A Promise to Protect (Logan Point Book #2): A Novel (12 page)

W
ould you put that stupid cube down?” Wade said. “Or learn how to work it.”

Ben looked up from the Rubik’s Cube he’d bought at lunch. His deputy stood in the doorway with a drink and a Styrofoam box that reeked of fried food. “It helps me to think.”

He set the cube on his desk and nodded toward a file cabinet. “I took a break from sorting through Dad’s files, if you can call them that. A slip of paper with numbers stuck in an unnamed folder filed under the B’s, another one with Lester jotted on it. That one was filed under
D
. No clue what any of it means.”

“He definitely had a unique way of filing that made sense only to him.”

“And no way to ask him about it. It’s a good thing Maggie kept the reports typed and printed out. I wonder if she found anything else.” He picked up his phone and dialed Maggie’s extension. “Come across any more of Dad’s files?”

“A small box with his desk calendar, some letters, and a few emails he printed out. Looks like this stuff might’ve been on his desk. I was just fixing to bring it to you.”

Wade set the white box on Ben’s desk and knelt beside the small cabinet, flipping through the files. He pulled one out. “Here’s a handwritten report from 1991 that says Jonas Gresham stole five hens from Lucinda Mays.”

Maggie entered the room carrying a cardboard box. “Gresham hasn’t changed, except for the worst. I feel so sorry for Ruby. Don’t know what she ever saw in that man.” She set the box on Ben’s desk. “I think this is the last of it. I don’t know how it got up front.”

If the sheriff’s department had an office manager, it’d be the slightly bow-legged senior with the sensible shoes. The day-dispatcher-slash-secretary had been a fixture at the department ever since Ben could remember. “Thanks, Maggie. I don’t know how we’d run this office without you. Hope you’re not planning on retiring anytime soon.”

“And do what?” She put her hand on her hip. “Besides, this place can’t run without me.”

“You got that right.” Wade opened the Styrofoam box and held it out to her. “Want a hamburger from Molly’s Diner? I have three.”

Maggie eyed the food. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Ben can have the other one, if he wants it.”

“I’ll take it to my office,” she said as Wade settled in a chair beside Ben’s desk and handed him a burger.

Ben checked to make sure it had mustard before he chomped into it. “Why can’t I get the squares lined up?”

Wade grabbed the cube and twisted it, his fingers moving too fast for Ben to see the turns. In a little over a minute, all six sides were solid colors. “You mean like that?”

“Yeah.” Ben rocked back in his leather chair.

The chief deputy set the cube back on the desk. “I look at it, and my brain sees how it fits together. That’s all I can tell you.” He took a sip of drink.

A lot of people thought Wade was just a good ole country boy, long on friendliness but short on intelligence. Ben knew better. “Why do you let people think you’re dumb?” he asked as he crumpled the hamburger wrapper and tossed it into the empty container.

Wade lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. “Gives me an advantage. Besides, I learned when I was a kid in foster homes that people are
going to believe what they want to. Truth doesn’t matter—they’ll go with what they think they see every time.”

Ben turned back to his computer. “If you’d tried to change some minds, you’d probably be sheriff instead of me.”

A harsh snort erupted from deep in Wade’s throat. “Now
you’re
playing me for dumb. You’re the sheriff’s son. No way for it to go down other than the way it played out. And when you take that job with the U.S. Marshals, the county supervisors will pick somebody besides me to take your place until the election.”

“I’m not going with the Marshals. I’ve decided to run for sheriff. Filed the paperwork last week.”

Wade’s feet hit the floor as he sat up straight. “You’re kidding. What changed your mind?”

Ben glanced around the office, still his dad’s office in his mind. Would always be Dad’s office, even if Ben painted the gray walls and took down the pictures and plaques with Tom Logan’s name on them. “Being sheriff is a lot different from being a deputy under my dad’s eye. I still second-guess myself, but at least he’s not here to say ‘I told you so.’”

“Your dad never in his life said those words.”

“Yeah? Well, he was thinking them.”

