All You Want

by Rachelle Ayala

  “So proud of you, man, our big sheriff, out fighting crime.” Justin Jameson, the guy who used to be the class valedictorian, says while examining the sesame bun. He, at least, keeps his hair and beard trimmed, but he’s lazy at heart and would rather hang around with the town losers than go to college and get a desk job. He licks his teeth and takes a dainty, for a man, bite from his share of the burger while dipping a thick French fry into a cup of ketchup. “You look like it’s a serious call. Big emergency?”

  The last thing I need are looky-loos. Being a cop means calming people down instead of fanning excitement. “Every call is serious, but I have it under control.”

  I amble to the exit, but my heart is racing, and my palms are sweating. Tami’s hurt and in a state of shock. Linx is not a medical expert. She wouldn’t have any idea what to do.

  I lengthen my stride and run toward the hotel. It’s not far from the saloon, just catty-corner on the other side of the solitary street light.

  Screams and cries come from the half-open front door. I pull out my service revolver and march up in position to clear the area.

  Rushing into a dangerous situation headlong is for amateurs, and no matter how worried I am about Tami, I have to assess the scene first and take out any threats.

  “Police,” I announce. “Come out with your hands up.”

  “Todd! It’s us,” Linx says, emerging from the doorway.

  I nudge it open wider with my foot and peer inside.

  Tami is sitting in a pool of red, covered with what looks like blood. She’s wiping it and smearing it and squealing about how yucky everything is.

  I sweep the area with my flashlight, keeping my gun out. The lobby is clear, and I don’t see movement in the gallery or up the staircase.

  “Anyone else in here?” I ask.

  “No,” Linx replies. “Tami’s in shock. She says she saw a ghost.”

  “Huh.” I point the flashlight above the doorway and spot the scaffolding. “No one is up there. If they climbed down, they would have to have stepped in this blood.”

  “This is horrible. It’s all over me,” Tami wails. “How can I wash all this blood off of me? It sprayed all over me. It won’t come off.”

  Since the hotel appears to be clear, I tuck my gun in the holster and reach for Tami. “Are you hurt? Tell me what happened.”

  “A ghost threw blood on me. I slipped and fell. It was horrible.”

  “A ghost? What did he look like?”

  “It’s a she. Pickaxe Polly,” Tami exclaims. She’s breathing so fast and flapping her hands, I’m sure she’s hyperventilating.

  “Slow down.” I put a hand on her shoulder. The blood is drying and feels sticky on her skin.

  “I can’t. I saw her. She was looming over me with an axe, ready to chop my head off.”

  I don’t know if she seriously believes it or saw an intruder she mistook for a ghost, but the first order of business is securing the victim.

  “Tell me if anything hurts,” I ask.

  She shakes her head, her eyes wide and blue, and her face is streaked with red liquid, although none of it seems to be oozing or spurting.

  “Linx, did you see this person?”

  “I didn’t see anyone but a cat. It jumped over Tami and ran up the stairs.”

  “How big was the cat?” I know it’s silly to ask, but as a police officer, I have to be thorough. For all I know, it could be a man or woman in a cat suit.

  “A tiny kitten,” Linx says. She kneels next to Tami, getting her jeans stained. “I think Tami’s having a panic attack.”

  “I’m not panicking.” Tami’s huffs are getting faster and shallower, and she’s showing signs of hyperventilating.

  By now, a few of the guys from the bar are standing at the threshold, gaping inside. “Sheriff, what happened? Why’s Tami all bloody?”

  “Did someone attack her?”

  “Stay back,” I command. “Linx, you’re deputized to keep everyone away from the crime scene.”

  My sister is used to me deputizing her, so she gets up from her crouching position, puts her hands on her hips, and squares off against the gathering crowd.

  They respect her. Everyone in town does.

  I turn my attention back to Tami.

  “Try to slow your breathing. Can you get up?”

  “Help me?” she says weakly.

  I put my hands underneath her armpits and lift her. Her feet slip and slide, and she sags against me.

  “What hurts? Do you need a doctor?”

  She rolls her eyes back, and I’m sure she’s about to faint, so I sweep her into my arms, getting the bloody substance on me.

