Jesse showered and changed into his uniform, thankful Sheriff had given him some leeway on his hours while he worked through his list, his…therapy. It still grated on his ego. He could have taken sleeping pills or drank enough bourbon each night to put him out for a few hours. But that wouldn’t change anyone’s mind about him. Memories ran too deep to be forgotten. Already, though, he’d seen changes in two people towards him. He’d also had a few decent nights’ worth of sleep – four hours straight wasn’t ideal, but it was a start.
He guessed he had Leigh to thank for it. He latched his duty belt, smiling as he remembered her in the car watching him last week. She denied it, but he knew a stakeout when he saw one. Could it be that she liked what she saw? He’d never thought that highly of himself, but he knew he had an above-average physique. The city cops spent too much time and money at the donut shop. He kept fit so he could chase after criminals without wheezing and tripping over his two fat feet.
Then a sobering thought hit him. What if she was watching him to make sure he wasn’t just faking it, or worse yet, hurting someone else? Most likely, she had simply happened upon him and wanted to see his therapy in action. Whatever the case, it didn’t help his self-image. Leigh Meriwether was his counselor. Nothing more.
He dragged into the sheriff’s department at the historic county courthouse at 9:07. It sat in the middle of the town square, once the center of activity in Beach Pointe. Not anymore. Besides a tattoo parlor and a pet grooming shop, the only action came from the law offices and bail bond service.
Clara, the ancient office manager, was printing out a car registration form for a woman who waited patiently on the other side of the counter.
She peered up at Jesse over her horn-rimmed glasses. “You’re late.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He took off his hat and hung it on the rack behind the front counter.
“Hope you wore a condom.” She handed the form to the red-faced, wide-eyed woman, who promptly turned on her heel and left.
“This isn’t the place to be discussing con—” He stopped short, not wanting to encourage her. “That.”
“Didn’t need ‘em back in my day. Young men knew how to keep their d—”
“Clara!” Sheriff stepped out of his office, yelled, and stomped his foot at the half-deaf woman. “Get some coffee going!”
Clara frowned at him, slowly unfolding herself from the chair. She mumbled something that sounded like jackass and shuffled toward the coffee station.
“What’s eatin’ you?” Sheriff greeted Jesse as he headed for the water cooler. He got a cup of water, then casually draped his arm over the tank, one ankle crossed over the other. At least he was in a better mood than he was last week after the pig fiasco. He gulped down some water and got a refill.
“Nothing. I’m fine.” Jesse got a paper cup and filled it. He wasn’t really thirsty, but needed something to occupy his hands while he conversed with his boss.
“You look like you lost a kitten. Did one of those little furballs die?”
“No.”
“Hmm.” Sheriff shrugged and sat back in his chair, hands crossed over his generous belly. “How’s therapy going?”
“All right, I guess.”
“Listen, Maddox, I’m not about to ask you for details. That’s between you and your doc. But I think I deserve to know whether my best—and only—deputy is getting the help he needs.”
Jesse swirled the water in his paper cup. He took a sip, resting his arm casually on top of the tank like Sheriff did. “Do you know anything about Leigh Meriwether?”
“She your therapist?”
Jesse nodded. “Counselor, she said.”
“Oh.” Sheriff shrugged. “Her family’s lived here for a long time. Good people. Interracial couple, so they’ve had their share of controversy. I reckon they homeschooled Leigh, and she went off to college then came back here to work. That’s about all I know.”
He thought about the picture he’d seen in Leigh’s office. He didn’t know her dad that much, though he did give him a good deal on his truck, and he had nothing but respect for Leigh’s mom. She had a real heart for animals, especially cats, like he did. Pity she had to work as a vet tech for Jack, his high falutin’ brother. But Jo Meriwether being married to a white man didn’t bother him in the least. Other folks around here had some backwards ideas. Yes, he’d been a real asswipe, but he’d never been a racist asswipe.
“Is that why they homeschooled her?” Jesse asked. “Because of folks giving them a hard time?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t even know they had a daughter until she came back here to work for Doc Gadbury. How’s she treating you? Good, I hope.”
“Yeah, it’s okay. I’m sleeping a little more.”
“Sounds like an improvement. When’s your next appointment?”
“This afternoon at one o’clock.”
Sheriff puffed out his cheeks and let out a slow breath. “All right. Things are pretty slow around here. Just keep your cell phone handy.”
“I will. Do you think Leigh knows about…you know?”
“Has she mentioned it?”
“No.”
