by Kimbra Swain
“Grace, I’m not sure I can get you out of this one,” he said.
“What does she have on me?” I asked.
“Your hair on both children. Fingerprints in the area,” he said.
“Fingerprints? From a forest? How does that not scream frame job?” I asked.
“It does, but we are in small town America. They just want to blame someone. They are blaming the local psychic who lives in a trailer and seduced the Sheriff to cover up her murderous intentions,” he said. It sounded like a topic on a daytime trash talk show. Grace Ann Bryant, you are the killer.
“As long as Sheriff Riggs isn’t blamed, I don’t care what they do. I didn’t kill those children,” I said.
“I think it would be best that you didn’t speak to Sheriff Riggs again,” he said.
“I told him to go away. Isn’t that enough?” I asked as tears started to well up. Suck it up, Buttercup, I told myself. This was always how it ends. Some supernatural nitwit finds out about the local fairy, stirs up shit, and I have to move.
“The judge will be in soon to set bail. I’ll get you out as soon as I can. The guard outside is checking the suitcase I brought for you. It has a clean set of clothes and toiletries in it,” he said.
“They aren’t going to let me out,” I replied.
“They will set bail, and I’ll suggest an ankle monitoring device,” he said knowing that I could easily scramble the circuits on such a device. If anything, Lysander was a good lawyer. Most good lawyers were pompous liars. Lysander lived by the rule of feeding the judge to get what he wanted.
“Okay,” I said. “Who is this A.B.I. woman? What is she, I should say?”
“I’ll look into it,” he said.
Later that day, I stood before a judge, and as Lysander promised, they set bail at $1 million dollars. They fitted me with the ankle device, warning me not to leave my home. Mr. Lysander drove me home followed by a deputy. He reiterated my father’s wishes for me to return to the Otherworld. I took one look at that double-wide with the dachshund on the porch, and the tall brooding changeling in the yard waiting for me.
“Tell Daddy to stop asking,” I said slamming the car door behind me.
“Welcome home,” Levi said, hugging me.
“I stink, and I need a shower,” I said.
“I agree,” he said. I poked him in the ribs.
“That’s for being rude!” He laughed at me as I picked up a wiggly Rufus, letting him lick my face. “Okay that’s enough, dog,” I said, putting him down.
I slouched down in my recliner. Rufus hopped in my lap and settled.
“There’s no place like home,” Levi said. “Even if it is a double-wide.”
“I agree,” I said.
He went to the fridge, took out two orange sodas, popping the top of one to give to me. It fizzed down my throat. I moaned, because I wasn’t sure I’d ever tasted anything so good in my life. You cannot underestimate the power of orange soda.
“I thought you were going to get a shower,” he said.
“I am in a minute. Thank you, Levi, for what you did in the parking lot. It was wrong of me to ask you to do it,” I said.
“No, it was wrong that I enjoyed it,” he muttered.
“That’s just the fairy in you talking. Every time you kiss or touch someone, your hormones will go into overdrive. You’ll keep this same young male libido for as long as you live,” I said.
“Wait? The tingly feeling when I kissed you and Lisette. That’s actually me?” he asked.
“Yes, pretty much will feel like that whoever you kiss,” I replied.
“Great. That’s why I was attracted to Lisette. The tingle. None of the other girls in high school felt like that though,” he said. “Does it feel like that for you too?”
“You probably hadn’t matured into your Fae self then. Jeremiah said you were a late bloomer, and I just thought he meant magic. Yes, although I’ve gotten used to it over the years. I just avoid relationships because I can never tell what’s real and what isn’t,” I said.
“Have you talked to Jeremiah again?” he asked.
“No, have you?”
“Why should I? It’s not like I can go back with him,” he said.
“True. I just wondered if he was okay,” I said. “You poor thing, you just need to get laid. You sure you don’t want me to call you a girl?”
“No,” he replied quickly. “Grace, how am I supposed to know if I’m in love?”
“When I figure that one out for myself, I’ll let you know,” I said entering my bedroom. I shut the door just before stripping out of the clothes that my lawyer brought for the arraignment hearing. It was some designer pantsuit. I missed my cut-off jeans and tank tops.
I walked into the bathroom, flicking on the light. Putting his hand over my mouth before I screamed, Dylan stood there staring at me. His eyes pleaded with me. I nodded at him, and he handed me a towel, since I was completely naked.
“You should not be here,” I said.
“Tell me you did it on purpose for me,” he said.
“Did what?”
“Made out with Levi in the parking lot at the Food Mart,” he prompted.
“What a ridiculous notion. I made out with Levi because he’s young and good in bed. If your law dogs hadn’t hauled me down to jail, I would have come back here and fucked him good,” I replied. My lying skills faded after living in the real world for so long. Plus his instincts as a cop could pick out a liar a mile away. He just stared at me waiting for the truth. “If you don’t leave, your career will be over.”
“It’s already over. I quit after they promised my lawyer that they wouldn’t charge me with anything pertaining to you or the kids,” he said.
“No,” I whimpered, stepping away from him into the wall behind me.