  “Linx, lock up the property and stick up the crime scene tape. I’m taking Tami to the hospital.”

  “Is she okay?” Linx asks, patting her friend and checking for wounds.

  “She doesn’t seem to be bleeding.” I rub the rust-red liquid between my fingers and sniff it. There’s a recognizable chemical odor.

  I peer over my shoulder at the base of the staircase. A metal can lies on its side, dripping reddish-brown liquid. It’s only paint. What a relief.

  She’s still hysterical, writhing and moaning in my arms, but at least for now, the danger is over—although who rigged the scaffold and set the paint can to fall on her?

  ~ Tami ~

  “It’s paint?” I wipe the rusty-red smears of gooey liquid all over my clothes. “I feel so stupid.”

  Not to mention my white lacey blouse and skirt combo with the slimming waistline are completely and utterly ruined.

  “It’s the same color as blood,” Todd says, carrying me in his arms. “You’re allowed to be mistaken.”

  Wow. He’s so strong, he acts like I’m as light as a potato chip, and no one could miss the concerned expression on his face when he first spotted me.

  “You thought it was blood, too,” I remind him.

  He gives me a sheepish smile and says, “You gave me a shock. I thought you were hurt badly.”

  “By that axe murderer, Pickaxe Polly?” I tease him. “I swear, I thought I saw her hovering over me.”

  Now I wonder if it’s a holographic projection Evan set up to scare visitors. Boy, do I feel stupid if it is. He’d told me he wasn’t done with everything and not to micromanage, wanting me to be as surprised as the guests.

  “Now you’re filing a false police report,” Todd says. “You sure you’re not pulling a publicity prank?”

  “Someone pulled a prank on me. That’s what happened. I had no idea they set up a booby trap, maybe to ward off intruders.”

  Todd grimaces but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he boldly strides out onto the street with me safely ensconced in his big, bulging arms.

  The entire Sixty Miners saloon across the street emptied out to gawk at me coming out of the hotel covered in what looked like blood. Many cell phone cameras are trained on me, and I’m sure I’m a gruesome, blood-streaked mess.

  I might as well put on a little show.

  It’s made for TV. Todd looks like a hero with the damsel in distress safely ensconced in his arms, and well, my heart is upbeat and doing jumping jacks at being rescued by him—even though it is only from a paint can.

  “Tami was as shocked as me,” Linx comes to my defense. “She definitely didn’t expect it.”

  “You think I wanted to ruin my clothes? My hair? My skin?” I pick at the drying paint all over me.

  “I was only kidding about the publicity stunt.” Todd sets me down next to the police SUV and wipes a sticky, paint-stained strand of hair from my forehead. “I looked up, and there’s a scaffolding where they were touching up the crown moldings. The painters might have left a can of paint, and when you opened the door, it hit a corner of the scaffolding and knocked the paint down. It’s lucky the can didn’t land on your head.”

  “Are you saying it was an accident?” Linx clarifies.

  “I’m going to go with the accident theory, unless you ladies can come up with a
better explanation.” Todd’s voice is no-nonsense and official. “Absent the axe murderess poised to attack you theory.”

  “How am I going to get paint out of my hair?” I moan, belatedly realizing paint is harder to remove than blood. “It smelled like blood, even tasted like blood. Maybe there’s blood mixed into the paint.”

  “Really?” Linx eyes me suspiciously. “You didn’t ask the painters to put blood in the paint, did you?”

  “Not me.” I pick at the paint that’s already drying and caking on my face. “What if Evan thought it would be spookier to put a spell on my hotel?”

  “Would he do something like this?” Todd asks. “What do you know about him?”

  “He has a way of getting ghosts to show themselves,” I reply. “Highly recommended. He had his own reality show a few years back.”

  “You’re only having him fake the ghosts, aren’t you?” Linx crosses her arms and tilts her head.

  I get why she’s skeptical, and from the way Todd’s jaw tenses, he’s even more belligerent. Neither of them wants me to open a tourist trap. Where they see traffic, I see profits. Where they hear noise and hubbub, I hear the cash register and happy people enjoying themselves. Where they smell a rat, I smell opportunity.

