Strawberry Hill

by Catherine Anderson

  Erin angled her a look through the large tinted lenses. “Let me guess. They don’t flatter the shape of my face.”

  “Worse. They make you look like a bug-eyed grasshopper wearing a hat. You’d be better off wearing the aviator-style ones. At least the lenses on those don’t cover half your face.”

  “I aimed for covering half my face when I bought these damned things.”

  “You cussed.” Julie reached under the counter and plopped a pint-size Mason jar on the counter. “Put a five-spot into our vacation fund, girlfriend. That takes us over our first goal. We’ve got fifty bucks.”

  “Mostly out of my wallet,” Erin grumbled as she withdrew a bill from the slender fold of leather that she carried in her hip pocket. She and Julie were saving for a cruise with a company that owned one of the more popular online dating sites and whose advertising slogan promised, “No one leaves the ship alone.” Erin doubted that the onboard matchmaking was quite that successful, but it would be fun to hang out with Julie for a week. Sunning on deck lounges sounded good, umbrella drinks even better. “You hardly ever slip up and pay the fine.”

  “I wasn’t taught to cuss by my father and a bunch of lawmen. You watched any reality cop shows lately? I swear, practically all the dialogue is bleeped out. Those boys have filthy mouths on them.”

  “Those boys get shot at,” Erin retorted. “Show me a cop who says ‘shucks’ when bullets are flying, and I’ll show you a cop who needs a nice, long psych leave to get his head back on straight.”

  “Yes, but a certain friend of mine who’s hoping to find her soul mate will never be successful if she continues to meet strange men and asks them, ‘How’s it hangin’?’”

  Erin laughed in spite of the ache that radiated over her cheek when she curved her lips. “I’m not that bad.”

  “Almost!” Julie pushed back her hair where it had dipped forward over her eyes. She sighed and met Erin’s gaze. “We make quite a pair, both of us messed up by men, but in totally different ways. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel, though. If we keep pushing forward, we’ll start to see it soon.”

  Erin nodded. “And sooner rather than later would suit me just fine. In twelve days, five hours, sixteen minutes, and thirty-seven seconds, it will be three very long years since I’ve been on a date. Trust me, honey, that’s a long dry spell.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that you had sex on that last date?”

  “Because I did, and it wasn’t like you’re thinking. I was with Todd, my almost fiancé.”

  “What? I thought you dated a lot after the two of you broke up.”

  “I did date,” Erin confirmed. “A lot! That doesn’t mean I slept with any of the men. Online dating sucks. I always met new guys for coffee at this café I knew that was always fairly busy. Meet ’em in a public place, never give them your phone number or address, and then run like hell.”

  “Not all of them could have been weird.”

  “You’d think not, but most of them were.” Erin took a test sip of her latte. “I got kind of excited over one. He was so handsome, and he was a great conversationalist. Nice suit. Italian, I think. He was the one who asked me to sign an exclusivity contract. Can you imagine that, after chatting over only one cup of coffee? I was to date only him from that moment forward.”

  “Possessive. Possibly obsessive about it. No matter how handsome a man is, that spells trouble.”

  Erin was about to agree when the portable radio on her belt suddenly chattered. “Oh, duty calls.”

  Julie rolled her eyes when she saw the caller ID. “It’s the sheriff’s department, and another latte bites the dust. Seriously, girlfriend, you need some time off.”

  Erin capped her drink, considered taking it with her, and then discarded the idea. If she spilled coffee in the brand-new patrol truck, she’d never hear the end of it. “See ya,” she told her friend. “Tomorrow, same time, same station.”

  Waving goodbye over her shoulder, she stepped outside the shop, circled the revolving dining area, and made her way out onto the sidewalk. With a glance to her left, she took in East Main, a street lined on both sides by connected, two-story buildings, with architecture reminiscent of the late nineteenth century. Steep, pitched roofs. Gingerbread trim. Cheerful window boxes, which still sported cascading bunches of Wave petunias that hadn’t yet succumbed to the approach of winter and the cold nights that accompanied it. To Erin, accustomed to the sprawl of the Greater Seattle area, it was a town straight out of a storybook, and she couldn’t imagine that she’d ever regret moving here. At least it was cute and nostalgic in Mystic Creek, and she could feast her eyes on something besides graffiti.

