Читать книгу Tempting The Sheriff - Kathy Altman - Страница 12
ОглавлениеHALF A MILE past the curve that prevented Lily from seeing oncoming traffic—and prevented oncoming traffic from seeing her—she spotted the problem. Jared Ensler.
She should have known.
The skinny preteen stood on the shoulder, his back to Lily. Wincing at his camouflage pants and dark green T-shirt, she pulled off onto the opposite shoulder. At least the kid’s blazing orange skullcap made him stand out. Well, that and the poster-sized sheet of cardboard he was toting.
The sound of her engine must have finally registered because he turned. His eyes went wide, his mouth went slack and his arms collapsed. The bottom third of the sign buckled against his shins. Lily eyed the bright red, hand-painted letters and suppressed a grudging smile.
Speed Trap Ahead.
Jared chewed his bottom lip and let the sign drop to his side, but he stood his ground. Ignoring the hat she’d tossed on the passenger seat, Lily pushed herself once more into the thick, sticky heat of the afternoon. A farm stand just down the highway was selling peaches, and she breathed in the heady scent. A mental image of a bowl of vanilla ice cream topped with juicy slices of the ripe fruit was almost enough to forgive the sun for its enthusiasm today.
Almost, but not quite.
The harsh cry of a crow on the power lines overhead had her rolling her eyes at herself. Food fantasies were so not her thing. That’s what she got for skipping lunch. And leaving her hat in the car one too many times. With a wistful glance at the distant, dark blue wedge of Lake Erie, she adjusted her sunglasses and crossed the road.
Jared kicked at a dandelion sprouting at the pavement’s edge. Bits of white fluff exploded into the air. When the crunch under Lily’s boots signaled she’d moved from asphalt to gravel, he lifted his head. His mouth formed an arrogant slash, but his eyes held a hint of panic.
“Am I in trouble?” he asked gruffly.
“Depends. Your mother know what you’re up to?”
“I’m used to that kind of trouble. I need to know about the jail kind.”
“Why are you out here, if you thought you might be arrested?”
He stacked his hands atop his skullcap. “Am I? Under arrest?”
“Jared.” Lily bit back her impatience as sweat dripped down the back of her neck. “Are you wearing sunscreen?”
He gave her an odd look and shook his head. He wasn’t wearing shades, either, but at least he’d been smart enough to bring something to drink. A battered handheld cooler rested on the shoulder behind him.
Lily sighed. “What are you doing out here?”
He glanced around, as if for inspiration. “Something’s wrong with our Xbox.” When she crossed her arms, he shrugged. “We got bored watching TV. We heard my mom talking on the phone with someone who’d seen you out here—”
“And decided it would be fun to warn everyone I was using radar.”
“Yeah.” The word carried a lot of duh.
“Who’s ‘we’?”
He hesitated. “Scottie’s out here, too, down the road a ways.”
His younger brother, on the road by himself. Fantastic.
“There hasn’t been any traffic from that direction,” she said. “How is that less boring than watching TV?”
Jared smirked. “He’s doing okay.”
“How do you know?” When he pulled a smartphone out of his pocket, Lily nodded, barely resisting the urge to say this duh for him. “Let’s go get him. I’m taking you two home before you get heatstroke.”
“You’re not taking us to jail?” His mouth tipped up and then down, as if he didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
“I have a feeling any punishment your mother dishes out will be worse than a stretch in one of my holding cells. What you’re doing isn’t illegal, but it is dangerous. What if a car came around that corner too fast and swerved onto the shoulder? What if a driver wasn’t paying attention and drifted off the road?” She broke off. The possibilities had her lungs floundering.
Jared looked unimpressed.
She breathed in, then out. “How did you even get out here?”
“Our neighbor brought us.”
Right. Lily did remember seeing Mrs. Yackley drive by in her lime-green Beetle. “She didn’t ask why you and your brother wanted to be dropped off in different locations?” Or wonder if she should leave a twelve-year-old and an eight-year-old out on the highway alone? “What’d you do, tell her you were on some kind of secret mission?”
Jared shook his head. “We told her the truth. She was cool with it, but she said if her taxes went up she wouldn’t knit us any more hats.”
Lily huffed a laugh. “Okay, then.” Apparently Mrs. Yackley had an issue with authority. Or maybe just a soft spot for restless preteens.
