Indivisible. Part 4

Her parents had borne one perfect child; what did they need with an inferior model? Her colicky, strong-willed nature had acted like a repellent. Her smart mouth had reflected a smart mind, if anyone had cared to notice. Her energy and spirit needed channeling, not crushing.

Her parents had made no effort to hide their feelings from her teachers, her friends and their parents. Here's what you can expect from that that child. Reba had tried to make up for the glaring discrepancy in affection by buying her lip gloss and trinkets. She adored Reba for trying. child. Reba had tried to make up for the glaring discrepancy in affection by buying her lip gloss and trinkets. She adored Reba for trying.

Her cell phone rang, the tone designated for the number on her fliers. She picked it up. "Hopeline."

"Yeah, um." The caller sniffled. "Do you, like, listen and tell me what to do?"

"I listen and pray, and together we consider your possibilities."

The voice was young. "Well. It's my friend. My used-to-be best friend ..."

This took her back to Rachel Muerrisey, who through some faux pas had lost her standing at the top of the order. "What do I do? You're used to no one liking you. I don't know what to do without friends." "What do I do? You're used to no one liking you. I don't know what to do without friends."

Tia had shaken off the barb with a toss of her head. "Pretend you're me, a wild pirate child more fleet of foot and deft of hand than any sailor who scaled the masts. You need no one, but seeing your fearsome, spirited ways, they will clamor back to you, seeking your favor." "Pretend you're me, a wild pirate child more fleet of foot and deft of hand than any sailor who scaled the masts. You need no one, but seeing your fearsome, spirited ways, they will clamor back to you, seeking your favor."

It had worked, and in the ruthless way of children, Rachel had no further need of Tia Manning.

Closing her eyes, she emptied herself now and listened, confident that her words would give this caller comfort and courage, while in the back of her mind a voice cried hypocrite. She gave callers hope, helped them forgive others and themselves, yet she could not free herself. No-would not.

Jonah roughed up his hair and stood. His knees felt creaky from sitting so long, but he'd been able to concentrate without being called out more than a handful of times. He checked his watch. Officer Donnelly was late. Jonah frowned. He didn't run things with a heavy hand but expected punctuality. Newly, McCarthy, and even the rookie, Beatty, were fairly reliable. Moser ran like a clock, but Sue ...

She rushed in, snapping on her weapon belt. "Sorry. Sorry, Jonah. I had to get Eli to his grandma's."

"Where's Sam?"

"He had a conflict."

Normally he'd let it go at that, but Ruth's comment had stuck. "Of the bender sort?"

She looked up, startled, then down. "He's not drunk."

"Pot? Blow?"

She shrugged.

"Meth?"

"I don't know, Jonah."

"Where's he getting it?"

"He won't say. Obviously." She straightened her shirt. "Anyway, I'm here."

"Need a few minutes to get yourself together?"

"No." She smoothed her hands over her short brown hair and fixed him with her quick, sparrow eyes. "Just fill me in."

She looked a little green by the time he'd finished, though the bulge in her stomach might account for that. He wondered how long she would wait to tell him. Maternity leave would stretch her finances, especially if Sam was using-unless of course he was producing his own.

Time to let the racc.o.o.ns go. He had a string of petty burglaries and an encroaching drug situation that could be related. The worst used to be marijuana possession. Less than an ounce kept it local; more went to the county. Lately worse substances had been creeping in.

Annexing the Pine Crest development of mansions, golf courses, shops, and amenities east along Kicking Horse Creek-not to mention the soon-to-open ski resort-would raise the population and more than triple the average income if it went through. He hoped, as the council had opined, that the changes would all be for the good. But rising revenues did not guarantee an increase in his staff or budget. All depended on who grabbed first and held on hardest.

He went to the school, used his key to enter the weight room, pumped iron to the point of fatigue, then showered and let himself out. All the officers had this benefit, a thank-you for the work they did keeping the combination elementary, middle, and high school as safe as any in the state. So far they didn't have to work too hard, but he'd glimpsed the first stirrings of gang activity and would not allow it a foothold.

From the early childhood safety programs to middle-school character training and gang awareness courses, he would fight for them. He and his officers served as resources to high-school students and officials in ways he had to believe were making a difference. If he encountered a kid presenting the evidence of abuse that he had, he would not look the other way, no matter who the parents were.

