Protector (43 page)
Authors: Laurel Dewey
Tags: #Police Procedural, #Denver (Colo.), #Mystery & Detective, #Psychic ability, #Women detectives, #Crime, #Suspense, #Women Sleuths, #Children of murder victims, #Fiction, #Occult & Supernatural, #Espionage
Jane’s cop radar went up. “You already know our address?”
“Don’t look so shocked. This is a small town. If we don’t know where the newcomers live and what they eat for breakfast inside of 24 hours of them showin’ up, we’re shirkin’ our duties!” Jane eyed Dan very carefully, wondering what other lovely tidbits of information he knew, thanks to Kathy, the town crier.
Emily watched Dan walk out of the Café and get into his truck before returning to her meal with a silly grin. The front door of the Café opened and in walked Sheriff George, his belly protruding a good three inches over his belt.
“Shit,” Jane mumbled under her breath. “It’s like old home week in here.”
“How ya doin’, Sheriff?” the waitress hollered out from behind the counter.
“Ask me after my third cup of coffee!” the sheriff quipped, heading to the open seat at the counter that Dan just vacated. He spun around in his seat, facing Jane and Emily. “You still brakin’ for butterflies?” he asked Jane before quickly turning to Emily. “And how was your first night sleepin’ in Peachville? Did the train keep you up?”
“We slept fine!” Jane responded, trying to put on a cheerful face.
“You know, we’re the only town in Western Colorado with a coal train that rumbles through it!”
Jane took a sip of coffee. “Is that in your Chamber of Commerce brochure?” The minute the words rolled off her lips, she regretted the sarcasm.
“You know what?” the sheriff replied. “I think it just might be!”
The waitress set a cup of coffee on the counter for the sheriff. He took a hearty gulp and continued to stare at Jane and Emily. Jane ate a few bites of food amidst the awkward silence. The sheriff’s radio beeped and a deputy’s voice could be heard. “We got it wrapped up over here,” the voice on the radio announced.
“Well, that’s good news!” Sheriff George said to Jane. “We had ourselves a cow loose this morning and wanderin’ up on the road.”
“Wow,” Jane said, tiring of the prosaic chitchat.
“Yeah. That’s about as exciting as it gets ‘round here. Oh, we have our occasional car wreck on the highway when folks take the turn too quick. But, that’s all that really happens ’round here. And you know what? We like it that way.”
Jane realized the sheriff was speaking circuitously to her. Behind his cheerful, good ol’ boy exterior, he was sending her a message. “Well, that’s good to hear,” Jane countered. “With my husband’s recent death, we could do with some peace and quiet.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” the sheriff said. “I’m sure it’s been difficult for you and your daughter.” He pursed his fat lips. “Like I said, we like it peaceful. Peaceful Peachville. Everybody gets along and those that can’t stay away from each other.”
Jane eyed the sheriff. She was getting tired of his innuendo. The static voice came back over his radio. “Okay, I’ll be 10–7 at the park. 10–4.”
“Gotta shove off,” the sheriff said. He got up and lingered closer to Emily. “You take care of yourself, sweetiepie. Come on over and visit us at the station. I’ll let you sit in my big swivel chair!”
“Really?” Emily exclaimed, in awe. “Mom, can we go there after breakfast?”
“Maybe another time. The Sheriff’s got to go on patrol while his deputy is on break.” It took Jane less than a second to realize she screwed up. She was so used to hearing and saying the code ‘10–7’—which means, “I’m going on a break”—that it became normal conversation to her. Emily looked at Jane and realized something was not right by the look on her face.
“Well, I must say,” said Sheriff George, obviously taken aback, “you must be a mind reader.”
Jane nervously sipped her coffee under the watchful eye of the sheriff and Emily. “Mind reader? No, no. Just a lucky guess.”
There was a second of uncomfortable silence and then Emily spoke up. “Mom! I think the car is out of gas.”
“What?” Jane asked, not catching Emily’s attempt to get them out of there.
“Our car is out of gas,” Emily repeated, this time more pointedly. “Shouldn’t we go fill it up?”
Jane caught the drift. “Right. We need to take care of that.”
“If you’ve got your ‘Howdy’ coupon book, you can fill up your tank at The Apple Cart and get ten percent off!” the sheriff proudly stated, buying their ruse.
To be on the safe side, Jane visited The Apple Cart and filled up the tank. It was a wise decision since Sheriff George did indeed drive by the establishment, waving at the two of them. Inside the store, Emily spotted an extra large fanny pack that would safely accommodate Jane’s pistol without drawing attention to it. In the car, Jane debated how much she should tell Emily about the backhanded innuendos from Sheriff George and Kathy. But she determined the whole subject would be too complex for Emily to digest. “I don’t want you going over to see Sheriff George.”
“But he said I could sit in his big swivel chair.”
“I don’t trust him.” Jane turned onto Main Street and headed back to the house.
“How come?”
“It’s not always what people say. It’s what they do. In fact, it’s often more important what a person does, than what he says. It’s called reading people. Sort of like reading a book, but instead of reading the language in a book, you’re reading the language of their body.”
Emily was intrigued by the notion. “Like back at the house when I crossed my arms in front of my body? How you said I was cutting you off?”
“Exactly. As a cop, we always look for those signs because perps . . . I mean, criminals, are always lying verbally. However, a criminal can tell a million verbal lies, but his body will always speak the truth.”
“How does someone’s body tell a lie?”
