Barbecue and Bad News (6 page)

He wanted to forget about that night when they took Frank Goto down, but somehow that case just wouldn’t let go. Officially, it was closed, but inside he knew that this case left behind links to more . . . more he wished he could ignore.

He picked up the envelope and slid out the invitation. Mike Hartman had gotten one too, but he’d already declined. Getting recognized in a public forum wasn’t Scott’s cup of tea, especially when it was for keeping his community safe. That was what he was paid to do. When Frank Goto committed those crimes all those years ago it had shaken the whole state, no question about it, and it still blew his mind that the guy had been paroled at all. He’d love to know how that had happened on the down-low.

You’d think they’d have swept the whole case under the carpet rather than give out awards. It would only bring up more conversation and potentially stir up controversy or expose poor judgment on someone’s part, which wasn’t going to be good for anyone. Let the whole damn situation die on the vine, that’s what they should do. The bad guy was dead and gone. Didn’t make him proud to kill someone, but he’d really had no choice. The right thing had happened. He had to wonder, though . . . would they be making such a big deal out of this if it had happened in a city? Why was it that people thought because he was enforcing the law in a small town, it somehow made him less skilled than someone working in a highly populated area? He took his job seriously, and when others didn’t, it had a way of getting right under his skin.

“Hey, Sheriff.” Deputy Taylor leaned in the doorway.

Scott tucked the invitation into his desk drawer. “You headed out to the concert?”

“Yeah. Shortly. Just wanted to let you know that Jelly was in one of his moods again today during the parade.”

Scott leaned forward. “He’s harmless.”

“I know, but I hate seeing him so worked up. He was begging people to come with him to see something that was evil. I think he was kind of freaking them out. I heard people complaining that he was drunk.”

Scott knew that even if Jelly might look like a drunk, he wasn’t one to take to the bottle. He’d been living down by the creek near the park for as many years as Scott could remember. In fact, Jelly had lived there before the park
was
the park. Guy must be every bit of sixty by now, maybe even closer to seventy. “Anyone file a formal complaint?”

“No. Not yet. Probably just a matter of time, though.” Deputy Taylor looked genuinely worried. “I just wonder if he’s kind of losing it.” He tapped the side of his head. “Like dementia or something.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“Thanks,” the deputy said with a look of relief. “I’m out of here.”

“Have a good one.” Scott’s mind was all over the place today. He didn’t need another thing on his plate, especially Jelly. He knew exactly what had Jelly all flustered. The old man had stopped him in the park and made him go to Happy Balance and look at the mural in the men’s locker room with him a couple of weeks ago. He’d thought the old guy would forget about that mural once they’d talked about it, since Scott had assured him he’d look into it, but it looked like he wasn’t going to let it go.

Scott grabbed his hat and headed outside. He walked down Main Street and then crossed the road at the old bank building toward the park. It was unusually quiet in the park today. There were only a couple of joggers. It seemed that folks had cleared out and headed home after the parade.

Jelly’s camp was more like a fort a kid would build out of scraps he’d gathered from his dad’s garage. He didn’t come into town often that anyone saw, but there was a clear-ish path down to his camp not five feet off the jogging trail at the 1.75-mile marker. All the locals knew where it was, but no one ever bothered him.

Scott ducked beneath a low-hanging branch and made his way through the trees. It was at least ten degrees cooler in the damp shade. He followed the slope of the land down toward the creek.

“Jelly?” Scott paused and listened. “Jelly? You out here, man?”

A slender man wearing a dirty blue-and-white-striped long-sleeve shirt that was so thin you could see through it popped up from behind a bright-yellow forsythia bush. “Heard you coming.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

The old man shook his head. “You don’t scare me. Just didn’t know it was you. How ya doin’, Sheriff?”

“Worried about you. Deputy Taylor said you seemed upset today. You okay?”

The wisp of a man started running his hands through his long, thinning hair. He turned his back on the sheriff and headed toward his camp. Then he spun and marched right up to Scott. “I told you before.”

Scott nodded.

“It’s evil.” The man’s eyes bugged out and his fists seemed to be grabbing for air. Jelly folded his arms across his chest and flopped his elbows up and down a couple of times in a way that made him look like some kind of crippled bird. His voice shook. “That painting tells a story. An ugly story. I seen it myself. You saw it. It needs to go away.” Jelly turned and nearly sprinted to the creek.

Scott broke into a jog and caught up with him. “I don’t want you to worry, Jelly. I’m going to take care of it. If there’s something to it then we don’t want to ruin the evidence, right? If we paint over it . . . then the story is gone.”

The old man nodded his head so fast, it looked more like he was shaking than agreeing.

“Can you be patient with me?”

His eyes darted around. “I don’t know what the story is, though. But it’s bad. I know it’s bad.”

“I’m not sure what it means either, but trust me, Jelly. I’ll figure it out. You trust me, right?” The old man looked so frail. He hated to see him afraid too.

Jelly dropped his hands to his sides. “Of course you will. You’re a good boy.” He shook his head. “I can’t go back there until it’s gone.”

“I’ll let you know what I find out. Until then, you can shower at the jailhouse like you used to instead of at the yoga studio.”

He nodded. “Okay. I can do that.”

Scott’s heart went out to the guy. He didn’t have anyone, and although he seemed to prefer the solitude, it worried Scott to see the guy so frazzled. “You can’t be scaring folks. You need to keep this between us.”

