by CJ Birch
Elle flushed. She wanted to crawl under the table and hide. She became self-conscious again of her appearance, sitting across from this woman who, despite her morning, still looked immaculate. And that was typical Tully. If you wanted to know who was behind on their mortgage or what someone paid for their new truck, ask Tully. In fact, you rarely had to ask.
An uncomfortable feeling settled into Elle’s stomach. This was the moment she’d been dreading since she was elected sheriff a little over a year ago. Up until now her job had been perfunctory. In fact, on any given day, she didn’t feel any different than when she had been one of Bailey’s deputies. The main difference being a love seat she slept on more nights than not, and her signature on everything that passed through Flynn County. She had taken charge in a quiet sort of way. Almost like one sneaks in after curfew, quick and silent like you’d been there the whole time. But now the town expected her to solve a murder. This was more than petty infighting and bylaw violations. Solving Jessie’s murder would require more than babysitting. And she was doubting whether she could handle it as she’d told Case earlier that day. And Robin’s presence wasn’t helping matters. She felt like at any second someone would flick the lights on and catch her out of bed.
Elle sighed. “Bring me some soup, then.” She handed Tully back the menu. Truth was, she didn’t even need it. Elle was there most days for lunch and dinner, never having learned to cook herself. She’d rather admit defeat and have someone else do it. EJ was rarely home. Most nights he ate at a friend’s house. She often wondered what their parents must think of her.
Tully planted a hand on her hip, a well-known stance that indicated she was about to lay in about something. “Don’t be mad, honey. Neil’s worried you’re spending too much time at the station. He says lately you’ve been there most nights. I’m amazed you don’t have back problems.” She turned to Robin, her voice like a spider coaxing its prey. “It’s such a tiny couch.” She smiled at Robin then, bringing her into her web. “Sandy says you’re a writer, says you’re writing a book about Turlough.”
“That’s almost right.” Robin handed Tully the menu, her smile wide and humorless. “I’ll have the Reuben, unless that’s deep fried as well, in which case I’ll have the soup.”
“We don’t deep fry our sandwiches.” She snatched up her menu. “We fry ’em on the grill like normal.” She huffed away.
“It’s not a good idea to piss in her pool. Tully chooses what people know about you and she tends to go for the throat if you end up on her bad side.” Elle stared into the black abyss of her steaming coffee before seizing the sugar. Around them, the diner had swung back into motion. More interested, for the time being, in their lunch. The sounds of the diner were familiar and comfortable. Outside, the slow traffic of the main drag rambled by, barely adding to the clatter inside.
“I’m sorry I suggested eating here,” said Robin.
Elle shrugged and dumped a gallon of sugar into her coffee.
“It must be hard having everyone know your business like that. Who’s Neil?” Robin took a sip of her coffee, choosing to drink it black. She grimaced and pushed it to the middle of the table.
“You saw him earlier. He was manning the desk this morning. They’re married, Tully and him.” She took a sip of her coffee, scowled, and added more sugar. “Which means, like it or not, the biggest gossip in town has a direct line to pretty much everyone’s dirty laundry.” She wrapped her hands around her coffee. The heat barely penetrated her skin. She looked up at Robin. “Can I ask you to consider the impact your prying would have on the people of this town? Couldn’t you walk away, just this once, and leave us to mourn in peace?” She took a sip of coffee, hoping Robin hadn’t noticed she’d said “us.”
Robin leaned back in her seat. She pushed her bangs aside, then folded her arms across her chest. The act lifted her breasts, enhancing her cleavage. Elle too would mourn Jessie Forrester, she’d noticed that.
“These are people’s lives. Real people who can get hurt by what you write. The Forresters don’t deserve this. Neither does Jessie.”
“Why are you so sure that what I write will be unflattering? I’ve been here less than a day, I haven’t even formed an opinion yet.”
