Shattered Justice

by Karen Ball

  Slow as ever, Jay piped up. “Yeah.”

  Oh, joy. Another pea brain country heard from. “Don’t be stupid.” He snorted. “Oh, sorry. Forgot who I was talking to.”

  The brothers frowned, and Marlin could tell they were trying to figure out if they’d just been insulted. He stood, rolling his shoulders. “Don’t worry about the cop.”

  Jay’s grin was half sneer. “You gonna take care of him, aren’t you?”

  Marlin pushed Dicky out of the way, striding down the street. The two brothers fell in step beside him, as he’d known they would.

  “You gonna do it, huh, Marlin? Take care of the cop?”

  A small smile touched his lips. “That’s my job, boys. Taking care of things.”

  “And you’re good at it, too.”

  “Yeah,” Jay chimed in. “Really good.”

  Marlin’s smile grew. They had no idea. But they would. Soon enough, everyone—especially the good deputy—would know just how good he was.

  SEVEN

  “She smiled, and the shadows departed;

  She shone, and the snows were rain;

  And he who was frozen-hearted bloomed up into love again.”

  JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS

  “You have allowed me to suffer much hardship,

  but you will restore me to life again and lift

  me up from the depths of the earth.”

  PSALM 71:20

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE THEY BLEW UP AN OUTHOUSE.”

  Jasmine took a serious chomp on her gum, studying the two young boys sitting in Dan’s office. “Hey, it’s the thing to do for kids out here.”

  Dan grimaced. “But … an outhouse?” He’d heard that was the most common offense among teens and preteens in Sanctuary, and supposed he should be grateful his first experience with the favored pastime of tiny minds had waited two months to hit him.

  “Yeah, well, with so many of the fathers from the area gone, kids find all kindsa ways of getting into trouble.”

  His receptionist-slash-dispatcher sure seemed to know the area. But it would be a lot easier to take her seriously if she looked a bit less … what was the term Aaron liked to use?

  Oh yes. Bizarro.

  First time Dan met Jasmine, he couldn’t believe she was the town council’s choice for working with him in the office. The fact that she was barely in her twenties was concern enough. Could a girl that young take this kind of job seriously? Especially when her résumé showed her only experience was several years of babysitting for neighbors and being a part-time cashier at the local market-cum-gas station?

  Then there was the way she looked. Jasmine Carlson was … an individual. When he first met her, her hair was short, spiked—and green. And she dressed in black. All black. And in the four months he’d been in Sanctuary, the girl’s hair had changed at least a dozen times. Sometimes every week. He never knew what color it would be. So far she’d shown up with blue, purple, bright pink, and the same color red as the old Chevy truck his grandfather used to drive.

  Lately, though, she’d taken to wearing it straight and pure black, with purple right around her face. A little too Morticia Addams for his taste, but hey. It beat green.

  Then there was that tongue stud. It only took a week of hearing her clack that thing against her teeth for Dan to ask her to leave it out while she was working.

  Fortunately, she complied.

  Unfortunately, she replaced it with an eyebrow ring.

  Ah, well, at least that one didn’t make noise.

  During those first few days, Dan considered replacing her, but something told him to wait. And watch. And what he saw amazed him.

  Jasmine stayed cool under pressure like few people Dan had ever met. Most days the phone didn’t ring all that often. Then there were the crazy-making days. Days when the phone never shut up and people came through the door in a steady stream. The first day like that, Dan nearly climbed the walls.

  Jasmine, on the other hand, took it all in stride. She managed the phone like a pro and the people coming in like a drill sergeant.

  And then there was her work ethic. The girl was as responsible as they came—and she knew how to keep things to herself. Not once had Dan ever heard of her talking about things she shouldn’t.

  Getting accustomed to Jasmine’s peculiarities may have taken a while, but accepting her as a true blessing came fast and easy.

  He stood at the front of her desk, eyeing the two young boys sitting in his office. “So, blasting outhouses to the sky is some kind of Sanctuary rite of passage?”

