by CJ Birch
Dan jumped into the cab of his truck. The engine started with a slow sputter. “I’ve got a better idea. Come on.”
* * *
The main strip of Turlough reminded Robin Oakes of a zombie movie she’d watched as a kid. It looked deserted in the early morning. There was no traffic and the only noise came from the birds chattering at her from the trees above.
She’d been in town less than an hour and already everything she’d brought was covered in a fine pink dusting. The way it stuck to your skin and clothing was like a fungus.
The walk from the Collard’s Bed and Breakfast had been shorter than she’d expected. There wasn’t much to the town. It looked more like a strip of houses had attempted to escape the forest, only to give up after a couple of blocks. The forest held the town within a swath of green. Protective or suffocating, she wasn’t sure.
As Robin entered the sheriff’s office, she brushed her pale blond bangs to the side. A few delicate petals fell to the floor by her heels. She swiped at her clothes, more as an excuse to inspect her shoes for scuffs. Finally she pulled her attention to the inside of the building. It appeared larger on the outside. She’d had apartments bigger than this. And that was in Chicago, where they charged a premium for tiny shit holes.
A rotund officer sat on the edge of the reception desk speaking into the phone. He stuffed half a muffin into his mouth.
“Hold on a sec,” said Neil as he pulled away from the phone. “Can I help you?” Bits of muffin dropped from his mouth to his uniform.
“I have a meeting with the sheriff.” Robin stood in the doorway, her tall frame blocking most of the sunlight. Robin exuded urban. Like most city dwellers, she wore her arrogance like a shield. A safeguard against any number of embarrassments or misunderstandings.
Neil chewed as fast as he could, moving his right hand in a circular motion as if to speed up the process. “She’s out for a sec. You can take a seat by her office and wait if you like.” He turned his attention back to the phone, but not before giving her backside the once-over as she passed.
Instead of taking a seat outside, Robin stepped into Elle’s office. “An open door is an open invitation,” she whispered to herself. Her eyes roved around the room. Busy desk, old safe—open. “So much for security.” A pump-less keg. “Interesting.” The room was devoid of personal pictures and items.
She felt a buzz in her pocket and slipped out her cell phone. She smirked at the caller ID. “A little light on the content, were we?” She ran her fingers over the spines of the books as she listened. “I know it was a rush job and it looks great. But can you beef it up a little? It’s way too flimsy.” Her red lips curled into a pleasant smile. “Thanks, you’re a doll.” She slid the phone back into her skirt pocket.
After getting a brief glimpse of the town, Robin expected Sheriff Ashley to be the female version of the burly deputy stuffing his face in reception. So when Elle marched in, Robin’s throat nearly swallowed her tongue.
“Who are you and why are you in my office?” Elle moved around to the back of her desk. She placed her stolen mug of coffee on the blotter and shifted piles of folders around. She was unsuccessful at trying to clear space on her desk.
Robin had to shake herself mentally. The image she’d held in her mind of an oafish woman in her fifties was replaced with this woman and her flaming hair. “I’m Robin Oakes. I’m with Verve Magazine.” Robin stuck her hand out, but the look of sheer death in Elle’s eyes made her pull it back in.
“I haven’t even agreed to give you an interview and you’re already snooping around.” Elle made a quick scan to see what Robin had seen, her eyes landing on the keg. “Why exactly are you writing this story anyway?” She remained standing. So did Robin.
“Oh.” Robin’s smile was smooth. She was used to coming up against opposition with her job. Very few people were happy to see her. When she showed up, it usually meant something had gone wrong. There wasn’t much that ruffled her on a daily basis. “Mr. Brady assured me this was all set up.”
“I’m sure he did.” Elle’s face was stone.
Robin took a moment to pull from her arsenal of persuasion tactics and settled on conspiratorial girlfriends. “Listen. I get it. You don’t want someone hanging around getting in the way. But I’m used to staying on the sidelines. I assure you, I will stay out of your way. And I won’t print anything you don’t want.” She found it disconcerting the way Elle’s dark green eyes scrutinized her, like she was waiting for her to commit an offense.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Elle said, still standing.