“I’m sorry. You promise you’re looking into it?”

“I promise. Now, man, you’re looking thin. Can I buy you a meal?”

Jelly shook his head. “I got plenty of rations. Plenty.”

“More than bread and jellybeans?”

He gave a hearty laugh. “That’s not true. I don’t just eat jellybeans. I got other stuff too. I do like me some jellybeans, though.”

“I know you do. Just not the green ones.”

“That’s right.”

Jelly looked surprised, but it hadn’t been all that hard for Scott to figure out. Around the campsite green jellybeans had been pitched into the dirt. You didn’t have to be a great detective to notice that evidence.

“You’ll come to me if you need anything, right?”

Jelly wrung his hands together. “Yeah. I will.”

Scott put his hand out and they shook. The guy still had a firm handshake. “I respect that. You take care of yourself, and I’ll take care of the painting.”

When Scott had first been elected sheriff in Adams Grove, one of the first things he’d tried to do was to help Jelly get some assistance and a place to live. It had never occurred to him that the man was living exactly the life he wanted to live. Jelly had once been a businessman with a family. Somewhere along the way his marriage failed and he blamed his job. He ended up leaving it all behind to just be alone. It was the kind of story you heard about but never really believed happened. But once Scott got to know him, it was clear the guy was happy with his life the way it was and was harmless. They’d come to a pretty quick agreement on letting things continue as they were with just a few ground rules. It had all worked out peacefully, until this mural thing came up. It seemed like Goto was determined to haunt this town—dead or alive.

Scott hiked through the trees and back onto the jogging path. It was a good day to be outside. Not too hot for mid-June. Perfect weather for the parade and the concert, which he needed to get to now. His staff would already be there and in place, but with crowds this big it was all hands on deck.

He stopped in front of the yoga studio. A class was just finishing up, and people were peeling off in both directions to their cars. No one else even knew that the murals at Happy Balance had been painted by Frank Goto. Scott was relieved that Jenn, the owner, had agreed it was best kept under wraps.

Besides, the murals Goto had painted in the studio were peaceful and serene, nothing like the wicked scenes he’d painted on the house where he’d abducted the girl. No one would ever make the connection unless they’d been told. Or unless they saw the subtle imagery that seemed to taunt from beneath the peaceful image . . . but no one else seemed to notice that.

He wondered how long that would remain the case.

Savannah had worked her way through the crowds to the front of the stage. Cody Tuggle was giving an arena-worthy performance to this small town. He looked relaxed, like he was having fun, and every single person in Adams Grove must have come out to enjoy the free concert.

The crowd clapped in time to the music, and when Cody started playing just the first few chords of “A Mother’s Love,” everyone went wild. She was glad she’d thrown her good camera in her handbag for the wedding trip. She took a few pictures, then headed off to one of the concessions to get a sweet tea.

When she finally got to the front of the line at the refreshment stand, none other than Bobby from the garage was waiting on her.

“Hi,” she said. “Remember me?”

“Flat tire. Bad brakes.”

She laughed. “That’s me. I’m staying the week. I might pop back in so you can take care of those brakes for me.”

“Good plan. What can I get you?”

“Sweet tea, please.”

Bobby slid a clear plastic cup of iced tea in her direction. “On the house.”

She swept the cup up and nodded. “Thank you.” This town was proving to be kind of good for her morale. A group of people had cleared out a section just to the right of the stage and were dancing. It had been forever since she’d been dancing. There was a time when people would stop and stare at her dancing with Tripp. There wasn’t much two-stepping going on back in DC, though. She and Tripp had found a couple of fun country-music-night spots that they’d frequented, but work got busy and then he was gone, so it was short-lived.

Standing at the edge of the crowd, she sang along with the band and watched as the couples danced. A brown-haired man who couldn’t have been more than twenty-three or so stepped in front of her, causing her to abandon the song she was singing off-key.

“Want to dance?”

“No, thank you.” She shook her head. “I haven’t danced in a long time.”

“Awww, come on. It’ll be fun.”

“I’ll step on your feet.”

He grabbed her by the wrist. “I can take it.” He tugged her hand in the air and spun her beneath it, then pulled her close and started moving around the dance floor.

The beat carried her back, and her two-steppin’ feet were picking up right where they’d left off all those years ago. She couldn’t contain herself. It was fun, and unexpected.

He gave her a nod. “You were sandbaggin’. You can dance, girl.”

She shrugged.

He spun her and then dipped under her arm, shifting direction. “I have an eye for good dancers,” he said. “I spotted you from all the way over there.”

“Is that right?”

He gave her a wink. “Oh, yeah.”

Seriously? He was a little too young for her, but who the heck cared? It was just for fun, and she was feeling like a million bucks about now. She smiled without a reply and kept up her steps.

Sheriff Calvin paced the front of the stage, keeping the fans at a reasonable distance. He glanced over at the crowd of folks who’d started dancing just off the stage area. Derek, Mac from the bakery
’s son, was dancing. He was a good dancer, everyone in town knew that, but the girl he was dancing with caught Scott’s attention. Savannah Dey moved with the grace of a ballerina, light on her feet and with a smile that could light up the evening. He watched them move around the makeshift dance floor, and she was keeping up with Derek like a pro.