A brief flash of anger rocketed through Sharon Ann’s eyes as the crowd murmured again. She quickly composed herself, though, and put on an expression of resigned disappointment, as if that was what she’d expected. “Then I guess we should get the proceedings under way since Mr. Winters does not wish to step aside.”
Maybe I would need to put Sharon Ann in a headlock.
She glanced at Deborah and the other three women now sitting behind her. They all nodded assuredly at one another, portraying the confidence of people who were about to present a can’t-miss cure for cancer.
Sharon Ann shuffled through the papers once again. “At this time I would like to formally recommend Mr. Winters’s removal as Room Father for room nine. Do I hear a second?”
Deborah and the others behind her all chimed in with “Seconded.” It was clear that they had rehearsed.
Sharon Ann suppressed a smile. “Excellent. At this time we do not feel that Mr. Winters—”
“Who’s we, Sharon Ann?” Julianne asked.
The room murmured again.
“The Women of Rettler-Mott School, Julianne,” Sharon Ann said through clenched teeth.
“So it’s the group that’s recommending this action?” Julianne asked, the amused smile from before again creeping across her face.
Sharon Ann met her question with irritation. “That is correct.”
Julianne nodded, satisfied. “Excellent. Continue.”
Sharon Ann started to spit something, most likely because she didn’t like Julianne giving her permission to run her own meeting. But she bit her tongue, attempting to stay focused. “As I was saying, we are making this recommendation due to the recent troubles that Mr. Winters has experienced.”
The murmuring in the room got louder, and Sharon Ann was happy to let it fester.
“He is an active suspect in an ongoing murder investigation,” Sharon Ann said, pausing to let that settle in with the audience. “And he has recently been served with a restraining order after harassing the wife of the victim.” She shifted her gaze to the middle of the auditorium, and I followed it.
Shayna and Billy were sitting together. Shayna’s head was down. Billy was patting her on the back.
Rose Petal seriously needed to give thought to the idea of forming a community theater, because there was some amazing acting talent in the town.
Sharon Ann did a little head shake, clearly displeased with me. “Clearly, Mr. Winters has other issues in his life right now that would seem to prevent him from performing his duties.”
My blood pressure did zero to sixty in less than two seconds. Even though I had prepared myself for what she was going to say, hearing it out loud, in front of all those people, was like another shot to the head.
Julianne’s hand pressed down on mine.
“We wanna see Deuce!” Darlene yelled from behind us.
I cringed as the entire room went silent.
“I mean, we wanna hear from Deuce,” Darlene corrected herself, but not blushing. “We wanna hear what he has to say.”
Sharon Ann’s mouth twitched. “Certainly.” She looked at me. “You may express any wishes you have against this going forward.” She turned back toward the audience. “Though I doubt it will matter.”
I stood and walked to the lecturn. It would’ve been the ideal moment for a headlock, but I decided against it.
I spotted Cedric near the back of the room, working a toothpick between his lips. “Sheriff. Am I a suspect?”
“Not in my book,” Cedric said, grinning.
Judge Gerald Kantner was right next to him, yawning.
“Judge, did the restraining order present any evidence that I harassed anyone?” I asked.
Gerald shook his head. “No, Deuce, it did not. That is why the order was granted with temporary status. If cause had been presented, then I would have considered a more stringent order.”
And then I had to take a chance. “Detective Bell.”
He was startled to hear his name called, and he straightened against the wall.
“Anyone file a complaint with you, complaining about me?” I asked.
The entire room turned in his direction.
The pink splotches that I’d seen before were forming on his face. He didn’t like being the center of attention.
“No,” he said quietly.
“Can you say that again?” I asked. “So everyone can hear you?”
“No,” he said, louder and more irritated.
The murmurs grew into voices, clearly surprised. I turned around to Sharon Ann. Her cheeks were drawn tight; her jaw set firm. She wasn’t enjoying her meeting.
I turned back to the room. “Sally. You still want me as your Room Dad?”
Sally Meadows stood and was already nodding. “Absolutely. I have no complaints.”
The murmuring came to life again.
“Thanks,” I said.
Sally saluted and sat down.
“My daughter loves this school,” I said to the crowd. “I love being able to help out with her class. I believe her teacher, Ms. Meadows, is happy with the job I’ve done as Room Dad.” I took a long look across the room, trying to catch as many eyes as possible. “I do not have any plans to leave the job before my term is up. Thank you.”
Applause started in the back of the room and worked its way forward. I was feeling pretty good about the moment. I took my seat back next to Julianne. She patted my hand, proud. Never underestimate the power of a high school football hero in Texas.
Sharon Ann and Deborah were in a tight-lipped, white-faced discussion as the applause continued. Sharon Ann finally stood and returned to the podium.
“Well, it is lovely to hear that Mr. Winters has been able to clear his name. To a certain extent, of course,” she said with all the friendliness of a python. “Of course, there is another issue I’d like to bring up before we vote.”
The room came to attention.
“Two nights ago,” Sharon Ann said, “Mr. Winters was attacked out in front of the school. Fortunately, he is all right. The attack, however, raises a concern.”
