She spread her hands on top of the coupons and gathered herself. “Sorry about that. Can I help you?”
“I just wanted to return this to the sheriff.”
“The sheriff isn’t in th—” She stopped herself and then said, “Oh, you mean J. D. He should be here any minute. Why don’t you sit over there,” she said, motioning to the chair again.
“Couldn’t I just leave it?” Seeing Officer Hardy was not in my plan.
Just then, a deputy walked out of the sheriff’s office holding a newspaper in front of his eyes. For a moment I thought it was my nemesis. But he was too short and paunchy. He lowered himself into the chair I had been sitting in and balanced back on two chair legs.
“Hey, Bob. Is that today’s paper? J. D. was looking for that earlier,” the woman said. He lowered the newspaper and it sagged over, revealing the comics section.
“He can wait a few more days.”
I turned back to the woman, trying to get my errand done before Officer Hardy showed up. “So, can I just leave this?”
She shook her head. “J. D. should be back—”
The deputy interrupted. “Did J. D. make a fresh pot of coffee yet, Sandy?”
“Not yet. He had five calls this afternoon,” she said. “Feel free to give it a try yourself.” He seemed oblivious to her sarcasm.
I held out the flashlight. “I saw him on the side of the road and it looks like it will take some time before he can get back. Couldn’t you just give the flashlight to Officer Hardy?”
“Yeah, I heard something about that on the radio. Guess J. D.’s gonna have more fans now,” the deputy said. Then he stuck out his cheek with his tongue and grinned before putting the paper back in front of his face.
Without looking at me, the woman named Sandy reached into a drawer and took out a piece of paper. “You’ll have to fill out a form.”
“Why?”
She picked up the scissors and began cutting coupons again. “It’s a lost-and-found report. We have to keep track of how we lose things with the county.”
“Couldn’t I just leave a note?”
“Why would you do that?” Sandy cocked her head to the side as if she couldn’t figure out my question.
“So that I could leave it with Officer Hardy.”
We were talking in circles and I felt like I was Alice down the rabbit hole.
“How do you know it’s his?” she asked, shrugging her shoulders.
“Because he left it at my house.”
Her scissors stopped in the middle of a dollar discount for jarred spaghetti sauce. “Your house?”
“Well, my grandmother’s house.”
“Was he visiting?” Her eyes scanned me with interest.
“You might say that.”
“Well, hey, hey,” the deputy said. The paper rested in his lap and his eyebrows wagged up and down.
“It wasn’t like that,” I said, scowling at him.
They both waited for me to explain.
“It was a little misunderstanding.”
They still stared.
“Was it a date or something?” she asked.
“No. Someone thought I was breaking and entering. But it was my grandma’s house.”
“Ah, Crooked Road,” Sandy said, frowning. She and the deputy sat back, disappointed. I couldn’t help but picture J. D. Hardy and me doing what they thought we had been doing. I realized I was running my hand up and down the flashlight and immediately dropped my arms to my sides.
The deputy made a tsk-tsk sound with his lips. “We should have known. J. D. has no life. The only women he visits are in the line of duty. Still, Sandy, you remember him the next morning? His boots sounded like he’d gone swimming in them and he growled all day.”
The deputy turned to me with a grin. “He’s usually as controlled as a robot. What did you do to him?”
I was beginning to feel sorry for Officer Hardy. The lack of respect he suffered reminded me of my own experience at family holidays.
I was thinking about defending him when Sandy spoke up. “J. D. took that shift for you, Bob. Show a little sympathy. If it weren’t for him you wouldn’t have been able to enjoy that candle party.”
Bob’s attention was back in the paper again and he nodded absently. “I sure did. That pink champagne was dee-lish. But J. D. could have stopped by when he got off. One of these days he might actually socialize with the people he works with.”
“He wasn’t invited to my party,” came a high-pitched voice from the door.
Bob fumbled with the newspaper and tried to straighten it, but it wasn’t complying. It ended up in a wrinkled mess.
“Hello, Mrs. Mayor—uh, Mrs. Bloodworth,” said Bob.
