I crossed my legs. His gaze followed the movement. "Aren't you supposed to sit up front?"
"Even if I am," he started, his attention on my strappy sandals, "I'm staying right here." He leaned forward, tucking a curl over my ear. "You know we're giving them something to talk about. Right?"
"Mmhmm." I shot quick glimpses around me, taking stock. JJ Harniczek was in the front row, his hat on backward and his arms crossed. The Fitzsimmonses were on the far left, the Lincolns a few rows away. Neither family spoke to anyone else. The DiLorenzos were showing off pictures of their new grandson. I was surprised I didn't find Owen's boyfriend Cole among the people gathered for this meeting. Perhaps they reserved their public snuggling for bookstores. "They haven't stopped looking since you sat down and shoved your hand into my dish."
His shoulders brushed mine as he laughed. "You love it when I do that," he murmured.
"You're right," I said, grinning. "I do."
Jackson tipped his head toward the people seated in front of us. "You're all right with this?" he asked. "You're good with everyone and their auntie showing up at your shop tomorrow, digging for dirt?"
Still smiling, I nodded. They'd come. I'd smile but say nothing substantial. The Cove would light up with speculation. It would be a lot of chatter but it would also be fine. "I'm great. How are you?"
"I'm simple man, Annie. I have you and I have lemon squares. There's not much else I could ask for." Jackson sat back, his knee bumping mine as he spread his legs. "But there's one other thing I've noticed," he said under his breath, his gaze straight ahead as the council members took their seats. "Your tits are falling out of that dress."
I'd taken Brooke's advice and changed into a yellow sundress printed with blue pineapples, one with a deep v-neck. "Oh, you noticed that?" I asked.
A growl sounded in Jackson's throat as he folded his arms over his chest. "This is going to be a long meeting."
Mrs. Ball stepped up to the podium. There was a Mrs. Ball in every town, I was sure of it. She lived in everyone's business, found enjoyment in nothing, and didn't appear to age. She was elderly when I was a little kid—back when she gave popcorn balls as Halloween candy—and she was elderly now but didn't look a minute older than she did thirty years ago.
"There is an urgent need for a stoplight on my street," she announced, waving a spiral-bound notebook as she spoke.
"A stoplight," Owen repeated.
"It's necessary," she continued. "I've been watching the stop sign at the end of my street for the past month and I've written down the license plate numbers of each car that's failed to come to a complete stop. Thirty-four license plates. That's how many cars I've spotted rolling past the stop sign in one month."
Owen stared at her for a beat, then said, "A stoplight would involve hiring a surveyor to gather data on the intersection and assuming the surveyor agreed with your assessment, the public works department would dig up both Willis Point Road and Long Cove Way to run the electrical and install the proper posts. I'm talking about weeks of construction where access to your street would be limited. Once that was finished, you'd have the glare of a stoplight coming through your windows night and day. Is that what you want? Is that how you'd like us to address an otherwise safe intersection?"
Mrs. Ball paged through her notebook for a moment. "Then I'd like to know how the town plans to address the lawlessness on Long Cove," she said with a sniff. "It's clearly out of hand."
Owen shifted his stare from Mrs. Ball to Jackson. "I'm certain the sheriff will put the appropriate resources into the issue," he said. Jackson nodded in agreement. "Anything else, Mrs. Ball?"
"Not tonight," she replied. "But I'll be back next month."
"I would expect nothing less," Owen said. He glanced to the clock and made a note on his pad. "Meeting adjourned."
With that, Denise Primiani swiveled around to face us from the next bench. Her gaze swung between me and Jackson, back and forth, a knowing smile pinned on her lips.
Like most of the people at this meeting, I'd known Mrs. Primiani my whole life. I'd been close friends with her daughters when we were younger, before they moved away. She loved true crime stories. Couldn't get enough of them.
Like most people at this meeting, Mrs. Primiani was reading all the way into Jackson's choice of seats. The only difference between her and everyone else was that she was a teacher at same junior high where my mother and sisters taught.
