by Elle Rush
Chapter 8
Holiday Beach wasn’t big enough to support an exclusive, expensive restaurant. Aaron had done the best he could, reserving a table in the Atlas’s dining room rather than the main restaurant. It was a little quieter, carpeted instead of tiled, and each table had the illusion of privacy. The Atlas’s owners, Tripp Turner and his wife Habibah Gamal, had given him one of the booths. A small bowl of yellow, orange and white mums sat in the center of the table. A lit tealight augmented the dim light from the sconces on the wall.
Tripp waited on them personally. “Good evening, Aaron and Brooke. You’re both looking well tonight. Would you like to hear our specials before I take your drink orders?” The former soldier’s eyes twinkled as he addressed them with such formality.
“By all means, please go ahead,” Brooke responded in kind while Aaron tried not to snicker into his water glass.
Tripp reeled off two kinds of soup—corn chowder and chicken with wild rice—then two entrees—butternut squash ravioli and short ribs—and offered a choice of apple crumble or chocolate cake for dessert.
“I’m going to need some time,” Brooke told him.
Tripp grinned and nodded, and slipped away silently, with only the slightest limp giving away his old injury.
“Thanks for that,” Aaron said. “I need a moment too. I’m having the chicken with rice and the ravioli, but having to pick only one of Habibah’s desserts is a terrible choice to make.” He could handle a grill and a can opener, but baking pans were beyond him. Trevor had a light touch when it came to muffin-making, but he and his son were two of the reasons why Holiday Beach’s two bakeries stayed in business.
Brooke stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You can’t be serious.”
“About what?”
“If it’s September, you always go for the apple crumble. How do you not know this?”
An older couple, the man inexplicably wearing bowling shoes, paused as they walked by their table. “She’s right, you know. Always choose the apple crumble at this time of year.”
Aaron lay his menu on the corner of the table. “I guess I don’t have a problem deciding after all.”
That was how they started the meal. Over soup, he discovered that while Brooke had no love of winter sports, she and Jordan regularly hiked around Star Lake on the various public trails. She was open to the idea of fishing, on the understanding that someone else cleaned whatever was caught and presented her with the fillets for frying.
“You know, that is part of the process,” he tried to argue. It wasn’t his favorite part either, but he’d taught Trevor how to do it a couple years ago
“I don’t butcher my own cows or pluck my own chickens either,” she countered.
So many people deferred to him because of his badge or challenged him despite it. It was nice to have someone treat him as a regular man, a potential date, and fellow parent of teenagers. As he and Brooke danced from topic to topic, the lingering tension about his job slowly eased.
Until an unwelcome and uninvited figure appeared at the end of their table as Tripp cleared the remains of an amazing dinner away. “Can I help you, Neil?” he asked, his tone telling the interloper that the proper response was “Not at all, I was just leaving.”
“You could do your job, Sheriff.”
Brooke bristled at the other man’s tone. “Neil Dempsey, we said hello to you in the lobby when we were waiting to be seated. You sat over there and had salad, meat loaf, and chocolate cake for dessert. You’re only standing here complaining now because you’ve finished your meal. If it was an emergency, you’ve had over an hour to come talk to Aaron. You didn’t,” Brooke said in a voice that had both men a little intimidated.
“Is it an emergency, Neil?”
The cottage owner looked from him, to Brooke, then back. “Not exactly.”
“Would you like to come into the office tomorrow and make an official report?”
“I want you to find the thief that’s been hitting the cottages along Shakespeare Drive.”
Brooke stilled beside him. “Really? There’s a thief?” she asked quietly.
He patted her hand while keeping his eyes on Neil. “Your case of six missing pieces of firewood at the Dickens Estate has been noted. However, since both your wife and your kids say that they shifted the logs back and forth when you winterized your cabin on Labor Day, no one was certain as to whether or not they left a small pile by the firepit. Is something else missing?” He couldn’t simply write the man off; cottages were often a target for break-ins since they were unoccupied for long stretches. But small amounts of firewood were not a good source of income for criminal masterminds.
“The tarp that the Austin Cottage uses to cover their glider swing is missing. Then there were four old tires by the road at Shelley’s Shack, and there are two now. Somebody is robbing those cottages blind.”
“I am not investigating missing trash, Neil. Especially when it was left out for pick up. Was the glider swing still there?”
“Well, yes—”
“Then I suggest you have a good night and file another formal report in the morning. I’d hate for you to get so agitated that you get indigestion after Habibah’s meatloaf.” Aaron raised his hand to hold off another flood of complaints. “I’ll go take a look around, but if nothing has been taken, I can’t do anything.”
When Brooke hesitated after Tripp asked if they wanted dessert, Aaron knew he had to say something. “Don’t even think about skipping the apple crumble. Neil’s situation is not an emergency. Sadly, stuff like this happens a lot.”
“People being jerks to you in the middle of a restaurant?”
“People informing me about whatever, whenever,” he clarified. “Robberies in the restaurant parking lot, noise complaints at the grocery store, parking tickets at the football game. Even when I’m out of uniform, the badge really never goes away.” It was one of the biggest downsides of the job. As much as he wanted to impress Brooke, he wasn’t going to lie about things that would affect whoever he was seeing. Although he did wish he’d managed to get through his first date without having it thrown in her face.
