Pat hopped off the chair. “Can I leave my shoes down here?”
John took the bags and suitcases up the narrow staircase and unlocked the door at the top. He wasn’t too sure about living this close to the sheriff’s office. What if he had to arrest someone dangerous? He didn’t want to detain them so close to where his son would be sleeping at night. A house might be a good idea.
The main room was a small living room/kitchen area with a round table and two chairs. The TV was the size of John’s old microwave. The curtains were mustard colored, the walls were covered in wainscoting and the kitchen was yellow.
“It smells like old man in here.”
John smiled. “Guess we should crack a window.”
The bedroom was small but the bed was big enough Pat hopefully wouldn’t kick him in the middle of the night. Still, they’d need new sheets and a new comforter. The bathroom was decorated in puke green tile, complete with a green toilet.
“Eew, Dad.”
“You’re not wrong, kid.” They shared a smile. “It’s only for a month. If we want to stay then we can look at moving into one of the houses, okay?”
“I’m hungry.” Pat pulled open the fridge. “There’s a ton of stuff in here. Can I have a PB and J?”
“Sure, bud. I’ll make us both one.”
“I can do it.”
“Yeah?” John wandered over and leaned against the counter while Pat got out the stuff and a butter knife.
John pulled two plates from the cupboards and found glasses. He got the milk from the fridge and broke the seal. “We’ll have to find out who stocked the fridge and say thank you.”
“Hello, hello…anybody up here?” Footsteps ascended the stairs and a tall redheaded man in a tan sheriff’s uniform emerged. “There you are.”
The man wasn’t more than thirty years old. Red stubble on his chin clashed with his bright green eyes. He stuck out his hand. “Deputy Arnold Palmer at your service.” He shook with Pat. “Nice to meet you.”
John introduced them. “We just got in.”
“Yeah, sorry I wasn’t here. Had a call out uptown and it took longer than I thought.”
“Anything interesting?”
“Nah.” He waved off John’s question. “Just some kids being kids, messing up old lady Tanner’s garbage cans.”
John leaned his hip on the counter, one eye on the job Pat was doing with the sandwiches. “Have you been a deputy long?”
“Born and raised in Sanctuary. It’s been maybe eight years since Sheriff Chandler—the marshal who was here before you—hired me. He’d been here since the town was founded. The one and only Sheriff, for thirty-eight years.”
“Wow, cool.” Jam dripped from the knife Pat held onto the counter.
John had read the file. Arnold Palmer applied for the sheriff’s job but had been turned down in favor of a U.S. marshal taking the position. It was essentially the job of a WITSEC Inspector, not a regular citizen who’d never been a marshal. Just the deputy sheriff of a town which didn’t exist.
John sized him up and saw Palmer doing the same to him. He folded his arms. “Far as I’m concerned, respect is earned. And it goes both ways. We don’t know each other but I hope we can form a good working relationship. I might be the sheriff but I’m also the new guy here. I’ll need help navigating my way around.”
Something sparked in Palmer’s eyes. “I can do that.”
“So run it down for me. What’s the job like?”
Palmer shifted, scratching under the brim of his tan hat. “Well, office is open nine-to-five weekdays unless it’s a holiday. We have a dispatcher who mans the phones during that time. Dotty. Her husband was a Fed and she was his assistant. Outside of those hours we switch off who gets the phones forwarded to them. It comes straight to your radio but mine isn’t a sat phone. We don’t get calls too often. There isn’t a lot going on around here, mostly it’s keeping an eye on things.”
John nodded.
“I can take this weekend, if you want. You and Pat can get settled and we’ll work out the schedule starting Monday.”
“Good idea.” John put the lid on the jam and set it back in the fridge. “Anything else I should know?”
“I dunno.” Palmer shook his head. “I’ve never lived anywhere else, so I don’t know if it’s not what you’re used to. You’ll have to tell me.”
John laughed. “Okay.”
