by Bellus, HJ
I have to get out of here. Slapping down the file, I rake my hands through my overgrown hair and head outside. I have no idea where I’m going. I know for now my deputies were put in their place and each have specific duties. I didn’t miss their urge to speak up against me. It’s business as normal and they need to know that. I don’t need no fucking Walker, Texas Ranger shit going down with them trying to solve the house fire mystery.
I walk right past my truck. Her scent still lingers in it, not to mention, the memories and the heartache she left behind in it. I stroll down the main street, deciding to hit the local coffee shop. I know there will be lots of stares and hell, I may even be hit up with a question or a dozen, but I must continue to make my presence known in this town.
“Sheriff.” An elderly man tips his hat as he walks by and I do the same with my black cowboy hat back in respect.
I ignore the whispers from the others, damn well hearing every word about how I don’t even begin to measure up to Sheriff Jones. I grit my jaw until it threatens to break in order to bite back the words I want to yell at them. Words like, “How about you stick your nose in your own damn business instead of patrolling the main street of Birch Creek for bits and scraps of gossip?”
I can’t help myself when I near a table in front of the small coffee shop. A few ladies surround it with their Bibles on top and open. My breaking point implodes when I realize Veronica is one of the “righteous” women studying God’s word.
“Veronica.” I tip my hat to her in an act of respect. I can fake it as well as the rest here. “Nice to see you out enjoying the fresh air and sun, studying the good Lord’s word.”
Veronica’s eyes go wide as she slaps a hand over her hot pink sparkly shirt, feigning to be startled. I can see right through this fake bitch.
“Oh, Sheriff, you scared me.” She fluffs her stiff, ratted hair. “I guess I was so into this scripture I didn’t see you coming.”
“Sorry about that.” I offer, smiling at the women. They swoon. Yes, fucking gush right in front of me. Yeah, I know the murmuring about me being the most eligible bachelor in Birch Creek is alive and well. The fucked up thing is that these ladies are well into their fifties and sixties.
“No worries.” Veronica waves her hand with her tacky fake jewelry damn near blinding me. “Did Frankie enjoy the meal I brought over?”
Hook, line, and sinker. The only reason I stopped was to give this nosey bitch something to talk about and pray for in church. A little entertainment to ease the stress of the last few days.
“Not sure.” I shrug.
“Well, your truck has been there nearly around the clock, so I thought you two would have shared it.”
I lean down on the table, making eye contact with her and getting right up in Veronica’s personal space. “Like I said, not sure. Her guardian, Opal, is in town and taking care of her. I’ve been spending plenty of time over at the pastor’s house, looking for new evidence.”
A gasp of silence falls over the table at my audacity to speak of the man who everyone in this town believes walked on water. It makes me wonder how many others he’s abused and kept the families silent because of the shame it would supposedly shine on them.
Veronica goes to open her mouth then snaps it shut. It seems I’ve left her speechless. Good, because I’m not anywhere near done stringing this fake bitch along.
“Yeah, lots to sift through. Sure strange how he’s missing.” I stand back up and scrub my hand over my chin. “I’ll be over to visit tonight or early tomorrow to ask you a few questions.”
Cue open, slack jaw moment and her face turning a ghostly white. I don’t wait for her to respond; I nod to the other ladies and turn slightly, gearing up to walk away.
“Oh, Veronica, I wouldn’t mind a homemade meal if you have time since I didn’t have a chance to try what you made for…” I pause for a beat. “What was it that you called her?”
I have to give it to her. Veronica faces her Bible, studying the pages intently and doing her best to ignore what’s right in her face. I’m going to rattle everyone’s cages around here until they have no idea if they’re safe from their own secrets or not. They’ll get a little taste of the medicine that Frankie’s digested for years.
“Oh, that’s right. A weirdo.”