“That doesn’t sound like much fun.”
“Nine out of ten times, it’s not. Sometimes it’s a thank you, or a real emergency when the interruption means I’m in time to stop something really bad from happening. Those make up for the rest. Except when I’m on a date with a beautiful woman. It would have to be supremely important to top that.”
A slow smile pulled at the corners of Brooke’s mouth, then spread into a full grin. “On the other hand, this does provide you with a unique dating opportunity that most men can never offer,” she said.
Like any experienced law enforcement professional, Aaron recognized when he was entering a dangerous but unknown situation, and Brooke definitely qualified. “What’s that?”
“You can deputize me and bring me as backup when you go to investigate those burglaries on Shakespeare Drive.” Her eyes were alight at the thought.
Aaron hadn’t been so scared in years. “Not a chance.”
“You are not my deputy, and this is not a ride-along. We are simply going for a nice, unofficial evening drive to admire the autumn foliage along the lakeshore,” Aaron said for the third time. At least this time he got all the words out before his passenger started to snicker.
“Foliage,” Brooke echoed.
“I’m serious. I am not on duty. You wouldn’t be anywhere near here if Neil was anybody else. I’d never endanger you by bringing you to a potential crime scene.”
“There is no crime. Just foliage,” Brooke said, giggling. Then she sat straight in her seat. “There.” She pointed to the wooden sign at the end of a driveway.
Like the other cottages along Shakespeare Drive, Austen Cottage was labelled with a sign naming the cottage, not the family who lived there. It was a strange quirk, but the town’s summer guests loved it and had continued the tradition as new properties were built arou
nd the lake.
Austen Cottage was a cottage in name only. The two-storey house on stilts had been around for sixty years. It was well maintained but not upgraded, which meant it had passed through old and become vintage with an unmistakable sixties vibe. The glider swing, a massive steel and wood double swing that sat six comfortably, had a prime view of Star Lake. The cottage owners usually threw a large orange tarp over the structure to protect the wooden seat slats over the winter. But Neil was right; it was bare and open to the elements.
“Shall we take a quick look for the tarp?” Brooke asked. “It would be hard to miss.”
The sun was low on the horizon, and soon it would go from evening to dusk to dark. They didn’t see the covering caught in any underbrush as they walked along the perimeter of the property. It also wasn’t wrapped around any of the house’s stilts or used to cover any of the seasonal toys the family stored there.
“I hate to think it blew into the lake,” Aaron said. They tried to keep people from dumping trash in the lake, but accidents happened.
“I didn’t see any rope,” Brooke said.
Aaron returned to the swing. She was right. There was no rope tied around the swing frame. No bungee cords hung awkwardly from the seat or lay half anchored under the base. “Maybe they forgot this year,” he said. Neither of them believed it.
“Tires next?” Brooke asked.
Shelley’s Shack was named after the author of Frankenstein, and the building was as monstrous as the creature it was named after. He hadn’t seen any activity on the property over the last summer. What was supposed to be the lawn was a field of overgrown and dying weeds. The roof sagged heavily in the middle, and missing boards on the exterior offered glimpses of tattered tar paper and discolored insulation. Heavy, dark blankets hung in front of all the windows, blocking any view of the interior. Aaron doubted the building could pass an inspection, but that wasn’t why he was here.
Four rings of dead grass lined the ditch where the driveway met the road. “I don’t think the Pineys were the ones who set out the tires, but it looks like somebody took the other two. At least they’re not in a dump somewhere,” he said.
“If they’re on the side of the road somewhere, that’s not stealing, is it?” Brooke asked.
“No. They’re actually saving Shelley’s Shack from a littering charge.”
“What else was there? Missing firewood?”
“Neil can’t even confirm anything was missing. A ten-minute walk through the woods will provide more than enough fallen branches for a bonfire.” They weren’t in the wilderness, although Star Lake was on the edge of a heavily treed and hilly area that spread north.
“I can see him being too cheap to buy firewood.”
They stopped by a couple other properties Aaron knew to be empty. All the windows were closed; the doors were locked with no sign of tampering. “This was a wild-goose chase. I’m sorry it wasted so much of our evening,” he said to Brooke. He’d waited months for this chance with her. This was not the impression he’d hoped to make.
“I thought we were having a good time. I mean, I’d rather not spend every date rushing through dessert so we can investigate potential crime”—she cut herself off—“I mean, criminally beautiful foliage, but it makes a good first date story. Assuming there’s going to be a second, more traditional date that follows this one.”
Aaron released a sigh that let his shoulders drop a full inch. Her attitude was a great start. It was a lot different to live with his job day in and day out, but if it started this well, they had a chance to move forward. “I was planning on a second date.”
“Good. Ask me when we get home.”
The streetlights were on when he pulled to a stop in front of her apartment block. Aaron glanced at her building. Although all the security lights were on, there were still more shaded areas than he was comfortable with. “Is that Caleb Quintin? Does he live here?”
