Chapter 12
A trip to MacDonald’s for breakfast had them back home by 8:30 am. With the movers not due until ten o’clock, they still had plenty of time. She backed the Mazda into the narrow driveway at the front of the house and they began unpacking.
Most of the stuff they had brought with them was personal and ended up in either her bedroom or Shana’s. Once they were finished, they met at the rickety table in the nook.
She asked Shana, “What do we tackle first?”
As Michael always said, Shana replied, “Start at the top.”
That brought a pause between them.
“Sweetheart, I know we haven’t talked about—”
“I’ve changed my mind. I want black.”
Wanting black might have indicated some symbolic comment about their move from Portland, except Shana had been campaigning for a black room since she was twelve.
“You are not painting your room black.”
“Dark grey, then.”
“Dark grey is just another way of saying black. There will be no Goth rooms in this house.”
“The basement, then, it could be black.”
Never! “You’re not listening to me.”
“Of course not.”
They both looked to the front of the house when the rumble of a truck approached and then stopped.
“They’re early.” She went to the front door and opened it.
The same three men who had moved them out of the old mansion in Portland, tall and lean, two blonds and a redhead, emerged from the cab of the truck. The redhead, Jordan Burnett, twenty-six, son of the moving company’s owner, Oliver Burnett, grabbed up his clipboard from the truck, leapt over the fence and bounded up the stairs to the front door. The other two were about twenty. Shana was going to love this.
Shana came up behind her as Jordan hurdled over the fence. Her eyes glazed over and a little squeak escaped her when she saw it was the same trio from Friday.
Shana’s reaction was understandable. This trio would have preoccupied every moment of her gaze when she was fourteen.
Shana whispered to her as Jordan came up the stairs, “They’re wearing jeans and T-shirts again. Oh . . . my . . . God.”
She shook her head. “Good morning, Jordan.”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. McGowan, or should I call you Sheriff McGowan?”
“Not until Monday.”
“We had to unload everything and pack it into this truck.”
“It looks smaller.”
“Oh, it’s big enough, and we were very careful with everything.” His green eyes shone.
She glanced past him to the two men opening the gate and pulling out the ramp. Never mind being fourteen; she might take up a position at the living room window herself and just watch.
“Mrs. McGowan?”
“Joan, please.” She brushed some hair back from her face.
“Joan, dad told you we’d take twenty-five percent off for the delay, is that right?”
“Yes, he did.”
“It’s going to be fifty percent. He called me this morning.”
“That will be fine.”
Jordan handed his clipboard to her. “Could you initial there? This is just acknowledgement of the new moving charges. I’ll get you to sign another form once we’ve finished unloading and you’re satisfied with everything.”
She confirmed the reduction to half the original amount quoted and put her initials in the box Jordan had drawn on the contract next to the new sum. She handed back the clipboard.
Shana nudged her from behind and whispered, “I wanted to check.”
Jordan smiled at them both, returned the clipboard to the cab of the truck and then went to help the other two. She suddenly remembered their names.
The taller one was Ian, the other one was Jimmy.
“Ian’s the right height for me,” Shana said.
“But the wrong age.” She brushed some hair from her daughter’s face. “They’re all the wrong age for you right now. Every boy and man on this planet is, just for clarity.”
“Death to all tyrants.” She went up to her room.
Joan went into the living room to be out of the way. What she heard above her indicated Shana had taken up position at her bedroom window in her capacity as back-up supervisor. At least she could count on Shana to not take her eyes of any of them.
Jordan, Jimmy and Ian went about their work carefully and quickly. There could have been some motivation to make amends for the one day delay, or maybe it was because she was a sheriff. She had no idea if they set a record or not, but they were finished by two o’clock.
She had insisted on getting burgers and pops for them for lunch. Shana had insisted on handing them out. She and her back-up supervisor did what unpacking they could while trying to stay out of the way, a task made slower by Shana’s tendency to wander off to make sure the stuff was getting put in the right place, despite clear labels on the boxes and the simple layout of the house. Shana absolutely had to show Ian where the basement was, then take him out the door and back to the truck.
Jordan went with her through each room once they were finished to make sure nothing was damaged; nothing was.
“If you find anything, let us know. We will reimburse you for any costs of repair or replacement. That is our policy.”
“I’m sure everything will be just fine.” She signed where she was supposed to and let Jordan out the front door.
Shana came running down the stairs from her bedroom.
