by Hallie Lee
Mom made Micah a plate, and I covered it with foil, helping her tidy the kitchen while Dad snored in his recliner. Afterwards Mom gave me a spontaneous hug. “You’re such a good boy. Let’s go sit on the patio and have a cup of hot tea.”
•
Mom exuded good health, sporting her characteristic bright lipstick, flashy earrings, and perfectly coiffed pixie haircut. She seemed happy with her life now that Dad had retired. She, Aunt Robin, and Dad had the freedom to travel from state to state, flitting from one artsy community to another, showcasing my nana’s paintings. Sometimes Dad accompanied them, and sometimes he stayed home with Ginger, Mary Ann, and his whodunit books.
Showing Nana’s art had become therapeutic for my mom, a way to grieve and celebrate her complicated relationship with her mother. Aunt Robin had invested in Sunny’s Place, their first gallery in Lexington, and it had paid off as Nana’s paintings were a huge hit. Now they floated, on loan, from gallery to gallery, gaining much deserved recognition. My parents made good money through the sale of giclee prints, which were digital prints made on canvas with a jet ink printer. They sold by the hundreds, and my mom never had to part with the originals.
“When’s Aunt Robin coming?”
“This weekend. Come with us to the airport,” she urged. “And after we’ll have a big party.” She picked up her tea. “I’ll invite Ricky.”
I squinted at her. “What’s the deal there? You don’t mean he like—likes her?”
She threw her head back in laughter. “Oh, I do. He’s been oh-so-casually bending your Daddy’s ear, asking how she’s doing, if she’s ready to—date again.” She sipped her tea, suddenly thoughtful. Undoubtedly thinking about Uncle Dean.
“That’s not going to happen. She loved Uncle Dean too much. And Ricky? I mean, Sheriff Rick? I don’t see it.”
“You never know, Luke. We all loved Dean, and I know you had a special bond with him.” She looked at me. “Robin once told me that at times it hurt to look at you because you’re so much like him.”
I swallowed some tea. Even though I hated the stuff.
“It’s been five years,” Mom said. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?” She set down her mug. “Are you okay? Today must have been hard.”
“Yeah. All the people out there were angry. They don’t like the sheriff, or his deputies. Except for Quietdove maybe.”
“They need Brad. He’ll help them through this. I worry about him though. I know he’s heartbroken. And angry.”
“You called him Brad. The crowd got upset when Ricky called him that today.”
“It’s the custom. Only family and close friends use their first names.”
“Why is that? I’ve never really understood their culture. Are they American Indians?”
“Probably a combination of that, creole, and some Cajun mixed in.” She nodded, “Nobody knows for sure. Not even them. But they hold tradition very dear, and the names are part of their history, passed on from one generation to another.”
I thought of the tight knit crowd I saw today and wondered how my mom had become so familiar with their ways. With Wolfheart.
“What an amazing gene pool though, right?” She grinned. “Some perfect combination of DNA that created gorgeous green-eyed people with olive skin and luxurious hair.”
My thoughts drifted to Bella. Blue-eyed Bella.
“They’re wonderful people, but they don’t trust outsiders,” Mom went on. “That’s why they need Brad.”
“How did y’all become friends?”
She fidgeted with her tea bag. “Long story. For another time.”
Because she seemed uncomfortable, I didn’t press.
“How were Bella and Meadow?” she asked.
“They were okay.” Now I was uncomfortable. “Sad.”
Mom considered me for an agonizingly long moment. “She’s quite something, isn’t she?”
“Who?” I asked too quickly.
“Bella. Micah’s friend.”
“Micah!” I slammed down my mug. “I forgot! I’ve got to get to Belle Maison to pick her up from work.”
Glad to be Micah’s chauffeur for once, I rushed off before falling victim to Mom’s intense scrutiny. Unfortunately, the ambiguity of her familiarity with the people across the creek would remain a mystery. For the time being.