  “Could be worse.”

  It could indeed. Dan had seen that firsthand with the kids he worked with in Medford, where gang rites of passage ranged from petty theft to drug dealing to murder. Yeah. He’d take exploding outhouses any day.

  “Well, guess I’d better go read ’em the riot act.”

  “Go get ’em, Chief.”

  “Jasmine…”

  She held up her hands. “Right, right. I’m sorry. You’re not a chief.”

  “I’m a deputy. Or you could just call me Dan.”

  She waved him toward his office. “So go, Deputy. Scare the little monsters onto the straight and narrow.” Her lips lifted a fraction. “If anyone can do it, you can.”

  He pushed away from her desk. “Gee, thanks. I think.”

  Straightening to his full height, he stomped toward the office. The boys threw near-panicked looks over their shoulders when they heard him coming, and Dan fought not to laugh.

  Hardened criminals, these two.

  He went into his office, slamming the door behind him and going to sit at his desk. Pinning the now-trembling boys with a glare, he launched into his speech about respecting others’ property and the dangers of explosives. He was just gaining steam, and the boys were turning yet another shade of petrified, when a firm knock sounded at his door.

  He looked up, ready to scold Jasmine for interrupting him, and found himself face-to-face with a pretty, fresh-faced young woman. At first glance, with her shoulder-length dark brown hair tucked behind her ears, wide blue eyes, and casual turtle-neck sweater and jeans, she didn’t look that much older than the boys slumped in chairs in front of Dan’s desk. High school, maybe.

  He looked closer.

  No, more like a freshman in college.

  Strange … he had the feeling he knew her. But he’d remember if he met this girl before. He leaned forward to frown past the intruder, looking for Jasmine. She was sitting there, jaw working on her gum, filing her nails. His frown deepened, and he aimed it at the girl leaning against his doorway. “Excuse me. I’m busy—”

  “Yes, I can see that.”

  Her mature, confident tone was his first surprise. The second was when she walked into his office and put one hand on each boy’s shoulder.

  Dan firmed up his expression. “I’m sorry, Miss …”

  “Wilson,” she supplied, confidence still firmly in place. “Shelby Wilson. I head up Master’s Touch.”

  Dan leaned back in his chair. Master’s Touch? “I’ve heard of your group. But how did you come to know about these two?” He indicated the boys.

  “Sanctuary is a small town, Deputy.” She surveyed the room then went out to the outer office and grabbed a chair, glancing up at Jasmine. “Do you mind?”

  Jasmine waved her fingernail file in the air. “Help yourself.”

  Dan pushed back from the desk and went to take the chair from the woman, then carried it back into his office. She thanked him and took a seat.

  “So are you saying Master’s Touch is based around here?

  She waited until he was seated to answer. “Not just around here, but here. Right in little ol’ Sanctuary.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  He wasn’t sure if she was amused or offended by his astonishment. “Not a bit. I founded the organization, and Sanctuary is my home, so there you have it.”

  Amazing. A group as effective as Master’s Touch, with a network of professiona
ls who worked with problem kids from all over southern Oregon, based in Sanctuary.

  “I worked with one of your branch outreach programs when I lived in Central Point.”

  Her smile was knowing. “I can imagine who they paired you with.”

  “The worst offenders.”

  “Makes sense.”

  He lifted a brow. “It does?”

  “That’s who I’d pair you with. Kids hell-bent on destroying themselves and anything—or anyone—who got in their way.”

  “Yeah, I guess I do look like I’d fit with those kids.”

  “What you look like is someone who can handle those kinds of kids.”

  He’d done pretty well. He hadn’t been able to get through to all the boys, of course, but he did reach some. Sarah said it was because he opened himself up to them, let them see who he really was.

  “Are you still involved in the program?”

  Dan hesitated, picking up a pen and scribbling on the paper in front of him. “No. No, I’m not.”

