Barbecue and Bad News (20 page)

“Oh. Gotcha. Like on an airplane. This is a real classic.”

“Love the old classic cars.” They pulled away from the curb and out onto Main Street. “The new ones are nice, but these old rides are fun to work on and they have style. She’s a ’67.”

“You didn’t answer my question. How many cars do you have?”

“More than I need.”

So he wasn’t ready to share everything. Fine. She had always thought cops didn’t make much money. Maybe his expensive car hobby was subsidized by all those tickets he gave out. Like a sales bonus. But then that was just silly, and he hardly seemed the type to do anything crooked. “Fair enough. How far do you live from town?”

“Not far. Less than a ten-minute drive.”

“Not a bad commute. I usually walk to work because it takes longer to drive than to walk it.”

He shook his head. “I’d hate to spend so much of my day just waiting in traffic.”

“You get used to it.”

“It would take a long time to walk anywhere around here.”

“It’s nice to have everything in walking distance. I mean, I do have to jump on the train once in a while, but it’s convenient. A lot of people don’t even have their own cars.”

“I guess that’s perfect for a girl like you.”

“Yeah. A girl like me. Not sure what that means, but I’m going to pretend it’s a compliment. You might like the city if you gave it a try.”

“No. All that sitting in traffic. Waiting in line. And the noise. How do you sleep? Besides, it would cut into my playtime. I work hard, but I play hard too.”

“Really? And just how does a sheriff play?” She tapped the gleaming dashboard. “I mean aside from collecting cool old cars.”

“She was a hot mess when I got her. Took me a few years to get her in this shape. You like the Mustang?”

“Like it?” She pulled her lips together. “No.”

He looked surprised.

“Are you kidding? I love this car.” She ran her hand along the console, then twisted the old knobs on the AM radio. “It’s got character. You did a nice job restoring her.”

“Thanks. What do you do for fun when you’re home in the big city?”

She started to answer, then drew a blank. “Ya know, I work a lot. I don’t do a whole lot else anymore.”

“Then why bother living in the city? Do you just like to be around that many people, or is it the noise? Wait. I bet it’s the shopping.”

“No. Actually, I do most of my shopping online. It’s like coming home to a Christmas present when there’s a package at my door. I like that. I do go to the Nats games once in a while, but no one I know really goes to watch the game, and it’s no fun without someone who really loves baseball. The people I know are more interested in sitting in the box seats and gabbing . . . so I really don’t do that much either.”

“Box seats?”

“A fringe benefit from work.” She regretted saying it as soon as she did. She hoped he’d miss the comment and not start digging. “But the shopping online is way more fun anyway.”

“Guess you can get just about anything you want online these days.”

“I’m keeping the UPS guy in a job. Everything I’m wearing right now, right down to my Victoria’s Secrets and the charm on my necklace, came via mail.”

“Then why does it matter where you live?”

That made her stop and think. “Well, I never really thought about it like that.”

He looked pleased with himself. “Sometimes you have to ask yourself the tough questions.”

“Have you seen the architecture in DC? That’s pretty awesome to be surrounded by.”

“We’ve got some nice architecture here. Not as much of it. Not as close together, but nice. The building you’re staying in was an old bank.”

“I know. Connor took me on the tour. That vault is so cool. I’ll admit, my first impression of Adams Grove was a good one because I loved the buildings on Main Street. They really grabbed my attention. I loved the way the old is mixed with the new and colorful stuff.”

“The people are as colorful as the shops.”

Yeah, she knew all about small-town people. “All up in your business, you mean.”

“They mean well.”

She pushed her hands into her pockets. “Right,” she said with a snicker. He could preach that one all day; she knew better.

“No, really. They just want to help.”

She cut her eyes toward him.

“Okay. I’ll admit. It’s annoying sometimes.”

She challenged him with a look. “Sometimes?”

“Fine. A lot of the time, but if you keep it in perspective, it’s a pretty damn good gift to know you have a whole community of people raising prayers in your favor. And if something happened, they’d all be right there to help pick you back up.”

Or pull you down
, she thought. When had she become so cynical?

