by Mary Campisi
***
The inside of the Magdalena Police Department was straight out of an old movie: the cement-gray uniform, the dated police cruiser, the clunky two-way radio, and, of course, the bumbling and inept junior police officer. Ben could forgive the uniform and the lack of updated electronics because they were creature comforts and not necessities. And while he wasn’t thrilled with the cruiser, he doubted he’d encounter a high-speed chase where he’d need the speed. But, an inept junior police officer was a problem, a big one.
Jeremy Ross Dean looked about twenty-two, an inch or so shorter than Ben, twenty or twenty-five pounds lighter, with chestnut hair that stood two inches high and made Ben wonder if his hat fit him or if the hair got in the way. Cash had told him Jeremy was the police chief’s son and it was his father’s obsession with the law that steered Jeremy to the police academy and a position on the Magdalena police force. But ten minutes with the boy and Ben knew he didn’t belong anywhere near law enforcement. There was no spark when he spoke of police work; his voice didn’t resonate with conviction or passion, and his angular shoulders actually slouched. Where was the excitement, the interest, the intellect? Even if the boy couldn’t feel it for a deadpan, backward town like Magdalena, he should at least act like his pulse doubled when Ben told him about the work he and Cash used to do: the busts, the chases, the stakeouts. But nope, the boy’s expression remained blank, with a pinch of interest, not a bucket, like normal police would show.
So, what the hell was this kid’s story? And why hadn’t Cash filled him in? And where the hell was the police chief? Ben had been so determined to convince his buddy he wanted out of city life and into Magdalena life that he’d never once stopped to consider Cash might have been doing his own share of “selling”. Well, apparently that’s exactly what had been going on.
“Where’s the dispatcher?” He’d been so busy trying to get a bead on Jeremy Dean that he didn’t notice the absence of a dispatcher.
The boy fidgeted with the notepad in his hand and turned a dull red. “Mrs. Olsteroff had to take her dog to the vet this morning, so I told her I’d fill in. She’s having ACL surgery.”
“Who? The dog or Mrs. Olsteroff?”
The red crept from his neck to his cheeks. “Marjorie. That’s Mrs. Olsteroff’s Lab.”
“Ah.” People took over shifts and fill-ins so their co-workers could do all kinds of things for their family: weddings, funerals, births, surgeries. But a dog? Now he knew he wasn’t in Philly anymore. Ben pinned Jeremy with a “you’ve got to be kidding” look and sighed.
The boy cleared his throat. “Mr. Reed?”
Mr. Reed sounded like an old man or a father and Ben was neither. “The name’s Ben.”
“Ben.” He spit the name out, repeated, “Ben.”
“Yup. Now how about you tell me who’s who around this place and why the roster says we have eight and it’s just you and me?”
Jeremy tried to explain the internal workings and setup of the Magdalena Police Department, but everything ended with That’s how the police chief likes it and It’s just our way. Didn’t anybody in this place ever hear of chain of command and protocol? This lackadaisical attitude toward rules, regs, and the boss would never fly in Philly. Hell, the violations would hit so hard and fast, they’d earn the offender a suspension, maybe even two.
But this wasn’t Philly; it was a long way from Philly, like a universe away.
“Where’s the police chief?”
Jeremy cleared his throat twice, settled his hands on his utility belt, and said, “The chief heads to a wholesale store in Renova every third Monday of the month. Buys what we need for the office: paper products, cleaning supplies, soft drinks, maybe a pizza or two.”
The police chief went grocery shopping every third Monday of the month and that’s why he wasn’t here to welcome his new hire? Was this for real? Ben couldn’t resist pressing a bit more. “What kind of paper products?” Copy paper, envelopes, file folders? Wouldn’t the chief in Philly get a kick out of this?
The junior policeman lifted a lanky shoulder. “Paper plates, cups.” Long pause. “Toilet paper.”
Ben stared at him. “You have got to be kidding.” Toilet paper?
Jeremy slid a glance in Ben’s direction. “Chief says it’s more economical this way, even with the extra nineteen miles to Renova.”
“Huh.” Ben rubbed his jaw, trying to make sense of what the boy had just said. Who knew that police work in small towns involved grocery shopping at warehouses, and toilet paper was the pick of the day. Not only would his old chief not believe this; no one would.