“Now, tell me, you did it for me,” he said.
“Doesn’t matter if I did or not. I failed,” I said, and I couldn’t look at him.
“It’s kinda crazy that I find it incredibly hot that you would make out with another guy to save my job,” he said as he traced my cheek with his warm hand.
“What?”
“You heard me,” he said.
“No, Dylan Riggs, you get out of my house. That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” I said.
“I couldn’t leave if I wanted to leave. They are watching the trailer,” he said. Noticing how uncomfortable I was, he moved to leave the bathroom. “Get a shower, and we can talk about it. I can tell you everything I know about the kids, and we can find the real killer.” The door clicked behind him as he left.
“This could not be any more fucked up,” I said.
“Get a shower!” he said.
“Bless your heart, Dylan Riggs!” I shouted.
I wrapped the robe around me, holding it closed because I couldn’t find the belt for it. Mr. Sandy Hair laid on my bed in loose blue jeans and a blue t-shirt. His shadow of a beard had grown in more, and it aged him. He was 35, but could pass for mid-20s if he shaved the beard. I knew that he worked out to stay in shape for his job, plus like any cop, he liked doughnuts so he did it to compensate. I had hired him to cut my grass just so I could watch him pace my yard shirtless.
He and I were friends long before I slept with him. Part of my contract with the Sanhedrin included helping law enforcement with supernatural cases. Once Dylan realized my capabilities, he called me for just about everything. Sometimes it was just a phone call to consult. Other times it was full-blown field work.
The day he called me to help find a missing elderly man I told him that he called me too much.
“You make it easy, Grace. I suppose I'm cheating, but I like that we are helping people,” he said after we loaded the gentleman in a cruiser, sending him back to his worried caretaker.
“If you keep it up, someone will notice and start to question our relationship,” I said. “Business relationship.”
“Thanks for the clarification, Grace,” he said bitterly.
“Hey, none of that. You are a happily settled man,” I replied. I stood shin deep in the creek where we found the man. It was his favorite fishing spot. Unfortunately, it was about 15 miles from his caretaker, and we weren't sure how he made it this far away.
“I’m just settled. Grace, get out of that water. I'll take you back to your truck,” he said standing on the bank.
“Let me stand here a minute. Better yet, take your shoes off and stand with me!” The water cooled by a nearby natural spring felt good in the late summer heat. In Alabama, we had summer, late summer, a week of fall, a relapse of summer and then winter which might last three weeks total.
I was wearing a white gauzy skirt, so I tied it up at my hip so it wouldn't get wet. The sandals I wore sat on the bank. I kicked a small bit of water at him, and he backed away with a scowl.
“Grace, stop. I'm working,” he said.
“Who pissed in your cheerios this morning?” I asked.
“Nobody. Come on. I gotta get back,” he said, holding his hand out to help me back to the bank.
“No, not until you tell me why your panties are in a wad,” I replied, crossing my arms. He obviously had something bothering him. He was a good guy, and I enjoyed working with him more than I expected. I had dreaded the idea of working with the cops, but Sheriff Dylan Riggs was the exception. Plus, he was cute even when he was grumpy. He turned sideways, hitching his hands on his hips. I wasn’t going to give up on him, because he clearly needed to talk.
“It's not work related,” he said trying to get me to let it go. It only piqued my interest. He rarely talked about his live-in girlfriend.
“Maybe I could help. I have lived on this earth for a while, plus I know a few things about women,” I replied.
“I don't want to talk about it,” he said. “Please, Grace, let's go.”
I sighed, stepping out if the creek. Slipping my sandals back on and releasing the knot in my skirt, I said, “If you change your mind, I’ll be happy to listen.”
He didn't acknowledge me, walking back toward his cruiser. I followed him, and he opened the passenger door for me. Mommas in the South stress door opening and holding to their boys at a very young age. Just to prove chivalry isn't dead, I suppose.
The radio chattered with the dispatcher relaying codes to a responding officer. He jumped in, spinning gravel as we pulled out onto a paved road.
“She's staying in town more often,” he said after five minutes of silence.
Trying not to smile, I asked nonchalantly, “She has an apartment in town, right?”
“Yes, but she still comes home several times a week and on weekends,” he replied. I knew that Stephanie Davis worked for a law firm in the nearby college town. She was 5’6-ish, slender with raven colored hair and dark eyes. I'd seen them together numerous times at the bar. For the most part, he always seemed happy with her. I can pick out an unsatisfied man from a mile away. I never got that impression from Dylan, plus he rarely talked about her when we worked together.
“But now she isn’t?” He replied with an affirmative grunt. “She cheating on you?”
“No, why would you say that?”
“I didn't say that. I asked,” I clarified.
“No, I don't think so,” he said. Men could rarely tell that a woman was cheating on them because they lived somewhere between oblivious street and denial avenue.
“Have you talked to her about it?”
“Yes, she says she is just busy at work,” he said. Typical cheater response.
“How long have y'all been together?”
“Five years,” he said.
“Why haven't you got married?”
“Because you don't have to get married to be happy. In fact, most married people are miserable,” he said.
