by Mary Frame
“What are we doing here?”
He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he gets out and I follow him. The sun is setting, and the tombstones cast long shadows around us. I can’t see the ocean, but it must be close because the salty sea breeze tickles my face and blows my hair in my eyes.
He stops in front of a small plot with a cement square imbedded in the ground.
George Hale, the script reads. Beloved Husband, Father and Friend 1939-2014.
Laid out next to the grave are a cupcake and an empty wrapper.
“Mrs. Hale brings cupcakes here every day.”
I stare down at the chocolate confection.
“They were George’s favorite. She hasn’t been able to bake anything since he died. So she has to buy them.” He pauses for a minute before clearing his throat and continuing. “Mrs. Hale has a bit of a QVC addiction. Her daughter lives in New Harbor but takes care of her bills for her and visits every weekend. She had to cut Mrs. Hale’s daily spending allowance to pay down her QVC purchases.”
I look up at Jared, but he’s frowning down at the ground.
“She doesn’t steal the cupcakes.” His eyes finally meet mine, steely and cold. “I pay for them. Every day. She’s not the mugger.”
And with that, he turns and walks back toward the car.
I stand there for a minute, mentally berating myself. There was no way Paige or I could have known the whole story based on a few minutes of video. I knew she probably wasn’t the mugger, I never even said that she was.
Jared should give me some brownie points for knowing something that I shouldn’t. Why doesn’t he?
Mixed with my large helping of chagrin is a dart of admiration. How did he see through my shtick? Any other mark would have been placated at this point.
With a sigh and one last glance at the cupcakes, I make my way slowly back toward the patrol vehicle.
He doesn’t make sense to me. Why would someone pay for someone else’s cupcake thievery? A cop, especially? I mean, yeah, on a purely philosophical level, I get it. The lady is old, her husband is dead, it’s all very sad, but I’ve never seen or heard of someone doing a good deed—daily, no less—and not expecting something in return. And a cop condoning petty theft? Enabling it, even? He seems so square and severe. Why does he do it?
I don’t understand him at all.
Chapter Ten
“Is the universe giving you any other hints?” Jared asks when I get back in the car with him.
“Why don’t you just . . .” Stop being such an asshole? Get hit by a van, in the face? I bite my tongue. “Do whatever it is you normally do, and I’ll see if anything comes to me.”
He drives around, issuing speeding tickets and traffic citations, while I sit next to him and try not to breathe too much. This isn’t going to work. I have nothing to contribute, and he knows it.
God, my parents were right. I am useless.
I’m ready to give up the whole thing and have him take me home. Sitting in a cop car isn’t exactly my happy place as it is, and Jared’s silence is grating.
But then he speaks.
“How did you know?”
“Know what?”
“About Mrs. Hale.”
“I told you what I saw.” The spark of vindication makes me smile. Maybe he does believe me.
“I know, but—”
We’re interrupted by a burst of static from the radio.
Jared and the dispatcher toss codes and numbers back and forth. The gist seems to be kids trespassing somewhere in the woods.
“You’re going to have to come with me,” Jared says as we speed out of the town proper, and the scenery begins to turn into trees and mountains.
“You can’t drop me off first?”
He shakes his head. “You’re on the other side of town and we’re the closest unit to the clearing.”
“The clearing?”
“It’s where the kids like to party and get in trouble. Among other things,” he mutters.
I nod, but I’m not sure exactly what he’s talking about.
It doesn’t take very long to get to the spot. Inside of ten minutes, we pull off the main road onto a rocky dirt path that cuts through the trees. A few minutes later, the trees peter out.
His headlights reveal an open space in the middle of the woods. It’s mostly gravel but there are a few grassy areas and the sky is bright with stars above us. It’s pretty, even at night. No wonder people like to make out here. A handful of cars are parked in corners, all far away from each other.
When we arrive on the scene, some of the cars start up immediately and make their way out of the area, but a few stay parked and dark.
“Now what?” I say when we’ve sat there for a few minutes.
“Time to see what they’re doing.” He unbuckles his belt.
“Can I come with you?”
“Nope.”
“What if one of them is the thief?”
“No one out here is stealing.”
“Even criminals need a break from their wasted lives for a little love and tenderness.”
“Whatever. Stay here.” He gets out of the car.
I follow him.
“I told you to stay put.”
“You might need me,” I insist. I have to do something. Sitting in the car for the past two hours has made my ass sore. Plus I’ve been absolutely pathetic all night and staying put isn’t going to change that.
He grumbles and stalks toward the closest car. I stay on his heels, the flashlight bobbing across the ground in front of us. The nearest vehicle is a small black compact with fogged-up windows and moans emanating from the interior.
Jared knocks on the window.
The moans and rocking continue uninterrupted.
I can’t help but laugh, although I try to cover it with my hand.
Jared clears his throat, and I like to think he’s muffling his own laughter, but nothing seems to crack this guy.
He knocks again, a little louder, using the butt of the flashlight to get a good rap.