“Enough.” One of the women at the table shoots upright. The metal chair raking across the sidewalk causes a high-pitched screech. She’s much older than Veronica, and stands with her hands on her hips and fire in her eyes.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Dalton.” She raises a hand to point a finger in my direction. “You’re new in town and have no idea about the backstory on Frankie. I’ll say it right here for everyone to hear. That girl is not just a weirdo, but a spoiled brat that Louise let rule her world. Frankie ruined her grandma’s life. So, I won’t stand here and let you be a bully to my friend. I suggest you study up before you come here and threaten good, hard working people in this town.”
I nod, keeping my cool, then cross my arms. “And I suggest, ma’am, that you repent for your sins now before all hell rains down on all of you for judgemental stares and turning a blind eye.”
With that, I walk away from the group of women, mentally proud of myself for keeping my shit together. My temper flared up for a second, but I tamped it down, knowing damn well every single person involved with the pastor will be exposed before this case closes. It may not be to the public and that doesn't matter. They’ll have to live with their secrets the rest of their life and let it eat them alive. My only hope is that I can save Frankie from herself before the rest of the town exposes her secrets.
Coffee is now a long gone thought. There’s no way in hell I was going to walk into that shop with those women out front and more than likely the majority of everyone inside of it watching our showdown. I decide to head to the local grocery store, knowing their coffee next to the deli isn’t much better than the station coffee, but the fresh air and walk is doing its job of calming my ass down.
I decide not to make eye contact with anyone in the grocery store, knowing I’m walking on thin ice here until I can get more answers coaxed out of Frankie. I grab a thin styrofoam cup and begin filling it up. It’s not even half full when I hear the familiar booming voice of my brother.
“Who the hell are you?”
I ditch the lid and keep the coffee cup clutched in my hand. The sides crunch together and I know hot liquid will spill out at any second if I don’t loosen up.
“Answer me!” Truckee roars.
I know something serious is going down, and fast. He’s riled up all the time, but I know the tone of his voice and this one means he’s in a no bullshit mode.
I stride right past an end stand of tortilla chips and dip, doing my best to pinpoint where Truckee’s voice is coming from. Rounding the bread, cookies, and snack aisle, I find him and stop dead in my tracks. It’s not because of his hyped-up posture and ready to throw down state. No, it’s the woman standing next to him. Frankie. I caught it just in time to see her budding confidence deflate in a matter of seconds.
Everything goes down so fast as I glance between Truckee and the guy he’s confronting, back to Frankie then to Opal pulling Truckee back. It’s for sure a “what the fuck is going on” moment. One I’ve seen too many times with my brother.
The man he’s confronting opens his mouth then snaps it shut. That’s when I jolt into action nearing the scene.
“What’s going on here?” I relax my grip on the weak styrofoam cup.
All faces whip my way. It’s Frankie’s that I focus on and the panic dancing in her eyes that kicks me into action. The perfect fucking reminder that I am the sheriff in this small shit town, and it’s my terms. I’m the law. Not a card I ever wanted to play, but now it’s free game.
The beats of silence deafen me. No one responds. I glance at the shopping cart and spot Truckee’s kryptonite on top of all the healthy food.
“Could someone tell me why ther
e were raised voices in SouthSide Market?” I ask, lacing it with a little white lie since I only heard my brother’s.
Truckee remains stoic, not saying a word, just like when we were little kids. He’d keep his lips sealed and take all the beatings before admitting wrong or saying sorry. To this day, I’ve never heard the man say he was sorry.
The unfamiliar man is the first to speak up, even though he’s not sure about any of the words he’s speaking. It’s evident in the tremble of his voice and the fidgeting of his hand on the basket he’s packing.
“I-uh… I just saw Frankie and wanted to see how she’s doing.”
I nod.
“Want to tell me why she was frightened the second you approached?” Truckee barks.
Opal does her best to pull him back and shut him up, but nothing is stopping him and I know why. Old memories float and drift in, but unlike my brother I don’t let them haunt me.