  Keying the mike on the radio, she said, “Adam eleven, code seven. Break.”

  An all-too-familiar feminine voice came over the air. “Don’t start with me, Erin. My day isn’t going well.”

  Erin grimaced. Noreen Garrison was her least favorite dispatcher. “What happened? I thought you had the day off. Break.”

  “I did have the day off until Patty Molt got sick and couldn’t finish her shift. I’m next up the totem pole from her, seniority-wise, so I’m the lucky person who got called in.”

  Erin preferred to communicate with Patty, who had at least memorized the police codes and maintained a professional manner while on the air. Noreen knew none of the codes and chewed bubble gum at work. Erin kept expecting Sheriff Adams to fire the woman, but so far, he hadn’t, and she was starting to doubt he ever would. Maybe Noreen was related to him somehow. It was difficult to let a family member go without causing hard feelings, and the situation might be even stickier for the sheriff if Noreen was related to his wife.

  “Sorry about your day off getting ruined.” Erin fleetingly wondered how many townspeople had police scanners and were listening to them talk. “So . . . you called. What’s up? Break.”

  “We’ve got a runaway horse out at the fairgrounds. Big blowup on a trailer ramp when its owner tried to load it. Owner got hurt. No report on the extent of his injuries. I only know things went from bad to worse when the Turek boys tried to catch the horse.”

  Erin had heard of the Turek boys, but she had never dealt with them. They were twin brothers, about thirteen or fourteen, and always in trouble of some kind. Never anything serious. “Were they hurt? Break.”

  “Not that I was told, but the horse went from just being upset to scared half to death. Nobody can get anywhere near him now. A couple of grown men tried and almost got trampled for their trouble.”

  Erin did not like the sound of that. “Noreen, I know next to nothing about horses. Can’t you call in somebody else? Barney’s good with horses. I think Hank owns a couple. Break.”

  “Barney’s at his daughter’s soccer game and has his phone turned off. Hank Bentley has highway patrol today. That quilting show at the fairgrounds is bringing in lookers from all over the state. He’s at least an hour out.”

  “What about Sheriff Adams? He’s good with horses. Break.”

  “Right now he’s being good with his wife. It’s their anniversary, and he took the whole day off.”

  “Well, it’d be better to interrupt his day than to send me in. Break.”

  “Yeah, well, you can call him, then. I happen to like my job and need to keep it.”

  Erin puffed air into her cheeks and winced at the discomfort. “All right, I’ll go. But as the dispatcher, you’re supposed to handle stuff like this and send in somebody qualified. If I get hurt, it’ll be on your head. Break.”

  “I wish you’d quit saying break every time you stop talking. It sounds corny.”

  “If you would study the code, you’d see that the FAA requires that we break after every exchange. It’s one of those corny things called a law.” Erin broke into a stiff jog toward the pickup. When she reached it, she keyed her radio again. “I’m en route. Break.”

  The inter
ior of the pickup had soaked up heat from the late September sunlight beating against the windows. The smells of brand-new leather, carpet, and molded plastic surrounded her as she pressed the start button and fastened her safety belt. As she took a left onto East Main, she appreciated the lack of traffic, which would pick up shortly when people who worked in town began taking a lunch break. Some drove home to eat. Others grabbed a bite at one of the many eateries. She’d missed the first rush by only about twenty minutes.

  “At least I don’t have to go code three,” she said aloud. Although she’d now been working here for over a year, she’d only ever had to use the lights and siren five times. That was Mystic Creek, in a nutshell. Very little crime. Only an occasional fender bender or drunk driving offense. Law enforcement saw plenty of action during Rodeo Days in August, she’d learned, and high school graduation night had kept her and all the other deputies hopping. But mostly, the community was quiet. It had seemed strange to Erin at first, but now that she was getting used to it, she liked the sameness of her shifts. She rarely had to worry about violent suspects. The only time her weapon left its holster was when she cleaned it. Nicest of all, she hadn’t clapped eyes on a dead body since she’d moved here. “Now if God will just keep me in one piece while I try to catch a frightened horse.”