Jordan waved to both of them and got into the truck last. He let Ian drive it away.
Shana sighed with exaggerated disappointment. “I was hoping he’d change his shirt like Ian and Jimmy did.”
“So was I.” She closed the front door.
“Mother, you’re too old.
“Maybe, but I’m not dead.”
“At least I got Ian’s number.”
“What?”
“Just kidding.”
“I guess we better get our rooms ready.” She took hold of the handrail. “I don’t want to unpack too much yet if we’re going to be painting.”
“I’m all set.”
“Then you can help your old mother with her stuff.”
They got to her bedroom but didn’t get to enter it before there was a light knock at the front door followed by a ring of the doorbell.
“Did they forget something?” Shana had that squeak in her voice again. Her world was music downloads and texting on her phone, Twitter and Facebook, and a crush on every third tall boy who crossed her path.
She descended the stairs, feeling a bit stiff in the legs from yesterday’s sprints and hill climbs. Just let her go next time. She opened the door.
Kate pointed to the doorbell. “I didn’t know if it worked.” She stepped in. “Sorry about that racket this morning. It’s been a quiet summer for fires. I forgot to mention it.”
“Mattie told me what it was about.”
Kate looked into the living room. “Don’t let me keep you.”
“Nonsense, I need to return your basket.”
She took Kate to the kitchen and the basket by the sink. “Thank you again. That was just what we needed yesterday.”
“Along with a diatribe on men and relationships, too, I’m sure.”
“Where’s Susan?”
“At the pub. She’s there until six today.” Kate picked up the basket and looked out the window over the sink. “I just wanted to see how you were getting along, make sure the movers got here.”
“As you can see.”
“And give you a little advice.”
“About what?”
“More of a friendly warning about how things are in Dominion.”
Why couldn’t Kate have told her this at the job interview? “How are things in Dominion?”
“It’s just that a lot is happening very quickly right now, not all of it for the better, in my opinion.”
Did Mattie share that opinion, or Harry,
or Leo?
“I took a ride to Greens’ Point yesterday. I met Morton Colter.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“You know him, then.”
“Of course I know him. He helped campaign against me.”
“I see.”
“After what you saw of us yesterday and then meeting Morton, especially if he told you anything, I’m sure you are wondering what you got yourself into.”
“He told me he had some input in getting me here.”
“If by input, he means sticking his hand up Leo’s ass and playing puppet master, then, yes, he did.”
“What have I got myself into?”
Kate was giving all the appearance of someone who thought everyone was against her. She rapped the top of the basket and smiled. It was probably similar to the smile she gave her supporters on election night when she had to concede defeat.
“Never mind me; I’ve been wrong about a lot of things lately.”
Did she think she’d been wrong about hiring the new sheriff? “What about Colter? There weren’t any farmers out that way when I left.”
“Morton was in the marines. He served in the Gulf War and again when we went back into Iraq and then Afghanistan. He always jokes that both Bush Presidents got their pounds of flesh out of him before he was through.”
“What about that tattoo?”
“The dog’s head?” She shrugged. “When he was in Afghanistan, or so he tells it, the locals called his unit either the Devil Dogs or Hellhounds, I forget which, hence the tattoos.” Kate was gripping the handle of the picnic basket hard. “Did he tell you anything about his neighbor?”
“Only that he’s a veterinarian who operates a research hospital.”
“Craig also served in Afghanistan. He was part of the Army Medical Corps stationed in Kandahar for two years.”
“Did they know each other?”
“No. Apparently, Colter was part of some secret operation tracking down Taliban while he was there.” She checked the contents of the basket. “You’d think that link would be something that would bring the two of them together.”
“But it hasn’t?” She almost heard the switch in Kate’s mind click off.
“I have to make my rounds, make sure all my going concerns are still going.”
“Thanks again, Kate.”
“Drop by for lunch. Harry always did. We do an awesome beef dip, if I do say so myself. Susan and I are usually there.”
“I will.”
She watched Kate get into her Escalade and drive away. A Dominion Sheriff’s Department Dodge Charger turned the corner a moment later and parked in the spot Kate had just vacated.
A tall, lanky, redheaded woman got out. She could pass for Jordan Burnett’s sister, except her hair color was closer to brown than Jordan’s carrot hue. She had to be Kelly Strickland.
Strickland saw her standing in the doorway, waved and came to her, not hurdling the fence as Jordan had. At the top of the stairs, she took off her hat. Her long, straight hair was held back in a ponytail.