Scott turned into a neighborhood. The mature trees canopied the road. “We have the oldest recorded cypress in Virginia here. Bet you can’t say that about your town.”

“Can’t say that I can.”

“She’s got a name.”

“Who?”

“The tree,” Scott said.

“The oldest tree in Virginia has a name? No way.”

“Big Mama.”

“Now I know that you’re just making that up,” Savannah said, shaking her head.

“I am not. I’m willing to bet she’s proud of that name.”

“Somehow I doubt any woman, even a tree, wants to be called big.”

“She’s reported to be over fifteen hundred years old. She’s a hundred and twenty-three feet tall.”

“Okay, that is big.”

“Over twelve feet around. Google it. I’m telling you, it’s true.”

She whipped out her phone and started thumbing in words. “Holy cow. Can you take me to see her?”

“I can.”

“Is that water behind those houses?” she asked.

“The river.”

“Do you have a boat?”

“I do. A pontoon boat and a fishing boat. Do you like the water?”

“Grew up on it.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have pegged you as the outdoorsy type. If you don’t mind the swamp, I can take you to meet Big Mama. She’s in a pretty remote area.”

“There’s probably a lot about me that you wouldn’t guess. I’m not afraid of the swamp either.” It was easy to feel unafraid with him. It had been a long time since she’d done things like hiking and camping, all those outdoorsy things she used to enjoy with her dad. She’d never actually been in a swamp, but she’d done her share of fly fishing with her daddy. A trek through the swamp in hip waders with Scott Calvin actually had a certain appeal.

“I’m intrigued.” He pulled into the driveway. “We’re here.”

“Nice place.” The yard was beautifully manicured, and although the house wasn’t fancy, it looked very comfortable, and large for a single guy.

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Not this.” This was the kind of house you raised a family
in. She really wasn’t
sure how to explain what she’d expected without sounding like a jerk, and for once, her filter seemed to work.

He led her to the side door, unlocked it, and gestured her inside. “After you,” he said as he turned on the lights.

“I like the open floor plan,” she said.

He laid his keys on the bar.

“I bet that fireplace is nice in the winter. We’re not allowed to have a fireplace in my condo. I miss that.”

“I sure cuss it while I’m chopping wood in the heat of the summer to get ready for it, but you’re right, it sure is great on a cold winter’s night.”

“Are you a romantic, Scott Calvin?”

He stepped into the kitchen. “Maybe.”

“Well, that fireplace is nice, but this kitchen is to die for. Two ovens. Man, you are serious about your cooking. Look at this spread. Is all of this food for just the two of us?” She hoped he wasn’t about to surprise her with company. If his mom showed up now, invited, that could bring his appeal score down a notch or two.

“Yep.”

“How much do you think I can eat?”

“Trust me, when I barbecue, everyone overeats. And I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I may have gone a little overboard.”

“This could be bad news for my waistline.” And where was that filter when she needed it? Why did she have to be a smarty-pants when he was trying to be nice? Wouldn’t a simple thank-you have been better? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. It was really sweet of you to go to all of this trouble.”

“If you enjoy it, it’ll be worth it.”

“What can I help with?”

He picked up a large pan covered in foil and handed it to her. Then he picked up another and led the way. “Follow me.”

She followed him through the kitchen and then out the door that led to the patio.

He’d grabbed an apron off a hook by the door as he pushed it open and held it for her. “You can just put that on the table there.”

“Your outdoor kitchen is even bigger than my indoor kitchen.”

“I just like having the right tools. Mechanic tools, cop tools, fishing tools, cooking tools. Everything in its place.”

A man’s man. Nothing wrong with that. He made cooking look like man’s work. Not a bad idea in her book.

He pulled a black apron over his head. On the front was a caricature that was clearly Scott with an oversized chef’s hat on, chasing a cow with a grill fork and his sheriff’s badge.

“
‘Best Mooin’ Marinade’?”

He grinned. “That’s me. Told ya I cook the best steak around. Someone had this made for me as proof.”

“Can’t argue with that, can I?” The guy had confidence, she’d give him that.

“Not really, but chicken is on the menu tonight.”