My confidence was disappearing by the second. I didn’t like her standing up there, looking like she was about to swing a big hammer right at my head.
“Whether or not he is to blame for the attack, it does concern me that someone is out to get him,” she said, pausing like a well-rehearsed orator. “Particularly when he is around the children.”
That set off the murmurs again and blew my confidence into itty-bitty pieces. Sharon Ann was very pleased with herself, trying to hold off a smug smile. She looked down at her papers as it started to broaden across her face, like a kid who didn’t want to get caught laughing in the back of the class.
She managed to wipe the smile from her face for a moment and held up her hands for quiet. “I think you understand where I’m coming from. We do not want to put our children at risk.” She glanced around the room. “And I would be happy to sacrifice my time in order to take his place. So that our children can remain safe.”
“Good God,” Julianne whispered. “Like she’s willing to hold off the plague or something.”
“I’m done,” I whispered above the conversations behind us. “She got me.”
Julianne raised an eyebrow. “Not even close, househusband. Not even close.”
“Jules, she’s got everyone drinking the Kool-Aid,” I said, gesturing behind us.
Julianne frowned and looked back to Sharon Ann.
“So I think it’s time we vote,” Sharon Ann said, her chin upraised, her fake boobs puffed out in victory. “Should Mr. Winters be replaced as Room Father of room nine?”
Julianne stood. “Don’t waste their time, Sharon Ann.”
Sharon Ann’s eyes turned into tiny little AK-47s, firing in my wife’s direction. “I’m not wasting their time, Julianne. Now I’m sorry your husband ...”
“You are sorry,” Julianne said. “I think we may need to recall you as president of the WOR ... Wome
n of Rettler-Mott.”
Sharon Ann reloaded the AK-47s. “Oh, really. And why would that be?”
“Because you don’t even know your own bylaws, honey,” Julianne said, now facing the audience.
Sharon Ann blinked her eyes several times. Any other moment, it would’ve looked like she was batting her eyelashes at someone. But I saw it as doubt sneaking its way into her pea brain.
“How many women are in the group?” Julianne asked, still watching the audience, in full lawyer mode now. “In the Women of Rettler-Mott?”
Sharon Ann started to say something, then caught herself. She turned to Deborah and the three women behind her, covering the microphone. Her colleagues met her with shrugs.
When she turned back around, her cheeks were pink and she wasn’t pleased about having to stare at the back of Julianne’s head. “I’m not sure, but I don’t see any way that’s relevant.”
Julianne smiled at the audience, full of conf i-dence. “Again. I’d think someone in your position would know your own bylaws.”
The decibel level of the murmurs rose, the crowd sensing something big was about to go down.
“Let’s take a guess, then,” Julianne said, turning around to face Sharon Ann. “Two, twenty, two hundred? As president of the Women of Rettler-Mott, how many women do you think you preside over?”
The pink in Sharon Ann’s cheeks blossomed. “If I had to guess, I’d say forty. Certainly not more than fifty, and two hundred is ludicrous.” It was a poor attempt to save face.
“Forty,” Julianne said, nodding as if that was fine. “Let’s go with that.”
Sharon Ann twitched with irritation. “Honestly, Julianne. You are wasting everyone’s time. This is ridiculous.”
Julianne upped the wattage in her smile. “It’s on page four of the school bylaws.”
“What is?”
“The part that says in order for any parent-sponsored group to make a change of any kind that the group must present at least fifty-one percent of their group for a public vote,” Julianne said, turning back to the audience.
The murmurs rose to a few chuckles and whistles. I made out a few “Uh-ohs” and “That woman is screweds.”
Sharon Ann’s face rippled from pink to strawberry red. “That is nonsense! I would know something like that if it were true.”
Julianne whipped out a small royal blue book and held it up. “Well, I certainly would’ve thought you would’ve known something like that before putting on this dog and donkey show.” She tossed the book at her. “Page four, Sharon Ann. It’s the one that comes after page three. We’ll go ahead and wait for you to read it.”
Sharon Ann attempted to catch the booklet but missed it completely, and it whacked her in the chin. Twenty-three percent of the audience laughed. She bent over, picked it up, and ripped through the pages. When her face went from strawberry red to a four-alarm fire, it was clear that she had somehow skipped over page four of the Rettler-Mott bylaws.
Julianne put a hand to her ear. “Can’t hear you, Sharon Ann. Did you find it yet?”
Sharon Ann was scouring the booklet, searching vainly for an out. It wasn’t there.
“And before you get any ideas about trying to get fifty-one percent of the women together,” Julianne cautioned, “I’ve already made a few phone calls. I’m not sure what the vote here tonight would be like, but the chances of you getting fifty-one percent here are slim and none, and none just kicked slim out of town.” She smiled her most evil smile. “Seems my husband has a few more friends in this school than you do.”
The whistles from the audience morphed into catcalls, along with some sporadic applause. Sharon Ann stood at the podium like a dog that had just had its teeth removed. Without anesthesia. People were standing up to leave, and there was nothing she could do but watch.