“Lots of ways. If he looks to the left and down, that’s usually a lie.”
“So, everybody who looks to the left and down is telling a lie?”
“No. You have to look at the whole picture. Scratching the nose is another indication of lying. Or licking the lips continually. If somebody is telling you something and looking to the left and down while he’s scratching his nose and nervously licking his lips, then you’ve probably got a good lie going. But there’s other nuances you look for. You listen to the tone of their voice. Does it sound like the truth?”
“What does the truth sound like?”
“It’s pure.”
“Pure?”
Jane thought for a second. “Your voice is pure.”
“Really?” Emily said, beaming. She looked out the window. “So you don’t want me to go sit in Sheriff George’s big swivel chair because his voice isn’t pure?”
Jane needed to handle this one carefully. “His voice is usually pure. But there are times when he says two different things in one sentence. And one of those things is not pure.” Jane focused a block ahead toward the rental house and saw a car with two occupants parked in front. “Who in the hell is that?”
Emily looked up. “It’s Kathy and Heather.”
“Shit!” Jane mumbled under her breath. She turned into her driveway and parked the car under the shade of the large cottonwood tree. Kathy popped out of her car carrying a covered dish. Heather followed with a large gift basket.
Good morning!” Kathy cheerfully exclaimed as she darted over to Jane. “Happy first full day in Peachville!”
“Thank you, Kathy,” Jane said, subdued.
“I’ve brought you a little welcome casserole.”
“You made us a casserole!” Emily exclaimed as she rounded the Subaru.
“Look at her!” Kathy exclaimed. “You’d think she’d never seen a home cooked meal before!” Jane took Kathy’s gibe as it was intended and tried to remain calm.
“Thank you!” Emily said ecstatically.
“You are very welcome, sweetheart!” Kathy handed the dish to Jane. “There’s enough in there for four meals.” Kathy took the big basket from Heather. “And here’s a little welcome basket from our family to yours! There’s tea, cookies and preserves, some nuts, spices, fancy cocoa mix, assorted fruits and lots of other goodies for you two!”
Jane set the casserole on the hood of the Subaru and took the basket. “Do you give every newcomer this kind of attention?”
“Just the special ones,” Kathy said, directing her comment to Emily. Kathy bent down to be on eye-level with the child. “How’s that head feeling today, sweetie?”
Emily brushed her hand against her bandage. “It’s okay, I guess.”
“Oh, you poor little thing,” Kathy said, softly touching Emily’s cheek with her hand. “Heather, why don’t you show Patty your snazzy new line dancing outfit?”
“Why?” Heather said in a snotty tone.
“Because I’m sure she’d love to see it!”
Emily looked at Jane, not sure what to do. “It’s okay. Go on,” Jane said.
Emily crossed over to Kathy’s car with Heather. “She’s a very well behaved little girl,” Kathy said, observing Emily. “The way she looked up at you for permission before going over to the car. Most kids would just skip away without a thought.”
“Most kids are rude, too,” Jane said with a forced smile on her face, alluding to Kathy’s bratty daughter.
“Oh, pish-tosh! Kids have to express themselves! They need to push the boundaries and find out what’s what!”
“That’s assuming there’s boundaries to begin with,” Jane said without flinching.
Kathy caught Jane’s drift. Her pasted smile lost a hint of its phony glimmer. “I don’t mean to be forward, but I sense lots of stress in your voice.”
“Do you?”
“It must be dreadful to lose a husband in such an awful way. It’s only normal to feel angry. It’s part of the grieving process. You will see the light at the end of the tunnel.” Jane hated being placated but she hated it even more when the homilies were in response to an undercover ruse. “Oprah did a show on young mothers who tragically lost their spouses. It was so eye-opening for me to see these brave women carrying on with such a dreadful burden. I cried at least twice during that show. Twice! One of the experts talked about how important it is to feel the anger but to not take out the aggression on the ones who are closest to you. The ones who are so innocent.”
“Mom!” Heather yelled in a shrieking, bitchy voice. “When are we leaving?”
Kathy turned to her daughter with her jaw clenched. “In a minute, darling!”
“You said we could go to Montrose and buy those country dance CDs!”
“And we will. Mom just needs one more minute with Mrs. Calver!”
“If they’re sold out when we get there, it’s all your fault!” Heather screamed.
Kathy turned back to Jane. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I understand what you’re going through.” Kathy grasped Jane’s arm. “I feel your pain.”
“You feel my pain because you lost a husband or because you watched Oprah?”
Kathy didn’t know what to say. “I’ll let you go.” She turned and then spun back around. “The gals and I are getting together for our Wednesday gab fest two weeks from today. It’s going to be at my house and I’d love it if you and Patty would come! That’s our cherry night. We’ll be up to our elbows in pits, making preserves and juice! Patty’s should have her stitches out and, that reminds me, did you call Dr. Armstrong?”
“No. It’s been a busy twenty-four hours for us.”
“I’d be happy to call him for you—”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Kathy took a step back, sizing up Jane’s comment. “Well, okay. See you ’round the campus!” She got in her car, quickly followed by her very impatient daughter. “Oh, by the way!” Kathy yelled across the yard. “I love your ‘I Brake For Butterflies’ bumper sticker! You simply must let me know where you got that sweet thing!”
Jane and Emily watched as Kathy made a wide U-turn on Main Street, beeped her car horn and took off toward the highway.
“Can I take the basket in the house and look inside?” Emily said excitedly.
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