“Come on, Ben, your dad might like to keep everything and everyone under his thumb, but he isn’t vindictive. How is he, anyway?”

“I think not being able to communicate is getting to him. He tries to talk, but it comes out garbled. And he won’t work with the speech therapist.”

“It’s only been six months, and he had a lot of healing to do. At least he’s not a paranoid schizophrenic, like my mom.”

“He goes absolutely nuts if I forget and wear my gun around him.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Wade had been seeing after his mother ever since Ben could remember. First when she was in the state hospi
tal, and now at an expensive care facility just outside of town. He figured all of Wade’s money went to keep her there.

Wade eyed him. “I know the real reason you’re passing up the U.S. Marshals’ job. It’s Leigh Somerall and her kid.”

Heat flushed him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do. You were sweet on her once before, and now that she’s back in Logan Point, you want to hang around here.”

“How do you even remember we dated? That was ten years ago.”

“Yeah, but you were working here that summer and mooning over her like a love-struck puppy.” Wade doodled on the desk calendar on Ben’s desk. “You let her get away that time. And if you’re not interested, I am.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. You’re too old for her. Besides, you’d never take on the responsibility of someone else’s kid.”

“And you would, Mr. Date-them-three-times-and-drop-them? For the record, I’m forty-one, only ten years older than the doc. Hardly ready for the grave.” Wade eyed him. “I don’t think I’ve seen you with anyone lately. Is it because of the doctor?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, if it is, you better make your move. I’m not the only one I’ve seen eying the good-looking doctor. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen her with Ian a time or two.”

A band tightened around Ben’s chest. This wasn’t ten years ago. Leigh wasn’t a shy college sophomore. Like a butterfly, she’d emerged from her awkward early college years into a beautiful and confident woman. Bottom line—she’d grown up.

He couldn’t say the same for himself. The more he thought about getting married, the more it scared him. Commitment. Responsibility. Sure, he could commit to the responsibility of running the sheriff’s department. He didn’t shoulder it alone. He had Wade and Andre, and a half dozen other deputies.

“You okay, Ben? I just meant you should either cut bait or fish.”

“I’m fine. And for your information, she’ll only be here for
another ten months. Then she’s off to Baltimore.” He stood. He was not interested in a future with Leigh Somerall. “I’m going to get a candy bar. See if you can find out when Billy Wayne started that website, and I understand Mrs. Gresham has taken a couple of weeks off from work. We’ll take a ride out and talk to her.” And hope Jonas Gresham wasn’t there.

And that Wade wouldn’t bring Leigh up again.

Ben climbed the Greshams’ block steps and rapped on the screen door. The solid wood door stood open, and from somewhere in the house, a twangy country singer crooned about love gone bad. A thin layer of red dust from the gravel road in front of the frame house covered the glass-topped table on the porch. When no one appeared, he rapped again.

“Maybe she’s out back,” Wade said. “But I’m telling you, she’s not going to know anything about Billy Wayne’s activities.”

They retraced their steps and went around to the back of the house. Ancient oaks shaded the dirt yard. “Mrs. Gresham, you back here?” Ben called.

“Over here.”

They both looked in the direction of the voice. A petite brunette walked toward them, a pail in her hand. Blackberries, Ben saw when she reached them.

“Morning, Sheriff,” she said, putting the pail on a homemade round picnic table. A strand of hair had worked its way out of the ponytail that hung down her back, and she tucked it behind her ear. “Been expecting you. You want to talk out here or in the house?”

A light breeze stirred the air. He could imagine how stuffy the house would be. “Here will be fine.”

Ruby Gresham sat on a bench and fanned. “Sure is hot.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ben replied. He cleared his throat. “I’m really sorry about Billy Wayne.”

She looked off into the distance. “Wish I could say I was surprised. He just never was the same after Tommy Ray—” Her hands fluttered to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Sheriff . . . I didn’t mean . . .”

Ben flinched and struggled for something to say.

“It’s all right, Mrs. Gresham,” Wade said. “Tommy Ray’s death affected us all.”