Chapter Five
A Good Pair Of Khakis
Sheriff Rick
I
made my way to the kitchenette and put the coffee on, hoping a little java might help make sense of the upcoming day. The hot shower hadn’t helped, but I was optimistic. When the coffee grumbled to a full brew, I heard footsteps sound from the bedroom.
I saw her cynical face peek around the corner. Uncommunicative, a little grumpy first thing in the morning. Orange all over, white-socked feet, green eyes. “Mornin’ Gertrude, you sleep well?”
She jumped onto the counter, watched as I opened the can. Tuna, meaty morsels, her favorite. Even after I placed the bowl on the floor, she continued to stare. With a sigh I turned on the faucet over the sink. When I got it to a favorable drip, she lapped it up.
Gerty and I had been living together about three months. It was a mutually beneficial relationship in that I didn’t have to tell her how I felt or what I was thinking about, and she got to lay around all day, no questions asked. I think we were getting ready to take it to the next level.
My cell rang as I stirred sugar and half and half into my coffee. “Yeah,” I snapped. “Anything new?” I listened as my chief deputy in Belle Maison ran through the night’s activities. A breaking and entering in Lebeaux while a family was having dinner at the Shoney’s. A nasty barfight in Toulouse that left two rednecks in the hospital, and one in the drunk tank. And a car accident in Azalealand. No fatalities.
“What about Naryville?” I asked.
“All good,” said my deputy chief.
Thank God for Naryville, the easiest community in my jurisdiction. While I spent most of my time at my headquarters in Belle Maison, I floated between Toulouse, Lebeaux, and Azalealand. While I maintained a small apartment in Belle Maison, I preferred to end my days in Shady Gully when possible.
A little over five years ago, right about the time my girlfriend, Ashley, left me, the duly elected sheriff went and had a heart attack. I, as the longest serving member of the sheriff’s department, found myself the acting sheriff. The timing wasn’t bad, since it kept my mind off the fact that I’d ruined yet another relationship, but the role itself set me on a path that changed my life forever.
I liked the gig. I was good at it. And truth be told, I did bear a striking resemblance to Sam Elliott.
When the time came to elect a new sheriff, I won in a landslide. The office gave me purpose, and filled a void I’d been trying, unsuccessfully, to fill my whole life. Through football. Through women. And countless other iniquities.
The downside was the loneliness.
“I’ll check in at the substations later today,” I told my chief deputy in Belle Maison.
“Copy that. And you? I hear you’ve got your hands full there?”
“Boy, do I.”
“Let me know if you need me to send in the cavalry.”
After I ended the call, I regarded Gertrude. She’d jumped from the counter, eaten her food, and now groomed herself with lazy pleasure. I opened the shade so the sun would shine on her cat bed later in the day.
“See ya later, Gerty.” I grabbed my keys, locking the door behind me.
I hurried through the parking lot, and had almost made it to my department assigned Ford F-150, when I ran into my annoying landlord.
“Good morning,” Luke said with a pleasant smile. The kid wore his usual khakis. Crisp, white button-down shirt. Freshly shaved. He needed a haircut, but at least he’d lost the foot booties. “You’re up early, Sheriff. Ho
w’s your day going so far?”
“Not good,” I grunted. “My hot water isn’t hot enough.”
“I’d be happy to take a look at that for you.”
“Good.” I moved toward my vehicle.
“But I’d hate to let your cat out.”
I stopped. “What cat?”
“Oh, you know, the cat you didn’t put a deposit down on.”
I raised my eyes to the sky, swallowing back the rant on the tip of my tongue. As I ducked into my truck, he followed me, tapping on my window. “For the love of God, what now? I’ll pay the dang deposit.”
“Great,” he said. “By the way, I talked to my parents last night about Wolfheart. If you want, I’ll stop by the station in a bit and fill you in.”
“Wait, what? What in the world are you going on about? Wolfheart himself is coming in with his lawyer later.”
Luke waved, made like he was walking off, and then turned. “Oh, one other thing. I thought you’d want to know. Aunt Robin’s coming into town this weekend.”
“Oh. Is that right?” My hand twitched as I put my key into the ignition.