  Maybe Sarah’s assessment was right. Either way, after she died, he couldn’t do it anymore. Not for a while, anyway. He didn’t have the energy or ability to let anyone inside. “I needed a break, so I pulled out.”

  “Well, Deputy, let me know if you’re ever ready to get back in.” Her look was direct, open. “I’d love to have you join us here.”

  “You have a lot of tough kids, do you?” He smiled, but Shelby didn’t return it.

  “You’d be surprised.”

  Not so much. Dan had been a cop too long to doubt kids got into trouble no matter where they were. Fortunately, Master’s Touch had an admirable track record for turning serious troublemakers into model students. If he remembered right, Shelby had taught a workshop in the Central Point branch.

  That was probably where he’d seen her before.

  Get off it, Justice. Doesn’t matter if you’ve seen her before or not.

  Right. Forget trying to figure that out. Focus on matters at hand. Or, more accurate, on the woman at hand.

  But that was easier said than done. Shelby leaned back in her chair, a smile spreading across her features.

  That was the biggest surprise of all. That smile.

  As it lifted her lips, warmth filled her features, transforming them from young and sweet to captivating. Her dancing sapphire eyes held a luminous light, and in their depths Dan saw the kind of understanding he usually only saw in other cops. There was a difference, though. In his brethren, the understanding was ragged, a worn-down edge at the backs of their eyes when they met your gaze head-on. But in Shelby …

  It glowed.

  The effect was like a candle flame flickering to life in a window on a dark, stormy night. A beacon of comfort and safety, an assurance of acceptance and truth.

  Deep inside him, something stirred. Recognition sparked. Dan’s mouth fell open a fraction. “You work at the library, too?”

  She was taken aback for a moment, then laughed. “I take care of the flowers outside the library, if that’s what you mean. I’m their volunteer gardener.”

  “I saw you.”

  At her raised brows, he backpedaled. “On my first day in town. We were talking with a group of folks, and you were working on the daffodils. And singing.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He leaned back in his chair. “You were singing.” He smiled. “Nice voice.”

  Her responding smile was just slightly tongue-in-cheek. “Thanks.”

  She turned to the two boys, who’d sat in frozen silence since she came in. Dan couldn’t blame them. They were probably trying to figure out if she was their savior or executioner. She had a real air about her, one that had Dan discarding his initial impression.

  Shelby Wilson knew what she was up against and wasn’t in the least discouraged. As unbelievable as it might seem, she was like Dan. A warrior.

  And he’d just been taken captive.

  Sitting there, caught between surprise and a bolt of something he hadn’t felt since Sarah—pure, visceral awareness—Dan found himself speechless.

  Oh, he had plenty to say. He just couldn’t seem to find the oxygen or voice with which to say it.

  She turned back to him. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Deputy. I meant to introduce myself sooner, but the last few months have been crazy.” Her words gave him a moment to regroup, to suck in air and get his heart started again. “Thanks to characters like these two.” She shot a sideways glance at the boys, but not before he saw the twinkle of mischief in her eyes.

  “No problem.” His own gaze nailed the two troublemakers to their chairs. “I figure we’ll just lock ’em up, throw away the key.”

  The din of alarmed protest the boys raised almost made Dan laugh. Almost. But he managed to keep a straight face as Shelby silenced the two miscreants with a raised hand.

  “Bobby, Justin, I should just let the deputy put you in a cell.” Their mouths dropped, and Dan could just imagine her satisfaction as she crossed her arms, leaning against his desk. “It’s not like this is your first time in trouble, now is it, Justin?”

  “No, Miss Wilson.”

  The younger boy’s subdued tone was music to Dan’s ears.

  “May I assume, Bobby, if I can talk the good deputy into letting you go, that it will be your last time?”

  The other boy looked up. “It’s not my fault—”

  Her hand shot up again, backing the boy’s words into his throat. “We’re not talking fault here—” her tone hardened a fraction—“although you are older than your brother. And if I remember correctly, your daddy entrusted you with keeping him out of trouble?”

