that anger he’s not a bad man. And he’s your father. If you grew up not knowing him, I bet someday you’d be sorry. I keep hoping that he’ll realize how he’s making other people feel and do something about it. But if he really, really scares you—”

“No, it’s okay,” Stephanie interrupted, looking older than her years.

Beth looked her straight in the eyes. “Will you promise to tell me if it’s ever not okay?”

Lauren appeared in the doorway with a pile of books high enough to make Beth groan inwardly. Steph glanced toward her, but Beth insisted, “Promise?”

“Uh, sure.”

Beth smiled shakily and gave her another hug. “It’s not fair, is it?”

“What’s not fair?” Lauren asked.

At the same time as her sister snapped, “None of your beeswax!” Beth said, “Just something Steph and I were talking about. Let’s see, what did you pick out?”

Lauren stuck out her tongue at her sister, but didn’t insist on an answer.

Normalcy, Beth thought, as Stephanie retreated with her own book to her chair, where she appeared to become completely absorbed in her reading. Beth might almost have believed it if only Steph had turned a page more often, and if she hadn’t given a heavy sigh she apparently didn’t realize anyone else would hear.

Not fair. But what could she do? Beth wondered with familiar despair and even panic. Go on in this constant state of tension? Or wait until Ray got caught playing his nasty games?

Of course, he wouldn’t get caught unless she called the police, and she had a suspicion the only policeman who would be interested in her problems at this point was Sheriff Jack Murray—and he represented danger of a different kind.

JACK GLANCED AROUND the crowded gymnasium and felt familiar regret that he hadn’t known his own son in time to be more involved in everyday things like the PTA. He’d had time to become good friends with his son, which was something, but he still resented all he’d lost. Will had walked into his life at fourteen years old, and now, in a blink of the eye, he was gone to college.

The pangs were old ones, and Jack was able to ignore them as he tuned in to the welcoming speech being delivered by the president of the middle school parent group.

“And so it’s really a pleasure to see so many of you tonight.” A stylish woman who probably never wore jeans or sweatshirts, the president beamed as she looked around. “Let me start by introducing this year’s officers.”

Jack was tuning out again when a name snapped him back to attention.

“And Beth Sommers, our treasurer. Beth, where are you?”

Jack’s head turned along with everyone else’s. Near the back, Beth stood briefly, smiled and waved to the perfunctory applause. Her curly dark hair was knotted on top of her head and she was dressed in a pretty but casual jumper over a white T-shirt. With the one glimpse he hungrily realized how good she looked: the delicate sculpting of her cheekbones, the graceful line of her neck, the chin that she could set so mulishly. Once she sat back down, he lost sight of her without making a fool of himself by half standing and craning his neck.

His intense reaction to her presence made him feel fool enough. Damn it, she’d turned him down as firmly as a woman could. Maybe it was personal—she wasn’t attracted to him or just plain didn’t like him; maybe it wasn’t. She’d said she wasn’t ready to try again. Either way, it spelled no, however much he wished it didn’t.

His job was to protect her, whether she lived in his jurisdiction or not. He hoped she would call if she needed him, in which case he had to separate attraction from obligation. He might ride to her rescue, but she wasn’t going to fall into his arms afterward.

The president introduced him and he went to the front. Jack took a moment to raise the microphone to suit his six-foot-two height, then looked around to take stock of his audience. Mostly women, not unusual for these school functions. When he’d shown up as a determined father, Will’s last couple of years of high school, he’d occasionally been the only man at meetings. Jack thought that was a shame.

“Hello, folks,” he said, nodding. “I see familiar faces, so some of you will have heard what I’m going to say tonight, but I figure that’s okay. It’s important that you know what to expect of me, and what I expect of you.”

He had deliberately not looked in Beth’s direction at first. He was taking the care he would with a skittish animal, not making any sudden moves, keeping his voice even, pretending disinterest.

And there was an element of anticipation, too. Until that moment when their gazes locked, he could imagine that her expression wouldn’t be indifferent. He could hope for a spark in her eyes, guarded but still there, a hint of something to let him hope that her refusal to have dinner with him wasn’t personal, that someday she would be ready.

He paused, let his eyes linger for a moment on the young mother who sat beside Beth, jiggling a toddler on her lap. She looked about sixteen, too young to have a child in middle school.