“I’ll let you boys eat your lunch. Later.”
Deputy Palmer shut the door and John heard him trot back down the stairs. He didn’t mind the fact his deputy had essentially led a sheltered life, growing up in Sanctuary. A lot of people lived in closed communities. John just needed to learn the culture, the rules. This could to turn out to be a lot like being undercover. The people he’d infiltrated had particular ways of doing things and their own lingo.
This job might be more suited to him than he’d realized. So long as he could get past the separation he’d always kept between him and the people he was trying to get close to. Should he and Pat decide to stay here long term—and it was partly Pat’s decision too—they would have to become part of the community and not live separate lives.
This trial would only work if they made friends, lived in town, had fun and joined in with what was going on. Their quality time together was going to be spent navigating this new culture, this WITSEC town.
“I hope they do fun stuff here.”
John smiled around his bite of sandwich.
“And Uncle Nate’s game is tomorrow. I don’t want to miss it. You think that thing gets ESPN?” He motioned to the TV.
John swallowed a mouthful of milk. “I’d like to see him play.”
“He’s awesome.” Pat launched into a story of Nate winning a game for the Chargers John had actually seen. Nate’s one-in-a-million catch during a blizzard in Chicago, slipping on the field, spraining his ankle and still scoring the touchdown. The way Pat told it was like hearing the story for the first time.
John laughed. “We’ll have to Skype him soon. I’ll give him a call and find out when he’s going to be free.”
“Maybe he can come visit us in the off season.”
“Maybe.” John took his plate to the sink. “We’ll find out from Uncle Grant how we can work that out. But I’d like it.” He sat back down across from his son. “Do you want to try calling your mom again?”
Pat looked to the side. “I dunno. Maybe later. Can we walk around town and see what all there is?”
“Sure bud. Whatever you wanna do. I don’t have to work until Monday so we’ve got the whole weekend to meet everyone and explore the town.”
“I wonder what movie they’re going to play after dinner.” Pat trailed to the sink and set his plate inside. “I hope it’s a good one.”
The kid was acting like this was summer camp.
“You know, if we decide to stay in Sanctuary then we’ll be living here until you’re an adult. So we’ve got to think really long and hard about this decision. Can you do that for me, Pat?”
“Yeah, I know, Dad.” He wrapped his little boy arms around John’s middle and gave him a hug, then went his bag. “If I find my football, can we play catch in the street?”
John smiled. “Sure, bud.”
“When do you think Uncle Grant will have my bike delivered?”
“I don’t know.” John’s smile broke into laughter. Did the kid ever get nervous about anything? He was taking this whole move in stride, like he was on some grand adventure. John should be feeling the same, shouldn’t he? New beginnings and all that.
But there was a note of caution somewhere inside him that wouldn’t let the newness of it penetrate. He chalked it up to being an adult, a parent and on a new assignment. There weren’t many people in town. The ones who’d been criminals previously were supposed to be turning over a new life. Crime was low.
What could go wrong?
Chapter 4
By five forty-five, Main Street had filled with groups of p
eople all walking over to the meeting house. John locked up the sheriff’s office, flipped the sign to closed and led Pat out the backdoor instead. It was the wrong way out but he wanted to get a look at his “vehicle”. That was the one thing he didn’t like about moving here—having to leave his truck behind. There wasn’t anything special about it. But he’d had the Chevy for years and keeping it running had become a point of honor. Now it was in storage with his couch, his bed and all the other furniture he’d scrounged up after the divorce. If they decided to stay in Sanctuary it would be sold.
The air outside was chilled but not thin like he’d thought it would be considering they were up in the mountains. Maybe something about the circle of peaks surrounding them meant air got trapped in the valley.
Two vehicles were parked out back in the marked spaces, both nineties model Jeeps the same color as the uniform Grant had given him. The rear of the building had their two spaces, plus two more. Another road ran the length of the back of the stores and across from that was a row of houses.
