Finding the Road Home

by Tina Radcliffe

  When their eyes connected, she smiled.

  In a heartbeat Mitch realized that when he was around Daisy, he felt like he was home. While he meant the words, it was worrisome as the woman had only been in Rebel three weeks. He’d best be very careful, because Daisy Anderson might just reel him in if he wasn’t. Mitch blinked at the idea that for the first time in his life, he was having second thoughts about fighting the line.

  * * *

  “Morning, Roscoe. Happy Fourth of July,” Daisy said. She fastened her seat belt and adjusted her sunglasses.

  “Long time no see, missy.”

  “The chief let me reduce my hours on the street since he couldn’t pay me overtime for the classes I’ve given the last three weekends.”

  “Whole town’s talking about the community center.”

  “That’s what we want.” She turned to him. “By the way, thanks for working at the bake sale the last two Saturdays. You were a lifesaver.”

  “Showing up and getting first dibs on your pies and Luna’s pastries is a no-brainer. Plus I get to spend time with Luna.”

  “Wait a minute. You like my pies? Really?”

  “Right now there are ten in my freezer.”

  “Ten?” Daisy blinked. She was flattered, and more than a bit surprised.

  “Just the fruit ones. They freeze the best.”

  “I...I don’t know what to say.”

  “Well, I do. How are you baking all those pies, teaching classes, working full-time and wrangling five kids?”

  “I’ve always believed that the Lord gives you what you need for every situation. He gave me the ability to function on four hours of sleep along with eyes in the back of my head.” Which was the absolute truth most days.

  “I guess.” Roscoe shook his head. “So, why is it you’re not with your kids at the parade today?”

  “It’s my regularly scheduled shift.”

  “Aw, Mitch would have let you off.”

  “I haven’t been here long enough to get holidays off. I don’t want preferential treatment.”

  “I guess it’s you and me then. Gonna be a long day.”

  “What makes you say that? The parade is followed by the church picnic. The only other thing going on is the fireworks at dusk, and we’ll both be home by then.”

  “I’ve been doing this a long time. When we get off at three, it’s going to feel like we’ve been here a week.”

  “Oh, it can’t be that bad.”

  Roscoe raised his brows and eyed her with something between sympathy and pity. “Stay hydrated. Heat index is ninety-two and the humidity is eighty-five. Rain in the forecast for tomorrow.”

  She raised her water bottle in the air. “Got it, but I no longer put much faith in the meteorologist on television. He’s predicted rain twice before and fired blanks.”

  “This one’s gonna be a gully washer. Trust me. My rain knee is throbbing. It only does that when we have precipitation on the way.”

  “I suppose we’ll see.”

  “Yep. In the meantime, let’s get this vehicle off Main Street and do patrol before the crowds start lining up at the curb.”

  “Sounds good.” Daisy unscrewed the lid of her water bottle and took a long swig. Roscoe was right about one thing. It was hot and humid.

  Her partner checked traffic before he backed up the Crown Vic. “Heard you and the chief went fishing,” he said.

  At his words, water flooded Daisy’s throat and she began coughing.

  “You need me to pull over and do Heimlich?”

  “No,” she sputtered. “I’m fine.” Daisy wiped her eyes and turned to Roscoe. “Who told you that?”

  “Alice.”

  “My grandmother?” Daisy’s thoughts wandered back to the fish dinner they’d all shared. True to his word, Mitch cleaned the fish, her grandmother fried it up and Daisy did the dishes. She couldn’t help but let a smile escape. It had been a lovely evening. Almost like they were a family.

  “Your grandmother is a beautiful woman,” Roscoe mused. “I plan to invite her to lunch.”

  Daisy’s eyes popped wide at his words. “I thought you were crushing on Luna.”

  “She has put me in the friend zone.” He frowned at her. “And don’t look so surprised. I’m talking about burgers and fries, not wedding cake and champagne.”

  “The age difference... It doesn’t bother you?” Daisy mentally calculated that Roscoe at fifty-five was fifteen years her grandmother’s junior.

  “Age doesn’t matter as much as most folks think. Look at you and the chief. You’re nearly a decade younger than him.”

  “We went fishing. With the kids. We aren’t dating.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do,” Daisy returned.

  “I’m parking right here on First Street. We can see the crowds coming down Main and back up Rebel Avenue.” He rolled down the window and stuck his head outside.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Smelling.”

  “Why?”

  “I can tell if the parade is on schedule.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “The kettle corn and funnel cake sidewalk vendors fire things up when the parade is about to begin.” He inhaled deeply with his eyes closed and a smile on his face. “Yep, I smell parade, and there’s roasted cinnamon pecans this year too.”

  Daisy followed suit and rolled down her window. When she inhaled, a waft of salty-sweet warm kettle corn reached her. The scents reminded her of the Arapahoe County fair back in Colorado. Good memories. “You’re right.”

  “Course I am.”

  She scanned the parade-goers and stopped. Mitch. It was unmistakably him. Standing above the crowd, he wore a navy blue Rebel Police Department T-shirt that hugged his wide shoulders, and his favorite faded blue ball cap on his head. Her eyes lingered for a moment before moving to her grandmother and her nieces and nephews. Seth, Grace and even Christian waved miniature American flags in the air as they waited for the floats to appear. Their faces were bright with anticipation.