“Yep. I bet you’re looking forward to that, huh?” The kid grinned at me.
I forced some casualness into my voice. “It’ll be nice to see her.” I offered a cocky salute as I quickly exited the parking lot.
But the smug little whippersnapper just stood there, staring after my truck…almost as if he’d seen the vibration of my heart pounding underneath my shirt.
•
I could have used a few minutes to process the news, but unfortunately, the Shady Gully substation was within walking distance of the duplex. Not ready to turn on my usual charm for the likes of Max and Quietdove, I drove past, deciding to stop in at the Cozy Corner. I’d grab a donut, eat it in my car. Take some time to clear my head. Develop a strategy.
The gravel crunched beneath my tires as I brought my truck to a park. Distracted, I moseyed over to the order window. “Hey Charlie Wayne, what’s fresh?”
Charlie Wayne peered at me through his coke bottle glasses, orneriness falling off him in waves. “What kind of dumb question is that? Everything is fresh. What kind of place do you think I run, Ricky?”
The old coot had been running this joint since I was in high school, so I bit back my knee-jerk response and let the Ricky pass. Still, he was a cranky old goat with a rotten disposition. “What would you suggest, Chef Charlie Wayne?”
By the look of him, I’d pushed too far. Eventually he meandered over to the warmer and pulled out a bear claw. Wrapped it in paper, tossed in a few napkins. I watched him closely in case he decided to accidentally drop it on the floor.
“It’s on the house,” he glared.
“Well thanks, Charlie Wayne.”
“I expect you and your boys to do a better job of keeping all those worthless young heathens away from my place in the middle of the night. All they do is drink beer, smoke cigarettes, and dip Skoal.”
“Absolutely. Will do.”
His bug-eyes zeroed in on me. “That’s the thing, Ricky. You say that, but I’ve yet to see y’all do anything. Take a look around. You see all the cigarette butts on the ground? And all the stinking beer cans?”
I took a gander around the picnic tables, which looked pristine. “Nope. Can’t say as I do.”
Charlie Wayne nodded with slow deliberation. “That’s because yours truly gets here at five every morning and picks ’em up.” Even after he slammed the order window, I could hear him. “I’m too old for this nonsense. Do your job.”
Not bothering with a rebuttal, I slid into my car, nursing my bruised ego with a freshly baked bear claw.
Things hadn’t gone well the last time Robin visited, so I needed to come up with a better strategy. Regrettably, I had a lot working against me. Not only was I the exact opposite of Dean, who’d been all buttoned up and business-minded like Desi’s kid, Luke, but I had a miserable resume. I made a meager living, and over the thirty years since high school, I’d wrecked my way through several failed relationships.
Meanwhile Robin was wealthy, and the mother of two beautiful kids. She was also gorgeous, energetic, and creative. She’d masterminded the whole plan to unveil Desi’s mother’s art in galleries across the country, which had not only kept her busy after Dean’s death, but had made Lenny and Desi rich.
Basically, the young girl I’d had a secret crush on in school had grown into an amazing, smart, and generous woman, all of which made her even more desirable to me now. But even if she could one day move past Dean’s tragic cancer and untimely death, what would she ever see in me?
I jolted as my cell went off. It was Max. I guess I could start by being nicer to her kid brother. I sighed, beleaguered, as I stepped out of my truck and headed once again to the order window at Charlie Wayne’s Cozy Corner.
•
I entered the substation with a box of Charlie Wayne’s assorted pastries, and coffee for my deputies. “I made sure Charlie Wayne put chocolate in the croissants.” I handed Max the pastries. “Just the way you like ’em.”
Max squinted at me for a long moment, then exchanged a glance with Quietdove. “Oh,” he said knowingly. “You must have heard my sister’s coming home this weekend.”
I scowled, and headed to my office as the two knuckleheads tore into the box of sweets.
Quietdove meandered over, leaning his long frame against my door, his second Danish crammed into his mouth. “Nothing came from the search this morning. No tracks, no blood, no body. No wounded.”