She shrugged. “Why wouldn’t someone want to write a story about Turlough? Or you, for that matter? Female sheriff in a small town. With everything that’s going on in the world right now, people will eat this shit up.”
Elle’s eyebrows rose.
Robin internally chastised herself. Dial it back a bit. “Sorry. The company I usually keep isn’t all flowers and sunshine. What I mean is, women in power positions is a story. America needs to see more of this.”
“I’m sorry, but I was under the impression you were doing a profile piece on Turlough for the Beer and Berry Festival.”
“No. I’m doing a profile on you.”
Elle blinked. She was unsure how to react. She took refuge in the most comforting: fury. “You told Brady this, didn’t you? Did it ever occur to any of you that I might not want to be written about?” Her usually pale skin began to color as she built momentum.
“Phone, boss,” Neil yelled from the outer office.
Elle grabbed at the receiver, glad for the reprieve. “Sheriff Ashley,” she said.
Robin scanned the room again, each item taking on new meaning now that she’d gotten a glimpse of the owner. She walked to a small bookshelf stuffed behind the opening of the door and the love seat. It, like everything in the office, was very old and falling apart. Books were shoved into every space, like a life-size game of Tetris. Mostly criminology books. Several of John Douglas’s profiling books stood out. She picked up a book draped across the arm of the love seat. The title read Corpse: Nature, Forensics, and the Struggle to Pinpoint Time of Death. She opened a page at random and began to read. Robin stopped reading and looked again at the title. Interesting. She’d have to pick up a copy.
“Wait—you’re mad I didn’t press charges? He’s eighteen, they would—” There was a pause as she listened to the speaker on the other end.
Robin watched with growing intrigue as Elle stood with her fists balled, eyes closed, trying to rein in her temper. Her uniform was rumpled like she’d slept in it and much of her hair had escaped her bun, but there was no doubt in Robin’s mind, beneath that sleepy exterior was a woman of passion. In fact, the image was breathtaking. If she hadn’t been there on business she might consider getting to know Sheriff Ashley a little better. But she had a hard and fast rule of never shitting where she ate. It had served her well.
“I appreciate that you’re trying to find the best way to discipline your son. But trespassing and underage drinking are not good reasons to give your son a permanent criminal record,” she said.
Robin had once read it was difficult for people to imagine the other side of a phone conversation. Robin’s imagination was better than most. She loved eavesdropping on these phone calls, trying to piece together all the possibilities.
“Hold on,” Elle said, a little too loud. “My brother being there had nothing to do with why I didn’t file charges. I have never compromised my position as sheriff for EJ.”
Robin turned to see if the volcano would erupt. Still standing, Elle had closed her left fist around a stress ball. Her lips were a thin line. She breathed. Her hand squeezed tighter.
“I know you’re relatively new to the area, Mr. Baker, but things work a little different here. Turlough has a way of ebbing the reactionary instinct out of people over time.” She tried to smile, restoring color to her lips. Her eyes opened. She caught Robin watching her and turned her back.
Robi
n replaced the book on the shelf, convinced more than ever that Sheriff Elle Ashley was going to be a wicked temptation during this assignment.
Chapter Three
Mr. Rutherford took his time. Each step was a snake pit. Sharp pains struck at his legs, starting with his weedy ankles and working their way up his thighs. People watched as he progressed toward the sheriff’s office, each wondering if it would be his last trek from the old Victorian tucked into the woods behind Turlough.
He sucked in a sharp breath as he pulled open the station door. Neil rushed to help.
“Off!” Mr. Rutherford slapped at Neil’s hand. “Off! I can manage a silly door.” The way he used it for leverage, he appeared to be heaving himself onto a ledge. “Where’s the sheriff? I’m tired of waiting for her to return my calls.” He puffed himself up. “Elizabeth!”
“The sheriff’s in a meeting right now. You can wait if you like.” Neil waved toward Elle’s office and the row of chairs outside her door.