"How are your parents doing, Annette?" she asked. "I haven't seen your mom since school ended. Is she having a good summer?"
Well…shit. Now, I was going to have to tell my family about Jackson.
"Oh, you know," I said, nodding unnecessarily. "She's good. Enjoying the time off."
I was smiling but a pit of dread opened in my stomach at the notion of announcing my relationship with Jackson to my family. That required an uncomfortable sequence of events where I told Jackson about my very nutty, very judgey family, then told my family about Jackson, and also managed to avoid presenting him at my mother's Sunday dinner table for inspection and interrogation.
Those dinners were ridiculous. There was no singular reason why they reached the level of insanity that they did but that was how it went when my mother and sisters were together. They were loud and a little mean, and they fed off each other, every opinion bolder and stronger than the one before.
As a kid, I'd spent most of the meal ignoring the spirited discussions they carried on, focused instead on the book I'd snuck in and hid under the table. They preferred it that way. I'd always been too young to understand or I didn't know the people or topics being discussed well enough to comment. They made sure I knew that. They liked to keep me in my place.
Now that my sisters were married and had kids and teenagers of their own, the dinners were different. Still spirited, still ridiculous, but bigger and somehow louder. Still a little bit mean. Since opening the shop, I'd made a point of staying open on Sundays and manning the counter for the singular purpose of avoiding those dinners.
"And what have you been up to this summer?" Mrs. Primiani asked, shooting another purposeful glance at Jackson.
"Jackson Lau," he said, extending his hand. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced."
Goddammit. I tried my hardest to fight off a grin but lost that battle, smiling down at my lemon squares. Of course he'd take that opening.
"Jackson, this is Janice Primiani. She lives down on Old Sheepscot Point," I said gesturing between them. "Mrs. Primiani meet Jackson Lau, our new sheriff."
I didn't blame him. We were sitting here in front of all our neighbors, as official as a Facebook relationship status update. He had no way of knowing the connection between Mrs. Primiani and my mother and sisters, or that I was extremely conservative about the information I shared with my family.
"Looks like this sheriff has a sweet tooth," Mrs. Primiani said, grinning at my nearly empty plate of lemon squares.
"When it comes to Annette's baking, I certainly do," he replied. "You should try one."
She shook her head, scrunched up her nose. "Oh, I couldn't. I gave up sugar."
"I'm sorry for your loss," I said.
She smacked the back of the bench and let out a deep laugh. "That's a good one," she said. "I had quite the mourning period but I'm slimming down for a cruise this winter. It'll be worth it."
"I'm sure it will be," I lied. I couldn't stomach the idea of giving up sugar. "Send my best to your girls. I hope they're doing well."
"I will," she replied, sliding out of the bench. "And say hello to your mom for me. I can't wait to catch up with her."
That was local-speak for "We are going to talk about this juicy new bit!"
"I will," I said, forcing my enthusiasm. "Have a good night."
Jackson stretched his arm across the back of the bench, his fingers resting near my shoulder. After a moment, he said, "Don't you think you've tortured me enough for one night? Don't you think it's time you let me take you home?"
I turned toward him, my mind still on Denise Primiani and the pit of dread in my stomach. But when I met his dark eyes, I wasn't worried about my parents or my sisters. I didn't need to figure out how I'd tell them about my relationship or gird myself against their cutting commentary.
There was something about Jackson. It'd always been there but it seemed bigger now, brighter. And it wasn't just the desire to get naked. It was so much more.
It was as if he came upon me and took stock of me and my aggregate parts, and said, "This is nice, your calm, collected existence but wouldn't it better if we turned it upside down?"
That was exactly what he was doing and I didn't want him to stop for anything.
18
Baking Blind
v. The process of partially or fully baking a pastry case, such as a pie crust, without filling.
Jackson
* * *
It was a great day for disasters.
I didn't make my opinions on the matter known but I was convinced the arrival of the full moon came with the surge of calamity. Most people brushed off that kind of thinking as old wives' tales or other nonsense but I was a believer. There was a restlessness in the air when the moon was ripe, one I was feeling today.
