Barbecue and Bad News

by Nancy Naigle

  The people he was being introduced to tonight were folks he’d likely never cross paths with again. Big money. Big names. Big egos. Women hung close to their men in their finest clothes, dripping with jewelry like done-up Christmas trees. Senator Macon’s daughter was among them, and she had caught his eye as soon as she’d walked up, but he’d talked himself right out of that car crash quick. He was not senator son-in-law material. He didn’t want to be under the scrutiny of the state based on every political rant or trend of the time either. That was one risk he wasn’t willing to even dabble with.

  He’d tired of the idle chitchat thirty minutes ago. He’d never thought he’d be wishing for some rubbery chicken, but if they could just sit down, eat, and get on with this . . . it would suit him just fine.

  The place had filled with press. The local television affiliates were even in attendance. Scott wished he hadn’t given in and come.

  A brunette was taking pictures from across the way. Her hair was pulled up, and her blue dress hung in a simple line that showed a nice curve from waist to hip. Subtle, not showing too much, like some of the girls in the room. He liked it when they left something to his imagination. And his was stirring.

  He wondered what Savannah would look like in a sexy dress like that. The girl had her build.

  He watched as she talked. Her hands moved in an exaggerated way as she did, and her dress swished from side to side with her movements. Graceful. He could imagine dancing with her. Guiding her across the floor. Holding her in his arms. Maybe he’d get her on the dance floor later. If not, it would just be a night of bland chicken, awards, and a big waste of time as far as he was concerned. Then again, if the time spent here tonight garnered a few extra favors over the next year, his small town could benefit. Reason enough to suck it up.

  The senator’s daughter interrupted his ogling. “I’m here to show you where your table is, Sheriff. Come with me.”

  “Thank you.” He followed her to the table of honor, where he joined some of the same people he’d already been talking to for the last hour. She hung close for a moment, and he wasn’t sure if she had planned to sit at that table or not. “Can I get your chair?”

  “Oh, no. I’m sitting over there with my sister and her husband.” She pointed to a table and waved. An older version of the woman he was looking at waved back.

  He’d seen that look between sisters or girlfriends before. Clearly she’d been put up to connecting with him. He gave the girl a nod. “Well, thank you for the escort.”

  “You’re welcome. I think they’ll be serving in about another ten minutes if you still want to mingle. I’d love to talk to you more after the dinner.”

  “Thank you, but I have to get right on the road after.”

  “I see.” She looked disappointed. “Well, it was really nice to meet you.”

  He watched the look on her sister’s face as she turned to leave. Did women really think guys weren’t onto them?

  A waiter whisked between him and the gentleman seated to his left, filling the water and tea glasses in front of each of them, and disappeared just as quickly.

  By the time Scott turned around, the pretty girl in blue had already moved on.

  He scanned the room, but people were still making it to their tables. It was hard to see through the sea of suits. Maybe once everyone was seated, he’d be lucky enough to spot her again.

  People were still finding their way to their tables, and the room was crowded, which made it easy for Savannah to blend in. She and Evelyn attended a lot of social events together for GetItNowNews. She was lucky that tonight only a few people stopped her who recognized her from those.

  She made a beeline to the bar in the far corner of the room, scanning it for Scott as she did. One thing she’d learned from Evelyn at these things was that most people usually barely entered a room, hanging close to the exits—like they were afraid they wouldn’t be able to escape. The key was to get past those throngs of folks blocking the way and make your way to the farthest corners. That’s where the real action could be seen.

  “I’ll have a white wine spritzer,” she said to the bartender, then tucked a tip in the jar.

  “Hey.” The voice came from over her left shoulder.

  How could her luck be this bad? Franklin? Already?

  Franklin caught her by the elbow. She tugged away as she turned around. He made her skin crawl.

  “Thought you were on some kind of hiatus.”

  And he was always trying to get in her personal business. “Not really. I’m working on some new projects and just taking a few days off. No big deal.” It would be just like him to slide in and try to sabotage her chance at the new gig if he knew about it. That was better left unsaid.

  He stepped back and gave her a whistle. “Well, you’re looking good. I thought I was the only one working this story tonight. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m just here as a guest.”

  “Who’s the lucky guy?”

  “No one you know. Not from around here. Long story.”

  “I’ve got time,” he said.

  He was always digging around for dirt. He’d be better off with a job at TMZ than with GINN. “I don’t.”

  Franklin trailed her. “There is one recipient that rather surprised me. I’d kind of forgotten about the case. It barely made the headlines. Did you look into the details of the people being honored tonight.”

  Of course she had done her due diligence, but that was none of his business. He knew darn well she had; he was just trying to pull her into conversation. “Like I said, I’m just a guest tonight.” The one place he couldn’t follow her was the ladies’ room, and that was exactly where she was headed. Anything to shake him from her tail.

