Indivisible

by Kristen Heitzmann

  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 passed. 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 scraping 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 assault 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 raccoons? 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 Coke 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 scrape 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 glass 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 booby-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 passed 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?

  “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 passing. “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.”

  “That helps to know. Thanks.” She handed him a cup of coffee and poured one for herself.

  “He doesn’t mean half the things he says.”

  “Oh, he means them.” She looked pointedly over the Styrofoam brim of her cup.

  Jonah surrendered the point.

  “So what do you do?”

  “I’m chief of police in Redford.”

  “You’re not.”

  He rocked back in the plastic break-room chair and cocked his head.

  “Sorry. You just don’t look like a cop.”

  “Yeah, well. Sometimes I wear the uniform.” Might help if he didn’t look like central casting’s rogue hero.

  She looked at his hands. “Not married?”

  “No.” He’d already noticed her naked fingers.

  “Divorced?”

  He hesitated. “A broken engagement. Years ago. I’m not relationship material.”

  “Says who?”

  “Anyone in a position to know.”

  “What a waste.”

  A corner of his mouth tugged at her boldness. She sat back, fingering her cup. Perhaps, being a caregiver, she had an even stronger urge than most women to fix people. But it wasn’t the broken engagement that made him unfixable.

  He pushed up from the chair. “Thanks for the coffee. And for looking after Sarge.”

  She didn’t get up, just watched him leave the room. The drive back was long and cool, accompanied by classic rock and troubled thoughts.

  In her room of the small house connected to the animal hospital, Liz woke with a jolt. Nightmare sweat coated her chest like VapoRub. Her left side throbbed, strange since she had no feeling there at all. Two ailing dogs whined from their kennels, but that hadn’t awakened her. She turned her head on the pillow. “Luce?”

  “Don’t talk to me. I’m sleeping.”

  Liz turned back and closed her eyes but did not slip like Lucy into sleep. She’d always been the one who cried to be held, cried to be fed. A fighter, Daddy called her. “Lizzie has spunk enough for both of them combined.”

  She didn’t feel spunky. She was tired. She wanted to sleep, but she got up and padded to the table, turned on the lamp.

  “Unh. Do you have to?” Lucy moaned.

  “It’s for you, you know.”

  Lucy sighed. “But it’s useless.”

  “No, it’s not. And I won’t give up until I find a way.”

  She sat down at the desk with the three-inch textbook lying open, a stack of note cards beside it, and applied herself to the work until the nightmare dread diminished, leaving her hollow as a pithy reed. Behind her Lucy slept, and Liz didn’t begrudge her. She needed it.

  Liz rubbed her eyes and turned off the lamp. Dawn was coming in the window, and pets needed tending.

  Five

  What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined … to strengthen each other … to be at one with each other in silent unspeakable memories.

  —GEORGE ELIOT

  Piper did not believe in God, benevolence being bestowed on her clan by courts and insurance companies. But when she saw the police chief duck into the small, stone church five minutes past the time posted on a greeting board, she walked in behind him.

  Dressed in jeans and a black crew-neck shirt, he took a seat in the otherwise empty back pew with enough space on the end for her to slip in too. She smiled, and his eyes creased in response. They were lined with thick lashes that lightened at the ends, like his hair, dark underneath lighter hanks that had to be a natural contrast. She couldn’t see him in a salon getting highlights.

  He wasn’t a pretty boy. More like the Marlboro Man with a streak of Wolverine. He looked like trouble, and he looked like salvation. Like a man who could run cold and could run hot, but never just warm. His scent was clean and woodsy. She hadn’t seen him in over a week, but now she’d have the whole service to take him in and wonder what he could have done to upset Tia. The sister thing couldn’t be the whole story. People broke up all the time. It didn’t make them hateful.

  She almost gasped out loud when he reached out and clasped her hand. Then she realized someone at the microphone had invited them all to join hands with their brothers and sisters in Christ. Brother and sister wasn’t where her mind had gone. Would she be condemned by these church people if they felt her pulse?

  Someone at the front read a statement. “We are members of the same body, different gifts, but the same Spirit. If we tug and strive against each other, we cause injury and disunity. But if we hold tight, bearing each other up, we grow strong, resilient, united. Let us prepare to celebrate this great mystery as one body, one spirit in Christ.”

  He let go, and belatedly Piper drew her hand back. The service that followed involved standing and sitting and kneeling on the part of the long benches that folded down. Jonah lowered it each ti
me for both of them, and that simple act shot right inside her. Kneeling next to him was the most spiritual thing she’d ever done.

  She knew enough not to go forward to the altar. The ceremony had gotten mysterious and solemn, and she didn’t want to violate something sacred. But Jonah slipped past her to follow in line to the front where he took what they handed him, then nodded to a golden goblet. He surprised her by not coming back to his seat like the others but continuing straight out the door.

  She was on her feet and out almost as quickly as the chief. “How come you cut out early?”

  He half turned. “What?”

  “You came late and left before it was done.”

  He glanced at the doors, then back to her. “Are you going to report me?”

  She laughed. “Not me.”

  “Good.” He turned back toward the parking lot.

  “I’ve got fig and pine-nut sticky rolls ready to bake. Would you like one fresh out of the oven?”

  “Better not.” He kept walking.

  “Come on. Try something new.”

  He shook his head. “Sarge will ask, and it’s better if I don’t know what you’re up to.” He reached his Bronco and pressed the remote.

  Sarge had been out over a week, but she didn’t believe for a minute he’d given up control. “You can tell him how much you like it.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on. You’re not on duty.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s Sunday. The top guy doesn’t work Sunday.”

  “Another time maybe.” His gaze flicked past to the plainer church across the parking lot.

  Tia had just emerged. In the sunlight her hair looked molten, attracting an iridescent green hummingbird that hovered above her head for a moment, then shrilled away seeking nectar-bearing wildflowers.

  Tia walked down the steps with Eva Gladden, who sold real estate and ordered raisin buns for the whole office on Fridays. They parted with a hug, and Piper turned back to see the chief climbing into his Bronco just as Tia reached her.