With Main Street as the center of the town, someone had simply run the residential streets parallel to it on both the north and south sides. It wasn’t particularly imaginative, but it worked.
Pat tugged on his hand. “Is that your Sheriff’s car?”
“Looks like it.”
“Cool!”
“You think so?”
“Yeah.” Pat grinned. “You’re gonna be the sheriff!”
“That I am.” They went through the alley separating the sheriff’s office from the laundry next door and crossed to the bowling alley sized building with MEETING HOUSE in big letters across the siding above the double doors.
Inside, a crowd of people stood around a sea of circular tables all set for dinner. The far end was lit up like a stage, complete with a podium and microphone. To the side of the stage was a set of swinging doors with circular windows which looked to lead to a kitchen. Buffet tables were set up along one wall, stretching front to back of the room. They were covered with dishes of all shapes and sizes heaped with food.
Pat gripped John’s hand as people turned to get a look at the new sheriff. John gave them all a wave. Two-thirds of the people were over fifty. There were a couple of small children but not as many as John expected, given families were gathering.
“Sheriff!” The mayor strode over. “I’ll introduce you when everyone is here. For now let me show you to your seat.”
John only followed since it seemed to be what the mayor expected. Collins led them to a table on one side of the podium just as a rotund woman strode out with a giant pot that smelled like chili. She hefted it onto the table, her smile wide and her long earrings swinging. She wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist over her muumuu. “Well, is this our new sheriff?”
The mayor motioned to John. “Olympia, this is John Mason.”
She bent down in front of Pat and stuck her hand out. “It’s very nice to meet you, Sheriff.” Her accent had a Mediterranean lilt which made her sound elegant.
Pat giggled. “I’m not the sheriff! My dad is.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. You’re just so tall. My mistake.” She winked and straightened, turning to John. “Olympia Hernandez.”
“John Mason. This is my son, Pat.”
“As in, Patrick?”
Pat bounced, yanking on John’s hand. “As in Patrick Garrett, the marshal who killed Billy the Kid!”
“Well, now.” Olympia grinned at him. “Those are some pretty big boots to fill. You think you can do it?”
Pat nodded.
Olympia turned to the room. “Dinner’s ready!” Her voice boomed even in the large room. John flinched, while the mayor shot Olympia a scowl.
John and Pat joined the line grabbing paper plates and bowls. The room buzzed with noise, even though a portion of the town seemed not to have arrived yet.
A diesel engine roared outside and headlights flashed across the front of the room. The mayor huffed, his attention on the front door. The engine shut off and seconds later a group of men strode in. All dressed in jeans and work shirts, dirty boots and cowboy hats, the last man carried his black hat in his hand. He was a good six inches taller than the others, with dark features. Matthias was among the group. Pat ran with his plate to greet him. Matthias swung him up onto his hip, plate and all, while the tall man glared.
The man in front of John said, “That’s Bolton Farrera.”
John looked at the guy in line ahead of him. Early thirties but he was nearly bald, his glasses drooped on his nose and he gripped his plate of mostly bread and green beans. “I’m Terrence Evangeline.” He pointed at an older couple by the salads. “That’s my mom, Shelby and my dad, Aaron. They run the town’s community arts programs.”
The couple wore stylish clothes that said they’d dressed up for this occasion in their Sunday best.
“Once a month they put on a show after dinner. You know, like a dinner theater. Anyway, the man with the truck is Bolton. He’s the boss over at the ranch. The only one that actually likes him is Matthias.”
That told John enough, given how Matthias had been with Pat since they arrived. Currently the twenty-something man held two plates and Pat rode on his shoulders while he weaved about like he was going to fall. Pat squealed with laughter and gripped Matthias’s hair like he was on a rollercoaster.
“Nice to meet you, Terrence.” John gave him a polite smile and grabbed the spoon for the mashed potatoes. “So what do you do in town?”