Her perfume reached me before she stepped across the threshold. It was sweet and reminded me of the cloying type my mother used to spray all over herself before my father got home. Not because she wanted to smell good, but because she wanted to cover up the smell of alcohol on her breath.
Mrs. Bloodworth was curvy and dressed in tight-fitting cropped pants to make the most of her shape. Her blond hair was highlighted and perfectly curled and I highly doubted she had it styled anywhere near Truhart.
A blond-haired man was with her. He was tall and clean-cut. With his oxford shirt and khaki pants, he should have been my type. But something about him made me cringe. Maybe it was because he reminded me of Colin.
“Sandy, Dylan and I are going to check out some files in the sheriff’s office,” she said. She sauntered toward the back office on her high heels. Then she halted as her dark eyes focused on me. Actually, just on my purse and my shoes. I had forgotten about my accessories. The sleek-looking dark leather handbag was Kate Spade and the shoes were Tory Burch. I had just flunked homework item 14: be messy.
“Do I know you?” Mrs. Bloodworth asked.
“I don’t think so.” I hoped she hadn’t been in Toledo recently.
She flipped her bangs out of her face. “Oh, well—I just thought I might know you from somewhere.” She pursed her lips and they headed around the corner.
“Uh, Mrs. Bloodworth, Mr. Schraeder, I don’t think you should go in there—” Sandy was in the process of shoving the coupons in the drawer and trying to keep track of the mayor’s wife. But Mrs. Mayor wasn’t paying any attention. The sounds of rattling and knocking came from the office.
I was getting tired of being ignored. “Could I just leave this?” I asked again.
Mrs. Bloodworth’s head reappeared, “The file cabinets are all locked.”
“That was the order from Officer Hardy, ma’am.”
The man stepped out of the office with his hand on the doorframe. “And where is the acting sheriff?” Something about the way he said the words acting sheriff bothered me.
“He’ll be here soon, but this lady is in line to see him first.” Sandy gestured to me. I had the uneasy feeling that I was being used as an excuse.
I stepped back, but Sandy was suddenly interested in me. “I’m sorry, what was your name?”
I hesitated. Government property be damned. I should have kept the flashlight.
“Elizabeth.” I tucked my hair behind my ears and it sprang back refusing my help.
“My business won’t take long,” explained Mrs. Bloodworth. “I just need to get some of the files on the Timberfest.”
“I can have J. D.—I mean, Officer Hardy—find them and get back to you,” Sandy explained.
“No need, just give me the key.”
“Well, there are some pretty confidential things inside the file cabinets that are unrelated to the Timberfest and J. D. keeps the key,” Sandy said.
“Really? How very interesting. The real sheriff is certainly putting a lot of faith in him, isn’t he? I can’t imagine what Sheriff Howe was thinking, can you, Dylan?”
The man scowled. “Tell the ‘acting sheriff’ we are looking for him.” He put his fingers in the air as quotes when he said acting sheriff.
Mrs. Mayor strode t
oward the door and turned to me. Her hands stroked the strap of her purse. “Were you at the Art in the Park fund-raiser in Traverse City last month?”
“No.”
“Reeba Sweeney’s Spring Fling party?”
I shook my head. “Sorry.”
She placed her purse higher on her shoulder and flipped her hair before leaving a jet stream of perfume in her wake. The man’s gaze wandered from my head to my toes, pausing in between in a way that gave me the creeps. Then he followed her out the door.
All air seemed to suck itself out of the room when they left. Sandy put her head in her hands and Bob came over and placed a hip on the desk. “You know this summer is going to be a disaster with J. D. in charge. The last I heard the mayor wants us to hire the deputies in Harrisburg for the Timberfest. J. D. is going to be really ticked when he finds out. So be prepared for more bad mood from—”
“Bob, this lady doesn’t need to hear about our little problems here,” she said through her teeth. “I can take the flashlight,” she said, holding her hand out.
I handed her the flashlight. “No forms?”
