[Shelby Alexander 01.0] Serenity

by Craig A. Hart

  “How do you know I won’t just keep the money? It’s not likely you’ll check in with the sheriff to see if I’ve been snooping around.”

  Harper eyed him carefully. “I don’t think you’ll do that. But if you do, we’ll know about it. And we’ll give you a beating that’ll make the last one look like child’s play.”

  3

  Shelby slept little after Harper left, dozing off around seven a.m. and waking an hour later to the ringing of his cellphone. He looked at the screen. It was Leslie. He groaned. He wasn’t in the mood for any lectures. Although his relationship with his daughter was on much better footing than it had been in years past, it could still be tenuous and stormy.

  After he and Leslie’s mother had divorced, Leslie—like so many other kids from broken homes—had been caught in the middle of a battle between two adults who should have known better. Shelby fought for custody, but as an ex-fighter who had recently lost a highly publicized bout and was evasive about his new vocation, he was not deemed good parental material. The court sent Leslie to live with her mother. Helen let her emotions rule and used Leslie as her therapist as she grieved the loss of the marriage. Since Shelby wasn’t there to defend himself, he was always the fall guy during these sessions.

  Eventually, with the passage of time—not to mention the healing of a new relationship—Helen came to see the unfairness of this behavior, but the damage had been done. It took years for Leslie to even agree to speak with her father. She was now thirty, however, and had put much of that behind her, at least intellectually. But psychological wounds linger, and there were times when they spoke that Shelby still heard the old hard tone creep into her voice.

  Leslie’s current project was to get her parents back on friendly terms, Helen’s post-Shelby relationship having ended, and Shelby suspected that was the reason for her morning call. He wanted to ignore the buzzing cellphone, but he had made a rule to always answer Leslie’s calls. The years of silence had been difficult to take and he had no interest in jeopardizing it by something so petty as a missed phone call.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Leslie.”

  “You up?”

  “I’m talking.”

  “But I didn’t wake you?”

  “No, I was…making coffee.”

  “Go easy on the caffeine, Dad. Remember what your doctor said.”

  Shelby closed his eyes. Why in hell had he shared any information with her concerning his medical history? All he had done was mention he had gone to the doctor for a routine checkup and the doctor advised maybe cutting back on coffee. What Leslie heard was “one more cup will kill you” and now considered it her job to monitor his intake.

  “I’m making a single cup.”

  “Sure, Dad. You can’t make a single cup in your coffee maker. You’ll make a pot and end up drinking it. What you need is one of those single cup instant coffee makers.”

  “Aren’t those things bad for the environment? All those little pods? And they’re expensive.”

  “Exactly. Your frugality will limit your consumption. You may not listen to me, but I know you’ll listen to your bank account.”

  “Mom put you up to this?”

  “No. Mom still doesn’t care whether you live or die.”

  “Comforting to know some things never change.”

  “But they could, Dad. Have you thought any more about what we talked about last time?”

  “You mean what you talked about last time.”

  “About you and Mom?”

  “No. Because it’s silly. Your mother and I do not need to be friends. There is no conceivable reason why we would need to be in the same place at the same time.”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  “Not many. Besides, we’ve become comfortable with our mutual dislike of each other. Why this sudden interest in your mother and me becoming friends?”

  “Can’t a child want their parents to be friends, if nothing else?”

  “It’s weird. You’re up to something.”

  Leslie huffed. “You’re way too suspicious these days.”

  “I know my daughter. How does your mother feel about this?” Shelby cursed himself for asking. The inquiry would make Leslie think he was interested.

  “I’m still working on her.”

  “I know what that means.”

  “Okay, and what does it mean, smarty?”

  “That I’m safe.”

  “You’re not nice.”

  “Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

  “Don’t drink all that coffee.”

  “Love you.”

  “Sure, Dad. Love you too.”

  Shelby disconnected with a warmness in his chest. It wasn’t long ago Leslie began saying “I love you” again, and every time, it was the best thing he’d ever heard. The parent-child relationship was so ridiculous. His mind flashed back to when Leslie was a baby, then a toddler, then a teen. One minute you were sure all you needed in life to be fulfilled was this tiny version of yourself. And the next you completely understood why parents murdered their children. He huffed, smiled, and shook his head at the absurdity of life.

  “And speaking of life,” he muttered, “it’s time to get back to mine.”

  Shelby wasn’t sure what to make of Harper’s visit or how he felt about being hired by the Ellis family. But money was money and later that morning, he went into town to deposit the cash and talk with the sheriff. He had to admit Jenny’s death had set off a small warning bell in his mind. It didn’t seem likely she had gotten lost and froze to death. The Ellis kids, like most children in the area, grew up in the woods and along the lakes. The great outdoors was as natural to them as their own homes. Getting lost was not something of great concern. The few searches over the last ten years had been conducted for kids of tourists who had come up north to play at being rustic. These were the same idiots who fed the grizzlies at Yellowstone. Natural selection. Whatever else they might be, the Ellises knew the outdoors—and this area especially—like the backs of their hands.