This time, the moaning abruptly ceases, replaced with muffled curses.
A few long seconds pass and then the window rolls down.
“Mr. Newsome?” I say in disbelief.
Yep, it’s him. The same man who got in a fight over his ex-wife at the bar the other night. And who’s in the car with him? The ex-Mrs. Newsome, of course.
He doesn’t have a shirt on, exposing a hairy gray chest, and his pants are unbuttoned.
“Tell them I’m not here!” Mrs. Newsome whispers loudly from the back seat.
The flashlight briefly flicks toward the back seat, and I get a foggy glimpse of Mrs. Newsome completely nude before Jared flicks the flashlight back to right above Mr. Newsome’s head.
I think we both wish we could clean our retinas right about now.
“Paul,” Jared says in greeting.
“Jared.”
“You know you’re not supposed to be out here.”
“I know. We aren’t causing any trouble.”
“Maybe not, but you are trespassing. Have you been drinking tonight?”
“Nope, just keeping the spark alive.”
Jared sighs. “Okay. Once Sheila gets dressed, why don’t you two go make out somewhere that’s not private property? Unless it’s your own.”
We leave them to their own devices, but not before they laugh loudly inside the vehicle. I can’t help but laugh myself. I can’t see Jared’s face since he’s walking in front of me, but I could swear his shoulders are shaking.
We make our way over to the other two vehicles, which are parked next to each other on the other side of the clearing.
He shines a light into the interiors of both vehicles, but they’re vacant.
“What now?” I ask.
“I recognize these cars. They belong to some teenagers. They like to come out here and set bonfires and drink a bit deeper in.”
“Sounds pretty normal for teenagers.”
&nbs
p; “And dangerous. Also illegal.” He releases an irritated breath. “I know some spots they might be camping out at. I would ask you to return to the vehicle, but I don’t think you’ll listen to me.”
“You are thinking correctly,” I agree.
“I’ve got to call it in first.” he says, walking back to the patrol vehicle. “It’s likely we’ll be driving some inebriated youngsters out of here, and if they came in two cars, they won’t all fit in the back of the cruiser.”
Once that’s done, off into the woods we go.
“This way.”
I follow him along the tree line to a deer path that leads us further into the woods. It gets darker, the branches above us blocking most of the moonlight and glow from the stars.
“Do you have an extra light?” I might not be so scared if I have something in my hands. As it is, I can only make out the shape of his back in front of me, blocking the meager beam of his flashlight.
“Nope. You could go back to the car.”
“By myself, in the pitch black? You are insane.”
I trudge along behind him for a few minutes. There are other paths that intersect with the one we’re on, and Jared follows them confidently.
“How do you know which direction they went?”
“Because I partied out here when I was their age, too,” he admits. “Some things never change.”
The sound of a branch snapping in the distance makes him halt, and I crash into his back, my hands gripping his waist.
“What was that?” I ask.
“Shh.”
We stand there for a few tense minutes, listening. When there are no further sounds except the far-off hoot of an owl and the faint rustling of leaves in the wind, he says, “It’s probably nothing.”
“Probably nothing,” I say. “Except maybe a mass murderer.”
“That’s not likely. Branches break all the time. Or it’s some kind of animal.”
Silence reigns for a moment while I consider exactly what kinds of animals might be in the forest and how big their teeth might be.
“Are you going to hold onto me all night?”
I quickly let go, not realizing I was still grasping his waist.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
We resume our walk again down the darkened path.
After a few more minutes, I hear laughter and voices.
“Do you hear that?” I whisper.
“Yes,” Jared answers, a bit tersely. We keep walking in the direction of the voices.
“I think that’s their fire.” I’m still whispering.
“I know.”
The illumination is to our right, a bit off the beaten path in the middle of what looks like a copse of trees.
We stop walking and he shines his light up a little in the direction of their fire. We can walk through the thick of it toward them, but a slew of branches and dead leaves are in the way and the ground is uneven.
“We probably won’t be able to get through there without making a lot of noise and alerting them to our presence,” I say.
“I know,”
I can’t quite make out the conversation, but they seem to be having a grand time, whatever they’re doing. There are probably eight to ten of them, ranging in age from sixteen to eighteen. Someone yells something and then music kicks on, a loud punk song.
“The music should mask our steps,” I say.
“Stay here.” He steps off the path, over a tree stump, and toward the party.
“What? No way.” I follow behind him.
“You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“I am not.”
He turns around to face me, shining the light down between us. “This ground is uneven and you don’t have a flashlight.”
“So give me yours.”
“That’s not happening.”
“I’m not standing out here waiting for some creature to eat me.”
“There are no creatures out here.”
“You just said there’s wild animals.”
Even though I can’t make out his expression clearly, I can sense his eye roll.
He doesn’t bother responding. He turns around and keeps walking.
“I’ll be fine if you don’t get so far ahead of me,” I say, hurrying to catch up. As long as I stay close to him, I can follow his steps.