Elle let out a loud bark of a laugh. “Right. You formed an opinion the second you stepped out of your rental car. I’ve seen the way you’ve been watching us. You may not realize it but you’re pretty easy to read.”
“Really? Okay, go. Tell me what I’m thinking.”
Elle took another sip of coffee, trying to get the mash of thoughts to coalesce into actual sentences. “You see us as a bunch of redneck inbred hicks, most of us barely having graduated high school, let alone going off to graduate from some fancy college. None of us has been outside of the county lines so we assume this is the best it’s going to get for us. We’re skirting the poverty line so fiercely we can’t even afford to move the trash off our lawns. Everyone gets married right out of school because the girls don’t know any better and the guys think they’ll get laid more often. How am I doing so far?”
“Is that why you’re not married? First of all, I don’t think you’re all inbred, I know the difference between Illinois and Kentucky. Second, anyone worried about what level of education I think they’ve had has definitely had more than high school.”
And then, almost from thin air, Tully was at their table, setting food down. She whipped out two sets of utensils from her apron and placed them on the edge of the table.
Robin hadn’t noticed. She was gauging Elle to see whether she’d pissed her off or impressed her.
“Is there anything else I can get for you?”
Robin smiled up at her. “Tell me, Tully, did you know Jessie Forrester?”
Tully smiled at her, their past difference forgotten. “Know him? Of course I knew him, everyone did. But you shouldn’t be asking me. Elle knew him best.”
“Really?” She turned to Elle, a look close to regret on her face. “She hadn’t mentioned it.”
“Aw, poor thing.” Tully placed her plump hand on Elle’s shoulder. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through right now.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“But you two were engaged.”
“We were never engaged.”
Tully waved her off as if she knew better than Elle about her own personal life. She was still smiling that same sympathetic smile when she left to give refills to several regulars at the end of the counter.
“We weren’t engaged. We only dated in high school. It was a long time ago and, no, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“God. I’m sorry. I had no idea you knew him so well.” Robin opened the napkin surrounding her utensils and slid them out. “I’m not here for that kind of story. I was being honest when I told you I wouldn’t publish anything without your say-so.”
Elle nodded. But she didn’t look convinced. Robin took a bite of the Reuben, noting that even though they grilled it, the bread was soggy. She placed it back on the plate and wiped the grease off her fingers. “Let’s pretend for a second that I’m not here for a story. That we’re just two people having lunch together.”
Elle took a minute, her eyes on her soup. Finally, she dipped her spoon and nodded.
“Can I ask you a question? Totally off topic,” Robin asked.
“You can ask anything you want. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer it.”
“How do you stay so damn skinny eating here all the time? It’s giving me a heart attack just being in here. They don’t have anything close to a salad on that menu.”
Despite herself, Elle smiled. “I eat a lot of soup.”
Robin laughed and took a sip of her coffee. She’d have to find another place to eat if she wanted to make it out of Turlough alive.
The rest of the meal they ate in silence, Elle absorbed in her soup and Robin absorbed in Elle. She’d formed an impression that first meeting and now it wasn’t adding up. Robin was aware of how she looked. She
took great lengths to look the way she did. Good genes and a healthy attitude about food and exercise went a long way. She was used to the attention she got—in fact, she welcomed it, especially from women.
There were two types of looks she got. The one, usually from men, that said they’d like very much to do dirty things to her. The other, usually from women, that said they wished they could look half as good as her. Elle had given her the first look. When she’d bent forward, Elle’s eyes had dipped to her cleavage and lingered. She’d also noticed Elle appreciating her legs when she’d been talking to the old man. So this new information about a past fiancé or boyfriend or whichever, was something of a shock.
It was possible Elle was so far in the closet she wasn’t even aware of her lust-filled glances. Or, more likely, the sheriff of a small town. And Turlough didn’t feel like the kind of place that would elect a gay sheriff. One thing she was sure about, she was intrigued more than she should be. This would be a line of enquiry that she would have to drop. It wasn’t worth her job to risk compromising her principles now.