“Good morning, ma’am, I’m Kelly Strickland, your deputy. At least I will be as of—”
“Monday, yes, I know.”
“I grew up here. I’m twenty-three. I’ve been Deputy Sheriff in Dominion for two years. One day I’m going to have your job.” She flashed a wide, bright, beautiful smile that Joan found surprisingly stimulating. “But not right now.”
Joan brought her into the clutter of furniture and boxes in the living room.
Kelly handed over a set of keys as she looked around. “So you can get in. Wouldn’t be a good idea to lock the new sheriff out of her own office, would it?”
“Not unless you want her job now.”
“No, ma’am, I can wait.”
“Kelly, when I’m on the job it’s Sheriff or ma’am, and then only when we are in public; otherwise, it’s just Joan.”
“Gotcha.” She snapped her fingers. “There are two more things. First, Harry asked me to pass on the details of the fire. It was a deserted cabin up in Cabin Country, which is a site full of cabins that outsiders come to stay in during the summer. There are about a dozen of them, three are abandoned.”
Kelly rolled her eyes up as if checking for more details on the list of things told to her. “They’re still up there investigating. Harry says he will let you know on Monday what they find unless it turns out to be something urgent.”
“And the second thing?” A small prompt seemed in order because Kelly suddenly appeared forgetful and lost.
“Yes, the second thing, that’s at the office. We’re finally joining the new millennia. Fiddler Integrated Systems from Portland is installing a new high-speed network; fiber optics and stuff like that. It will give us access to a larger database and a more secure link to the whole alphabet of law enforcement: FBI, ATF, DEA.”
“I’m familiar with Fiddler. They installed some updates for us in Portland last year.” It was just two days before Michael’s accident while on the job as a Portland Police patrolman.
“There will still be people from the company underfoot when you come in Monday. Some of them might have worked for you in Portland.”
“Probably.” Michael had been on the job only three months.
“We didn’t want you to feel left out or come into a mess uninformed just because you don’t start—”
“Until Monday, I appreciate that.”
“Now that I think about it, there are actually three things I wanted to tell you. The third one is about our workforce report. It has to be submitted by the end of September if we want to get two more fulltime deputies next year. Harry left all the paperwork on his desk . . . um . . . your desk.”
“As of Monday.”
“That’s about it for now.”
“That’s quite enough. Now, I’d like to ask you something.”
“Sure.”
“What do you know about the Wiley and Nguyen cases?”
Kelly scrunched her face. “I can’t help you with that because I don’t know anything about them. Not much information is available on Wiley since his arrest. Harry hasn’t told me anything and he always did before. He liked to pass on his wisdom, if you know what I mean?”
Was there any point in asking her about the dynamics between certain groups of citizens? That kind of stuff might be beyond a twenty-three-year-old deputy sheriff no matter how ambitious she was.
“I’ll let you get back to unpacking. I’ll see you Monday.”
“Just one more thing. When Mattie was here yesterday with Kate and Susan, I sensed some tension between them.”
“That was all? I’m surprised you didn’t have to separate them or slap the cuffs on them.”
“It came close. What’s up between them?”
“Mattie and Leo are an item; one of those worst kept secrets affairs. It started before the last election, which got pretty ugly between Kate and Leo.”
“I take it Mattie sided with Leo.”
“Everybody sided with Leo. The whole campaign was about how Kate had become decadent and corrupt. They actually used that word: decadent. It felt like we were back in the McCarthy era at times. It was all just innuendo, though. No one ever produced any evidence of wrong doing, but anyone watching knew it took its toll. Kate just seemed to give up about two weeks before the vote, as if she’d already lost.”
On a whim, but an understandable one she told herself, she asked, “Morton Colter was against Kate, too?”
Kelly nodded. “I think that really hurt her, given that they were lovers for a while after her husband left her. I suppose she’d expected him to remain loyal, but all’s fair.” She put her hat back on, fixed the strap under her chin and then pointed to the scar on Joan’s cheek. “That looks cool.”
“Um . . . thanks. No one has told me that before.”
“Why should only men get to have sexy scars while we get stuck with stretch marks? See you Monday, Joan.”
Strickland left, skipping down t
he steps, carefully opening and closing the fragile gate, getting into the Charger and driving off. She didn’t look back or wave.
Wear Something Red Page 12