Julianne held out her hand. “Let’s go, my man.”
I grabbed her hand and stood.
Sharon Ann fumbled around behind the podium for a moment, grabbing her purse and whispering violently in Deborah’s ear.
Sharon Ann McCutcheon made the one mistake of not knowing the one thing I was most certain of in my life.
My wife kicks so much ass.
50
Most men probably would’ve had an issue with their wife defending them in public.
Please. That is so sexist.
“I have a serious mind to jump your bones right here in this parking lot,” I told her as we walked out.
“Now, that might actually be cause to remove you,” she said, grinning at me. “Let’s wait until we get home.”
“Can we at least make out in your car?”
“Deal.”
And that’s what we did for a good five minutes before coming up for air.
“How was that?” Julianne whispered in the same throaty tone she’d used the first time she asked me stay over in her dorm room.
I was about to answer her with another round of kissing, but a car leaving the parking lot caught my eye.
Specifically, a red Ford Ranger pickup truck leaving caught my eye.
Julianne punched me in the sternum. “Hey. I’m trying to be all attractive to you, you idiot.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, watching the truck creep along the opposite side of the parking lot.
Julianne saw my eyes were elsewhere and turned in her seat. “What?”
“That truck,” I said, squinting. “It’s the truck Victor saw.”
“The one he got the partial plate on?”
“Yeah. He found that Stenner kid who owns it, but we don’t think he was the one driving it,” I said as its red brake lights flared in the dark as it arrived at the edge of the lot.
She twisted back around to me. “How do you know all this?”
“Victor and I,” I said, watching the truck turn out onto the street. “We, uh ...” I pointed to the truck. “Come on. We need to go after it.”
“You’re kidding me.”
I smacked the dash. “Come on, Jules. Now.”
She made a grunting sound but turned over the ignition and backed out of the parking spot, following in the direction the truck had gone.
“You and Victor are buddies now?” she asked, hitting the accelerator.
I watched the road in front of us, the taillights on the pickup coming into view. “We’re not buddies.”
“Then what exactly are you?”
“We’re sort of... partners.”
She cut her eyes to me. “You’re what?”
“Watch the road,” I said.
“You better start explaining yourself, Deuce Winters,” she said, focusing back on the road.
“I helped him do a little investigating,” I said. I gestured at the windshield. “Come on. Faster.”
“I am driving fast.”
For her, that was true. But I expected a toddler on a Big Wheel to fly by us at any moment.
The pickup came to a halt at a red light and allowed us to catch up. I could make out two people in the car, but all I saw was the backs of two heads and those were obscured by the headrests, to the point that I couldn’t even tell the gender of either person.
“Start talking, Deuce, or I swear I will stop this car dead in the street,” Julianne said, her needle hitting her own personal redline. “And then kick you out into it.”
I reluctantly told her about all Victor and I had done during the day. As the light turned green, my wife’s face was turning bright red.
“You are such an idiot,” she said, easing the Lexus forward, behind the pickup.
“I know that.”
“No, you don’t. Because if you realized what an idiot you’re behaving like, you’d hit yourself in the head.”
I doubted I would ever hit myself in the head.
I was trying to think of an appropriate response when the pickup shot forward, nearly doubling the speed it had been traveling at before.
“Go!” I said, leaning forward in my seat.
Julianne increased our s
peed by approximately three miles an hour, and the taillights were getting smaller in front of us.
“Jules, please!”
She muttered something under her breath, but the Lexus engine roared and we jerked forward.
The pickup hung a hard right, the rear bed fishtailing wildly behind it. Four seconds later Julianne turned the Lexus around the corner as if she was driving her normal speed.
I doubted that my minivan would’ve cornered so well.
“Are we really in a car chase?” Julianne asked, her tone somewhere between disbelief and excitement.
“They obviously spotted your car behind them,” I said.
“Obviously.”
We were on a street that was bordered on the left by a neighborhood of homes and on our right by horse pasture. Julianne pressed the accelerator again, and our headlights came up on the rear end of the truck. I didn’t want to stop the truck. I just wanted to see who was inside.
And whoever was in there very clearly wanted to make sure that we saw nothing.
The truck swung right and jumped the curb. It crashed through a three-line barbed-wire fence and into the pasture. A group of horses scattered in all directions as the truck came toward them.
Julianne hit the brakes, and the Lexus rocked to a stop. “Not a chance I’m following them through there.”
I didn’t expect her to follow the truck into the pasture, but I was disappointed as the truck crossed the pasture and disappeared over a berm. I knew the other side of the pasture was bordered by another street, and by the time we got over there, the truck would be long gone.
“I’m sorry,” Julianne said, touching my arm. “I’m really disappointed.”
I threw my head back against the seat. “I know. Me, too. I just feel like there’s something with that truck. Knowing Victor saw it in the lot the other night and now seeing it again ...”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Julianne said.
“What did you mean?”
“I’m really disappointed that not once did you yell, ‘Follow that car!’”
51
I woke up the next morning not feeling nearly as good as I figured I would.
Stay At Home Dead Page 16