  The town was quiet when Shelby pulled up in front of the sheriff’s office and got out of his old Jeep. He walked up to the door and stepped inside, pausing to knock the snow from his boots.

  “May I help you?”

  Shelby looked up in surprise.

  “Oh, hello. Sorry. I’m not used to there being a receptionist here.”

  “I started last month. Sheriff Wilkes brought me on.”

  The receptionist looked familiar. Shelby frowned, trying to place the face. It must have been obvious.

  “It’s Kylie,” the receptionist said. “I used to wait tables at the Barn Door.”

  “Ah, yes. That’s where I’ve seen you. Congrats on the new job.”

  “Thanks, I really like it. I don’t get nearly as many slaps on the ass here.”

  “I’d imagine not.”

  “Can I help you?”

  “Is the sheriff in?”

  “No, Sheriff Wilkes is making his rounds.”

  “His rounds?”

  “That’s what he calls it. He makes a circuit around the town and county roads to make sure everything is shipshape.”

  “Isn’t there a deputy for that?”

  “Oh, he’s out too.”

  “Things are a little different around here since Sheriff Adams left.”

  “Sheriff Wilkes believes in making this a real smooth operation.”

  “Good for him. Say, do you know when he might return from his…rounds?”

  “I couldn’t say, sir.”

  “It’s Shelby.”

  “Sheriff Wilkes wants me to call everyone ‘sir.’”

  “Ah. Even the women?”

  “No, sir. I call them ‘ma’am.’”

  His humor lost on Kylie, Shelby nodded. “Sounds logical. I guess I’ll check in later.”

  “Should I tell the sheriff you stopped in?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll check in later.”r />
  “Okay. Good-bye, sir.”

  Shelby left the sheriff’s office feeling a bit depressed. Things were changing, that much Harper had been right about. And it didn’t seem right. A receptionist? Sir? Ma’am? Rounds? What the hell was this town coming to? Before long, it would be downright civilized.

  He walked across the street to the bank, deposited his money—skillfully avoiding any small town questions from the teller—and walked back to his Jeep. A glance around the side of the sheriff’s department building revealed a patrol car in the lot. He walked back inside.

  “Is Sheriff Wilkes back yet? I saw a patrol car.”

  “No, sir,” Kylie said. “That’s Deputy Stevens. He’s in the back doing paperwork.”

  “Great. I’ll go back and say hello.”

  Shelby started through the door to the back of the office. Kylie jumped from her chair and came scuttling around the partition to block his way.

  “I’m sorry, sir. Sheriff Wilkes doesn’t want the general public to have access to the rear of the office.”

  “Look…Kylie, is it? I don’t want to discourage you, but you may be taking your job a little too seriously. I only want to talk to Deputy Stevens. I’ve known him for quite some time.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. Sheriff Wilkes was very clear—”

  “It’s okay, Kylie. You can let Mr. Alexander through.” Deputy Stevens stuck his head around a cubicle wall near the back of the office.

  “I don’t think Sheriff Wilkes would approve,” Kylie said.

  Stevens raised an eyebrow, but Kylie stood her ground. Finally, he sighed and stood up. He walked to the reception area.

  “I was going for coffee anyway,” he said. He looked at Shelby. “Care to join me?”

  Shelby nodded.

  As they left, Shelby paused and said, “Oh, Kylie, you can give Sheriff Wilkes a message for me this time.”

  “Of course, sir.” Kylie eagerly grabbed a pen and waited, ready to take important dictation.

  He gave Kylie a tight smile. “Tell him I stopped by to help get the stick out of his ass.”

  4

  “Sheriff Wilkes seems to be making quite an impression,” Shelby said once he and Deputy Stevens had received their coffee.

  “He’s something of a crusader. Young guy, younger than me, and eager. You know the type.”

  “I know it. And hate it.”

  “Shockingly naïve for a sheriff, but that’ll change with age.”

  “How’d he get the gig?”

  “Who knows? Maybe no one else wanted it, which is entirely possible, or his daddy knows someone, which is even more possible.”

  “Have you warned him towns like this don’t change easily? Especially not at the behest of an outsider?”

  Stevens shrugged. “I’ve mentioned it. But I haven’t wasted a lot of breath. His type doesn’t listen. He’ll have to find out for himself.”

  “I’m guessing that’ll happen the first time he tangles with the Ellis clan,” Shelby said, sipping his coffee.

  “Maybe. Although they’ve been quiet. Wilkes put them on notice last month when he arrested Scott Ellis on drug charges. Looks like it might be a conviction too.”

  “Scott was always on the edge. Careless, stupid kid.”

  “I wondered if you’d start asking questions about the Ellises,” Stevens said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Jenny dying at your place.”

  “Accidental death, I thought your sheriff said.”

  “He’s not my sheriff. I don’t own him.”

  “You work for him.”

  “Doesn’t mean I like everything the man does or agree with everything he says.”

  “And Jenny?”

  “It’s a strange thing.”

  “You don’t think it was an accident?”

  “I saw the report.”

  “Report?”

  “She was struck on the head.”

  “I didn’t see any blood. Of course, I was more concerned with warming her up.”