After Tully had cleared their plates and they’d settled the bill, Robin asked, “So what’s next?”
Before Elle had a chance to answer, her phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket. “Sheriff Ashley.” She listened. The longer she listened, the tighter her grip on her mug became. “I don’t understand, Mr. Withers, what’s he being accused of stealing?”
* * *
A long stream of soapy water trickled down the cement steps leading to a low brick building behind the school. EJ and Dan stood on either end of a pitted wall attempting to wash the graffiti off. A line of sweat drooled down EJ’s back, showing darker where it seeped through the light cotton.
“As if she recommended this over a three-day suspension.” EJ plunged his hand into a bucket of lukewarm water and pulled up a rough sponge soaked with suds. He slapped it against the wall. He worked it in large circles over the word cocksucker, which dissolved at a pace equal to drying paint.
The fading sun stained them a harsh orange and hardened the lines and shadows of everything around. The campus was empty. A few stray cars dotted the parking lot. The quiet dinner hour settled around them.
Dan stopped to light a Winston from a smooshed pack in his back pocket. “And of course little ole Pritchy walks away with an apology instead of detention.” Gripping the cigarette in his teeth, he took his scrub brush up again. “And how come your sister gets to call the punishment?”
EJ kicked at his bucket, sending a wave over the side. “I know, right? It’s like lately she’s been on my case about every little thing.” He punctuated the last three words each with their own period. “It’s one thing for her to do her job, but she has no right making us serve detention.”
Dan nodded. EJ’s temper seldom erupted, but when it did, it was a great show. More often he would let it stew, burying it deep. He gave Dan the fights. Dan was good at fighting. Dan was more like a tiger, he would bide his time waiting for the right moment to pounce.
“Fuck this!” EJ smacked his sponge into his bucket, creating an explosion of water. A large part of it landed on a pair of leather shoes that had snuck up without either EJ or Dan noticing.
Edgar Withers had a way of sneering without speaking, which intensified when dealing with any of the Ashleys. “I agree that a suspension would have been more satisfactory. Your sister, however, believes your time will be better served in detention. Perhaps hard labor is what’s needed to set you on the right path. Her words, not mine.” His voice made his pinched face seem even more so. “I personally think you’re both destined for the penal system.”
Principal Withers gave the impression of trying to appear taller than everyone. He stood a good foot shorter than both Dan and EJ. But he strained his neck and puffed out his stomach, giving himself a few more inches. Elle had once joked in front of an auditorium of students that he probably wore lifts in his shoes. He did, but it wasn’t Elle Ashley’s place to broadcast this to the entire school. He hadn’t suspended her. Instead he set her to the humiliating task of serving her peers in the cafeteria for a week. He would come each day, stand in the back and wait for her to break. He told himself it would do her good, learning humility. But he’d not broken her. She’d turned it into a game, laughing and joking as she slopped coleslaw or dried clumps of meatloaf onto passing trays.
“If you don’t agree with her, then why’d you call her in the first place? You could’ve suspended us,” EJ said.
Withers gripped his briefcase, clenching his hand like his jaw. “As your guardian she asked to be informed if you should ever end up in my office. Believe me, Mr. Ashley, if it were solely up to me, you wouldn’t be here right now.”
Dan edged closer to the little man. “What do you have against the sheriff?” He let his cigarette fall to the ground. It rolled along the cement, still lit, catching in the wedge between sidewalk slabs.
Withers followed the progress of the cigarette. “Ms. Ashley somehow managed to land on the correct side of the law. Of course, this was only after spending a much greater time on the other side of it.” Withers stretched his neck out a little farther, resembling an indignant crane. “And I’ll remind you only once, Mr. Baker, there is no smoking on school property, even after school hours.”
“Are we free to go?” EJ asked, uncomfortable with the topic change.