“I do like.” Mr. Rutherford hobbled over to the chairs, peering inside to see who Elle was speaking with. If his hearing was any better he would have liked to eavesdrop. But even up close, you needed to shout to be heard.
“Can I get you something while you wait?”
Mr. Rutherford waved him off with a furious hand gesture.
Inside her office, Elle held up a hand for Robin to stop talking, distracted by the sight of Mr. Rutherford wobbling past her door.
She rounded her desk toward Mr. Rutherford and sat down beside him. “I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to return your calls, Mr. Rutherford.”
He squeezed her arm. “Gives me a chance to get some much-needed exercise.” He smiled for what was probably the first time all day. His teeth hadn’t fared better than the rest of him. Many of the back molars were missing, and a few bicuspids. The ones he did have were the color of old ivory. “And this gives me a chance to flirt with you.”
“What was it you needed?” Her face relaxed and some of the tension she’d felt earlier eased out of her shoulders.
“I wanted to tell you about Mrs. Collard and her hedges. I checked the bylaw. She has an obligation to cut them if they’re too high. She says they’re not too high.” He took a big gulp of air. “I had my nephew measure them last time he was here and that was several weeks ago. They’re too high.” He nudged her arm. “You remember him? He’s single again, you know.”
Robin watched from the door, a small smile curving her lips.
“Mr. Rutherford, you know I’m far too busy to worry about dating.” She tried to brush his comment off with a smile, but the color creeping from her ears gave her away.
“It’s nice to see you smile.” Mr. Rutherford patted her cheek. “You’re far too serious these days, Elizabeth.” He began the long process of standing. “And far too pretty to let yourself go to waste.” Elle helped him to his feet. She hooked his elbow with a strong grip.
“I promise to talk with Mrs. Collard about her hedges, as long as you promise me to stay put. I’m sure your family doesn’t want you using up all your strength for bylaw complaints.”
He turned grave eyes on her. “And what else do I have to occupy my time with? I don’t have much of it left. I would think my prize for making it this long would be a free pass on unlimited complaining.”
Elle sighed, but smiled despite herself. This argument was old. “I’ll come by when I have a free moment and you can beat me at cribbage. How’s that?” She let go of his arm in increments, allowing him to take possession of his own gravity.
“Okay. As long as you bring your own money. I’m not spotting you this time.”
Elle waited until he was through the door before she turned back to Robin.
“Who’s that?” Robin asked, following Elle into her office.
“That would be Mr. Rutherford. Turlough’s oldest resident. He’s about ninety-eight.” She sat, nodding for Robin to do the same. “Everyone’s just waiting for him to die. It’s sad.” Her anger, so recently on firm ground, had slipped away. Mr. Rutherford, with all his fruitless flirting, had a way of doing that. He was more than just the oldest resident of Turlough. He was an institution, and as far back as Elle could remember, always had an easy smile for her.
“Is the whole town like that?” Robin asked, easing herself into the scarred wingback across from Elle. She had this idea about small towns being retirement communities.
Elle gave a lopsided shrug and studied the blonde sitting across from her with new scrutiny. She was what Elle would call a cool blonde. There was something remote and hidden about her. But she was stunning. Thin, delicate eyebrows framed her pale blue eyes. She wore just the right amount of mascara to make them pop. Her skirt suit was pale gray with a matching silk blouse. A beautiful gold chain with some symbol Elle couldn’t make out hung around her neck. Everything about her screamed expensive.
“Listen, I’m not exactly sure what you’re expecting to dig up here. There’s no crime because most of the offenses aren’t worth reporting. I’m not going to write someone up for a bylaw violation. So if you’re here for something juicier than that, you’re wasting your time.”
“Why do you assume I’m here to get the dirt on you? Sometimes people just want a feel-good story.”
Elle squinted in disbelief. Her focus shifted to Robin’s legs as she crossed one over the other. Her skirt hiked up a few inches, giving Elle an excellent view of firm, long legs. “What exactly did you tell Brady? He presented a very different story idea to me.”