  Thinking of the little old ladies who were probably being escorted around the quilt show by equally old and fragile men, Erin itched to press the accelerator clear to the floorboard. An escaped and upset horse was a loose cannon. Totally unpredictable. What if an elderly person got trampled? But as badly as she needed to hurry, her training, drilled into her at the academy, kicked in. One cardinal rule stressed repeatedly by her instructor was that every law officer needed to drive responsibly no matter how grave the emergency. Ponderosa Lane, a curvy gravel road, was peppered along each side by houses on small acreages. Dogs and kids, kids and dogs. Erin couldn’t imagine anything worse than taking a turn at a high rate of speed, coming upon a child, and being unable to stop.

  She settled back on the seat and tried to enjoy the scenery while she held the vehicle at fifty, which was a fast clip when the tires hit more potholes than smooth ground. Ponderosa pines added lofty regality to the area, some of them three feet in diameter with crusty, cinnamon red trunks. She liked that clusters of high-end, cookie-cutter residences didn’t exist here. Each home was distinctly different, some circa 1970, others a bit newer, with a smattering of recent construction. Most of those homes were modeled after the Victorian era, all painted in pastels, with touches of gingerbread trim, ornate dormers, and spacious, wraparound verandas. She thought about rolling down the windows to get some fresh air, but she didn’t want the new smell of the vehicle to dissipate too soon. It might be years before she could afford to trade in her Honda, which she’d bought secondhand, and she wouldn’t enjoy the scent of “new” again until that happened.

  As she went around a curve, Erin finally saw the fairground fencing to her right. Six feet tall and hurricane in style, it was a barrier that had been built to last. She drove another quarter mile before she saw the main entrance, its double swing gate hanging open for the public to come and go at will. She slowed down to execute the turn and saw a small crowd gathered in a semicircle near a newer-model blue pickup that was hitched to an old horse trailer.

  “Showtime.” She grabbed the car radio microphone. “Adam eleven, code eleven. Break.”

  Noreen immediately sounded off at her end. “Plain English, please. You know I hate all that crap.”

  Erin rolled her eyes. “I’m in car eleven, Noreen. Adam eleven. Get it? Code eleven means I’ve arrived at the scene. Break.”

  “Yeah, so just say that. See how much easier it is?”

  The way Erin saw it, easy wasn’t their aim. Communicating back and forth with as few words as possible was. “What if I had a code eight, Noreen? Break.”

  “What’s a code eight?”

  “Officer calling for help. Break.”

  “Two words versus four words. I don’t see how that’s any more efficient.”

  Erin keyed her mike. “Break! You have to say that. Whether you like it or not, whether it makes sense to you or not, we’ll get slapped on the wrist, sooner or later, if we don’t.”

  “Break, break, break,” Noreen replied, sounding bored with the whole situation. “Like the FAA listens in on our frequency?”

  “I’m assuming you’ve called Jack Palmer and sent him out here. Break.”

  “Why would I call the vet? So far as I know, the horse isn’t hurt.”

  Erin was sorely tempted to raise her voice. “Horses can be dangerous. This particular horse is frightened. Jack Palmer can sedate it, if necessary. Get him out here, ASAP. Break.”

  “If nobody can catch the horse, how will Jack sedate it?” Noreen asked.

  “A dart gun, possibly.” Erin had an emergency on her hands and no time for arguing. “I’m going code six. I’ll report when I can. Break.”

  Tossing off her seat belt, she cut the truck engine, pushed open the driver’s door, and swung down from the vehicle. The crowd parted in the middle to create a path for her, and she saw an older man sitting on the edge of the dusty trailer’s loading ramp. He held what looked like a disposable ice pack to his temple. His blue western shirt and faded jeans sported streaks of dirt. A red mark on his forehead and the bandlike depressions in his hair told her that he’d recently been wearing a hat, but she saw no other evidence of it now. She guessed that he’d taken a fall, possibly from the ramp, and was too shaken up to worry about his personal effects yet.

  “Hi, Deputy De Laney,” a woman called out. Then a man said, “Good afternoon, Erin.”