  Franklin didn’t look convinced, and he wasn’t about to be shaken that easily, apparently. “I was talking about the Frank Gotorow case. The bigwigs are probably thankful it happened in that podunk town so no one would hear about it. The actual event barely made the wire. Normally, this would be the kind of crime that would set the nation on its side.”

  Savannah knew why. Probably because Jack and his sister over at the County Gazette didn’t want bad news about Frank Gotorow and the Goto Hell Murderer being in their town to get around. Everyone in town knew, and they were having to live with it, but they sure didn’t need the whole world to know what was going on in their town. So there was no article to be picked up on the wire. A month ago she’d have been tweeting rants about them for keeping the truth from the people who had a right to know. Now, after meeting Jack and getting a different appreciation for the town of Adams Grove, she could kind of see their point of view.

  “Word is, the governor had something to do with the paperwork letting that guy out of jail to begin with. That would look pretty damn bad on his résumé if it got too much press. Guess ol’ Barney Fife got lucky and stopped the right guy.”

  “Don’t call him that.”

  “Who?”

  She averted her gaze, then turned back, her words short and terse. “Don’t call the sheriff Barney Fife. He’s not a bumbling hick.” She could feel her temperature rise, and the feeling inside her wasn’t the least bit ladylike.

  “Come on. You and I both know those small-town gigs don’t need the skill of real cops.”

  “You don’t know a thing about Sheriff Scott Calvin or Adams Grove.”

  “And you’re suddenly an expert?” He eyed her in a way that made her regret opening her mouth, but she’d gone too far to shut up now.

  “I’m no expert, but you’re just spouting off to hear yourself talk. Why don’t you try reserving judgment for things you know about?”

  “What’s up your skirt tonight?”

  He had a point. Why was she getting this spun up about a guy she barely knew? Was it really that Franklin just had a way of pushing her buttons, or had Scott wiggled his wa
y into her soft spot somehow? “I’m just saying that you are not an expert on what skills cops or sheriffs have or don’t have, and it’s unfair for you to bash someone who is clearly deserving of the award they are presenting tonight. If not, why would all these people show up for it?”

  “Come on. You know what I mean. Those sheriffs and deputies are just the ones who couldn’t get a real gig in a real town.”

  “You have some nerve.” She slugged back her wine spritzer like it was a shot and put the glass on the bar. “I’m not talking to you about this.” She turned and started to leave but then spun back on her heel and got right into Franklin’s face. “You know what? I do have something to say. Don’t you go around passing judgment on people just because of where they’re from. You don’t know the half of what’s going on in those small towns, or anywhere for that matter. You’ve got that overinflated ego of yours blown up so big you can’t see straight.”

  “Excuu—”

  “And another thing. Just because a small-town cop or sheriff’s day isn’t filled with record numbers of homicides, assaults, and burglaries does not mean he isn’t making a difference in his community.”

  Franklin looked like he’d had an aha moment. “I got it.” He pointed a finger toward her. “Are you here with him?”

  “Him who?”

  “The guest of honor. Why else would you take up for him like a starving pit bull? You’re here with the sheriff.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” But the way his eyes drifted above and to the left of her made her turn, and when she did, she nearly bumped her nose right into Sheriff Calvin’s huge bicep.

  “Well said.” Scott clapped twice and then looked past Savannah.

  Franklin hightailed it across the room, and Savannah looked like she was going to lose her lunch.

  She looked up at him. “You heard that?” Her eyes danced in the light.

  “I did. I think I may have even given a very similar dissertation one time.” He held a finger to his lips. “I was much less eloquent. I think I said something to the effect of ‘peepers, perps, and bad guys.’ You have a way with words. Maybe you should be a writer.” He winked and asked the bartender to make her another drink.

  She blushed.

  “Thank you,” Scott said.

  “I was just speaking the truth. That guy is a piece of work. He was talking out of his—”

  Scott tipped the bartender and handed her the drink. “Just what are you doing here? Someone send you to fight for my honor?”

  Her laugh was light. “Hardly. I told Jack I’d cover the story for him.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? You could have ridden up with me.”

  “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it. I just—”

  “It’s business.”

  “Business. Yep.” She lifted her phone and thumbed through her messages.

  He said, “We might be more alike than I thought.”

  “Well, don’t say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  She looked doubtful. “Uh-huh.”

  “You never really said what you do for a living up here in northern Virginia. I saw you were talking to quite a few people. Do you know them from work?” Suddenly he wanted to know a lot more about her beyond the fact that she liked to drive fast and had a thing for teapots.

  “I told you, I’m a writer.”

  “I googled you and I didn’t see anything published recently, so . . .”

  “You googled me?”

  He should have kept his mouth shut. “Sorry. Occupational hazard. I’m curious.”

  “Or just nosy.”

  “A plus for a detective.”

  “But you’re a sheriff.”

  “Sheriffs do it all.” Sounded like a bad bumper sticker. Firefighters do it in the heat, but sheriffs do it all.