  “Internal, mostly. She was probably unconscious for a while in the woods and stumbled onto your place by accident. Likely didn’t even know where she was. Maybe attracted by the light on your barn.”

  “Struck on the head. Accidental?”

  “Wilkes thinks so.”

  “And you?”

  “There’s no way to know. Could be. Could be someone clocked her one, although I don’t know anyone who’d want to hurt Jenny.”

  Shelby toyed with telling Stevens the whole story. He’d known the deputy for years. He considered the man a friend. Something, client loyalty to Harper Ellis or his own gut, prevented him from speaking. The idea of someone accidentally hitting themselves on the head hard enough to cause a period of unconsciousness seemed unlikely. It wasn’t impossible, of course. It had happened before. But it didn’t feel right. Admittedly, he had inside information, namely Harper’s own hypothesis, and that might be clouding his judgment, but he didn’t think so.

  “Any chance I could grab the report?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “That’s new. Wilkes?”

  “He’s not big on transparency.”

  “He’s going to be a pain in the ass, isn’t he?”

  Stevens smiled and stood up. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Seems like I paid last time.”

  “Keep it up and maybe one day we’ll be even.”

  Stevens drained the rest of his drink, tossed the cup in a nearby trashcan, and walked from the coffee shop. Shelby grinned at the deputy’s throwaway line, an allusion to a time when Shelby had been much harder up for cash than he was these days, after his boxing career had ended in a disastrous fight that cost him a million dollars and a chance at a championship. His stomach still clenched when he thought of it, even though it had been many years ago. He watched through the window as Stevens crossed the street and went into the sheriff’s office. The deputy was a good man, sometimes too good, and had stood by Shelby at his lowest hour. But it was always a friendship that walked a fine line, especially since Shelby’s own work had taken him along the razor’s edge between legality and otherwise, sometimes stepping just over the line. Shelby was uncomfortably aware that one day he and Stevens could easily end up on opposite sides of the same problem. And now, with a stickler like Wilkes in charge, that day seemed more likely than ever. His friend Carly, bartender at the Barn Door, had long predicted such a clash and more than once advised Shelby to put distance between himself and Stevens. But then, Carly had reasons of her own to dislike the law.

  Thinking of Carly made Shelby restless and, since the Barn Door didn’t open for some time yet, he decided to drive to her house. She likely had a bottle stashed somewhere and wouldn’t judge him for the hour.

  5

  Carly answered the door in her robe and nothing else. The sash hung loose and the robe was open at the front.

  “You should be careful opening the door like that,” Shelby said, taking in the sight of her full breasts and sprinkling of dark pubic hair. “Next time, it might not be me.”

  “Maybe that’s what I was hoping for,” Carly said, flashing him a saucy grin. “A frisky young parcel delivery man, a robust electrician. Maybe someone here to check the meter.”

  “You’ve been reading too many erotic novels. And I resent the reference to a ‘young’ parcel delivery man.”

  “A woman can’t have fantasies? Men are never judged for having younger partners. Look at us.”

  “Of course women can have fantasies. I can’t help but feel that remark was aimed at me.”

  “Sounds like something an old man would say.”

  Shelby smiled wryly. “Ouch. Okay, you win. But don’t think men never get judged for dating younger women. I’ve had my share.”

  “Around here?”

  “It’s a small town. And traditional, by today’s standards.”

  “Maybe I tuned it out,” Carly said. “You hear a lot of shit tendin
g bar. In one ear and out the other. Still, if our roles were reversed, you know shit would hit the fan. If an older woman dates a young man, people say she’s desperate and pathetic. If an older man dates a young woman, people say he’s skilled and successful.”

  “Maybe that’s because the only old men young women will date are skilled and successful.”

  “Don’t start with me, Shelby. I’m not in the mood to debate women’s rights with you.”

  “Good, because that’s not what I’m here for.”

  “It’s a little early for sex. For me, anyway. I was never a fan of morning sex. I have a thing against halitosis.”

  “You can relax, because I’m not here for sex either.”

  “You want a drink, then.”

  “I’d take one, sure.”

  “I knew it.”

  “But I was also wondering if you’d seen any new folks at the Barn Door lately.”

  Carly considered while she poured his drink. “What’s lately?”

  “A couple of weeks.”

  “Sure, there’ve been a few. Not that many, not this time of year. That changes nearer to tourist season, but right now, it’s mostly regulars.”

  “Any of the new faces stand out? Anybody acting strange?”

  “No. Not that I can think of. What’s this all about, Shelby?”

  Shelby thought about making up a story, but he never lied to Carly. That was one thing, besides the sex, that made their relationship special to him. He was not the sort of man who confided in anyone. People couldn’t be trusted. But he trusted Carly and she gave him a place to vent and unburden himself. He joked that she saved him thousands of dollars in therapy bills, a quip she never found funny.

  “Harper Ellis came to see me yesterday.”

  “Ellis. What’d he want?”

  “It was about Jenny. He doesn’t think her death was accidental.”

  “Sounds like the authorities think it was.”

  “She was hit on the head. Probably unconscious for a while before wandering around in a bit of a daze.”

  “And someone had a hand in it?”