Jared picked up his cooler and followed Lily to her patrol car. She agreed to let him sit up front until they collected his brother. After that, the boys would have to share the backseat—no way was she going to play referee while they argued about who got to sit where.
She drove back to the logging road and eased around the curve beyond it. There stood fair-haired Scottie, wearing a banana-colored T-shirt that hung to his knees and holding a sign identical to his brother’s. Except for the message.
Lily snorted. These kids had the perfect setup. After Jared warned drivers of the speed trap, Scottie asked them to show some gratitude.
He held a bucket in his left hand and in his right a sign that read Tip$.
The moment it registered exactly whose car he was signaling, Scottie dropped the sheet of cardboard. The bucket he hugged to his chest.
Once again, Lily steered the car onto the shoulder. This time she parked behind Scottie on the left, so he wouldn’t have to cross the road. “Clever scheme,” she said.
Jared never glanced up from his perusal of the switches, lights and video screens on her dash. “I know, right?”
Less than five minutes later, Lily had both signs tucked away in her trunk and both Ensler brothers buckled up in her backseat. She nodded in approval at the sound of plastic crackling as they guzzled water. She cranked up the AC and pulled back onto the road, then checked out her passengers in the rearview mirror. “You two trying to earn money for something in particular? A birthday gift for your mom, maybe?”
Jared shot her a disgusted look. “I told you, our Xbox isn’t working.”
“The red ring of death,” Scottie said. His voice was closer than it should be. A glance to her right showed he had his head thrust between the front seats, wide eyes glued to the same panel of switches that had fascinated his brother.
“I need you to sit back, buddy. I know you’re curious, but the time to look around isn’t when the car’s in motion. Jared, make sure your brother’s buckled in. So what’s the red ring of death?”
“Happens when your console’s broke,” Scottie said. “The red lights around the power switch come on. When Dad couldn’t fix it he said it was about as useful as tits on a boar hog.”
Jared hooted, and the sound had her shoulders curving in, her stomach muscles bracing against a surge of acid regret. Stop that, she told herself firmly.
She swallowed the misery coating her throat and forced a chuckle. “I doubt your dad would appreciate you repeating that. How much did you make today, anyway?”
Paper shuffled as Scottie counted. After a whispered consultation in the backseat and a muffled “No, give it back” and “It’s not a secret,” he announced, “Forty-five dollars.”
Good God. How many tickets should she have written this afternoon?
Jared grunted and crossed his arms. “You gonna confiscate that, too?”
“Not if you promise never to pull something like this again.”
“Aw, man.” Scottie threw his head against the seat back and groaned up at the roof. “But we don’t have enough money yet.”
“I’m sorry,” she said firmly. “You’ll have to find a safer way to earn it.”
“Shit,” Scottie mumbled, and it was so unexpected, Lily was hard put not to laugh. She pressed a palm to her chest again, this time wishing she could trap the unfamiliar lightness there.
“Shh.” Jared darted a worried glance at the rearview mirror.
“What? Not like she can arrest us for cussing.” A brief pause. “Can she?”
Wait for it...wait for it...
“Sheriff Tate?” Scottie asked meekly.
There it is.
“Yes, Scottie?”
“Can you get arrested for using a bad word?”
“Not unless you’re threatening someone. It’s never a good idea to be mouthy around the police, though, and it is bad manners. I doubt your parents would approve, so why don’t you try and keep it clean, okay?”
He sighed, then grudgingly muttered, “Okay.” Neither brother said a word after that.
The sullen silence lasted until she pulled into the Enslers’ driveway. “Your mom or dad inside?”
“Dad is,” Jared said morosely.
“Before I walk you to the door—” Scottie groaned “—let me set you straight on something.”
“He only said that one word and he’s sorry,” Jared said quickly.
“I’m really sorry,” Scottie squeaked.
“Neither of you is in trouble.” She retrieved her wallet from the center console, pulled out a twenty and dropped it in Scottie’s bucket. “I didn’t confiscate your posters,” she said. “I bought them.” Even though they were about as useful as tits on a boar hog.
Twenty minutes later, Lily had just backed into a new hiding place and pulled out the radar gun when her cell vibrated again. She picked it up and immediately wished she hadn’t. The mayor’s office. Shouldn’t his staff be at Hazel’s barbecue?