“I’m the trash guy.” His chest puffed up. “Trash gets sent with the outgoing transport. I take care of what’s left, supervise the recycling and all that. My compost is impressive, if I do say so myself.”
“I’ll have to come by and check it out.”
Terrence’s eyes glowed. “I’d like that. I’ll give you the tour all the way from lumber to paper goods.”
“Sounds exciting.” John let the grin open into a full smile and made his way to the table. Half the people were already seated and eating. By the time he was done the rest had filled up the remaining seats. Matthias bounced over, jiggling Pat on his shoulders. He set the plates down and bent so Pat slowly tipped until John caught him. Matthias held out his hand and got a high-five. “Later, little dude.”
He grabbed his plate and strode to the table occupied by ranch guys at the back. John’s table had two couples, the mayor and his wife and an older, refined gentleman who looked how John imagined all plastic surgeons did. Sixty, but with the skin of a forty-five year old, and silver streaks in his hair so precise they could have been dyed that way. His wife had blond curls, perfect nails, and her nose looked like it was out of a magazine.
John gave the guy a chin lift, evidently surprising him enough he had to clear his throat with a drink of water.
The mayor waved again. “Sheriff, this is our doctor, Stephen Fenton and his lovely wife, Harriet.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“They also serve as our emergency personnel, doing the job of paramedics when someone isn’t able to make it to the medical center.”
The doctor smiled like it was an Olympic sport. The wife quit her hushed conversation with the mayor’s wife to do the same.
The doctor squeezed his wife’s hand. “Harriet is my nurse.”
“That’s right.” She smiled. “We love working together. It’s been great for our relationship.”
John smiled. Perhaps that’s what he and Ellen had needed at the time their marriage was in crisis—for both of them to get put in WITSEC, thereby forcing them to co-exist civilly. Not that there weren’t couples in the program who’d gotten divorced under their new identities and been placed separately. Maybe they had a lawyer or a judge in Sanctuary, even if there was no court to uphold the law. But if neither party could leave town unless they left the program, did they simply move to opposite ends of the street? There had to be some discord, if people were forever running into their exes at community dinners.
“Well, I’m
up.” The mayor pushed his chair back and approached the podium, leaning down to the microphone. “Check, check. Is this thing on?”
The microphone hummed to a screech and everyone in the room winced. Olympia emerged from the kitchen and stood with her hands in the pockets of her apron.
The mayor cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming. We’re here tonight to welcome our newest resident. Sheriff John Mason will be taking over from Sheriff Chandler. We should have an update on the latest on Chandler’s condition after he has surgery on Monday. John Mason has brought his son, Patrick, who goes by Pat.” He shot John’s son a smile and Pat swung his feet back and forth under the table. “Please join me in welcoming them.”
The room swelled with applause. John looked around, seeing tables of similar faces—families—alongside tables of co-workers like the ranch guys. There was even a table of what looked like aging bikers. A small amount of young people and kids were spread around the room. All of them seemed to co-exist in a place John felt for the first time maybe he could be at home in.
“Next up on our agenda—”
The door opened. A slender, dark haired woman in jeans and a brown jacket stepped inside. She looked around, saw everyone’s attention was on her and ducked to the side of the door.
“As I was saying,” the mayor continued. “Tonight’s movie will begin in one hour after cleanup. Those of you on the schedule will need to stay behind to help pull down the tables and set up chairs.”
John kept his eyes on the woman. Something about her made him want to stare. He couldn’t make out her features from this distance. The mayor’s reaction had been interesting—disapproving. But of the disruption or the woman herself?
The safe in the sheriff’s office contained the WITSEC file for every person in this room. It would take John forever to read through them all. But he supposed he needed to that if he was going to know these people, what they were capable of and what they’d endured. Several of the faces were familiar, in a general sort of way. There was a guy across the room with a table of men in military haircuts who John thought might be the former chief of staff of the army.
Sanctuary Lost WITSEC Town Series Book 1 Page 4