The Lawman's Second Chance

by Ruth Logan Herne

  Alex choked. His gut rose up. His heart went thick. Tight.

  For a few seconds he struggled to breathe.

  He made the decision then and there to keep them busy, so busy that they wouldn’t have time to think about what day it was. What they’d lost over two years ago. How empty their old house seemed without Jenny’s smile, her laugh, her spirited presence.

  He ushered them out the side door before the final hymn ended, got them into the car and aimed for home before the crush of people put three motherless kids into a sympathetic situation they might not be able to handle.

  And even if they could? He knew he couldn’t.

  * * *

  “Lisa?”

  Alyssa Michaels’s voice stopped Lisa as she tried unsuccessfully to edge out the back door, avoiding as many people as possible. Because she loved her second-cousin, she paused and turned. “Alyssa. Hey. Happy Mother’s Day.”

  “Thank you.” Alyssa scrambled as her youngest son, Clay, tried to escape her hand and head to the playground across the Park Round. Sunday traffic ran expectedly slow, but cars and little boys didn’t mix, even in slow mode. “In a minute, kid. Say hi to Lisa and let Mommy talk.”

  A firm lip protruded from beneath Clay’s stubborn gaze. Monkey bars and swings held more allure than distant cousins, it seemed.

  Alyssa sent him a sour look, but was saved from Mother’s Day discipline by a pair of strong, fatherly arms. “I’ll take him over,” Trent told her. He flashed Lisa a quick smile. “You guys talk about the Fourth.”

  “The Fourth?” Lisa walked down the steps, away from the crowded church doors. “Fill me in.”

  “We’re doing a family picnic at our place after the parade and memorial blessing.”

  “Sounds great.” Lisa withdrew her phone and tapped in a quick reminder. “What can I bring?”

  “Your whole family, for starters. I’ll send out an email invite and make it a Facebook event, but people like your dad won’t see that.”

  Lisa grinned. Her father’s lack of techno savvy was renowned. “I’ll tell them. How about if I do a pasta salad—”

  “Your pasta salad is Trent’s all-time favorite,” Alyssa chimed in.

  Lisa smiled. “And Caro loves to make that fluffy Jell-O and fruit thing. With the marshmallows.”

  “Jaden’s favorite. With two happy men in my life, life as we know it can continue. I’m having a few close neighbors, too.”

  Warning bells exploded like Independence Day fireworks in Lisa’s brain.

  “Most of them have their own thing to do, but a few of them don’t have family here,” Alyssa continued.

  The internal fireworks kaboomed in a blast of thunder. “Like?”

  Alyssa waved a hand as if the conversation was over. “Whoever’s available.”

  “Alyssa...”

  “Gotta go. The restaurant will be crazy today and I ducked out for services. We’re celebrating tonight at home. Quiet. Peaceful. Knowing my husband, it’s most likely going to be pizza. And hey,” Alyssa reached out and grabbed Lisa in a big hug, then backed off quickly. “I know today isn’t easy for you, so I’m not saying anything about it, but I’m always here for you. You know that, right? No matter what happens. Ever.”

  Her pledge went deeper than surface words. Lisa knew that. Alyssa’s mother had been a solid rock supporter during Maggie’s illness and passing. Susan Langley had organized the ladies from various churches to bring meals. Volunteers had helped run the Christmas tree sales lot as Maggie’s condition worsened. Susan and Alyssa would have her back, she knew, if the unthinkable happened and she had a recurrence. She’d spent the last hour praying for that not to happen, but she’d learned the hard way that not all prayers are answered.

  She’d prayed for Evan to conquer his fears. He’d run scared and never looked back.

  She’d prayed for her mother’s recovery. Didn’t happen.

  Therefore she’d decided God was way too picky for her liking these days. End of discussion.

  She waved Alyssa off, but saw the bright light in her cousin’s eyes. The quick smile that said Alex and those cute kids might be hanging around at the family Fourth of July shindig.