  “Half of the fun is in the not knowing.” I look from one to the other. “It’s what keeps curiosity alive and gives people something to speculate about.”

  “Okay, we’re not going to argue with you about your haunted hotel,” Todd says. “I’m going to write this up and drive you home. Linx, can you take Tami’s car?”

  “Why can’t I drive?” I turn toward my car. “I need a plastic sheet so I don’t mess up my interior, but I’m not drunk or anything.”

  Todd opens the door to the Chevy Tahoe PPV. “I have plastic you can sit on, and I want to ask you more questions. I don’t think standing out here in the cold is going to help you get the paint off your hair. Not to mention, you’re attracting a crowd.”

  “Hey, folks.” I wave like a little girl at the familiar faces gawking and making comments. The pictures and videos should show up on social media soon. “Don’t forget to hashtag #ColsonsCorner #SpookyWeek #HauntedHotel.”

  “Back away, folks,” Todd announces. “Until further notice, this is a possible crime scene. No one is to trespass until I finish my investigation. Now, move along. Back to your drinks. Go. Go.”

  No one leaves. Instead, they stick around to see what they can see, and a few of the more adventurous guys prowl around the bushes to peer in the windows.

  Linx locks up and secures the crime scene tape. She takes my car keys from my splattered kente-cloth purse and says, “Now, you be good. I’ll have your car at my place tonight, if it’s okay with you.”

  Before I can answer, Todd says, “It’ll be okay. I’m watching her tonight.”

  I’m not sure what Todd is up to, but the people in my town are watching, and I think I see Molly in the background lapping it all up. She spoke to Evan about doing personal haunt effects, and I’m sure she’s coming up with material to enhance our displays.

  I wonder if she’s the one behind all of this. I swear, I did see the ghost, but it could also be a projection or a flying puppet. Could Molly have been inside and snuck out the back?

  In any case, she’s staring at me and Todd, so I snuggle closer, looping my arms around his neck and make myself comfortable. I like the idea of all the single women in town seeing me drive off with the sheriff. They don’t have to know I’m playing hard to get.

  “Why, Todd, I’d love it if you drove me home,” I simper and blink, although my lashes are sticking together. He does have a point. Whether tonight’s incident is an accident or not, the fact that the proprietress—me—is plastered all over social media looking like a blood-splattered bride of Frankenstein has to be good for business.

  He ushers me through the crowd. “Miss King is okay. It’s just paint. Nothing to see here.”

  “Did you see a ghost?” Jasmine from my yoga class asks.

  “It looked like blood,” Brenda from the gas station comments. “You must have been scared out of your wits.”

  “It was frightful.” I wipe my sticky face and wave my glistening fingers. “It felt like I was getting whacked by a pickaxe.”

  “Pickaxe Polly?” Jared, a Boy Scout who volunteers at the dog rescue, yelps.

  “There was a series of chills and the sound of chopping.” I widen my bloodshot, or should I say, paintshot eyes. “And then, it was all over me. Ripping and tearing at me like thousands of fangs and claws.”

  “Enough with story time,” Todd interrupts. He shoos several guys who he hung out with in high school. “Let’s move along. Nothing to see here.”

  “You should at least give us the inside scoop,” one of the guys says while his buddy pushes a cell phone camera up to my face.

  Todd swats the phone, and it spirals to the ground. He leverages his big, wide body to box out the crowd while helping me into the passenger seat of the Chevy PPV. I feel like a princess chased by the paparazzi, blessed with the best bodyguard ever.

  Once we’re driving along, I notice Todd taking the long way to my house. He’s winding around the dark, moonlit roads and driving slower than necessary.

  It might have been romantic if I wasn’t covered with paint. Maybe he’s mad at me for standing him up.

  “Did you miss me?” I hazard a guess.

  “Nope. I forgot.” He stares straight ahead at the lonely road.

  “What did you forget about, Toddkins?” I hook a glance at his profile. “I mean, there had to be something you’re remembering forgetting.”

  He heaves a sigh. “I hope you’re satisfied with yourself.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Getting my attention. Are you sure you and Linx didn’t set this up?”

  “Uh! You’re so arrogant.” I give his calf a tiny kick.