Things happened despite his vigilance, but he did his best. He might have gone into the job for the wrong reasons, but he was made for it. Even off duty, he could be reached at all times, and everyone knew it. It lent him an aura of omniscience if not omnipotence. A strong presence discouraged mischief, true in spite of the man he'd learned it from.

A pride of young males mouthed off to one another on a street corner as he approached, then demonstrated exaggerated bonhomie when he drew abreast. Bunch of goons. He raised a hand, and three of them waved. A glance in his rearview caught one of them with a one-finger salute. He could make it an issue, but the kid was only trying to gain stature with the group, not easy at five feet six with a geeky haircut and a mouthful of braces.

Up ahead, a car rolled past the stop sign, then jerked to a stop when the driver saw his Bronco. Jonah shot him a glance as he pa.s.sed. The scare of almost getting caught should make the guy respect intersections for a week or two. Redford had only one light, the rest four-way stops. Most people treated the signs like neighbors to nod at.

He normally ate at home, but tonight he pulled into the back parking lot at Bailey's Diner. Breathing the exhaust of charred grease and beef juices, he walked around to the front. Behind the see-through, Richie Bailey looked up from sc.r.a.ping the grill and acknowledged him with a chin bob. Jonah raised a hand, then took a seat at a red Naugahyde booth.

Once upon a time, Richie Bailey had tormented him regularly. Two incarcerations for a.s.sault cured his bullying, but you never knew what simmered underneath. Did he take it out on animals in the woods? He looked around the room. Had someone else in there tortured those two racc.o.o.ns? What did that kind of crazy look like?

Libby Gabaroni slapped down a napkin roll and gave him a grin, no doubt recalling their wrangling behind the high-school gym. Her bouncy bust had amazed him then. Now she took jigglers to a whole new realm.

Jonah opened the menu and chose the burger that topped the list, a half-pound beef patty with pickles, onion, and mustard-no ketchup, they knew. He sipped the icy c.o.ke she brought a few minutes later and tuned in to the conversations around him. The booths were low and good for eavesdropping, not that people hushed up around him anyway, not the way a room had gone silent when the former police chief walked in-people sitting a little straighter, clearing their throats as though they could sc.r.a.pe out anything he might not want to hear.

People nodded and waved, but no one slid in to chat. Jonah swallowed the last of his burger and wiped his mouth. Libby had kept him supplied with refills, but he put a hand over his gla.s.s and asked for the check. She had it ready in her pocket, and he handed over the total plus tip.

She looked at the money in her hand. "You want change?"

It's yours.

She blushed. "No need to hurry out, you know."

He nodded but got up as soon as she had cleared the way. Hanging around would send her a message he didn't want to send.

"Chief."

He turned at the tug on his sleeve.

Merv Brothers pressed a key into his palm. "This'll get you into the you-know-what. You take a look, and tell me there isn't something funny going on."

"How'd you get the key?"

Merv raised pale blue eyes in his whisker-studded, leathery face. "Gave it to me himself, long time ago, when we were speakin'." He ran a hand over his wispy hair. "You watch yourself going in. He says it's wired to blow. Might be for alls I know."

"He told you the shed is wired?"

"He could be lyin'."

"I'd still need a warrant to look without permission. But I'll hold on to this." If Tom Caldwell had b.o.o.by-trapped the shed between their properties, he didn't want Merv deciding to sneak in himself. "I'll go by and talk to him."

Merv shook his head. "Won't do a spit of good. He'll jump your throat like a junkyard dog sayin' what's his business is none of yours."

"Well, I have to follow protocol." He pocketed the key. "But I'll look into it." He'd made it to the door with Merv still at his elbow.

"Take my word for it. You oughta have you a look without getting his back up."

"I'll do my best." He pa.s.sed through the door and left Merv rubbing his jaw. He avoided neighbor disputes as much as he could. Open that door and he'd have a continuous stream of whiners. In this case Merv had shared some troubling observations, and it wouldn't hurt to check it out, but not tonight.

Since the officers on duty had the patrol cars, Jonah took his Bronco down the mountain. He had shampooed the upholstery, cutting the stink in half, but only time would fully eradicate it. The medical center that served the surrounding region was about a fifty-minute drive away, so there was no chance he'd hold his breath. Helicopter could make it in twenty, but most people requiring that lift were taken farther down to a larger, better-equipped hospital. It was good Sarge remained at Tri-County-though the staff might disagree. His hollering carried all the way down the hall.