  A twinge hit her, mid-section. Not knife-like, not horrid, just a spreading ache, another reminder that everyday aches and pains take on new meaning for cancer survivors. Her first year post-treatment, she’d been certifiably paranoid. Every twinge, each sore spot, muscle ache...

  She’d had them all checked, and each time she was fine. She knew statistically that if her cancer metastasized, it probably would have happened by now. But by numeric standards she never should have gotten the disease in the first place, so statistics didn’t mean all that much.

  Mentally, every abdominal twinge had her revisiting the warning label on her prescription. “Heightened risk of uterine cancer.”

  You’re obsessing. Being absurd. Knock it off.

  The internal scolding sounded a lot like her mother, but she couldn’t think about Maggie today. Not with a busy store, people stopping throughout the day to buy their mothers plants and flowers. Five months gone was way too soon to think about their loss, about no more Mother’s Day celebrations late in the evening once sales calmed down. She’d ignore the reason for the day, because otherwise she’d lose it.

  * * *

  Monday morning Alex congratulated himself. He’d made it through another Mother’s Day. He’d sent his mother flowers, did the same for Nancy and pretended he didn’t get emotional when she called to thank him for his thoughtfulness.

  He knew better. He wasn’t being thoughtful, he was being thorough, and that shamed him. He’d taken the kids to the Kirkwood Lake playground after church, then a movie, ordered takeout from the local Chinese restaurant and pretended there was no holiday from the early morning church bell call to worship until the sun sank low on the horizon late that evening.

  They’d gotten through, again. And some days that was all he asked of God.

  He pulled his car into the driveway just west of the Fitzgeralds’ farm access drive along the northern boundary of the Fitzgeralds’ farm. He walked up to the door and knocked.

  No answer.

  He searched for a bell.

  No doorbell.

  He knocked again.

  The metallic click of a gun release dropped him to his knees.

  Why hadn’t he brought Samson along? Why did he keep underestimating the level of crime and criminals in this sweet rural town that hid so much behind white ruffled curtains? What in Sam Hill was he thinking, that life down here would be sweet? Simple? Good?

  A phone rang. Not his.

  He called for backup, crouched low, out of sight from the windows. “Unknown party has drawn a gun on an officer, 1212 County Road Seven, I repeat, 1212 County Road Seven, request backup!”

  “Boss, why are you botherin’ Miss Mavis?”

  Iuppa’s voice answered him and sounded genuinely perplexed. He’d be more confused when Alex put a warning letter in his work folder later. Or killed him. That might be the better option, overall.

  “She can’t shoot you, boss.”

  Irritation spiked Alex’s temper. “Iuppa, shut up and get me backup.”

  “Backup’s on the way, but right about now Miss Mavis will be opening the door because Byron Bradley and his wife watch out for her. If someone comes to her door, they call her to tell her if it’s okay to open it. After she makes like she’s loading a shotgun, of course.”

  “It’s fake.”

  “The gun’s real enough,” Iuppa explained, and Alex envisioned the smirk on the local investigator’s face because it came through plain as day in his voice. “But not loaded. Miss Mavis is—”

  Blind.

  Alex didn’t need Sal to explain further as the o
ld woman swung the door wide. “You the new fella at the station house?”

  Alex put an internal stop on his adrenaline-fed heart and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Sorry about that.” She waved toward a shotgun slung across the honey maple tabletop behind her. “I keep it to discourage salesmen. Once folks know a blind woman lives here, no tellin’ what they might do, you know.”

  Alex couldn’t deny it. And because Mavis was clearly well into her golden years, her methodology proved successful. “Whatever works, ma’am. It’s not loaded, right?”

  “Never.” She smiled and pushed the screen door open for him. “Come in, take a seat. I expect you’re here about that nasty business next door.”

  Next door? The Fitzgerald farm was an easy half-mile away, but in the country...

  “At the Fitzgeralds’ place.” She waved a hand east.

  “Yes.”

  The sound of far-off sirens pulled his attention. Surely Iuppa had canceled the backup request. Hadn’t he?

