Beach Season (26 page)

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Authors: Lisa Jackson

BOOK: Beach Season
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C
HAPTER
2
Cooper Locklear was the only person inside the post office when the sky turned black and began to pour. Good. He wasn’t really up for having anyone around to watch him suffer through Leah’s letter.
Not that everyone in town didn’t know she’d been writing him. A letter might be privileged and confidential, but anyone could look at the return address and the postmark. Bruce, Avon’s postmaster, had a tighter network than Facebook.
“Got something from Leah again,” Bruce had told him yesterday when they’d both been getting haircuts at Clive’s.
“She still live in Charlotte?” Clive had asked, pulling the apron away as Bruce rose from the chair.
“That’s what the postmark says.” Bruce turned toward the mirror, examining his haircut. Although he had quite a head of hair for a man his age, it was silver through and through.
“That’s the thing with the young people these days,” Clive said. “They leave with the summer people and never come back. Not you, Cooper. You’re the exception to the rule, and Avon’s lucky to have you as sheriff.”
“That’s the truth,” Bruce agreed, swinging around to face Cooper. “But it’s slim pickins here for a young man like you. Don’t you get lonely?”
The question made Coop want to squirm right out of his shoes. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck, grateful for the drone of Clive’s vacuum as he cleaned up the fallen hair.
The vacuum shut off, and Clive gestured toward the chair. “You ever regret not going off to live in the city, Coop?”
“I’ve done all that,” Coop said, settling back into the leather chair. “West Point and Fort Drum. North Korea and Afghanistan. How far does a man have to go to satisfy the wanderlust?”
“You did get to travel with the army,” Clive agreed.
“Gone seven years.” Bruce peeled a twenty from his wallet and handed it to Clive. “Maybe that was Leah’s problem.”
“Seven years is long for anyone to wait,” Clive agreed.
Cooper hadn’t asked her to wait. And as rumor had it, Leah hadn’t always waited alone. He rubbed his chin. “You know, Clive, I came here for a haircut, not advice on women.”
“The advice is free,” Clive said. “It’s just the haircut that’ll cost you.”
“In that case, I’d like a little off the top, and a little less advice.”
“It’s hard not to say anything when we both know you and Leah so well,” Bruce said. “And to my eye, it looks like Leah’s still waiting for you.” Bruce paused at the door to put on his sunglasses. “Only she’s waiting over in Charlotte, and you won’t see her coming back here.” He pointed to Cooper. “But she keeps sending those letters.”
Only because I changed my cell phone number and refused to answer her e-mails,
Cooper thought as he turned the key and removed the mail from the box. Three flyers from a junk removal service and coupons for the local grocery store. And then there was the letter, big and square and bold, with her swirly girl writing.
He tossed it onto the sorting table, tempted to rip it into shreds and stuff it under the other trash without reading it. But then, that seemed downright mean after she’d gone to the effort.
Thunder boomed in the distance as he took a breath and tore the envelope open. A card, with a cute little puppy on the outside.
That just showed how little she knew him.
He felt his lips tug in a grimace as he deciphered the girly loops of her handwriting.
I still think of you a lot, and I know we’ll always be friends. That’s why I wanted you to be the first to hear my news. I’m getting married, Coop! I met a wonderful guy and we’re ...
Married? After all her declarations of undying love? He wasn’t sure whether he felt more relieved or betrayed.
“Well, I’ll be ...”
Just then the radio on his collar crackled. “All available units, we have a car accident on Highway Twelve. Two cars involved and injuries reported. Got an ambulance rolling.”
Cooper swiped the mail into the recycle bin, saving only the card. “This is Coop. You got a location, Brenda?”
Brenda gave him the mile marker, just north of the Quickstop.
“I’m on my way.” He stepped out into the rain, which had slowed to a steady patter. Inside the police cruiser, Cooper stuffed Leah’s card deep into the crevice between seat cushions, flipped on the lights and sirens, and peeled out of the post office parking lot onto Highway 12.
The post office wasn’t far from the scene, and within minutes he was coming up on the two vehicles, one with its hood creased in two. Behind them, other vehicles had been pulled onto the shoulder while someone with a flashlight directed the backup of vehicles to move around the accident.
“Hey, Coop,” called the man with the flashlight. The bill of an L.A. Dodgers cap peaked out from beneath the hood of a yellow raincoat.
Cooper recognized Rusty Mallory, owner of the nearby Quickstop, beneath the rain slicker. “Rusty. Looks like you’re making my job easy.”
“You got to get out and help when it happens on your doorstep.”
“How are the injured?” Cooper asked.
“Nothing life-threatening. Older couple got scraped up, probably from the air bags. Kailani has them inside the Quickstop, sitting down.” Rusty’s wife, Kailani, was a nurturing soul who handed out free candy to kids and could predict the changing weather better than anyone Coop knew. “The other driver looks fine. A lady,” Rusty went on. “She’s probably in shock, though.”
“And where is she?” Cooper asked as he lit a flare and tossed it onto the roadbed a few feet away.
“Still in the Jeep. No one could coax her out of it.”
“Thanks for your help.” Cooper handed Rusty two warning triangles and hurried toward the Jeep, the only vehicle still blocking the southbound lane. Why hadn’t the driver pulled off to the side?
Not wanting to stand in the line of moving traffic, Coop went to the passenger’s side of the vehicle and tried the door. Locked. He tapped the window and a moment later it opened a sliver.
“Ma’am? Are you all right?”
“Go away,” came a hoarse female voice.
“We’ve got paramedics on the way, but I’d appreciate it if you’d unlock the car so we can speak more personably.”
And so I can assess what’s really going on with you.
There was a pause, then she said: “Show me your ID.”
He pulled it from his pocket, thinking she was a suspicious old lady. “Name’s Locklear. Cooper Locklear,” he said as he held his badge and ID card up to the slit in the window.
He saw the shadow of her leaning over to inspect his ID. Then the door lock clicked and he pulled it open. He was relieved that she seemed okay, at least physically. In her purple tank top and black-and-white skirt, she looked girly and sophisticated ... except for the fact that she was shaking all over.
“Ma’am, I think you’re in shock,” he said. “I’m just going to shut this engine off, for our safety.” He reached over and turned the key in the ignition.
She stared at his hands, confused. “Officer, I need your help.” The quaver in her voice had made her sound older, but now he saw that she was only a girl in her twenties, with polished nails and skin as smooth as silk. Her long dark hair framed a face of fear: blue eyes as round as quarters and shiny with tears. “I need to get out of here.”
“That’s a good idea,” he said slowly. “How about I come around to your side and we’ll get you into the Quickstop for some coffee?”
“No, I need to leave, now. With this Jeep. Please, help me ...” she begged.
Something in those dark blue eyes tugged at his heart, and he leaned across the passenger seat, trying to get through to her with firm but gentle persistence. “I am going to help you, ma’am. What’s your name?”
“Jane.”
“Okay, Miss Jane. We’re going to get you out of this car, out of harm’s way. There’s a spot where you can sit in the Quickstop, and Kailani will take real good care of you.”
“No!” She cowered against the window, trembling hands covering her face. “I can’t do that.”
“I’ll help you,” he said, realizing she was in a bad way. “You just hold tight and I’ll come around and get you.”
He was about to close the door when he noticed a pair of sunglasses on the floor. Bronzelines. A coveted brand, some going for a thousand dollars a pair. He put them on the seat, then stepped away from the Jeep, closing the passenger door behind him.
The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and though the sky was still gray, two rainbows jutted right out of Pamlico Bay in the distance. Within seconds he was around the car, easing open her door.
She stared at him accusingly, her hands still pressed to her face.
“Don’t you worry, Miss Jane. You were in an accident, and that can be very traumatic. But we’re going to take care of you.”
A little sob escaped her throat, but she pressed her fists to her mouth, as if to hold it all back.
“Come on, now. You just step on out here and I promise you, everything’s going to be all right.”
He put a hand on her left arm, gentle but firm, and stepped back to give her room.
She sobbed, then rubbed her fists over her eyes. “Okay.” Turning toward him, she slid from the car and fell against him.
Oh, Lord. The perfume of her hair struck him as his arms closed over her, small bones and warm flesh collapsing against him. She was heaven in his arms, but this was not the time to let his body think for him. He had a job to do and she was a victim.
He propped her up against the car, seeing the surrender in her face. “Do you think you can walk?” he asked.
She nodded, and he slid his right arm around her waist, holding her body against his to support her. He’d promised to take care of her, and he was a man of his word.
 