First, the innkeepers, Cleo and Rhys Neville, reported more suspicious activity on their land. Their dogs had spent the night barking at nothing, their goats and chickens were spooked, and one section of their back fence kept coming down. Once again, I didn't find any evidence of trespassers but that didn't ease their minds.
We walked their property together, righted their fence, and adjusted their motion-sensitive flood lights. I promised to keep a deputy patrolling their street for the next few days and put another call into my contact at the FBI. Even if she knew nothing, it kept the Nevilles' case on top of her mind. It wasn't much but short of razing the woods behind the inn and planting a sharpshooter on the roof, there was nothing left for me to do.
Shortly after leaving the Nevilles, a dog fell into a decommissioned well in the forest on the far end of town. The well was well off the hiking trail and required use of the off-road vehicles to bring in the proper equipment. It took several hours but the pup was rescued and shipped off to the local animal hospital to inspect his injuries.
Then I fielded a call about a group of teenagers rigging up a barge of fireworks. I found them gathered around a rudimentary raft and enough explosives to blow a crater in the beach. As it turned out, they were planning a big send-off for their friends going away to college next week. I was certain they had a cache of beer with them but didn't go looking for it. Instead, I pawned this issue off on the firefighters.
On the way back to the station, I spotted an elderly man walking along the coast road. This was the wrong spot for an afternoon stroll. The road hugged the rocky shoreline, leaving no room for sidewalks or shoulders. Drivers found the speed limit irritatingly low but with one lane and miles of turns and bends ahead, it was necessary.
I sped up and stopped at the least dangerous spot, then jogged back toward the man. I didn't recognize him until I was a few feet away. "Judge Markham," I called. "Out for a walk today, sir?"
"No time for pleasantries," he replied, his arms pumping at his sides. He was slow going but he was going. "Lead the way, bailiff. I'm late."
The judge was dressed in pajama pants, a white undershirt, and a dark brown bathrobe. Shiny dress shoes slapped the asphalt as he walked. I fell in step with him. "Where are we headed, sir?"
Pausing then, he met my eyes with an impatient glare. "To court," he replied. "I'm presiding over an important trial today, bailiff. You should know that."
"Yes, of course," I replied, nodding as I squinted at him. Judge Markham didn't leave the grounds of his estate often. I was told he preferred keeping to himself and puttering in his garden. But this wasn't reclusive. This was unwell. "Allow me to drive you to the courthouse. We'll get there faster."
I gestured to my SUV up ahead and he gave me a brisk nod. "Yes, very good. Hurry now. This trial is important. You should know that, bailiff."
After securing him in the back seat, I radioed the station. "Any missing persons reports this afternoon?" I asked, my voice low to avoid rousing the judge.
Cindy was quick to respond. "No, sir. Nothing's come up since that pupper took a bath and those kids try to blow us to kingdom come."
I glanced in the rearview mirror and found the judge fashioning his robe's belt into a necktie. "All right," I said. "I'll be back within an hour or so. Let me know if you hear anything else."
"You got it, boss," she replied.
I followed the coast road up to the Markham estate. From the street, I spotted Brooke running across the lawn and a handful of other people spread out behind the main house. As I pulled into the driveway, I rolled down the window. "Brooke," I called.
She stopped and then sprinted toward me. "If you're here for relationship advice, this is the wrong time." She rested her hands on her hips and bent at the waist as she caught her breath. "My father took a walk around the garden but now we're not sure where—"
"I have him," I said, hooking my thumb over my shoulder. The judge was busy adjusting his robe.
She pressed her palm to her chest as relief washed over her. Then she yelled, "Oh my god, what? Where was he?"
I opened the door and stepped onto the gravel, forcing her back a few steps. I wanted to have this conversation with some degree of privacy. "He was hiking up the coast road," I said. "He tells me he's late for court."