“Chief says we got to start taking turns.” Jeremy rubbed his jaw. “Wonder if he’ll put your name on the rotation.”
“Yeah, I wonder.” Great. “Jeremy? Do you call the chief Dad at home or does he like to be called Chief there, too.”
Tinges of red spurted on the boy’s cheeks. “Chief. We’ve always called him that; me, my Mom, my sisters. Everybody.”
Ben gave up asking questions somewhere between the time Mrs. Olsteroff entered with a smile and a handshake, and the discovery that the shoebox-sized room these people called a cafeteria because of the ancient fridge, sink, and microwave also served as an interrogation and interview room. This last revelation came when a woman stormed in and demanded to speak with someone about the drunk-and-disorderly occurrence outside her bedroom window last night….the suspect was one Virgil Bensen, the woman’s husband.
It was almost noon and Ben had just finished taking the woman’s report when Rudy Dean, police chief of Magdalena, sauntered in carrying a six-pack of paper towels in one arm and toilet paper in the other. He spotted Ben, frowned, and tossed the paper products on Jeremy’s workstation.
“Ben Reed.” He said Ben’s name with a mix of annoyance and hesitation. “Thought you were starting next Monday.”
Ben shook the man’s extended hand, noting the strong grip, the sausage-sized fingers, the muscled forearm. “Sir.”
Rudy Dean was a bruiser of a man, looked to be in his mid-fifties, tall, broad-shouldered, square-faced, with a crew cut and a slash for a smile. “So, you’re the city boy they’ve all been talking about. Said you’re worth your stuff.” His pale gray eyes sifted over Ben, came back to his face. “We’ll see soon enough, won’t we?”
“Yes, sir.” Ben waited for the man to say more, but he merely nodded, picked up his paper towels and toilet paper, and headed toward the lunchroom. By the time Ben clocked out that afternoon, he had the beginnings of a real headache. If he were home, he’d de-stress in the weight room, but seeing as he had no idea if there was a gym within 50 miles of this place, he decided on a run. Magdalena did seem to have decent roads and lots of scenery, and he wouldn’t have to worry about getting run over by excessive traffic. Yup, that last one wouldn’t be a worry at all.
He stopped at Heart Sent to change clothes and let Mimi know he’d be back around 6:00 for dinner. It had been several years since he had to check in with anyone; probably the last time he’d let a woman keep tabs on him had been his grandmother. Naomi Reed had rules and expectations and he’d known better than to challenge her. But mostly, he’d honored her straightforward requests because she never gave up on him, even when he questioned his own abilities. Of course, he’d never let anyone else see his insecurities, especially not a woman. That’s why he kept a wall up, why he’d never been able to let anyone get too close, not even Melissa. She learned early on in their relationship that he didn’t need or want a mother, and the more she tried to plan his time and rework his schedule, the more he fought it. Why couldn’t he have given in a little? So, she wanted to know when he’d be home or where he’d gone after work? So what? Would it have been that difficult to share that information, maybe adjust it to please her? He’d fought that question since the night she packed up and left, even told himself he could and would change.
But he knew he wouldn’t, not unless he dealt with a whole lot of messed-up issues that starte
d and ended with the mother who’d left him and the father he never knew. He pushed past thoughts of the couple who’d created and discarded him like a used napkin and thought of Melissa as he jogged from Heart Sent to the road that led out of town. The late summer wind lifted the leaves on the trees: maple, oak, birch. Soon, they would turn red, yellow, and orange, drift to the ground, leaving the trees naked and exposed. Winter would follow with snow, ice, and harsh winds, and if he were lucky, he’d be back in Philly by then. Closer to Melissa.
Paige would call next week with an update on his ex-wife. His cousin thought he was on an out-of-town undercover assignment with the force because that’s what he’d told her, but if she stopped to consider that he’d never done this before and it made absolutely no sense unless he were in a movie, she’d realize he wasn’t telling the truth. But Paige wouldn’t question him. She believed everyone always told the truth, even when she had no reason to believe that. Hell, had she never wondered why Cash didn’t care where she was traveling for her dancing or when she’d return? Cash hadn’t wanted anything to happen to her, but if she’d told him she was moving to Alaska, Ben guessed he would have just hugged her and wished her well. Not the actions of a man in love, certainly not the same man Ben witnessed with Tess, before or after the wedding. The man couldn’t seem to stop looking at his wife, or touching her, and he sure seemed unable to wipe that silly lovestruck smile from his face.