Robin shrugged. “He didn’t seem the type that would be interested in hearing about empowered women and how that’s beneficial for the economy in general.”
Elle almost snorted. “True. He’d rather one of the good ole boys held this seat. I guess I don’t scratch his back enough.” Elle gave a mental shudder at that thought. She picked up a pen, twirling it around her finger. “To be completely truthful, I’d like you gone as soon as possible. I mean, who would want to write about some Podunk town in the middle of nowhere. And this,” she indicated Robin, her suit, shoes, hair, “doesn’t exactly scream ‘feel good’ story to me.” From Elle’s experience, which wasn’t a whole lot, reporters were opportunists. She didn’t trust Robin Oakes to put the best interests of the town above getting a great story.
Robin leaned forward, offering a spectacular view of her cleavage, and nodded toward the phone. “Looks to me like you do more than deal with bylaw complaints. Underage drinking, trespassing? Sheriff helps younger brother escape the charges of youth. Could be a story.” She was goading her.
“Really? That’s the best you can do?” Elle leaned away, twirling the mug of coffee on the blotter. The inscription read: World’s Greatest Mayor.
“All right. I’m not here to make enemies or write up the dirt on your family. But it is a free country and I’m paid up for the week at the B and B down the road, so I plan on sticking around.”
Elle stood. “It is a lovely B&B. Probably one of the best in the state.” She brushed at her pants, considering, weighing her stubbornness against her common sense, both of which were losing to the beautiful reporter sitting across from her. Part of her wanted to leave it at that. Let her write what she wanted. But another part, the less intrusive, more rational side knew, if she helped, she could control the information instead of letting the town gossips dictate the truth. “Look, I’m not promising anything. But if I can’t convince you that Turlough is the most boring place on Earth in words, maybe I can show you.” Not only was this idea bad, it was dangerous. She could feel her coveted control breaking. There were plenty of stories from her youth she’d rather not have this woman hear. No matter how many years separated her from that version of herself, there were parts of Elle’s past she didn’t want dredged up.
Robin clapped her hands together. “Perfect. I’ll need full access to the town. I’d also like to follow you around for a couple days, get a feel for your day-to-day—”
“Whoa.” Elle held her ha
nd up. “I said I’d be cooperative. I’m not looking for a tail.”
The phone rang. Elle picked it up before Neil could grab it. “Flynn County Sheriff’s Office.” She frowned after a moment. “How long has she been like that?” As she listened, she grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair. “I’ll be there shortly. Thanks.”
“Can I come?”
“No.”
* * *
Elle’s hat lay in the back seat, usurped by Robin riding shotgun. Triumph carpeted her face as the wind blew at her hair. They had already passed out of the downtown and were riding the back roads, trees and ravines enveloping the cruiser. Robin breathed in the scented spring air. It reminded her of the yearly camping trip when her parents and little brother would drive out into the middle of nowhere. They’d load up everything in her dad’s ancient minivan and drive until the mosquitos outnumbered people. Then they’d set up two tents, one for her parents and one for her and her brother. They’d swim and hike during the day and make fires at night. On the Fourth of July they would light sparklers and write letters in the air, usually dirty words they weren’t allowed to say out loud. She hated it as a kid. It was weird, but being out here made her kind of miss it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d sucked in fresh air.
“Where are we headed?” Robin asked.
Elle kept her eyes ahead, navigating the roads like a familiar room in the dark. “The Maverty house.”
“Ah.” Robin’s arm hung out the window, both sleeves rolled up, creasing the smooth silk. “That explains it, then.”
“It’s what everyone calls this abandoned house out in the woods.” She pushed at her hair, curling some wind-whipped tendrils behind her ear. “All the kids hang out there. Hell, I used to hang out there when I was in school.” She glanced at Robin, who was absorbed in the thickness of the forest. When she’d threatened to follow in her rental car Elle relented in bringing her along. It was only a simple noise complaint. This was the perfect opportunity to show how boring Turlough was.