“Yes, sir. I can do that.”
Bill pointed at the seat next to Meg. “Join us. Eat.” He waved over Myrna Croft, one of Clem’s waitresses, to take his order.
Myrna poured him a cup of coffee and he ordered a breakfast large enough to feed a family of four.
Meg studied him out of the corner of her eye. He looked tired and tense. There were lines across the bridge of his nose. Did he have a headache? He held himself stiffly in the seat, as if he couldn’t relax.
She wanted to give him a back rub and focus on making him feel better, but he’d balk if she even tried to suggest something like that. She was at a loss as to how to approach him. She’d never pursued before, only been pursued. She bit her lip and looked out the window. After a sip of juice, she turned back and caught her dad staring at her with suspicion that rivaled when he’d suspected the neighbor kid had tramped his roses. Drat!
He glanced away and addressed Bret. “I heard you had an interesting activity last night.”
Bret paused, cup mid-way to his mouth. “And you know this, how?”
Bill quirked a brow.
Bret shook his head. “Is there anything Madam Mayor doesn’t know?” Humor crinkled the corners of his eyes.
Meg took a sip of her coffee. “What did I miss?”
“Kegger at the Cromwell’s last night. Parents are gone. Arrested eight minors in possession of alcohol.”
“Tess Cromwell’s? How many kids were there?” She twisted in her seat, anxious for details.
“Yes, the Cromwell’s house. Arrested the boyfriend, Gabe Miller. He’d used a fake ID, probably out on Canyon Road, to buy the keg. There must have been fifty kids or more. Can’t be sure. Lots of them ran when they saw us coming.”
“Who were they? Did they all get bailed out?” Meg quailed at the gossip that would be running rampant on Monday morning.
“Don’t know all their names, but yes they all got bailed out.” Bret’s breakfast arrived. He picked up his fork and started eating his eggs like he was starving.
“Any robberies last night?” Bill asked.
“No.” Bret smiled slightly. “Nothing since Valentine’s Day. She keeps a pretty close tab on things, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, we both do.” Bill finished the last bite of his omelet. “She trusts Paul Hudson, but it’s her town. Our town.”
“It’s my town, too. We’ll find them.” Bret took a bite of his pancakes and washed it down with coffee.
“I hear you’re working with Meg.”
Meg tensed, not sure of the intent behind his question. Her father’s grilling techniques were second only to her mother’s. That meant they were damn near legend. If he had any idea how Meg felt, Bret wouldn’t stand a chance of not getting interrogated within an inch of his life. She sent a quick glance his way, but he seemed to take her father’s interest in stride.
“She’s trying to help us sort out what’s going on.” Bret put down his fork. “Is that a problem?”
“No, it’s not a problem,” Meg answered for her father. He frowned at her over the rim of his coffee cup.
“I think she’ll be able to help, sir.” Bret didn’t look at her when he said it, but returned his attention to his breakfast.
Bill stayed silent for several long seconds, then nodded. Whether in agreement or permission, she wasn’t sure.
Annoyed, Meg started to object, then snapped her mouth shut. What did it matter? Let the two of them have their posturing moment. She collapsed back against the booth.
Her father went on to other topics, like the road construction on Bradley-Smith Road and how it was screwing up traffic, and the current debate about renovating the courthouse come spring.
Meg stayed silent, but Bret participated in the conversation as he ate his breakfast. Even though he’d only lived here about four years, he knew the town. That warmed something deep down inside Meg. She loved her town. But it was small and it didn’t have the amenities that some other bigger towns had.
“I don’t think I ever asked, or at least never heard. Why didn’t you stay with the Dallas PD?” Bill scooted his plate to the edge of the table for Myrna to pick up.
Meg stilled to listen to his answer. Even with all the years he’d been at the table for Sunday dinners, she still didn’t know a lot about Bret’s background. He kept a lot of it private and she hadn’t wanted to push.