She sagged, her eyes drifting shut for a minute. "He's always late for court." Just as quickly as she'd softened, her spine snapped straight again. "Lettie," she called. "The sheriff picked him up. Take him inside, would you?"
A tall woman wearing pale pink scrubs headed for the SUV's backseat to collect the judge. Two more women joined her. He was delivering a ruling, too busy with his recitation to notice the people shuffling him into the house.
"We need to have a conversation about this," I said, gesturing toward the cluster around her father.
"I am not obligated to discuss anything with you, sheriff," Brooke replied, her fear and vulnerability quickly replaced with her usual brand of firepower. "Thank you for finding him. There's nothing else for us to discuss."
"Brooke, I am only trying to help you," I argued. "Has he wandered off before? Is it Alzheimer's? Dementia?"
"It's none of your fucking business and I don't need your help," she replied. "I have this under control."
"Excuse me, ma'am, but you don't," I replied. "He was gone long enough to make it a mile and a half from home and in that time, you didn't report him missing."
"He's never left the grounds before," she said. "I fully intended to contact the station if we couldn't find him on the property."
"Your property covers half the town," I argued. "With all due respect, ma'am, you should've called the minute he went missing."
She eyed me up and down. "He's home now. That's the only thing that matters."
"I have to disagree with you, ma'am. He was walking along one of the most dangerous highways in the state. Aside from the fact he could've been hit by a car, he could've tripped and fallen off a rocky cliff into the ocean." I gestured to the house. "It seems like you have assistance here but it wasn't enough this time and you're fooling yourself if you think it won't happen again."
Brooke ran her tongue along her upper lip and crossed her arms. "Thank you for bringing my father home. You can go now."
I stared at her, frustrated that she wouldn't use her good sense and let me help her protect him. "The next time this happens, call me immediately," I said, stabbing the air between us. There would be a next time, I'd put money on it. If the judge found a way to give his caretakers the slip today, he'd do it again. "Whatever territorial pride issue that's preventing you from recognizing reason won't help you the next time he's gone."
"Thank you again," she said, inclining her head toward the street. "I trust you'll
show yourself out."
"Does Annette know about this?"
Brooke blinked at me, unmoved. That lady was a tough nut to crack. "I'm not obligated to answer that question," she replied. "You'd do well to keep Annette out of this and keep your private life separate from the professional."
With that, she stalked into the house and slammed the door behind her.
By the time I made it back to the station, it was late in the afternoon. I was tired and hungry, and in need of some good news. Hell, I'd be happy with no news if it meant I could grab a bite to eat.
Cindy greeted me with a fistful of messages and a folded newspaper. "Nothing urgent except Debbie Ball standing in the middle of the street yelling at cars again. She's been at it every day for the past week. She hasn't let up since the town council meeting," she said, tapping her finger on the papers. "But there's a nice write-up about our little Annette's bookstore, right here in the Portland paper. Fancy, huh?"
"Very fancy," I agreed, tucking the papers under my arm. "Thanks, Cindy."
"You got it, boss," she chirped. "I'm gonna take my break now if it's no trouble. Annette has a few books squirreled away for me. I'll only be a few minutes but I can wait if you need anything from me."
"Go right ahead. No trouble at all."
I headed into my office but left the door open. I dropped everything on my desk to scrounge for a snack. My search turned up little more than a bag of pretzels that seemed too flat to yield anything of substance.
I thumbed through the messages and returned several calls. While I listened to Mrs. Ball rattle off the license plate numbers of every car she spotted rolling the stop sign near her house, I paged through the newspaper in search of Annette.
"I'll send a deputy out to watch that intersection," I promised. "Bye now, Mrs. Ball."
Once I reached the Lifestyle section, I found Annette's smiling face. She was gorgeous as always but it was her confidence that radiated from the page. She had her arm resting on the counter inside her shop, piles of books at her back. I remembered her wearing that dress several weeks ago, the aqua one with the funky print along the hem. After the interview, I'd dragged her into the storeroom, ducked under the skirt, and offered my congratulations with my tongue.
Hard Pressed Page 17