She hunched her thin shoulders. “He was a good boy.”

Ben found his voice. “Did you know anything about Billy Wayne’s gambling debts or his website?”

Leaning forward, she shook her head. “He thought he was growed up. Learned how to play poker from his daddy. Weren’t no better at it than him, either.”

“How about the website?” Wade prodded.

“Jonas Junior showed it to me after he got kilt. Wished I’d a looked at it before. Might could’ve helped him if I’d knowed he was that angry.”

It didn’t look like Ruby Gresham would confirm Ben’s suspicion that someone other than Billy Wayne had built the website. “So you think he put it up?” he asked.

“He liked fooling with that kind of stuff. Made up them computer games when he was still home. I told him he ought to get a job doing that instead of fooling with gambling. I was so proud when he got the job working on the computers at—”

“Hey! What are you doing on my property?”

Ben hadn’t heard Jonas Gresham come up, and he turned as Jonas charged toward him like a bull rushing a matador.

“Hold it, Jonas.” Wade stepped between them, resting his hand on his gun.

“You takin’ up his fight?” The burly farmer poked Wade in the chest, his six-two frame a match for the deputy.

“We don’t have a fight.” Ben stepped forward, flexing his fingers. Just in case he couldn’t convince Gresham.

“The devil we don’t. You killed two of my boys.”

“Jonas.” Mrs. Gresham’s warning cut through the tension. “The sheriff here didn’t kill nobody. Billy Wayne just plain kilt hisself. And what happened to Tommy Ray was an accident. Ben did all he could to save him.”

“He could’ve done more.” Jonas’s eyes bulged from their sockets. “He was in charge of them boys. He should’ve seen to it that they didn’t horse around in the water like that.”

Ben swallowed the bile that rose up in his throat. Jonas was right. He should’ve stopped the boys from swinging on the grapevines and dropping into the river-fed lake below.

“He’s told you how sorry he is about what happened that day,” Ruby said.

“Sorry don’t cut it. Now git off my property.”

Ben held up his hand. He would get no more information from Ruby Gresham today. “We’re going.” He turned and walked slowly back to his truck, Wade right behind him.

“You want to drive?” Ben asked.

“Sure.” As they backed out of the drive, his chief deputy shook his head. “He’s a crazy old coot.”

Crazy or not, his words had picked the scab off the festering wound in Ben’s heart.

Suddenly, Wade slammed the brakes on the truck. “You see that dog?”

“Where?”

“There in the weeds.”

Ben scanned the roadside, finally catching sight of a broad-chested mongrel cowering in the tall weeds beside the road. They climbed out of the truck. What he saw turned his stomach. Blood oozed from a wound on the dog’s haunches, and scars indicated past wounds. They cautiously approached the shivering dog.

“Okay, buddy, we’re not going to hurt you,” Wade crooned. The dog offered a halfhearted growl. The deputy motioned Ben back. “Let me handle this.”

When he was a couple of feet from the dog, Wade squatted and held out his hand. “Good boy.”

The dog whimpered and dragged himself toward the chief deputy until he was close enough for Wade to stroke its head. His tail thumped as Wade whispered soothing words. “You’re going to be okay.”

“How bad is he hurt?” Ben asked. The dog looked like a mixture of pit bull and Doberman. Wade was always picking up stray dogs and taking care of them. Sometimes, Ben thought he liked dogs better than people.

Gently, Wade ran his hands over the dog, bringing a yelp when he touched the back leg. “Don’t think it’s broken. Can I put him in the back of your truck?”

“Sure. Want me to help?”

“Naw, I got him.”

Ben let the tailgate down as Wade scooped the dog up and placed him on a tarp in the bed of the truck.

“Somebody’s been fighting this dog,” Wade said through gritted teeth. “Looks like your daddy was right. We got a dogfighting ring going on in Bradford County.”

Before he had been shot, his dad had told Ben his suspicions, but Tom Logan had never been able to track down anything other than rumors.