With Kailani in the office tending to the beautiful Miss Jane, Cooper checked on the passengers of the other car. The Rosen-dahls were seated in the seating area of the Quickstop’s eatery, being checked over by Roman, one of the paramedics.
“How’s the other driver doing?” asked the tall, gaunt man, Douglas Rosendahl.
“She’s looking better than you two,” Cooper said, looking at the older man’s license. “This says you’re eighty. Is that right?”
“Indeed, I am. Eighty years and not a single strike on my driving record. Then today, in one big downpour, it’s all out the window.”
“Eighty years is a pretty good record,” Coop said, handing back Douglas’s license. “And that was a blinding downpour. But at eighty, you really want to be driving all up and down the East Coast?”
“Next time, we’re riding with my daughter and son-in-law,” Lila Rosendahl said as two paramedics wheeled her in. They’d been outside, using saline to flush away the chemical residue from the car’s airbags.
“It could have happened to anyone,” Doug said defensively. “When the sky opened up, I couldn’t see two inches in front of me. How’s the damage on her car?”
“Relatively unscathed,” Cooper said, “but I can’t say the same for your car.”
“All for the best,” Rosendahl said. “Cars can be replaced; people are another story.”
“Words of wisdom,” Coop said as he finished the accident report and peeled off a copy for Rosendahl.
“The good news is, it didn’t happen along one of those stretches of marshland. We’d probably still be out there, waiting.”
Coop glanced out the plate-glass window to the highway. Outside, the storm had passed and brash sunshine cast its silver sheen over the wet pavement and cars. That was the weather in the Outer Banks; summer storms came and went faster than a family of jackrabbits.
As he was watching, a neon green Volkswagen Beetle pulled off the highway and parked by the door. Good. “The doc’s here.”
“That’s lucky,” Mrs. Rosendahl said, “because I’m not going all the way back to Nags Head to get checked out. As it is, we’re already late for dinner.”
“Better to be late for dinner than never get there at all,” Roman told her, slipping the blood pressure cuff from her arm.
Coop had called Ruthann Pope, more to have a look at the girl, Miss Jane, than the couple. The girl had been so out of it, Cooper worried that she might have sustained some head trauma, and he was always relieved to turn health care decisions over to a professional like Ruthann. “Doc ... thanks for stopping by.”
“Sheriff. Fortunately, I was on my way to the grocery store.” She placed her medical bag on a table as she looked down at Lila Rosendahl and introduced herself. “Air bag injuries?”
“I was covered with a white powder, and it burned,” Lila said. Ruthann nodded. “Yes, the talc can burn. But it’s better than the alternative. Looks like you were wearing your seat belts?”
As Ruthann examined the couple, Cooper headed into the office to check on Miss Jane Doyle from New York City. He’d gotten her name and address from her driver’s license, and the registration showed that the Jeep was a rental car. But that was about all the information he’d managed to get.

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