Who would have ever guessed? Not Paige, which made her the perfect accomplice in Ben’s attempts to keep tabs on his ex-wife. She still believed Ben belonged with Melissa and pooh-poohed the fact that they were divorced and she was pregnant with another man’s baby. She called these mere inconveniences, not insurmountable tasks, and insisted the uncoupling of Ben and Melissa was two-sided. He’d let Paige think he was a prince if it helped get information on his ex-wife while he was in Magdalena. And Paige knew just how to do it; she knew where Melissa lived, where she worked, where she grocery-shopped. She’d vowed to do whatever was necessary to get Ben and Melissa together again.
When he rounded a curve, he stopped and snatched the towel from his neck, dragged it over his face, and breathed in the mountain air. He’d spotted no more than a handful of cars and a truck or two in the past hour. This road would be treacherous in winter and guardrails wouldn’t keep a car from going over the edge. How many had landed in the wooded area below, the passengers injured or killed? He was used to the dangers of city driving: the speed, the traffic, the highways. But country driving posed its own problems: winding, narrow, less-traveled roads, animals, ice and snow. When he reached another mile marker and turned back toward town, he decided that maybe the truck he’d spotted in the back of the police department parking lot this morning wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Ben miscalculated his run by almost an hour and when he headed up the driveway of Heart Sent, Mimi Pendergrass sprang from her wicker rocker and rushed toward him in a swirl of blue and magenta stripes, her ball earrings swinging. “Lordy, where have you been? I was just about to hop in my truck and come looking for you.”
He pictured Mimi Pendergrass in a pickup truck and stifled a smile. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I guess I lost track of time.” He wiped the sweat from his face and neck and let his smile slip out. She had his grandmother’s eyes, soft and blue.
“Next time you up and decide to take off, you’d better keep track of your time.” She crossed her arms over the striped top and said, “We have bear in this area and all manner of animals that a city boy like you knows nothing about.”
And the woman had his grandmother’s no-nonsense attitude, too. “Yes, ma’am.”
She nodded her salt-and-pepper head and clasped his arm, leading him toward the porch. “Now, come on inside and get a quick shower so I can feed you.” Her voice softened and the stern tone evaporated in the early evening air. “There’s fried chicken, potato salad, and a special zucchini-tomato blend that gets the whole town talking. They want the recipe and they’ve tried to copy it, but I won’t give it to them. Not yet.” She opened the screen door, looked up at him, and grinned. “We have to have some secrets so they keep guessing now, don’t we?”
That last comment stayed with him through a shower, two helpings of the tastiest potato salad he’d ever sampled, more than his share of fried chicken, and a big bowl of Mimi’s zucchini-tomato blend. Had she been referring to more than her recipe? There’d been something in the way she looked at him that made him wonder if she knew he was keeping a secret or two of his own, starting with his reason for being in Magdalena.
“Well?” Mimi eyed him over the frosted rim of her lemonade. “How about a piece of strawberry pie? I can guarantee you’re gonna love it.”
Ben stuffed the last bite of potato salad in his mouth and chewed. If he kept eating like this, he’d be two sizes larger by the time he left this place. Then again, he hadn’t had strawberry pie since Naomi made it for him, right before he headed into the service. “Sure,” he said, caught up in the nostalgia of his grandmother. “I’d love a piece.” He pushed back his plate and patted his belly. “But I’m going to need to double my run tomorrow if I want to fit into my clothes.”
She laughed and waved a hand at him. “Oh, pooh. Anybody can see you’re a specimen of fitness—” Mimi eyed him from shoulders to chest to arms to belly “—and anybody can see you aren’t going to lose it with a few extra helpings. This town’s growing some fine-looking men. First, there was Nate Desantro, and then Cash came back to us, and now you. Before we know it, someone will be contacting us about getting you boys to pose for a calendar.”