“Dallas has some big city issues and I didn’t feel like I was doing any good there. Then I got shot.”
Meg sucked in a breath and nearly reached for him. “You got shot?”
“Yeah. Shoulder. Recovered. Moved here. End of story.” His eyes flashed with something Meg couldn’t identify, then blanked.
A chill went down her spine. End of story, my foot.
“Well, we’re glad you moved here.” Her dad reached for the two breakfast tickets seconds ahead of Bret and pulled his wallet from his pocket. “I’ve got this, Bret. Don’t worry about it. Thanks for breakfast, honey. We’ll see you both at Grandma’s on Sunday.” He reached across the table and gripped her hand.
“Sure Dad.” Meg watched her father make his way to the cash register, greeting friends and neighbors on his way.
“He didn’t have to pay for my breakfast.” Bret stared after him.
“Just his way. You can catch his next time. Although, come to think of it. He never lets me pay next time either.” She turned back to the window and watched her father back out of the parking space and pull away.
Bret gulped his coffee and wiped his mouth, getting ready to leave, too. God, she didn’t want that. Reaching for her purse, she pulled out a folded group of papers.
“I have a few more notes for you.”
Myrna came by with the coffee pot. Meg motioned for her to stop. “Fill him up again, Myrna. We’re going to be a bit.” He scowled, but lifted his mug for more coffee. The waitress cleared the dishes and left. Meg spread out her notes.
He leaned over and studied what she had compiled. The warmth radiating from his body washed over her and she wanted to touch him, to run her hands over his skin and feel how alive he was. Swallowing hard, she picked up her pen.
“What did you do here?”
“I went a little more in depth than the stuff I gave you the other day. Each page has one name on it—the name of each kid from all the robberies. Then I tried to list the activities they are involved in, their best friends, what groups they hang with, their class schedules from all their high school years, who they are dating if anyone, that type of thing.”
“And you found what?”
“A lot of random stuff, but maybe an idea.” She separated the pages and began to spread them on the table.
He touched her hand. “Not here.”
Her gaze snapped down to his hand—the heat, the sizzle stopped her, teased her. He didn’t move, almost like the shock of touching had immobilized him, too. His hand was warm and smooth against hers. When her fingers closed around his, he snapped back and slipped his hand away.
The tight look came back in his eyes—the one that frustrated her so darn much. He stood. Manners dictated he wait for her, but he looked none too pleased. He didn’t utter a word.
She put the notes back in her purse and struggled into her jacket. “When would you like to meet to go over these? How about tonight? Come over. I’ll cook something for us to eat and we can spread out on my kitchen table.”
Two seconds after the words were out of her mouth, she realized what she’d said. He opened his mouth, probably to refuse, but she was saved acute embarrassment and disappointment by the ringing of his cell phone.
He slipped it from its case on his belt and flipped it open. “Cara.” He listened for a few moments, frowning. “I’ll be right there.”
She stood and shifted her black purse to her shoulder. “What is it? Another robbery?”
“No. Accident.” He put a hand to her back and guided her to the front door. Outside, she walked toward her car. The rain had stopped, but
the pavement was slick. Gray clouds hung low to the ground. His truck was parked two slots further down from hers so he walked at her side.
“Bad accident?”
“Yes. Ambulance involved. Out on Bradley-Smith.”
“The ambulance? How bad?” She reached her car.
“I don’t know, Meg. I have to go.” He started to walk away.
“I’ll see you tonight at my house. Seven o’clock. We’ll eat and go over my notes.”
He stopped in his tracks and turned. His eyes were hard, shoulders stiff. Before he could tell her no, she got in her car and slammed the door, making it a done deal.
Backing out, she noted he’d walked away and was getting in his truck. Only time would tell whether he’d show.
Bret drove as rapidly as possible through town, chewing on Meg’s last minute command. Just like a woman. Issue orders and expect him to hop to. Just like his mother. There was no way in hell he was going to her house for dinner.