  She fiddled with her earring. “You’re the big badge guy—the head honcho. You’ve got people to do that stuff, right?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” If he had people to do everything he wouldn’t have spent half the day putting himself through the red tape to get into the prison to see Frank Gotorow’s cell mate in search of answers. Then again, even if he could task that out, this was something he planned to resolve on his own.

  With an odd note of disappointment she said, “No. I mean—”

  “This conversation was about you, not me. You know what I do. I’m the sheriff. Apparently you think you’ve cornered the market on knowledge of a sheriff’s duties, although clearly you’re mistaken.”

  She lifted her hands to respond, and then let them fall to her sides. “Then educate me.”

  “I’d be happy to.” Darn if she hadn’t done it again. She was good at steering a conversation. “But first you owe me some information.”

  “I don’t really owe you anything.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” He let out a sigh. “Can we call a truce?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I didn’t even write you the ticket, and by the way I hardly ever do that. So why are you still holding a grudge?”

  “I don’t know. You just spin me up for some reason.”

  He knew exactly what she meant. He felt the same frustration. The only thing was that he didn’t really know what that meant.

  “So what exactly do you write?”

  “Exactly? I write a lot of different things. It’s hard to explain. What’s it matter? I mean, really, could you say exactly what you do?”

  “I’m responsible for enforcing the law in Holland County.”

  “So maybe you can, but if you put it like that, I guess I could say I string together words to make a story that has an emotional impact on the reader.”

  “That doesn’t even mean anything.”

  “It does so. Just as much as enforcing the law does. But you’re not like a cop. Someone can’t just hire you. The sheriff is an elected position, so that means you have to campaign and all that. There’s a lot more to that position than meets the eye, I guess.”

  “I know.”

  “Of course you do. Sorry for stating the obvious.”

  “Probably an occupational hazard.”

  “Like you being nosy?”

  “Touché.”

  “It’s an election year. How does that work?”

  “The last couple of terms I’ve run unopposed, but this year I’ve got competition.”

  “Really? It’s kind of ballsy for a local to take on the sheriff, isn’t it?”

  “Some guy from up in the Philly area wants to take a shot at it.”

  “Think anyone in Adams Grove would ever vote for a Northerner? Just because he’s lived here long enough to claim residency doesn’t make him a local.”

  “You never know.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be fine. You could always go somewhere else and be a cop or run for sheriff there, couldn’t you? I mean, you’re getting this award and a senator and the governor are here. You have to be pretty good at what you do.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t want to leave Adams Grove. I love my job there. I like helping the people I know and easing change into the day-to-day. It’s rewarding.”

  “Wouldn’t it be just as rewarding to put bad guys away in a big city?”

  “It’s different. And cops don’t handle budgets and manage a team like a sheriff does. It’s a higher-ranking position than a police officer. I don’t mean to sound big headed, but it’s important.”

  “I’m sorry. I just assumed that the cops did the criminal stuff and the sheriff’s office did more paperwork and court stuff. I remember court bailiffs came from the sheriff’s office.”

  “Okay, so we’re getting nowhere talking about our jobs.”

  Savannah lifted a brow. “True. New subject?”


  “Have you ever been married?”

  “That’s kind of personal, but fine. Once. High school sweetheart. It ended quickly. You?”

  “No. Almost once. City girl. Long relationship until she moved in with me. She hated living in Adams Grove. Ended quickly after that . . . and rather badly.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. I have a knack for picking the wrong girl.”

  “You must, because after hearing how fabulous you are from your momma, I honestly can’t figure out why you’d still be single unless you were gay or something, and that apparently is not the case.”

  Gay? Or something? He wasn’t sure which was worse, but at least she didn’t think he was either. The senator’s daughter appeared out of nowhere. “Time for dinner,” she said. “Would your friend like to join you at your table?”

  “Oh, no. That’s fine,” Savannah said.

  “That would be nice. Won’t you join me?” asked Scott.

  She looked undecided.

  “It’s okay, isn’t it?” he said to the senator’s daughter.

  “Of course.”

  He put his arm out to Savannah. “Join me.”

  She looped her arm through his and followed him to the table.

  He leaned down and whispered into her ear. “It’s the least I can do, since you fought for my honor tonight.”

  “It wasn’t like I had to climb a water tower and spray paint over a rumor,” she said.

  She certainly had a quick wit. He liked that.

  He held out her chair and she slipped into the seat with the quiet elegance of the morning mist over the Nottoway River. He took the seat next to her just as the waitstaff began placing plates in front of them.

  “Chicken. Who’d have guessed?” he whispered.

  “Grilled chicken. Says so right here.” She lifted a small rectangular card from next to the plate.

  Scott poked at the pale chicken on his plate.

  Savannah scooched hers to the side of the plate and concentrated on the vegetable medley and rice.

  “This is not grilled chicken. I can show you what real grilled chicken is like.” He could show her a lot of things.