Beth could have avoided him—gazed down at her hands, smiled at the toddler, glanced toward the exit. But that wasn’t in her nature. Instead, her chin was already up and she was waiting. He was interested to see the pink that washed her cheeks and the challenge in her blue eyes. No indifference here, though what she did feel, he couldn’t guess.

Without a pause, Jack looked at her neighbor on the other side and continued his short prepared speech.

The way he talked to a group like this was as important as anything he said. He didn’t want to be intimidating, though he still believed there was a time and place to scare the crap out of someone. But he’d learned these past years how wrong was Ed Patton’s brand of law enforcement. Prevention and intervention were a thousand times better than throwing an eighteen-year-old kid in the slammer. By the time you had to do that, there was already a victim and the kid’s life was ruined. Jack knew he had a well-deserved reputation for coming down like a crack of doom on criminals, but what he was working hardest on was finding money for programs aimed at troubled teenagers.

Ed Patton, he thought, had been like a dentist who liked to wield the drill without anesthesia. Jack preferred sealant when the adult teeth were still pearly white.

“I expect to see your kids on the basketball court, the soccer field, the stage right here behind me,” he concluded into the microphone. “Anywhere but in the police station.”

Some of the audience chuckled, and Jack, well satisfied, asked for questions. The few he got were friendly enough, the round of applause enthusiastic.

Strange, the things he’d found himself doing. Speechifying hadn’t been covered in the police academy.

Instead of retreating to his seat, Jack strolled to the back of the gym and took up a station near the double doors leading into the central hallway of the two-year-old middle school. Just out of curiosity, he’d stuck his head into the boys’ john earlier. Where you’d expect graffiti, here was gleaming tile. The carpet in the hall wasn’t dirty, the lockers weren’t scraped and dented and scrawled all over with obscene remarks. Inner-city junior highs were armed camps these days; he doubted a single gun was hidden in any of this long bank of lockers.

Folks were lucky in Elk Springs. As a law enforcement officer, he was lucky.

As a man, he was obviously a hell of a lot less so, Jack thought wryly. Beth Sommers was the first woman who had seriously interested him in some time, and he’d struck out.

He propped one shoulder against the wall, crossed his arms and listened to plans for a Christmas bazaar and a fund-raiser to buy new books for the library. Beth stood to give a brief treasurer’s report; since she couldn’t see him, Jack allowed himself the luxury of admiring the straight line of her back and the fine dark hair that had escaped to curl on her nape. For just an instant, he imagined his lips traveling down her neck. The hairs would tickle his nose, but her skin would be silkier than anything he’d ever touched, and her pulse would beat like tiny birds trapped under his mouth.

Hell. It was just as well when she sat back down, putting him out of his misery.

A minute later the meeting broke up and the crowd began filtering out. A few stopped to chat or shake hands and thank him for coming. He was a patient man; except for some emergency exits, this was the only way out. Sooner or later, Beth would pass within a few feet of him.

She was deep in conversation with the president of the parent group as the two women approached the door. It was galling to have Beth glance his way and look vaguely surprised to see him; he was so aware of her, he knew where she was at any given moment. Apparently she didn’t feel the same.

Which she’d made clear enough, Jack reminded himself, irritated. Was he such an egotist, he couldn’t believe a woman wasn’t interested in him?

Answer: no. He’d philosophically accepted refusals before. Meg Patton walking out on him—now, that had been tough. Worse than tough; he knew the one day had changed him in ways he didn’t yet understand. But since Meg, he’d asked out women who weren’t interested. He’d even been dumped a time or two without going into a black depression.

Beth was different. He had trouble believing his own response to her could be so strong if it wasn’t two-way.

He was pretty sure Beth would have nodded and walked right by him if the president hadn’t stopped to hold out her hand.

“Thank you, Sheriff Murray. It was so good of you to take the time tonight to talk to us. I’m really delighted with what you had to say, too. By the way, have you met Beth Sommers?”

He let a trace of a smile touch his lips. “As it happens, I have. Hello, Beth.”

Her answering smile didn’t touch her eyes. “Sheriff. How nice to see you again. And hear you. I really like your program pairing kids with police officers.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Mentally he cursed the president who hadn’t budged from his side and was beaming impartially at them. There were things he wanted to say and couldn’t in front of her. He did the only thing he could think of. “Can I walk you out to your car? I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

The alarm in her eyes was quickly masked. “Could you call me at work instead? I really need to rush—I don’t like to leave the kids with a baby-sitter any longer than I can help. And there are obviously people waiting to talk to you.”