For most people I knew, getting married was a logical step in a relationship, but times were changing and the demands of the social construct morphed into a different set of standards. It wasn’t the next step anymore even if you knocked up the girl.
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way, Dylan. I just wondered in general why you didn't choose that route,” I replied. “I suppose you are technically common law.”
Common laws were different all over the United States. “No, she keeps everything separate. She even pays me rent on paper,” he said.
“That's what her lawyer told her to do,” I replied.
He grunted affirmation again.
“Did you have a fight or something? What part of the big picture do I not know?” I asked.
“Grace, I appreciate you listening, but it's not something you can fix or advise me on. I just wanted to talk about it,” he admitted.
“I suppose the guys aren't helpful in this department,” I said.
He smiled as he replied, “Not at all.”
“Do you want to marry her?” I asked knowing Dylan and his type. He was raised to think you fall in love, get married and have children.
He didn't speak. I realized we weren't going back to my truck, but I didn't say anything. He must have detoured to give us time to talk.
“Sorry, I guess I asked too much,” I replied.
“No, it's just that I don't know what I want anymore,” he said slowing down and turning into a worn spot on the side of the state highway that ran through town. I recognized the spot as a frequent place for the boys in blue to sit with a radar detector.
“At one time you wanted to marry her,” I concluded.
“Yes. I even bought a ring,” he said. This didn't surprise me.
“So why didn’t you ask?”
“Because every time I got brave enough to do it, she would talk about how our relationship was perfect. We trusted each other, had a good time together, but didn’t have to follow the norm of getting married.”
“Hmm,” I said.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I replied, because I was sure he didn’t want to hear what I had to say.
“Grace, damn it. You wanted me to talk, and now you are holding back,” he said. He was frustrated, but not with me.
“I think she said those things because she thought you would never ask. She thought you were content with how things were, and she tried convincing herself,” I said.
“No, she said those things because she knew I wanted to ask, instead of telling me no, she let me down that way. It was easier than me asking her, and it becoming an awkward situation,” he said.
“Maybe,” I replied.
“But you don’t think so?”
“No.”
“Why? he asked.
“Gut instinct,” I said.
“That’s not enough,” he replied.
“Sorry, I don’t have more concrete evidence, Mr. Lawman,” I teased him.
He laughed, because he knew he looked at the whole world through the eyes of a cop. Picking out liars, searching for evidence, and taking down the bad guys was in his blood. “So, what do I do?”
“I can’t tell you that, Honey. You have to decide if you still want to marry her and go from there,” I suggested.
“We aren’t close like we used to be. She spends so much time in town with her lawyer friends,” he said.
My heart hurt for him. He sounded sad and bitter as if he realized his long relationship was winding down.
“Dylan, I’m just throwing this out there, but I’m willing to bet she has someone else,” I said.
“No, she’s not like that,” he said.
I left it alone because he just wouldn’t see it. His law-tinted glasses failed him when it came to matters of the heart.
“Do you love her?” I said.
“Yes, I guess,” he said.
“That’s not very convincing,” I replied.
“I do, but I still feel like its ending,” he said.
“Well, if you want to know for sure, then take a desperate measure,” I suggested.
“Heh, like what?”
“Shit or get off the pot,” I repli
ed.
“Good grief, you and your vulgar mouth,” he replied.
“You like my mouth,” I teased.
He blushed, “You know what I mean, Grace.”
“Yeah, but ask her. If she says no, then you will know and you can move on. If she says yes, then you have plenty of time to figure out the rest. But you’ve got to make a move, or you will make yourself miserable,” I said.
“I’m already miserable,” he replied.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You could just break up with her. See how she reacts, but I don’t suggest that if you really want her to stay.”
He pulled out of the speed trap spot, turning back toward home and my truck.
“Thanks, Grace.”
“Anytime, Honey. But don’t blame me if I’m wrong,” I replied. “I can’t have you mad at me.”
“Why’s that?”
“’Cause I enjoy watching you cut my grass too much,” I replied, deflecting my genuine friendship toward him.
He blushed, “Damn it, Grace.”
“You better quit cussing me,” I said.
“Or what?” his tone turned playful.
“I’ll put a hex on you,” I said.
“Yeah, and the Sanhedrin would be all over you,” he replied.
“It would be worth it,” I grinned.
We playfully chatted until we reached my truck. I wished him luck, because I was sure that no matter what he said, his relationship with Stephanie was likely over already.
The memory of that morning flowed over me as I saw him laying on my bed grinning at me. I held my finger up to him to keep him from speaking and marched into the living room where Levi was watching television. I realized it was after 8 p.m. when a wave of exhaustion hit me.
“Did you know he was in there?” I asked.
“Of course, I did. And I figured out how to tell when I’m in love,” he said.
“Oh really? How’s that?” I said confused.
“Well, I can tell that you are, even if you can’t tell it. If I ever fall in love, you will be able to tell me,” he concluded.
I started to speak and clamped my mouth shut. Dylan laughed from my room.
“You shut up,” I said. “Close all these blinds. I don’t want anyone to know he’s here.”