Except, as I’m hurrying toward him, I trip over a rock or something and launch straight toward his back. He turns at the last minute and tries to catch me before I fall. We both tumble to the hard earth, him on his back and me on top of him.
I can’t breathe for a moment, the wind nearly knocked out of me. I lie there clutching at him, his badge digging into my right palm. The flashlight is lying a few feet away, its feeble light shining in our direction, exposing Jared’s face in varying degrees of brightness and shadow.
“I’m sorry,” I say as soon as my breath returns. The faint brush of his cologne against my senses makes me breathe in deeply.
I brace myself, ready to face his wrath, sure that he’ll point out how he told me to stay in the car and to stay on the trail and by not listening I brought all of this on myself and him. And he would be completely correct.
Instead, his hands clutch my arms and his eyes search my face. “Are you okay?”
I’m struck speechless.
Should I say yes? If I say yes, and he’s assured of my relative safety, will I then have to face his contempt?
“I think so.” I choose wisely. “Are you okay?” He landed on his back and there’s so much rubble on the forest floor, it’s possible he’s injured. I had a cushioned landing, although the hard chest beneath my hands is anything but soft.
“Yeah,” he answers in a whisper.
I don’t move. I can’t move. I realize suddenly that I’m straddling him. He must realize it at the same time because his eyes widen and his breathing falters.
An image flits through my brain. Me, on top of him, sans clothes. I suck in a breath, and heat rushes to my core. I have the sudden urge to grind my center against his to see if what’s between his legs is as hard as the rest of him. But I don’t.
He shuts his eyes tightly for a second, his hands tightening around my arms, and then he’s shifting beneath me, encouraging me to get up and move away so he can grab his flashlight and stand. His hands reach for me again when I wobble over a stray branch, but then he seems to realize what he’s doing. His hand drops to his side and he asks again, “You okay?”
“Fine.” But my heart is beating wildly and my palms are sweating and I’m definitely not fine.
Jared is staring at me, and his gaze is like the fire of a thousand suns. Or something slightly less dramatic.
I take a breath. “Let’s go get these kids. I’ll stay out of the way while you do your thing,” I promise, my tone clipped and professional.
“Right.” He turns and I follow him toward the noise.
Chapter Eleven
He knows the teens partying in the woods, of course. A town this small, I wouldn’t be surprised if he could recite all of their Social Security numbers from memory.
I listen and watch while he orders some of them to put out the fire and another few to help pick up the beer bottles and trash. Then he talks to each of them and tells them what’s going to happen next.
Then we march out of the woods.
Luckily, they brought lanterns and flashlights. It’s not hard to follow the group through the trees and back to where the cars are parked. The kids are mostly subdued, if a bit giggly despite the circumstances.
By the time we reach the clearing, a couple more patrol cars have arrived.
I stand by Jared’s car, leaning my butt against the hood, and watch while the kids are issued citations and then divvyed up among the drivers.
Troy is one of them. He walks over to greet me, the headlights of one of the cars illuminating his legs as he walks.
“Hey, Troy.”
“How’s it going so far?”
“Pretty excitin
g, but no real leads.” I shrug. “It’s been . . .” I glance over at Jared, who’s coordinating who gets in which car. “Interesting.”
Jared comes back over before we can chat any further about my epic fail of a night. “You’re taking the kids who live in the heights,” he tells Troy. “I’ll take these kids.” He motions to the ones standing behind him. “Anderson has the rest.”
“Will do, boss. See you around, Ruby.” Troy tosses me a grin before striding off to take his assigned kids to their respective homes.
We get in the car and it’s a silent ride to drop off the kids. At each house, Jared gets out and talks to the parents before coming back to the car.
Then he takes me home.
I feel the need to save face before I leave him for the night.
“I’m sorry tonight was pretty much a bust. I was worried this would happen. It’s why I was reluctant to . . . offer my services.”
I watch his profile in the light of the dash. He glances over at me once, briefly, but his eyes are as dark and unreadable as ever.
“I’m sorry, too,” he says, surprising me. “I shouldn’t have been so hard on you about the cupcakes. It’s just . . . I really think the whole psychic thing is bullshit.”
“Really? I couldn’t tell.”
His lips twitch and then he shrugs. “I don’t want people I care about to get hurt.”
He pulls up in front of the house.
“I’m not going to hurt anyone.” Before he can say anything else, I get out with a hurried goodbye.
He waits until I’m inside before pulling away.
In the living room, Paige and Tabby are passed out on the couch. There’s popcorn and cookies strewn all over the dining table and the TV is still on. They both have freshly painted nails and Tabby has a smudge of chocolate on her cheek.
I shut off the TV and make sure both of them are covered up with blankets. Before heading up to bed myself, I stop and watch them sleeping peacefully.
I’m not going to hurt anyone.
I don’t know if I spoke the truth.
~*~
“Do you need a pencil?”
“I’m fine.”
“What about paper?”