She swallowed a groan. Chances were that’s what they wanted to ask her. If the mayor summoned her, she’d have to go. A drop of sweat skated down her temple and she swiped it away with the heel of her hand.
Maybe she’d get lucky and they’d assign her to the dunk tank.
She took the call and moments later dropped her phone back into the cup holder with a scowl. The mayor had summoned her, all right—to his office. On a Saturday?
This did not bode well.
* * *
LILY PARKED HER patrol car behind the courthouse, a single-story, faded brick building the sheriff’s department shared with the county clerk, the treasurer, the commissioner of revenue and the mayor. With the colossal, pineapple-shaped sugar maple that for decades had served as the front lawn’s centerpiece, and the surrounding century-old oaks and lush camellias scattered like guests at a cocktail party, the property was lauded as being especially eye-catching in the autumn. Lily no longer paid attention. Fall had officially become her least favorite season.
The mayor’s assistant wasn’t at her desk—not surprising, since it was Saturday—so Lily knocked twice on Rick Whitby’s open door and strode into his office. Or candy store, as Lily’s dispatcher, Clarissa, liked to call it, since the mayor had a credenza lined with clear glass jars he kept well stocked with sweets. Licorice sticks, mini chocolate bars, lollipops, jelly beans—his sweet tooth provided a clever means of staying informed, since the addicts he created couldn’t stay out of his office.
As long as he didn’t start dealing peanut M&M’s, Lily had no problem resisting temptation.
He hadn’t heard her knock. He stood with his back to the door, right hand dipping a paper cup into the jelly beans while the left held the lid aloft.
“Mayor Whitby,” she said.
The clatter of jelly beans told her she’d startled him. With a muffled clank, he replaced the lid on the jar and turned to face her.
The mayor was a lanky, languid man in his fifties with thinning blond hair and a perpetual flush on his face. His title was actually County Executive Officer, but “mayor” was much less of a mouthful. He was popular, a shirtsleeves-and-cold-brew kind of politician, but his hard-at-it look was an act—the man was lazier than an overfed hound sleeping away a hot summer afternoon.
Lily had always suspected he’d run for mayor solely as a means to jump-start his love life. Not long into his term, he’d ended his relationship with his assistant, Paige Southerly, a woman several years his senior. Paige still worked for him and Lily didn’t know how she did it, every three or four months taking the newest girlfriend’s calls, scheduling dinner dates and sending flowers. Paige insisted their affair had run its course and as long as her boss kept the dish of butterscotch candies stocked, it was all good.
“You’re not dressed for the fund-raiser.” The mayor gave Lily a once-over as he fished a yellow jelly bean out of his cup.
Yeah, she’d known that was coming. Hazel Catlett and a handful of volunteers were hosting a barbecue to raise money for the citizens’ center. As sheriff, Lily should be there, but it was hard to drum up the enthusiasm to mingle with a bunch of happy families.
She needed to get over that. And she would. Just not today.
“JD will be there,” she said. “There are only two of us now and you know we can’t both go.”
When Whitby failed to scold Lily for complaining about her long-ignored deputy vacancy, her stomach did a little side step. Whatever he was about to say would not be pleasant. Not for her, anyway. The gleam in his bright blue eyes indicated he was looking forward to it. Either that, or those were damn good jelly beans.
Her fingers curled around her equipment belt and she pulled in a stealthy breath. “What did you want to see me about?”
He held out the cup and rattled it. When she shook her head, he set the cup on the credenza, brushed his hands together and strolled to his desk. “I have something important to discuss with you.” He scraped a fingernail over a front tooth to loosen a green gummy wedge. “Here’s the thing. I’ve decided to fill that deputy position like you’ve been asking.”
Lily blinked. “Thank you. JD hasn’t had a real vacation in over a year. I’ll get busy writing up an ad for the paper—”
“That won’t be necessary. I already hired someone.”
Damn it. “Without consulting me?”
“I am the mayor.” His grin revealed he’d missed a sliver of purple.
“What about the town council?” The mayor did have the right to hire and fire county employees, but he didn’t ordinarily do it without the council’s okay.
“Bought ’em each a steak dinner and one of Ivy Walker’s cheesecakes.”
“You bribed them?”