“No,” she said as she swiveled her chair toward a shelf against the wall. For the first time, I noticed a row of flashlights neatly lined up behind her. Sandy turned back to me. “Can I do anything else for you?”
“No, thank you.” I backed toward the door.
“Have a nice day and let us know if we can help you again in the future,” she said.
Fat chance, I wanted to say.
I heard Bob’s comment before the door closed on their conversation. “Well, stealing the man’s car and driving it across the football field was pretty asinine.”
She shushed him and I could make out the words “sixteen” and “more than fifteen years ago.”
Ten minutes later, I slid the quarters into the coin slots at the Laundromat. No wonder Officer Hardy was grumpy. I hadn’t exactly been popular my whole life, but at least I wasn’t the butt of bad jokes.
When I had stopped in at the Family Fare a second time last week, I had been greeted with enthusiasm. It seemed strange after my shoplifting cover-up. But now I wondered if it was because I had given the acting sheriff a hard time. Marva, the manager, plied me with coupons, making sure to let me know about the specials. The checkout clerks greeted me by name and smiled brightly when I produced my Mylar bags, complimenting me on my earth-friendly spirit. A couple in line even asked how I was settling in. They seemed to think that I was some kind of novelty. It hadn’t made sense until now.
I started the machine and realized I wouldn’t have enough change for the dryer.
“Excuse me,” I asked a woman who was folding clothes. “Do you have change for a five-dollar bill?”
She shook her head. “I only had enough to do my own wash. You could go over to Dairy Cow. They just opened for the season and might have change,” she said.
Leaving my laundry basket on top of the washing machine, I left the Laundromat and walked in the direction of the Dairy Cow. I passed the vacant bookstore with a torn awning and dirty front window. Sadly, at least half-a-dozen buildings on Main Street were vacant. What a shame.
I felt guilty not buying anything at the Dairy Cow, but the young bearded man behind the counter winked and told me not to worry about it. Walking back, I wondered how most businesses in Truhart sustained revenue during the winter months when visitors were few. The town looked like it needed a boost. But according to Corinne, the only high-profile citizen was a reporter on the Morning Show who lived in Atlanta, and a Pulitzer Prize–winning author who spent a summer here fifty-five years ago. I was pretty sure he was dead.
On my way back to the Sit and Spin I spotted a group of teenagers huddled across the street at the dry cleaner’s. Clouds had darkened the sky and it was hard to make out their faces. They slouched by the front of the building, gazing up and down the street in a restless energy that I vaguely remembered from my teen years.
One gangly, longhaired girl attempted to climb on the shoulders of a tall boy as they stood in front of the Colony Cleaners sign. The sun peeked out and illuminated their faces. Curious, I moved closer to get a better view. I was almost certain the young girl was my elusive shoplifting friend. As I watched, she reached up and tried to pull a letter off the Colony Cleaners sign. When it became obvious what she was doing, I couldn’t help but giggle. With a final swipe of the letter, it came down, almost hitting another teen on the shoulder.
Now Colony Cleaners had become Colon Cleaners. Business was sure to be interesting tomorrow.
I laughed again.
Several kids jumped at the sound. One boy turned and hit two others on the shoulders. They swore before scrambling away. The bottom half of Cherry’s human stilts dumped her on the grass and ran after them.
I called out, “Cherry!”
Cherry the shoplifter, as I was now thinking of her, picked herself up off the ground and took off with surprising speed. The kids made fun of her as she scrambled to catch up.
“Miller, hurry up!” one of them yelled.
“Wait!” I tried again. She never slowed down.
It had been a couple of months since I had exercised. I didn’t feel like giving chase now. Too many Twinkies, too little motivation. I wondered how many other times Cherry and her friends had vandalized a building or swiped a magazine. Was this the beginning of a long string of more serious crimes, like Officer Hardy suggested? That meant I had a role in her journey to the dark side.
Something metallic gleamed from the weeds under the Colony Cleaners sign. I walked over to get a closer look. I picked it up. It was an older model cell phone. Lucky me. I seemed to have become a lost-and-found magnet.