  Bobby stared down at his shoes. This time when he spoke he was equally subdued. “Yes, Miss Wilson.”

  “Doesn’t seem as if you’ve done a very good job, now does it?”

  “No, Miss Wilson.”

  “I’d like to think I can count on you to do better from now on.”

  At the softening in her tone, Bobby looked up.

  “Because I think Justin is scared. About your mom being sick. And since your dad is so busy taking care of her, he needs you to help him do what’s right. To make your folks proud of you both. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  Dan watched the play of emotion on the boy’s features, wishing he could see Shelby’s face. But whatever her expression, it must have hit home. Because young Bobby straightened in his chair, and an air of determination settled over him. “Yes, Miss Wilson. That’s what I want.”

  She took the boy’s hand and squeezed it. “I know it is.” She peeked over her shoulder at Dan. “Well, Deputy, what do you think?”

  He let the boys stew while he seemed to roll the idea around in his head. “Still have to call their parents.”

  She ignored the boy’s groans. “Of course.”

  “And give them community service, probably about a hundred hours.”

  “A hundred hours!”

  At the older boy’s outburst, Shelby turned with a quick frown. “You think that’s too much, do you?”

  Bobby squirmed in his chair. “Well, gosh … I mean …”

  She didn’t say anything, just waited. The boy swallowed with difficulty, stubbing his toe into the floor. “Um … no.”

  “Well then?”

  He stared at the floor then dragged his gaze back to Shelby. “Okay.”

  “Good.” Shelby turned back to Dan. “Would you like to call their parents, or shall I?”

  He pushed the phone toward her. “You’re the boss.”

  Her smile was just this side of wicked. “And don’t you forget it.”

  EIGHT

  “No straight lines make up my life,

  and all my roads have bends.”

  HARRY CHAPIN

  “Teach us to make the most of our time,

  so that we may grow in wisdom.”

  PSALM 90:12

  ONE YEAR LATER

  “I WANT A UNICORN.”

  Dan looked up from s
tirring a bowl of pancake batter. His youngest child stood in the kitchen doorway, the early morning sun lighting her face as she rubbed a small fist into her sleep-filled eyes.

  Finally. He’d been calling for her and her brother to get up for almost an hour. Amazing how a child’s ability to hear seemed to drop in direct correlation to his or her desire to do what was being requested.

  Either that, or sleep made kids deaf. Dan hadn’t decided which was accurate.

  He’d finally given in to the ultimate weapon: start breakfast and let the smells do what his authority alone couldn’t—get them out of bed.

  “A what?”

  Shannon padded over to lean her elbows on the kitchen island, bending forward just enough to lift her feet off the floor. Dan watched her, marveling. How could one year bring such change?

  Last summer, Shannon had been all little girl, playing with dolls and talking to her stuffed animals in the full belief they heard and understood her. And heaven knew there had to be at least a dozen stuffed animals on her bed before she could go to sleep at night. Then just two weeks ago, on the first day of August, Shannon turned twelve.

  Suddenly, something changed. It was as though some inner cognition roused from slumber and roared to life, triggering a startling metamorphosis. The stuffed animals and dolls made way for funky pillows on her bed. Her walls were plastered with posters of teenaged actors and singers. And she spent countless hours on the phone with other men’s little girls, talking about hair, clothes, and—heaven help him—boys.

  Just last week she asked if she could start wearing makeup.

  Dan studied Shannon as she stood there, contemplating the delight of her favorite breakfast: shape pancakes. With her drowsy eyes blinking, hair tangled from sleep and tumbling down into her face, cheeks pink and glowing, she looked every inch his baby girl. And yet …

  There, just at the edges of her little girlness, Dan could see it. A young woman, ready to burst free. And every time he caught a glimpse of that young woman, he suffered the same soul-deep pang. These last two years without Sarah had been hard, but it was times like this, looking at their beautiful daughter, who every day was becoming more and more a miniature of her mother, that Dan missed his wife the most.