“You’re not going to make me hunt down my own dinner, are you?”

“Not a chance.” With the punch of one button, the blue flames licked the metal grates of the huge grill. Scott started unwrapping pans. “You just take a seat there at the table while I get this going.”

“What are you fixing?”

“We’ve got fresh corn on the cob, summer squash wrapped in bacon, beans with a topping that will bake up into a cornbread—a little sweet and a little kick—and awesome grilled chicken.”

She watched as he placed the chicken on the grill, and then each of the veggies carefully and with very specific placement.

Once everything was searing, Scott stepped over to the outdoor sink and washed up. “Can I get you something to drink?” He stepped back and peered through the glass front of a small refrigerator below the counter. “I’ve got beer, wine, soda, water, or sweet tea.”

“I think I’ll stick with sweet tea.”

He pulled a bubble-shaped clear glass pitcher out of the refrigerator and served her sweet tea in a frosty mason jar. He had the same.

“Do you get much chance to get out on your boats?”

“I do. I could take you out with me one afternoon.”

“I’d love that.”

The chicken on the grill was beginning to fill the air with a sweet, smoky aroma. “I’ll take you down to the dock after dinner.”

“Okay.”

“How’s the police blotter going for you?”

“A lot better now that you’re sending me the file and I don’t have to type everything. I turn in another tomorrow.”

“That’s good,” he said. “Bee is old school. Jack’s way more savvy than he lets on. Don’t let him fool you. But Bee liked things the old way. I don’t mind letting her have her way. In some cases, it’s just what people get used to and automation isn’t always the answer. The paper works, that’s good enough for me.

“A good way to think of things.” Wouldn’t fly back in DC. But if it worked for them, more power to them. “It must be working on me. I even took a yoga class the other day.”

“You did? Happy Balance is being very well received. Surprisingly so, considering Jenn isn’t from around here.”

“She’s really nice. I spent some time with her and Brooke the other night. That police blotter entry you had me delete. I think there’s something to it.”

His reaction wasn’t subtle. He sucked in a breath like she’d punched him in the gut.

“There’s a mural in the men’s locker room,” she said.

He turned slowly in her direction. “I’ve seen it. What were you doing in the men’s locker room?”

“I was just commenting on the art. Jenn and Brooke told me I had to see that mural.”

“You were snooping.”

“I . . .” Heck, she couldn’t lie to him. “I was curious.”

“I told you to leave that alone.”

“No. I think you told me not to include it in the police blotter, and I didn’t.”

He let out a long sigh.

“I’ve upset you.”

“No.” He shook his head and shrugged. “You didn’t. The situation does.”

“You see the images in that painting too, don’t you?”

“I believe Jelly does.”

“The homeless guy.” she said.

“You know about him too.”

Savannah proceeded carefully. He clearly didn’t want to talk about this with her. He’d skirted her question entirely, but she had to know. “I don’t think everyone does see images in the mural. Jenn and I saw them, but Brooke couldn’t see them.”

“You have to promise me you won’t dig into this.”

She couldn’t promise that. She wanted to get to the truth. She needed to. It was like that message had come to her and she was meant to help. “Do you know what it means?”

“Not yet.” Scott took the food from the grill and placed it on a serving platter. “I’m looking into it, though. Can we talk about that later?”

“Sure. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”

Scott held up a hand. “You couldn’t have known. It’s okay. Let’s enjoy this meal.”

“Let’s. It smells delicious.”

He served up two plates and handed her one. The dish looked like blue stoneware, but as she took it, prepared for its heft, she was surprised to find that it was light as a feather. “These are so pretty, and I expected them to be heavy.”

“A gift from my mom last Christmas. Melamine. Unbreakable too. She’s not a big fan of paper plates. I’m not a big fan of stuff that breaks. This fit both of our needs.”

“Good gift. I’ve never seen anything like them. They seriously look like the real thing.”

She cut into the chicken and took a bite. “Perfect.” A little moan escaped as she sampled the rest of the items on her plate. “You really
are
a good cook.” Even the presentation was nice. “So colorful, and every single thing on this plate is good. I can see why people always overeat when you barbecue.”