The Laundromat was empty now. I sat down and rifled through the phone, picking up a name, Cherry Miller, but no address. I searched the tables of magazines scattered around the Laundromat for a phone directory. I finally found one underneath an old issue of the Farmer’s Almanac. I looked up the last name: Miller. There were quite a few Millers in the county. Surprising, considering it seemed like there were no more than a hundred residents. I dismissed the ones that were in neighboring towns. But an S. Miller was listed on Tall Pines Lane in Truhart. If my memory was right, that was a mile or two down the county road. I wrote down the address on a sheet of paper and tucked it into my purse.
Chapter 6
At 9:00 the next morning, I drove my Honda past the cedar sign that marked the entrance to Tall Pines Homes. I could have left the cell phone sitting in the crabgrass under the Colony Cleaners sign, but it was sitting next to me on the front seat. I had no idea why I was pursuing Cherry Miller. I was either bored or I had a conscience that wouldn’t quit in the face of teenage stupidity.
Cherry Miller needed to know I was not going to stand by and cover for her like I did the other day. I prepared my stern-teacher facade. The one I never had the chance to use.
The Millers’ trailer looked like other units on the lane. The manufactured buildings varied in size, some single and some double, but they all had shallow roofs and aluminum siding that had dulled from the elements. Pulling into the narrow drive that led to 1333 Tall Pines Lane, I parked behind a battered minivan that was missing several trim pieces, grabbed the cell phone, and made my way to the cinder-block step.
I was dressed simply in jeans and a white cotton blouse that I left untucked. I used to wear it for work with a pencil skirt and a silk Hermès scarf. The skirt and scarf were still back at my apartment, and I didn’t miss them at all. This morning I made sure to dump my Kate Spade purse for a cloth sack a college roommate had brought me from Peru. On my feet I wore my favorite Toms.
I perched on the cinder-block doorstep and took a deep breath. I smoothed a piece of hair behind my ears and knocked. From the window beside the door, a little hand pulled away a curtain and a child peered out. I leaned in to get a better look and abruptly the curtain was released and the face disappeared. I waited, wondering if perhaps no adult was home. Then I
knocked again.
The door swung open and a tired-looking woman wearing sweatpants and a frayed Detroit Lions T-shirt gripped the edge of the door. Her brown hair was pulled back from her face haphazardly with little clips that reminded me of what Grandma used to do with her curlers.
“Can I help you?” she asked before her eyes widened. “Oh, I remember you. I gave the flashlight to Officer Hardy yesterday.”
My mind was racing to connect things. I had suspected that Officer Hardy knew Cherry when they clashed at the Family Fare. They hadn’t acted like strangers tangling over the law, but more like siblings caught in a recurring feud. Now I had a fuller picture. Cherry’s mother was the receptionist at the sheriff’s office.
“Thanks. But that’s not why I’m here. Are you Cherry Miller’s mother?”
She sucked in her breath. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
I studied Sandy Miller’s face. She looked like she hadn’t slept well. Dark circles under her deep-set hazel eyes and a brave smile painted a picture of an overwhelmed woman. She gazed into my face with a guarded expression, as if she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Any chance that I was going to discuss Cherry’s shoplifting with her mother was diminishing by the second.
“I was hoping to talk with her.”
The other woman expelled her breath as if she’d been holding it. “Well, by all means, come in,” she said with a weak voice.
She opened the door for me to pass. Once inside, I peered around and resisted the urge to put my hands in my pockets. To the right was a small, exposed kitchen littered with bowls of breakfast cereal still sitting in soggy milk and glasses with remnants of dried orange juice on the rims. More dishes piled over the top of the sink. I attempted to smile as I took in the worn, discolored carpet of the living room and a thread-worn couch with a faded design that had long since passed recognition.
Sitting on the couch, shyly clutching her knees to her face, was a little girl: No doubt the little person who had peeked out the window a moment ago. The redheaded girl wore pajamas with faded princesses all over and grasped a stuffed rabbit that was missing an ear. I guessed she was about eight or nine.
Skinny Dipping Season Page 6