  “Watch it there. I could arrest you for attacking a peace officer.”

  “Oh, you have no idea how much I want to attack you.” I add a purring growl.

  His body stiffens, and his Adam’s apple bobbles. I love teasing this big hunk, and he’s pretty easy to read. He’s upset I stood him up, but he deserves to be flicked off balance.

  “I’m sheriff of this town.” He puts on his stern, official voice. “I uphold the law, and I need to uphold it equally. I can’t let you get above the law.”

  “But I can get above the lawman, can’t I?” I waggle my paint-caked eyebrows.

  “I need you to follow the law.”

  “I always follow the lawman—faithfully.” A giggle slips from me. “A very stiff lawman.”

  “I’m being one hundred percent professional.”

  “Oh, really? And is it professional that you’re taking me to your place?”

  “Why would I do that?” He actually looks shocked, his eyes wide and alert.

  “I figure you’d want to clean me up yourself, because you can’t let my parents see me like this.”

  He has the most hilarious “caught” expression pasted on his face.

  “Don’t get your wagon ahead of your horses,” he says. “I have to file an official police report and take you home.”

  “Except this isn’t the way to my home.” I point out the winding trail to the secluded cabin near the waterfall. “It’s okay, Toddkins. I need your help cleaning all of this paint from my entire body—every nook and cranny. Think you can do that? Besides, I’m running a little late for that picnic date you promised me.”

  He gulps, and for tonight, I have him hooked. “I, uh, don’t have a basket.”

  “Then we’ll have to make do with a TV dinner.” I move in toward his face and plaster a big, fat, wet, and paint-stained kiss over his lips.

  Yum.

  Thirteen

  ~ Todd ~

  “She’ll be coming ’round the mountain when she comes. She’ll be coming ’round the mountain when she comes!!!”

  Tami’s taken over my bat
htub, filling it with bubble bath and scented soap. She’s lit candles and is singing at the top of her lungs. I swear she’s yelling “comes” as hard as she can to intimidate me, and she’s doing a bang-up job at it.

  “She’ll be coming ’round the sheriff, coming ’round the sheriff, coming ’round the sheriff when she COMES!!!”

  Yep, she’s gunning for me on full tease and hogging up my bathroom with her feminine wiles.

  I’m the one who needs a shower—a very cold and freezing one. But I’m stuck pacing around my cabin like a caged grizzly surrounded by elk. Big, fat, juicy and delicious elk.

  Or maybe I’m a horndog surrounded by a hundred virgins in heat—tied to a stake while they parade around me, dripping their hormonal juices in front of my nose.

  My dick is at full mast, hard as an aged salami sausage, but throbbing with blood and pulsing with need. I restrain myself from touching it, pulling it out and squeezing it, knowing full well I’ll blow like a suffocating whale as soon as it surfaces.

  I need to get off some steam, preferably by going outside and jumping in the cold creek, but I can’t leave her alone in my cabin. Maybe if I build a fire, I can concentrate on something other than that full-bodied operatic voice changing the lyrics of a perfectly innocent song.

  I arrange wax-dipped pinecones around a bed of twigs and place a split log in the center of the fireplace. Usually, I simply light a match, but because I need to get my dick to stand down, I take out my flints and strike them several times to get a spark. On my fifth try, the powdery flecks of hay I use for tinder catch with a whiff of smoke, and I’m able to nurse the tiny flame until it grabs onto the wax-dipped cones.

  Soon, the fire is toasty and hot, but so is the firewood between my legs. Since Tami will be in the tub forever—I hear her draining it and refilling it—I settle back on my rocking chair and cover my crotch with a hardcover book.

  “She’ll be riding big white cock when she comes. She’ll be riding big white cock …”

  The dulcet tones of Tami’s operatic voice pound away at me, and I wonder if she’s inviting me to barge in. Too bad, I can’t. Despite Tami’s father inviting me to dinner and overtly using her to entice me into a deal with him, I have to keep myself free and clean. King George would like nothing better than to have the town sheriff at his beck and call. Not only that, he’d ask me to look the other way or even bribe me the way he did with old Sheriff Weaver.