Something in the older man with salt and pepper hair snaps as he lets the basket drop to the floor. He steps closer to Truckee, raising a pointed finger to wield like a dagger.
“I know exactly who you are, Truckee Cray, and I find it funny you come in with your money and poisonous ways right after a good man in our community has gone missing. And let’s not forget you’re the only brother to our new sheriff. So, yeah, I’d love the answer to your brother’s question.”
Opal somehow manages to maneuver her way between Truckee and this guy. I’m not quite sure how she managed to do it as I’m still reeling on the fact he knows who Truckee is. I shouldn’t be all that shocked, since our dad owned this damn state for years and made everyone fear his presence. It’s just that I’ve managed to fly under the radar here, or maybe it’s the fact that no one has had the need to bring it up.
“He,” Opal hitches a thumb over her shoulder, “is my boyfriend, which should be no concern of yours.”
The fired up gentleman shoots up a raised eyebrow. The vein in his forehead pulses, letting me know he’s not backing down.
“Oh, and you’re Frankie’s guardian. How convenient.” He shakes his head. “I’m not buying any of it.”
“Well, we aren’t selling shit, so you don’t have to,” Truckee pipes up.
“House fire, missing person, and now this.” The man jerks his chin in Frankie’s direction. “I have no doubt that this spoiled ass brat who loves causing so much trouble had something to do with it.”
“You…” Frankie’s voice is so light, but we all hear her. “You.”
The man bares all of his teeth in a victorious smile. “Me what?”
That’s all it takes to send Frankie back into her protective shell, buried under layers and layers of corrupt hate.
I see red. My vision blurs in and out as the whooshing in my ears damn near deafens me. It takes everything in me not to lay this smug motherfucker out. It’s Frankie’s trembling vibrations that ground me. I glance down at her and the horror on her face mirrors the same expression as the first day I met her in the town square. I flick my gaze up to the man who is intently staring at Frankie and then back down to her trembling fingers. Her head is dropped, hiding her face from the situation and the toes of her tennis shoes tap away.
I’m finally able to clear my throat and talk. “Sir, I hear you. You’re more than welcome to come down to the station any time and have a chat. This isn’t the place.”
He shakes his head and backs up. “I was simply saying ‘hi’ to Frankie and then was attacked. Excuse me for letting how I really feel come out.”
Truckee opens his mouth, but Opal silences him with a punishing elbow to the gut.
“Again, I hear you,” I repeat, doing my best to deescalate this situation.
He points his finger at me. Jesus, this man will not calm down. He’s so fired up, and over what I can’t quite figure out, but what I do know from past experiences that this type of behavior is an indicator of guilt.
“I won’t be talking to you. You’re a pathetic excuse as a sheriff. And since you’ve called your deputies off every lead concerning Pastor Chapman, I’ll be leading my own investigation, so you just keep protecting that little whore.”
That’s it. I gave him a chance and did my best to calm him down, but he just stepped over the line. I stride past Frankie, Opal, and Truckee. I turn to them and leave no doubt lingering in my voice. “Get on with your shopping, now.”
I don’t turn back to see if they listen to me or not as I approach the man. “Sir, I’ve asked you kindly and gave you options to come down to the station and chat with me. You’ve refused it all and just verbally assaulted a minor. I need you to set down your basket and turn around.”
He, of course, decides to throw a punch my direction. I should’ve seen it coming, but I didn’t and took the brute force right to my jaw.
“You need to calm down,” I grit out between my teeth. “You’re just racking up the charges.”
I somehow manage to get his hands behind his back and call for back-up while getting this fucker cuffed.
I begin reading him his Miranda Rights when this relentless asshole tosses his head back, wanting to connect with my face. My patience is long damn gone. I know there are several cameras in this store and that’s the only thing stopping me from bashing his head into the shelf of cookies. All of this has me second-guessing my right and privilege of being the sheriff of this small town. It’s one nasty nightmare.