“I distracted them.” He wilted into his leather club chair, as if her resistance had exhausted him. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d pressed the back of a hand to his forehead. “Your new deputy is Vaughn Fulton, on temporary loan from the Erie police. He reports on Monday. I asked his captain to email you his qualifications so he can get right to work.” He closed his eyes and let his head fall against the back of the padded chair.
Lily tightened her grip on her rig. “May I ask how this Officer Fulton of the Erie PD heard about little ol’ Castle Creek and its three-man department?”
“Four again, with Deputy Fulton, and I invited him to apply.”
“You mean you offered him the job.” She frowned. “Fulton. Any relation to Emerson?” She’d liked that old son of a gun. He’d died a few months back, the weekend she’d been taking her recertification training in Harrisburg. She’d regretted not being able to attend the service.
Slowly, Whitby pushed himself up out of the chair and slid his hands into his pants pockets. “Emerson Fulton was his great-uncle. He was also a good friend of mine. His nephew is on a temporary leave of absence while he handles his uncle’s affairs. I gave him a call, asked if he’d be willing to help us out for a while.” His voice tightened. “He’s a decorated city cop. You should be pleased.”
Pleased that he’d casually made her a victim of the old-boy network? That he was forcing her to work with, to entrust JD’s life—her life—to someone she’d never even met, let alone interviewed?
He had to be kidding.
Too bad he didn’t look like he was kidding.
For a while. He’d used the phrase for a while.
“So we’re only talking a few weeks here,” she said carefully.
He shrugged and grabbed his suit coat. “I imagine he’ll be around for a month or two. Maybe even until Thanksgiving.”
Oh, come on. The first throbs of a headache tapped at her temples and she forced her jaw to unclench. “That’s three months away.”
He pulled his keys out of his jacket pocket and gave them a jangle before shooing Lily toward the door. “I’m locking up.”
For a lazy man, he sure was moving fast.
“I’m the one who’s responsible for those in my employ,” she reminded him as he herded her into the hallway. “The people of Castle Creek elected me to keep this county safe, and you’re making it hard for me to do my job.”
“No. You’re making it hard for me to do mine.” He frowned at the wall, shoved his suit coat at her and straightened a painting. When he turned back around, he caught her off guard with a wink. “And I outrank you.”
Hot prickles of resentment chased across Lily’s skin and she thrust his jacket back at him. “What if I talk to the council?”
He brushed past her, heading for the front entrance. “How impressed will the people of Castle Creek be when they find out their sheriff refused to work with a fellow officer—an officer who recently lost a well-known and beloved uncle to kidney disease—simply because she couldn’t bring herself to trust the word of their mayor?”
“That was a pretty energetic threat,” she muttered.
“I know, right? Must have been the jelly beans.”
She wasn’t going to win this argument. Not when he was in one of his autocratic moods. She chewed the inside of her lip.
If she didn’t manage to get reelected, what would she do? Work for her replacement? That would be awkward, to put it mildly. What, then? Move out of Castle Creek?
Her eyes began to sting. She could never do that.
“Fine.” Rubbing her temples, she followed the mayor outside and blinked in the sunlight. “Fulton’s nephew it is,” she said resignedly. “But I’ll continue to take applications for when his leave is up.”
The mayor gave her the side eye as he aimed his key fob at his Prius.
Lily scowled. “Let me guess. You hope to talk him into staying.”
“I’m going to give it a try. You should think about doing the same.”
“Staying in Castle Creek?” Her voice was so dry, the words practically scuffed her throat.
“Giving him a try.” He rummaged in his suit coat pocket and pulled out two lollipops. He pulled the bright red wrapper from the first, popped it into his mouth and pressed the second into her hand. She waited until he’d left the parking lot before opening her fingers.
Root beer.
Her favorite.
Damn him.
* * *
LILY HAD ALREADY switched to decaf by the time her dispatcher came in to start her shift on Monday. Metal clanked as Clarissa deposited her purse in the bottom left drawer of her desk, then came her usual Monday morning sigh, then the click of high heels and the distant clatter of ceramic as she moved into the small break room beside Lily’s office and poured herself a cup of coffee.
When the dispatcher appeared in Lily’s doorway, she had both hands wrapped around a fading Hello Kitty mug. She looked like a 1950s’ starlet with her black-rimmed cat-eye glasses, her I Love Lucy hair pulled back in a high ponytail and her plush body showcased in lime capris, a pink-and-lime-striped top and a sheer silk scarf.