Now that would be interesting, and not going to happen. “I’m not exactly a calendar guy.” Neither was Cash, and Nate Desantro sure as hell wasn’t.
Mimi grinned and shrugged. “You’d be surprised how many people start out saying they’d never do this or that, and the next thing you know, they’re doing it.” She threw him a sly look and said, “And I can be very persuasive; do not doubt that for one single second.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that, not at all.” He could see why she was mayor, why Jeremy and Mrs. Olsteroff spoke about her as if she were the president.
“I like having you here, Ben.” Her eyes grew bright, her expression solemn. “You make this place feel alive.” He didn’t miss the sadness in her voice or the catch in her throat when she spoke. Had something happened in her past to take the life from this place? Maybe she’d lost someone close to her, a husband? He wanted to ask her about it but hesitated a second too long.
Before Ben could formulate a question, Mimi pushed back her chair and stood. “Now give me a second and I’ll get you that pie.” She disappeared into the kitchen and a few seconds later called out, “Coffee? Splash of whiskey?”
Mimi Pendergrass was one interesting woman and she was certainly full of surprises, but the sadness he’d just witnessed reminded him too much of his grandmother’s face when someone asked about her absent daughter. Raw pain. He wanted to ask Mimi about it, but not at the risk of causing her more grief, or worse, having her tell him to mind his own damn business. Somebody in this town knew the story behind that sadness. He’d hoped to ask Mimi for a mini “playbook” of the town’s residents, but now he wasn’t so sure he should bother her with it. Still, he had to gather some halfway intelligent information on the residents of this town before he took another misstep like he’d done today when he asked Mrs. Olsteroff about her husband. Yeah, the husband who took off two years ago with the organist in his church—right after Christmas Eve services.
Ben couldn’t make such an error again, but who could he ask for help? Cash was too caught up with his new wife and his mission to save kids, one would-be delinquent at a time, and Nate Desantro was the kind of guy who wouldn’t tell him even if he did know. Besides, Ben didn’t like the way Desantro watched him, as though he knew Ben wasn’t being 100 percent straight with his reason for being in Magdalena. Best to avoid him as much as possible and that meant avoiding h
is wife, too.
Bree Kinkaid didn’t seem like the kind of person who could peel layers of a story away to get to the truth so she was out. Actually, she probably really did believe the truth was whatever anybody said it was. And no to Bree’s testosterone-buzzed, baby-producing husband, Brody Kinkaid. The man did not project the intellect to decipher people or issues, perceived or otherwise. If he did, would he continue to impregnate his poor wife when she was obviously overworked and worn out? There was always the waitress at Lina’s Café. Phyllis. Or was it Lois? Hell, he couldn’t ask her for a rundown on the town personalities if he didn’t even know her first name.
What about Gina Servetti? The second he thought of her, a dull ache pinged his left temple. She was logical, no nonsense, analytical, and she wouldn’t sugarcoat the information or leave out important details. Still, did he really want to ask the woman and give her an opportunity to say no? And not just no, but maybe a big “hell no”? And if she agreed, then he’d be indebted to her, wouldn’t he? Just the thought of that last one double-pinged his temple. Damn Cash for going and falling in love and getting all gooey on him. Ben liked him better when he was a restless guy’s guy—like him. Now there was a wife, a sense of belonging, hell, a purpose.
So, Gina Servetti it was. Ben sucked in a deep breath, massaged his left temple, and headed out the door.
Chapter 4
Gina sat in a rocker on the back deck, feet propped up on the table, glass of red wine in her hands. She loved to sit in the dark with the sounds of night soothing her: crickets, owls, the wind. In a few months, the cold would set in, strip the trees of their color, lay down blankets of snow, and force the animals to seek shelter. The cold wouldn’t keep Gina inside. She’d stuff her feet into boots, her arms into a down coat, fit a hat on her head and mittens on her hands. The briskness of the night would steal her breath, but it would be worth it for a few minutes of pure quiet. Bliss, that’s what it was. Nobody bothered her here, maybe because they didn’t want to venture out in the heat and risk bug bites or the cold and worry over a chill. Or maybe they simply didn’t care where she was or what she was doing.