  “Their tractor path lines right up with the morning sun side of my sleeping room,” Miss Mavis continued as the sirens grew closer. Louder. She pointed left and Alex took a couple of steps that way. A tidy room lay in the back corner of the house, with two windows. One east. One south. Perfect for hearing equipment going in and out of Lisa’s back entry.

  “Did you hear anything the night they were robbed, Ms. Anderson?”

  “I surely did.” She sat in a chair alongside the small dinette table, and Alex followed suit, just her, him and a 16-gauge black walnut-trimmed Ithaca Deerslayer hanging out together.

  He fought a sigh as the sirens screamed closer, but knew Iuppa followed the letter of the law. He hadn’t requested the backup canceled and Iuppa was aching to show him up. Let him know that a local appointee would have better served the needs of the area.

  Which meant Alex better put a smile on his face, so he did. He turned to Miss Mavis as he stood. “Sorry. I heard the gun and called for backup. They think they’re saving me. I’ll call them off and we can talk.”

  “I’da put my good pearls on if I’d known I was gonna enjoy so much company!” the old woman joked.

  She defined endearing in blue cotton floral, the calf-length dress retro and sweet. Her snow-white hair was twisted and pinned up in the back. Her sightless eyes gleamed.

  Alex laughed, remembering she couldn’t see his quiet smile. “They’ll get a good chuckle at the station, Miss Mavis.” He keyed his radio, gave the order to stand down and went through the screen door.

  Six troopers and two sheriff’s deputies armed with nothing more than “gotcha!” grins met his gaze from the driveway. He stopped on the step and stared them down until the smiles began to fade and concern flickered in. When he hoped they’d squirmed enough, he waved his hand. “Back to work, gentlemen. Fun’s over.”

  The grins returned, and despite the fact that Iuppa had done this deliberately, it worked out all right. He’d passed a test with these officers today—he saw it in their smiles of acceptance when he waved them off.

  He returned to Mavis, took her information at a country snail’s pace, ate two of Brenda Bradley’s homemade sugar cookies, declared them incomparable and aimed his car back toward the station house an hour later.

  He’d made a friend in Miss Mavis. In all fairness, those cookies were the best he’d ever had, and he found out the truck and trailer that exited from the back access lane to the Fitzgeralds’ place headed west on the two-lane road, away from the Interstate.

  That little bit of information put a different spin on things. The thief wasn’t looking to go far, or be recognized by early patrols on I-86. He or she was looking to blend into the country landscape. Unfortunately for Alex, they’d been successful.

  * * *

  Lisa’s fingers hovered over the keyboard as her eyes claimed one email.

  From Alex.

  She put her heart on cruise control and opened the message. “Becky and Emma would like to enroll in your June gardening/nature class. Is there still room?”

  On the roster, yes.

  In her heart, no.

  She sighed, ground her teeth, then hit Reply. “Yes. I’m attaching the form. You can fill it out and email it back to me. Lisa.”

  She hesitated, scoured the abbreviated note for hidden messages, found none and hit Send.

  The phone rang twelve seconds later. She knew that because she was watching the clock and when “Private Caller” came up in her phone, she knew it was most likely Alex and answered anyway. “Gardens & Greens, Lisa speaking, how may I help you?”

  “It’s Alex.”

  Clearly her take-this-slow cruise control function was deficient because her pulse ramped up to race-car time. “Hey. What’s up?” She clamped down her internal reaction and kept her voice careful and casual.

  “I got your email.”

  “The one I sent twenty-seven seconds ago?”

  He laughed and the deep, warm tones softened her hard-line stand. “That’s the one. I know I’ll see you tomorrow...”

  “For Emma’s project.” She inserted that to remind him of the whys and wherefores.

  “Yes. But I also wanted to fill you in on the progress of our investigation.”

  “Lt. Samson called me. He explained there was nothing new to report, but said you’re working on it.”

  “Exactly. Although we do know the guy headed west with the loaded trailer, but no end location as yet.” Alex paused a moment before he added, “I know it’s a tough go when you don’t have the proper equipment around.”