“Yeah. He graduated in June, but he was in a few of Jordan’s classes last year. He’s working at By the Cup these days. Jordan has had a couple shifts with him.”
“I don’t have a problem with him. His parents…” He stopped to think. “Well, his parents haven’t been causing problems lately, actually. I haven’t had a noise complaint in a couple months, and Roy hasn’t called either.” Roy did a good job of handling troublemakers at the Escape Room, but every now and again, some people tried to push their luck.
“Before you head up to your apartment, let’s talk about us. When can I see you again?” he asked, now that his mind was at ease.
“Not Monday. I have—”
“Accounting class,” they said together.
“How about Tuesday?” he asked.
“I have a late work shift and then homework. I’m in an online study group to review the previous day’s lesson. Wednesday?”
“I have a homecoming meeting on Wednesday to discuss the parade route. How about Thursday?” he countered.
“There’s a volunteer meeting on Thursday night to organize the details of Corn Maze Night,” she continued.
“Right. I forgot.”
“Friday?” she asked.
He hesitated. Technically he was off, but he’d already said he was in for the semi-regular poker game the guys held. Roy Wagner, Tripp Turner, and some of the others. “Technically, it’s poker night. Do you want to come along?”
“That’s sweet, but no thank you, twice. First, I have no poker face whatsoever, so I might as well give you my money now. Second, if you have plans with the guys, you shouldn’t cancel them for me. There’s a whole calendar left that we can look at.”
“Saturday?” Aaron suggested.
“I’m free on Saturday.”
“Me too.”
“Great.” He leaned across the console dividing their seats. When she smiled at him, he leaned closer and gave her a quick kiss. “Really great.”
“Really, really great,” she agreed.
Chapter 9
Brooke’s smile when she saw him on Friday night was genuine, but underneath that, she looked exhausted. Aaron quickly adjusted his plans, glad they hadn’t scheduled something special in advance. “Instead of a movie in Bixby, would you like to take another drive through the foliage?” he asked. A slow cruise around Star Lake would be plenty romantic on a clear, moonlit night like they had before them.
“If you don’t mind a shorter evening, that would be great. It’s been a week,” she admitted.
“Want to tell me about it?” He’d already bought her a Pumpkin Spice Latte, anticipating that they’d be in his truck for at least half an hour no matter what they decided to do.
She carefully peeled back the lid. “Jordan’s first op-ed came out in the student paper this week. On the question whether or not there was gender bias in the school’s dress code, she came down firmly on the side of yes, there was, and the girls shouldn’t have to suffer under some archaic regulations. She also had some good supportive quotes from other students, including your son.”
Aaron had no idea Trevor had participated in a story, even as an interviewee. His son kept surprising him lately. “I’d like to read it.”
“I’ll send you the link.”
He grimaced when the radio squawked. “Sorry, I have to leave it on. I’m on call tonight.”
Brooke gave him another smile. “Remember, I’m always available to be deputized.”
“Not a chance.”
The sun was long down, but it was unseasonably mild, so they had the windows down. With the still air and the clear sky, it was a beautiful night to be out with a beautiful woman.
The drive was as relaxing as he’d hoped. Brooke’s head was on a swivel as she admired the stars and the reflection of the moon on the lake and the silhouettes of the bare birch branches against the darker trees. “I love fall,” she said. “The crispness in the air and the crunch of leaves under your feet. Then it ends by rolling into Thanksgiving and Christmas, which is like the best season finale ever.”<
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“Winter ends with an explosion of greenery and the end of shoveling. Spring ends with fireworks.”
“They’re all the best season finales, but this is the one we have right now. Let me enjoy a lovely fall drive with my boyfriend, would you?”
He liked the sound of being her boyfriend. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“Mm, the smell of woodsmoke. I love the smell of a fire.”
The night sky was bright enough to find the trail of smoke from the campfire. Aaron judged the distance and the direction and realized it was coming from Shelley’s Shack. Which wouldn’t be a problem except that the Piney family had specifically told him earlier in the summer they weren’t expecting to be back in Holiday Beach for the rest of the year.
“If I ordered you to stay in the car, would you stay in the car?” he asked.
“I’m not your deputy, so I don’t have to follow your orders.”
Aaron expected that. “What if I asked nicely?”
“I’d consider it if you told me why.”
“That bonfire is at Shelley’s Shack, and nobody’s supposed to be there. I suspect that if I show up, we’re going to find a party with a bunch of people who shouldn’t be there. Trevor had better pray he’s not one of them.”
“Are you going to call for backup?”
“I’ll let the station know where I am.”
“Then I’ll stay in the car.” His face must have shown his surprise. “Hey, I can be reasonable,” Brooke insisted.
The partygoers had enough brains not to park in the driveway, but they weren’t smart enough to realize he could record the licences plates parked on the street. He left Brooke in the car, and careful stalked around the dilapidated cabin to the firepit in the back. Half a dozen people were around the roaring bonfire, some on lawn furniture that Aaron knew didn’t belong there. Beer bottles clinked in the dark, and somebody yelled, “Yeah, throw that in the fire.” Then the silhouette of a picnic table bench appeared in the air.