He turned his head and saw that it was true; half a dozen women and one man were hovering. And Beth had damn good reason to be nervous about leaving her kids alone with some fifteen-year-old. How would a sitter cope if the girls’ father came hammering on the door?

“No problem,” he conceded, stepping back.

“I’m sorry to run off like this,” she was saying to the president as they passed out of hearing. “I’ll check on those figures and give you a call….”

Something told Jack that Beth would be unavailable if he called her at work. She had just made her refusal that much more emphatic.

WHY COULDN’T Jack Murray look like the last Butte County sheriff, who’d had a tic under one eye and had spent a good deal of time heaving his belt upward to try to contain his belly?

But no, Murray moved with the contained grace of a man aware of his strength and able to use it. Despite a sexy mouth, a permanent crease over the bridge of his nose should have given him a Scrooge-like appearance, but instead lent him a brooding air guaranteed to attract the least susceptible of women. Her.

Was she an idiot to refuse to have dinner with the man? Beth wondered, unlocking her car. Maybe it was unfair to assume he was like Ray under the skin, when she had never heard him raise his voice or seen him show even a flicker of anger.

Chances were, it would turn out that they didn’t even like each other, and then she could quit waging this internal war.

Of course, she thought ruefully, maybe he’d had no intention of asking her out again. Maybe he had only wanted to know whether Ray had been behaving himself.

At home, Beth let herself in the kitchen door and found the baby-sitter in the living room, glued to the flickering television.

“Oh, hi, Mrs. Sommers.” Half her attention was still on the screen, until a commercial suddenly blared and Tiffany turned the set off.

“How did things go?” Beth asked briskly, counting out dollar bills from her wallet.

The teenager gave a blithe shrug. “Fine. I put them to bed a while ago.”

“Oh, good. Did, um, anybody call this evening?” Beth felt a little guilty about not warning Tiffany. But there were days when the phone didn’t ring at all, days when Ray was probably on the road hauling freight. She’d been afraid if she warned the teenager, Tiffany would tell the older sister raising her and she might refuse to let the girl baby-sit for Beth. A decent sitter was hard enough to come up with as it was; she didn’t dare scare off the two girls she used. As a single parent, she was too dependent on them.

“No, but Lauren told me you were getting lots of calls where somebody hangs up.” Tiffany’s eyes were bright with curiosity. “Maybe you should call the police or something.”

If one more person told her that, Beth thought she might scream. But she managed an offhanded smile. “Oh, if we ignore the whole thing, whoever is making the calls will give up.”

“You could get Caller ID,” she added helpfully.

“I am considering that.”

“You know, the sheriff for the whole county lives only a couple of doors down from us.” Tiffany marveled at the idea. “My sister said he was talking at the middle school tonight. You heard him, didn’t you? Isn’t he cool?” Despite the fact that Beth was now holding the front door open, the ponytailed teenager made no move to leave. She continued enthusiastically, “He was there talking to the principal when one of the chaperons for the dance caught a couple of guys spray-painting the administration building Friday night after the game. I don’t know what he said to them, I mean, they wouldn’t tell anybody, but everybody says he really scared them. I bet he could help you.”

Her open admiration made Beth grit her teeth. It also hardened her sagging resolve. She was not interested in a man who scared anybody—even teenage boys who probably deserved it.

“Thank you for your suggestion, Tiffany,” she said, in a tone that she hoped was both pleasant and dismissive. “I’ll watch until you get home.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Sommers.” Her feelings apparently not hurt, Tiffany bounded down the porch steps with all the grace of a puppy, and cut across the lawn. In the middle of the street she turned and cheerfully waved.

Beth waved back, waiting until the girl disappeared inside the brick house kitty-corner to her own. Only then did Beth close and lock the front door, her hand still fumbling on the unfamiliar brass dead bolt.

Every time she touched the shiny new locks, Beth was reminded of Ray. As she made her way up to bed, she acknowledged the sharp feeling of dread lodged in the pit of her stomach. This was Thursday night; tomorrow evening Steph and Lauren’s weekend with their dad began.

She lay in bed, sleep hours away, and prayed: Please let him be in a good mood. Please please please let him bring them home on time.