Wilcox rounds the aisle within minutes. Once he takes in the scene his face grows pale. I found the damn leak in my chain and he knows it. Quickly, I debrief him, not giving him any kindness in my tone.
“Les Monroe,” the name ghosts off Wilcox’s lips.
“Yes. Book him on verbal assault against a minor and battery on an officer.”
“This is bullshit and you know it. Your brother attacked me, protecting that little bitch!” Les shouts.
“Get him out of here now,” I demand.
We’ve already gathered a big enough crowd. I swear I can hear the damn murmuring skittering all over the town. This mystery of what happened in that house fire just turned into a clear and defined war with me in the center of it.
I want nothing more than to head over to Frankie’s and demand answers from her. Time is ticking and this shit needs to end. But I don’t. Instead, I clear stuff up with the store manager, retrieving the footage from the cameras and head to the station. There’s no way in hell I’m going to let any sort of technicality happen on my watch. I’m going to nail Les Monroe with every charge possible then unearth every single one of his deep, hidden secrets. That angry man is a vault of hidden rumors that may just be truths he’s buried deep.
Chapter Nineteen
Frankie
“Happy Birthday.”
The room to my bedroom flies open, startling me even though I was awake, staring up at the ceiling of my bedroom. Opal stands in the doorway with a huge white frosted cake with two candles at the top—in the shapes of a one and eight. Truckee rests his head on the top of her shoulder from behind, smiling brightly back at me.
The two erupt into a terrible rendition of the birthday song. I can't help but laugh and sit up, tugging the hood of my sweatshirt down on my head. I can’t believe the day is finally here, that I’m eighteen years old. The days have blurred by as Truckee and Opal have done their best to keep me occupied. If I’m being honest, they’ve done a damn good job of it. I’ve gone from zero cooking skills to almost mastering chef level.
Truckee has worked with me and Pokey every single day. I’ve learned more about horses in these last several days than I have my entire life. Just the few hours each day out of my house have been exhilarating, letting me know there is life outside these walls. The disastrous grocery store trip still lingers in the back of my mind, though.
“Okay, it’s your birthday!” Opal squeals. “Get your ass out of bed! We have plans.”
“Plans?” I ask.
“Yep.” Opal smiles. “Now come have birthday cake for breakfast and I
’ll fill you in.”
Truckee circles a finger around his ear and shakes his head. “Sorry, girl, Opal takes birthdays way too far. I can’t help you here.”
Opal thrusts an elbow back keeping the cake balanced in her hands. Truckee grunts and backs away with his hands up in the air.
Happiness. That’s what I feel. It’s not Grandma or June here by my side, and yet I still feel giddy about my birthday. I always dreaded this day, but then I’d wake up and always forget all that when the chaos of Grandma overdoing my birthday ensued.
I make quick work of brushing my teeth and finger-combing my short hair and head to the kitchen. Dalton is absent like he has been so many mornings. I knew he had a lot of work to do, but it was the other afternoon when I overheard him and Truckee talking while both indulged in a beer. Dalton was going on about how he was digging into the past of several people in the community, leaking information and stirring the gossip pot.
Guilt struck me hard. I need to tell them everything and I will. Dalton has been working long hours, punishing people who even dared to pipe up about me.
Once I enter the dining room the spread strikes me silly. Not only does the cake sit in the middle of the table, but so do wrapped gifts, flowers, and several lit candles. Truckee has his damn country music blaring while Opal waits at the table, eager as hell to greet me. She wraps me up in a warm and loving hug.
“Okay. Okay.” She claps her hands and backs up. “Now, hear me out. We are going to eat cake for breakfast and then we are heading down to the salon.”
“Don’t forget the Oreos,” Truckee adds, stuffing a cookie in his mouth.
“Salon?” I question.
“I invited one of my friends to town, and the local salon is allowing her to use one of the booths today. She’s all yours,” Opal replies. “She’s a really good friend of mine and is super awesome.”