“Ms. Ashley was a hellion, her and that Forrester boy.” The next thought that sprang to mind he didn’t voice. But not because he didn’t believe it, more because Dan and EJ looked the sort who would carry a concealed weapon. Withers stepped back. “You may go for today.”
EJ whooped and dumped his bucket into the grass as celebration.
A slow smile crept onto Wither’s face. “Of course, we will see you tomorrow after school, and the day after that and so on. Until all the graffiti has been washed clean.”
EJ kicked the bucket across the sidewalk. “That’ll take forever.”
But Dan wasn’t surprised, he’d been expecting this. “There’s only a week left of school, what happens after?” He waited, knowing the answer already.
Withers had turned to leave, but swiveled back now and said, “You and Mr. Ashley both have incompletes, which means we’ll have the pleasure of seeing you here throughout the summer.” He hefted his briefcase and walked down the steps. But his gait was lighter as he strode across the parking lot to his shit-brown Corolla.
Chapter Seven
The Collards’ bed-and-breakfast backed onto the boreal forest that encircled Turlough. From her third story window, Robin could see the tops of trees farther down the hill.
The room was small and served only one purpose: sleep. They’d wedged a single wrought iron bed between the window and far wall. It looked like it could strangle you in your sleep. It certainly wasn’t the Peninsula, or the Holiday Inn, for that matter. But it had a view.
Less than half a mile away she noticed a small clearing and the remnants of a stately roof. The old Maverty house, she guessed. She hadn’t realized it was that close. The winding ribbon of road leading to and from Turlough was misleading. It must have been Mrs. Collard who’d reported hearing screams. She’d wondered about that.
Sandy Collard fell all over her when she’d checked in earlier that morning, like a golden retriever welcoming her master home, pawing at her leather satchel and Lotuff duffel. “Ken said you’d be coming by.” Her jowls swayed as she spoke. It wasn’t just Sandy’s personality that resembled the fair-haired dog; her complexion and blond shaggy mane gave the impression that she shook herself dry after showering. The rest of her was robust yet still young for her fifty plus years.
Before Robin could change her mind and look elsewhere for a room, Sandy had pushed her toward the slim stairs. They passed several landings with bright hallways and colonial furniture, but Sandy didn’t stop until she reached the top, panting softly from the effort.
Robin’s intake of breath put Sandy on the defensive. “You
r timing’s unfortunate. It so happens I’m renovating the other two rooms. They promised me they’d be done before the festival.” Her hand fluttered as if to say, “that’s life.” “They’re a little bigger.”
Robin’s closet was bigger.
Sandy brushed past her and swept open the curtains. “But it has a real nice view of the ravine.” As if this would make up for the postage stamp of a room she was leaving her in. Robin hadn’t slept in a single bed since her first year of college.
Robin hadn’t put any forward thought into accommodations when she’d planned this trip. But the closest she could come was a Motel 6 in Mason, twenty-five miles west of Turlough. And now here she was having to use a guest shower located two floors down. The one upshot to being the only guest was she didn’t have to share amenities.
Before jumping in the shower she made a quick call to her boss to give him an update. She had no doubt he’d be happy when she was done. She just had to find a way to bond with Elle, get her trust. Elle held her cards close. Robin didn’t blame her—in fact, it made her respect Elle more. These days people were too quick to share every little thing about their lives like it made them special.
It had taken her years, but she’d honed her skills as a conversationalist. Sometimes, that’s what she needed to be. She needed to know what to say, when to say it, and when to shut the hell up. For the next week or so she was going to have to work harder than a politician a month before elections. She needed to charm the locals, get them to trust her and spill all Turlough’s well-known secrets.
As she stepped out of the shower, her cell phone rang. She checked the screen. A goofy grin and shaved head stared back at her. She groaned.
“Hey, dipshit.” Her little brother rarely called her unless he needed something. “What do you need?” She switched the phone to speaker and placed it on the side of the sink.
“Why do you think I need something?” A loud crunch, then mumbling. “Can’t a guy call his sister to shoot the shit?”