“And still no sign of Madhawk,” Max chimed in from the lobby.
“And y’all got eyes on his mama’s house?”
“In case he gets homesick. Or needs help.” Quietdove confirmed with a nod. “But I wouldn’t hold out much hope there. I’m hearing they weren’t as tight as she made it seem.”
“What about Bella and Meadow? Either of them talking yet?”
“We’re letting them be—for now,” Quietdove answered. “It’s what I’d recommend. Let them mourn Peony.”
I agreed. “What do you think happened? What do you hear?”
“You mean, like tells and stuff?” Quietdove held back a grin. “Seriously, most of the talk on the creek now is about Peony’s funeral. People loved her, and they respect Wolfheart. It’s going to be a big turnout.”
“Max,” I hollered. “Did you get the coroner’s report?”
After Max smeared a napkin across his mouth, he hopped up to join Quietdove at my door. “Not yet, but I put in a rush because her people want a quick funeral. But I suspect it’ll be like Patty said, blunt force trauma. Wood and debris from the fireplace mantel matched the wound on Peony’s head, and the crime techs concluded the blood on the mantel is hers.”
I leaned back, stretching my legs atop my desk. “Sounds like we’ve got a scenario where Madhawk is drunk, high, and mean.”
“The usual,” Max quipped.
“But on this night, it was a deadly combination. Meadow stepped in to try to protect her mama, and comes away with the bruises we saw all over her arms and face.”
“But she can’t save her mama,” Quietdove added on to my scenario. “And as the situation escalates, Madhawk pushes Peony too hard. Whether it was intentional or accidental, Peony’s head gets cracked against the mantel.”
I sighed, draining the rest of my coffee. Feeling fidgety, I swept my fingers through the taffy bowl on my desk. Settled on a dark cherry. “It’s not enough. Where was Bella? And where was Wolfheart? The only reason this hasn’t happened sooner is because Wolfheart keeps a close eye on Peony and a tight rein on Madhawk. And, the big question, whose blood was pooled outside the back door?”
“Expecting those results anytime,” Max said.
“Great. And when do we expect Wolfheart and his lawyer?”
Quietdove looke
d at his watch just as we heard the station door chime. “That could be them now.”
Max groaned as he recognized the new arrival. “Afraid not.”
•
Jesse, the least pleasant half of Shady Gully’s Twin Preachers, stood before me now, bursting with outrage and indignation. Practically bald now, and as skinny as all get out, he fidgeted with his outdated gold wire-rimmed spectacles.
His henchmen, Thaddeus and Big Al, waited for him in their four-wheel drive outside the substation. I could see the tip of Big Al’s John Deere hat, and Thaddeus’s beady eyes peering at me through the lobby window.
“I hate to disturb your pastry party, Sheriff, but if you haven’t heard, we’ve got a killer on the loose.” He sat, uninvited, in the chair across my desk. “And I think we all know who’s responsible. The same dark soul that’s been a blight on this community for decades.”
As often happened when I ran into Jesse, I found myself at a loss for words. His self-righteousness just sucked the air right out of me.
“Wolfheart’s been slowly poisoning our kids for decades, and leading Lord knows what kind of shady happenings down there across the creek. And now, unsurprisingly, he’s killed someone.”
Quietdove lingered at the door, his face darkening.
“Even my brother, James, is weakening, showing signs of compromise. I will not do that, Sheriff, and I demand you make an arrest.” Jesse had never married, which could be part of the problem. Then again, I’d never married, and I wasn’t a lunatic.
Jesse, his twin brother James, and sister Dolly had been raised in their father, Wyatt’s, church. Wyatt was a decent old guy, but he hadn’t been able to control his family after Dolly’s husband dragged them through a horrible scandal several years ago. Instead of coming together and supporting one another, they’d imploded. To the extent that Jesse and James each built their own church when Brother Wyatt retired. The identical churches sat side by side, occupying one quarter of Shady Gully’s four way stop—an obvious reminder of what the failure to forgive looks like.