They wouldn’t just talk about business. She’d try to kiss him again.
Damn it all to hell, he’d let her.
He had no spine when it came to her. Well, it was high time he grew one before he ended up trapped in a relationship he didn’t want. Just like his father.
Traffic was detoured at Johnson Street. He waved at Carmen Vogel, the officer directing traffic, and drove around her patrol car. About a mile further down the road, he parked his truck to the side of the road, several hundred feet from the accident. He got out and walked toward the scene.
Two fire trucks and three police cars crowded the road. Orange cones littered the area like downed bowling pins. Construction workers congregated near the ditch staring at the mess. The community ambulance stood rear end first in the ditch, its center section crushed. A small delivery truck blocked the middle of the road, steam escaping from its radiator and the front end compressed in accordion fashion toward the dashboard. No identifying marks showed on the sides and the plates were muddied.
Bret surveyed the scene to see who else was here. Tom waved at him from the other side of the accident. Matt Parker, their newest officer, was hunched down, studying the skid marks. Sergeant Jurdy talked with the Fire Chief, Sally Caldwell.
Bret approached Chief Hudson who looked like he wanted to chew on something. “Anyone hurt?”
“Driver of the delivery truck is unconscious, head injury,” Chief Hudson said.
“Who was it?”
“No one knows him and there was no identification on him. Guess we’ll find out later when we talk to him.”
“Did the ambulance have a patient?” The chief walked to the ambulance bumper, his frown wearing deep grooves into his face. “They were transporting Coach Gutherie’s grandfather. He’d had a stroke. Don’t know if his condition worsened yet or not. Alice Drake was driving, broke her collar bone. Antonio Cepeda was in the back. He was banged up, but seems to be okay.”
“Ambulance looks totaled.”
“I know.” Chief Hudson patted his pockets. “I get to tell the mayor.”
Bret shifted his weight. “Ah, she probably already got wind of it.”
The chief gave Bret a hard stare. “How?”
Bret cleared his throat. “I was having breakfast with Meg working on the burglary case when the call came in.”
“Great. Well, at least we have a lead in that area.”
Bret studied the delivery truck. “How so?”
The chief pointed to the back of the vehicle. “Go take a look.”
Bret left his boss searching his pockets for a butterscotch candy. At the back of the truck, he looked inside. The truck was full of televisions, DVD players, stereos, and other electronic stuff, much of it tangled and broken.
Sergeant Hallam was shifting through the pieces. He looked at Bret. “Good. An extra set of eyes. We’re taking serial numbers. Any bets on whether these are some of our robbery items?”
Bret’s pulse quickened. He stepped into the back of the truck and stood by the other man. Glass crunched under his feet. “Fencing the stuff?”
“Would appear that way. Guess they decided it was time to unload it.”
“What happened?”
“Not sure. Ambulance was traveling toward town. He came off the side road and T-boned them.
“No identification, the chief said.” Bret took a couple steps sideways to check some of the other equipment.
“No. Rafe Lopez went with him back to town. He’ll get his prints and we’ll run them. Hopefully, he has a record.”
“Need help?”
“If you’ve got time.” Hallam handed him his notebook. “I’ll read the numbers, you write. We need to get it all catalogued before we move it.”
“I can help as long as you need me.” Bret clicked the pen and started writing.
At least now he could make a decent excuse to avoid dinner at Meg’s. It would take all day and into the evening to compare robbery reports for serial numbers, take fingerprints from the equipment, and catalog all the items into evidence.
She’d be angry. But the sooner she got it clear that they were only working together because of the robberies the better it would be. He’d call her later and have her come down to the police station after school on Monday. Hopefully, the lead from this accident would break open the whole thing and make the meeting unnecessary. If not, he could conduct their meeting in a more professional setting.
Meg snapped the lid on the remaining chicken marsala and put it in the refrigerator. She’d spent two hours in the kitchen cooking only to have Bret call at the last minute and cancel.