  Erin recognized only a few people in the crowd and they weren’t the ones who’d spoken. She could only assume that the front-page article about her swearing-in, accompanied by pictures, had stuck in people’s memories. She inclined her head to acknowledge each greeting, tried to smile, and was reminded by the pain in her cheek that her face was a complete mess.

  Tension knotted the muscles in her back as she walked toward the man. Without removing the compress from his temple, he met her gaze and nodded by way of hello.

  “Hello, sir. I’m Deputy De Laney. I understand that you had a problem with your horse.”

  “Yes. I don’t know what the blue blazes got into him. He acted all funny when we got here, but he got over it at the arena and never gave me another lick of trouble until I tried to load him back in the trailer to go home. Went nuts on me. Rearing. Striking the air. That’s totally unlike him.”

  Erin glanced around, hoping to see the horse, but there was no sign of him. “Are you badly hurt, sir?”

  “Naw. I’d go get him myself, but I whacked my head pretty hard and still feel woozy when I stand up.”

  The man met Erin’s gaze, and she took advantage of the eye contact to determine if his pupils looked dilated. “You may have a concussion,” she observed. “Those are nothing to mess around with. You should have one of these good people take you to urgent care. The clinic is open for walk-ins until six. One of the doctors can check you out.”

  “I’m not leaving Espresso. He’s my best friend in the whole world.”

  Erin refrained from pointing out that this man’s best friend could have killed him. And the thought did nothing to embolden her. Even if she couldn’t convince this gentleman to seek medical attention, which was his call to make since he seemed perfectly lucid, she still had to catch the horse.

  “You experienced with horses?” the man asked.

  Erin nearly said no, but, in front of all these people, she didn’t want to come off as a city woman who knew next to nothing about country living. “Some,” she settled for saying. And that wasn’t a lie. She’d ridden a horse up and down Strawberry Hill. That qualified as some experience. Not a lot, but at times like this, just acting confident could go a long way.


  Turning to face the audience, she noted that the onlookers had edged closer. She searched the sea of faces until her gaze caught on that of a slender, dark-haired man with a soul patch on his chin that looked like a smear of axle grease. Something about him, apart from the carefully trimmed black hair beneath his lower lip, inspired confidence in her. “Sir,” she said, lacing her tone with question. “May I assign you the responsibility of watching this man for signs of concussion while I go to find his horse?”

  The man who’d recently joined the gathering stepped forward. “I’m a licensed RN. I’ll be fine with that.”

  Erin wished he were a licensed buckaroo. That would have solved all her problems. “Thank you. If he has a concussion, we really should get him to urgent care.”

  The man inclined his head. “I’m on it.”

  Erin glanced at the crowd. At a quick count, she estimated that around twenty people were present. “You have plenty of help, should you need it.”

  “How about you?” the nurse asked. “A couple of us men could go with you as backup. That horse is pretty wound up. The Turek boys tried to herd him back by swinging ropes at him. Not the best way to calm down a frightened equine.”

  Erin nodded in agreement, even though she wanted to ask, And what is a good way to calm a horse down? Only she couldn’t voice the question. Public safety always had to be her primary concern, and soliciting help from these people would put them in the direct path of danger. Instead she struck off through the throng of people, which parted again to give her walking room. “He’s over there,” someone offered, pointing toward a large exhibit building. “Out behind,” someone else added.

  Erin put up a hand to indicate the crowd should remain where they were and she kept walking. Her heart bumped loudly in her chest. Her arms and legs felt disembodied. Sweat filmed her skin. She’d tipped the gym scales at one twenty-seven that morning. Now she was about to face a twelve-hundred-pound animal that could kill her with one strike of its hoof. As she put distance between herself and at least forty curious eyes, she struggled to breathe evenly, and for the first time in over a year, she regretted that she’d left her job in Washington. At least there, she’d known what she was doing and she’d always had proper procedure to fall back on. What to do if a suspect grew physically combative. What to do if a crowd grew violent. What to do if someone pulled out a weapon. She’d pored over the manual. Memorized every passage. Even now, she could recite scanner codes in her sleep. But nothing in Washington had prepared her for this.