  It was. Lisa considered his words, then shrugged. “We’re making do. One of the farmers let us borrow his mower. That’s a huge help in keeping the grounds up. The small tractor is cumbersome but we’re managing.”

  “I’m sure you are.” His voice deepened. “But I know it’s not easy and I don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten about you. I mean it, the theft. The equipment.”

  He half stuttered that last and another corner of Lisa’s heart melted like chocolate in sunlight, which meant she better stay in the cool shade of resistance. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow. Four o’clock still okay?”

  “Fine.”

  He sounded like he didn’t want to stop the conversation. Neither did Lisa. But she saw no benefit in drawing things out. They both understood the boundaries.

  But hearing his voice, trying to read between the lines? That was the stuff teen novels were made of, and Lisa didn’t have time for make-believe. Not when reality tugged at her twenty-four-seven.

  The phone rang again. She answered, then flashed a smile as she crossed to the outside door. “Sabrina. Hey. How’s everything?”

  “Better.”

  “Good!” Lisa stamped emphasis on the single word. Sabrina had been diagnosed with breast cancer two weeks before and followed the path most patients embraced. First you cry. Then you fight. She’d found Lisa through an online breast cancer site that linked patients with survivors.

  “You’ve met with your never-ending team of doctors?”

  “My head is spinning.”

  “I know.” Lisa remembered all too well. “And you’re calling with questions, right?”

  “Yes, but I hate bothering you,” the other woman replied. “I know you’re open about what happened to you, but I feel like I’m intruding in your personal life.”

  Her words broadsided Lisa. If Sabrina felt that way and still made the call, how many women hesitated and didn’t dial her number?

  Many, she realized, and that inspired a flash of insight. Breast cancer patients needed a group. A corps. A legion of survivors, willing to talk. “You’re not intruding,” she reassured the newly diagnosed woman. “But I think we should start a group similar to the Breast Cancer Coalitions that bigger citie
s have. What do you think? If we band together to share info and support each other, that would be great, wouldn’t it?”

  “That would be wonderful.” Sabrina’s voice hitched. “I would love a respite where my cancer doesn’t put deadly fear on everyone’s face.”

  Lisa had lived with that expression on Evan’s face for months. He’d distanced himself from her as if her cancer were contagious. As if she was doomed. His negativity made it hard to stay in the positive zone she needed during long days of chemo and surgical recovery. She would have loved to be connected to someone upbeat and positive. Someone who had walked the walk. “Sabrina Addison, I am formally issuing you an invitation to join the Southern Tier Breast Cancer Corps, a community of women aimed at uplifting and informing breast cancer patients.”

  “This is a brand-new group and you’ve already come up with a name?” Sabrina remarked. “Sweet.”

  Lisa laughed. “I’ll send out an email to a bunch of local gals and we’ll see if we can get this off the ground, but you’re first, Sabrina. You want in?”

  “You bet I do.” Sabrina’s voice rose with hope. “When is our first meeting?”

  Lisa mentally scanned her calendar. “I’ve got this Tuesday evening free. Let’s start with that. We can meet at the farmhouse.”

  “I’ll bring brownies,” Sabrina declared. “With chocolate fudge frosting.”

  Chocolate, faith and her stubborn nature had helped Lisa through a lot of cancer valleys, although the faith faction had taken a number of hits. She’d attended a winter/spring Bible study session called “Why Bad Things Happen to Good People” and left the course not one bit smarter than when she started, but her “show me” attitude might have had something to do with that. “You do that,” she told Sabrina. “I’ll see you Tuesday at seven.”

  “Thanks, Lisa.”

  The tremor in Sabrina’s voice brought back a lot of memories. Lisa headed into the garden area, determined to make a difference any way she could. “None needed. See you Tuesday.”

  * * *

  “Lisa’s coming!” Becky screeched the alert from her second-story-high tree perch in the backyard. “Josh, don’t hog her!”