She wiped down the counters, took a bottle of water from the refrigerator, and turned out the lights. In her bedroom, she pulled off the black slacks and teal sweater. She reached for her purple flannel sleep pants and a T-shirt, going for comfort.
She lifted her purse to the bed and sorted through the contents until she found her notes. Bret wanted to talk to her on Monday about her idea. It wouldn’t hurt to spend a little time making it presentable. She walked barefooted to the living room, turned on the television, and sat down to work. She barely gotten comfortable when her cell phone rang.
“Blast it.” She rose and picked it up from the coffee table where she’d left it earlier. She flipped it open without looking and smiled to hear her mother’s voice.
“Hello, dear.”
“Hi, Mom.” She sank back on the sofa.
“I suppose you heard about the accident today. Totaled the ambulance.”
Meg stared at the phone. “Yes, I heard. I should have called you. I was with Bret when he got the call.”
“I understand the truck that hit it was carrying some of the stolen goods from the robberies.”
Meg swore under her breath. He hadn’t told her that. She pulled a pillow from the sofa to her stomach and counted to ten. “Maybe that will give them the lead they need to solve them.”
“One would hope. Unfortunately, the loss of the ambulance is a going to be a huge problem.”
“What about the insurance money?”
“Won’t cover the cost of a new one. We’re going to have to do some fundraising. Are you willing to help with that?”
“Sure, Mom. Let me know.” Meg took a drink from the water bottle. “What is the town going to do in the meantime?”
“A temporary measure that isn’t going to work long term—a van donated by Carlsson’s Auto.”
“How is everyone?”
“The driver of the truck has a concussion and hasn’t been questioned yet. Everyone else is fine. Coach Gutherie’s grandfather was admitted to the hospital, but it was for his stroke and not any injuries from the crash.”
“That’s good. It could have been so much worse.” Meg listened to her mother chat about other community and family news before signing off.
More agitated than before the phone call, she read through her notes and tried to come up with a good explanation why Bret hadn’t told her the news. She rose to pace the room, ser
iously ticked. She refused to acknowledge the hurt. “I know he’s the cop in this arrangement, but what am I?”
She switched the channel to a Dallas Stars hockey game and tried to immerse herself in the particulars of the match. The situation continued to gnaw on her making her restless. Finally, she rose again to pace the length of her living room.
She should quit. Just quit. Mr. Marsh could appoint someone else to work with him. She could stop spending so much time on the whole situation, stop hurting for her students, and stop letting her heart soar every time she was around him only to be let down again. She’d gone into this with the idea that not only could she help her town, but also to entice him to date her.
Stupid idea. Stupid man.
Obviously nothing was working. She needed to wrap her mad around her and walk away before she really got hurt by Bret’s indifference.
~~CHAPTER FIVE~~
Meg pushed through the door at the police department and walked up to the dispatch window. Nervous, she straightened her cream-colored blouse and fawn jacket, then shook out the creases in her matching slacks. After a long school day, she hoped she still looked businesslike, not harried as her mood. She’d gone to bed Saturday night angry with Bret and was still that way.
Dana Collins sat behind a service window with a big communication console to her right. A headset held back her long dark hair and a microphone was perched in front of her lips. Dana and Meg had enjoyed a casual friendship in high school. After graduation, Meg went to college. Dana married her high school sweetheart and was now pregnant with number three. The small bump over her tummy made a flash of jealousy shoot through Meg, but she stifled it.
“Hi, Meg. What can I do for you? Need to see Tom?”
“Hi, Dana. No, I need to see Bret. We have an appointment. “
Dana raised her eyebrows for a moment, speculation on her face. She reached for the door release without asking. “Go on back. I think Bret’s in the day room. You know where that is?”
Meg nodded and went through the door. Her heels tapped on the floor all the way down the hall, keeping time with the every breath she took to bury her temper and calm the agitation in her stomach. She’d spent the weekend finalizing her notes, cramming every detail she knew into the pages.
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