While Lily resisted glancing down at her own tan uniform shirt and mud-colored tie, Clarissa checked out the crumpled sub wrappers in the trash can. “Have you been here all weekend again?” she demanded.
“No.”
“Are you lying to me?”
Lily shrugged.
Clarissa narrowed her eyes and sipped her coffee. “The only reason I let you off the hook about girls’ night out is because you promised you’d do something fun this weekend.”
“I remember.”
“So what’d you do?”
Lily dropped her pen, tugged off her reading glasses and leaned back in her chair. “Drove up to Erie for the day. Wandered around Presque Isle, treated myself to lunch and did a little antiquing.”
“I forget. If someone who’s right-handed looks up and to the right when they’re talking, does that mean they’re lying, or telling the truth?”
Lily shot her dispatcher a wry glance. “If you suspect I’m lying, why would you think I’d answer that question with anything but another lie?”
“Good point.” Clarissa tugged at the hem of her top. “Did you find anything? When you were antiquing?”
“I did. I found a vintage set of salt and pepper shakers that’ll make a great gift for my mom’s birthday. They’re cloisonné. She’ll go wild.”
With a growling sigh, Clarissa plopped down into the chair opposite Lily. “Now I know you’re lying. You hate your mom’s collections.”
“Busted.”
“You do realize that being a workaholic is a pathetic cliché?”
“Maybe that fact will sink in the day you realize that what I do when I’m off shift is my own business.”
“That’s the trouble,” Clarissa said. “You’re never off shift.” She caught Lily’s look. “And yes, you’re right, it’s way past time for me to start mine.” In the doorway, she pivoted. “I get why you’re grumpy. When is the mayor’s ‘personal favor’ supposed to get here?”
Lily tossed her glasses on the desk. “I don’t know when he’ll be here, but I do know JD’s about to earn his vacation all over again. He can take Fulton for the week, get him acclimated to the area before we let him handle calls on his own.”
“Sounds like a plan.” With a wink Clarissa disappeared into the outer office. Two minutes later, she was back. “You should come listen to this voice mail.”
Lily did, and wished she hadn’t. “Fudge,” she said flatly. Poor JD. Felled by a bad batch of macaroni salad.
She crossed her arms and stared out the windows at the tree-rimmed parking lot behind the sheriff’s office. More specifically, she stared at the space where JD’s cruiser would not be parked for the next few days.
Double fudge.
“Looks like you just lost your rookie wrangler.” Clarissa made a sympathetic face and set down her mug. “Tell you what. As soon as this guy shows up, I’ll check him out. If I like what I see, I’ll gladly play tour guide for you. How’s that?”
“If you don’t like what you see, I can always use GPS.”
The deep, unfamiliar voice rumbled along Lily’s spine. She curbed an irritated shudder. Time to make nice. She had no choice. If she didn’t honor the mayor’s request he’d only saddle her with a seventy-year-old retiree once this Fulton guy was gone. Or he’d veto every candidate she put forth. When Rick Whitby was coming off a sugar high, that was just the way he rolled.
So suck it up, Lily Anne.
She swiveled toward the counter that separated the office space from the reception area.
A man wearing jeans and a short-sleeved navy T-shirt that barely concealed a hip holster stood in the doorway, shoulder propped against the jamb, posture as cocky as his voice. Midtwenties, six-one or so, trimmed dark hair and troublemaker eyes. One look and it was as clear-cut as the muscles stretching his shirt. If the man were in motion, he’d be swaggering.
Beside her, Clarissa hummed her approval. Lily could practically hear the drool hitting the floor.
He moved into the office. Yeah. Swagger. He planted his palms on the countertop, locked his arms and leaned in. “Vaughn Fulton reporting for duty, ma’am.” One eyebrow raised, he made a show of glancing around the area behind the counter then turned a grin on Clarissa. “Looks like I’m first in line for the tour. Guess that means I’ll get a good seat.”
Clarissa giggled and Lily heaved an inward groan.
Thanks a whole hell of a lot, Whitby. The seventy-year-old retiree would have been a better bet. She’d wanted someone with intelligence, but this guy seemed to carry all his smarts in his ass.