“Then don’t worry about it. It’s up to you how much you want to tell her. I can’t guarantee she won’t hear it from someone else, but you can cross that bridge when you get there.”
Jesse nodded. He threw a nervous glance at Clara as she filled the coffee filter with Folgers, spilling grounds all over the table with her shaky hand. She knew about everything that had happened when Jesse was a kid. He suspected that was why Sheriff put up with her all these years.
****
Patrolling the outskirts of Beach Pointe wasn’t difficult. Jesse could see the whole county two times over within a few hours. Most days, things were relatively quiet. There were always some flat tires or broken-down cars with distraught soccer moms who were late for their kid’s dance class or some such thing. Then there were the occasional speeders, like the red blur that just zoomed by him while he clocked traffic from the Pinch-a-Penny parking lot.
Jesse turned on his siren and sped off after the offender, catching up to him on the bypass. The car, a well-maintained second gen Camaro, slowed down and pulled onto the shoulder. Jesse parked behind him and approached the vehicle, ticket book in hand.
The driver’s window was down, his hands on the steering wheel. A gold watch glinted in the morning sun.
“Good morning. Do you know how fast you were going, sir?” Jesse asked. The question had become so automatic, he didn’t realize who was behind the wheel until the last word fell from his lips.
“Mornin’, Deputy. Was I speeding?” Bobby Simpson, retired pastor of the First Methodist Church of God, grinned up at him. The retired preacher had to be in his eighties, a little hunchbacked, but still spry as a young rooster. He had a thick head of white hair slicked back with a generous swipe of Brylcreem.
Jesse remembered many a sermon he sat through as a kid, with this man raining down fire and brimstone from the pulpit. He was also number six on his list.
Though he hadn’t meant to do this thing out of order, he figured he might as well take this opportunity to scratch off another name. He pocketed his ticket book. “I’ll let you off this time, preacher. Just take it easy on the gas pedal, please.”
“Well, that’s awfully kind of you, Deputy.”
“Also, I want to apologize for the stuff I did as a kid.”
Bobby scrunched his wrinkled brow and tilted his head to one side. Great—the poor fella didn’t even remember. It would have been so easy to just walk away and leave him to his senile memory. He was already letting the old preacher off easy. But damn it, he remembered his apology to Garrett and knew he had to be specific, or it really wouldn’t count.
He took off his hat and inhaled an exhaust-laden breath. “I’m sorry for the dead possum I hid in the pulpit, and for setting all your hay bales on fire, and for the naked woman I spray painted on the church siding.”
“Oh!” The preacher’s confusion melted into a chuckle. “I remember that now. It was a picture of Hazel, lying back like a Playboy model.” He held up his hands to illustrate her figure. “Really big t—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jesse interrupted. Hazel, the preacher’s wife, had been deceased for many years, or she would have been on his list, too. “I’m also sorry for painting devil horns on your mailbox.”
“Well, I never knew who that was. I remember thinking if that artist would apply himself to something good, he could be another da Vinci.”
“I’m no da Vinci, but I’m sorry anyway.”
“Don’t you worry about it. The past is the past. I’ve got a breakfast date to get to.”
“Who’s the lucky lady?”
“Sarah Jenkins.”
“All right, then. Be careful. Watch your speed.” Jesse wasn’t sure if it was irony or what, but he’d just mowed Mrs. Jenkins’s lawn. They weren’t spring chickens anymore, but if they felt well enough to date at this age, why not? He couldn’t help but smile.
Jesse tipped his hat and walked back to his patrol car. As soon as he sat down in the driver’s seat, the preacher’s Camaro roared to life and threw rocks and mud on his windshield. That old coot must have floored it. Mrs. Jenkins didn’t live far away. Hopefully he’d get there in one piece.
He decided to follow him just to be sure. But then the Camaro hit a big puddle and threw brown water all over someone on the sidewalk. The person froze in shock, then swiped the nastiness from her eyes. Her flowered, double-knit pantsuit was drenched and her Chihuahua dripping, barking furiously as it strained against the leash.
Good lord, it was Patty Burton, his former English teacher and number four on his list. He had barely passed her class. Even though he had put a pile of dog shit under her car seat, ran over her cat accidentally-on-purpose, and knocked her mailbox down numerous times, she had never given up on him.
Yep, that’d be the last time he let that old preacher off the hook.
He sighed and pulled over once more. “I guess I’ll have to buy her a new outfit and give her dog a bath.” This list business was getting complicated.