When would Sarge stop needing to give the orders? Jonah stepped into the room. The corners of the old man's lips were white with spit as he reprimanded the nurse who depressed the syringe into his IV. She said nothing, but the tight line of her mouth gave her away.

"Hey, Sarge." Jonah said. "Why're you giving the nurse a hard time?"

She looked up with a little hitch. Sometimes it was about the uniform, but he'd changed clothes before coming. Her cheeks flushed. "Are you a relative?" She meant, Could you possibly be related to this mean, cantankerous, old snake? Could you possibly be related to this mean, cantankerous, old snake?

"Just friends."

An even greater shock. Familial duty she could understand, but voluntary friendship? The nurse gathered the sterile wrappers and discarded the needle. "That should calm you down, Mr. Beaker."

"Sergeant," he growled. "It's Sergeant Beaker." But whatever she'd laced his IV with had softened his fangs.

"It will also help with the spasms." She cast Jonah a smile, the sway of her slim hips in pastel scrubs just enough to show she wasn't all work. "Stay as long as you like, but he'll get dozy."

Jonah nodded and took the seat beside Sarge.

He snarled. "What are you gawping at?"

"One stubborn old goat."

Sarge raised his hands. "I'd like to get these around her little neck."

"The nurse?"

"Not the nurse. That one who tricked me into hiring her."

Jonah crossed his arms. "Why would you want to strangle Piper?"

"For sending me here when it was nothing more than-"

"Sarge, let them decide."

"And just what do you think they can do for me?"

Good point. The way Sarge was twisted up, all sorts of things could be pinched and impinged. He didn't suppose they could put a knee to his back and pull him up straight. "If it's bad enough to lay you out, it's time to have it checked."

"I'm seventy-four years old. I'll decide when I need it checked."

"This spasm had you speechless. We thought you'd had a stroke. Probably scared Piper to death, not hearing you shout."

Sarge tried not to smile, which didn't improve the shape of his mouth. "Who's going to manage the store while I'm lying here?"

"Piper handled things today."

"Hah." Sarge glowered.

"Not as efficiently as two of you together, but people will understand."

"They'll understand me right out of business."

"Now Sarge."

The old man jammed a finger at him. "She serve anything new?"

"What?"

"Try to push her creations on my customers?"

Jonah shrugged. "I think she just tried to keep up. You're lucky to have her."

"Lucky!" Sarge honked through his nose, but his eyes were drooping. "Say that again, and I'll ... buzz my pretty nurse to ... throw you out."

Jonah laughed. "I can think of worse things."

"I'll bet you can."

"You should take advantage of a little downtime. When's the last time you took leave?"

Sergeant Beaker didn't answer. By the snore that resonated through his commodious nose, the Sarge was at ease. Jonah watched him. He didn't know what could be done for the man. Maybe nothing. But peaceful sleep and relief from pain were sometimes as good as it got.

He flipped through a magazine for the better part of an hour to see if Sarge came to, then went out. Sarge's nurse-Lauren on the name tag-was leaning against a wall, talking with another whose thin, pale ponytail accentuated a broad, pinkish face. The first turned smoky gray eyes on him, her light brown hair clipped back haphazardly.

He paused in pa.s.sing. "Sarge is ... used to being in charge."

She gave her long lashes a slow blink. "It's the pain. He let it go too long."

"He won't admit that."

"He's not the first. Men that age are so reluctant to admit they need help. It's like a badge of honor or something." A hint of dimples indented her cheeks. "Did you come far to see him?"

"Down from Redford."

"You must know him well."

"I do." Sarge had slipped him rolls and raisin buns when it was obvious he'd gone hungry. Not because his family had no means, but as another form of discipline-the sober form that masqueraded as character development but was just as mean as beating.

She slid her hands into her pockets. "I'm taking my break. Want to fill me in over coffee?"

He hesitated, then shrugged. "Sure."

As they moved down the hall to the break room, he described Sarge's military service, then his opening the bakery and the years he'd served the town fresh bread and pastries. "He's a master of efficiency, and anything that curtails him is unbearable."