  “Look over there,” Daisy said. “The chief is standing next to my grandmother.”

  “Where?” Roscoe asked.

  “Outside the vet office, next to the curb.”

  “It surely is. Those are all your kids?”

  “Yes. Seth, Grace and Christian are standing next to Mitch. You’ve met the twins. That double stroller my grandmother is pushing has Sam and PJ.”

  “Almost a softball team.”

  “No, that would be nine.”

  “With you, your grandmother and Mitch, you’re getting close.”

  Daisy jerked her head toward Roscoe.

  He shrugged. “You never know. You and the chief. Maybe down the road, you’ll have enough kids for a team.”

  “Me and the chief?” she sputtered.

  “He’s sweet on you. Once he gets over himself, he’ll figure it out too.”

  “He’s not sweet on...” She shook her head. “Mitch and I are friends, and you’ve got us married with children.”

  “Like I said, once he figures out that the future ain’t the past, he’ll be ready to handle today.”

  Daisy rubbed the bridge of her nose. Roscoe’s unusual cheerfulness threatened to make her head explode. “Do you have any aspirin?”

  “Sure, in the glove box.”

  Downing two aspirin with her water, she checked her watch and leaned back in the seat. Only six more hours.

  When the dash phone buzzed, Roscoe hit the “accept” button. “What’s up, Henna?”

  “Widow Maupier’s granddaughter called. Says her grandma is having another asthma attack.”

  “Call an ambulance.”

  “Granny refuses,” Henna returned. “She doesn’t want to bother the nice paramedics on a holid
ay.”

  Roscoe rolled his eyes. “What do you want me to do?”

  “She’d like you to pick up her grandmother’s inhaler and drop it off.”

  “Fine. I’m on my way.”

  “Really?” Daisy asked when he disconnected the call. “You can’t be serious.”

  “All part of the job.”

  “The pharmacist will let you have her medicine? That doesn’t violate the health care act or some other law?”

  “It’s her inhaler, and she asked me to get it. The pharmacy is actually closed, but the pharmacist will go in for this.”

  “Really?”

  “You already said that. This is Rebel, and if you haven’t figured it out by now, this town is nothing like the big city.”

  Daisy fastened her seat belt. “No. I guess not.” And she wasn’t sure how she felt about this blurring of the rules.

  Roscoe turned the vehicle around, bypassed Main Street where the parade had begun, headed down Second Street and parked.

  “I’ll be right back. I’m going to walk over to the pharmacy. Easier than trying to get around that giant float honoring William K. Rebel.”

  “Who is William K. Rebel?”

  “He only founded Rebel. What did you think?”

  “I had no idea,” Daisy murmured.

  Roscoe crossed the street and strode into the pharmacy, emerging mere minutes later with a small white bag. “All right, let’s get going.”

  “What? No lights and siren?” she asked when he backed up the vehicle. “What if we don’t make it in time?”

  “We will. She doesn’t live far enough that lights and sirens matter. Besides, that’s a surefire way to land myself on the front page of The Weekly Rebel. Did you read last week’s issue?”

  “Um. No.”

  “Front-page story, above the fold, was a write-up of a big robbery right here in Rebel.”

  “I don’t recall any robbery.”

  “Mrs. Boerner’s subscription to Miniature Donkey Talk Magazine was stolen from her mailbox.”

  She chuckled. “Okay, so not a big robbery, but still, legit.”

  “Mrs. Boerner forgot to renew said magazine. They cover our department with an unauthorized section they call the Police Blotter. They’ll print anything to sell papers, and I won’t be part of the show. Mitch feels the same way.”

  “You’re telling me that The Weekly Rebel wields a lot of influence in this town?”

  “Absolutely. It’s not like your big city paper. Weekly papers document life in small towns. Here in Rebel, the first thing people do on Wednesday mornings is grab their Bible, their coffee and check The Weekly Rebel. I’m not sure which is more popular, obituaries or the Police Blotter column.”

  He pulled up in front of a small brick cottage on the edge of town and turned to Daisy. “I’m going to run that up to the door.”

  “Would you like me to?”

  “Naw, I want to check on her. Let her know we’re here if she needs us.”

  “Sure. Of course.” Daisy smiled. Despite his grousing, Roscoe had an affection for the citizens of Rebel that she found endearing.

  When he got back in the vehicle, Daisy glanced up. “Any problems?” she asked.

  Roscoe held a plastic-wrap-covered plate of cookies aloft. “Not unless you don’t like macadamia nuts.”

  She grinned and took the plate.

  “What say we drive over to the Gas and Go to grab a couple of those fake lattes and take a cookie break?” he asked. “It’s the only place open on a holiday.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  He circled out of the neighborhood and down Second Street, driving slowly.

  Daisy glanced at the empty bakery storefront with longing and then at Beep Jeep Tours.

  “Roscoe, stop. Stop.”

  “Why?”

  “Pull over. I think I saw something.”

  Roscoe yanked the steering wheel, and pulled the vehicle to the curb.

  “Look. Up on the roof of the Jeep place. Isn’t that your missing cherub?”

  Roscoe yanked the ball cap off his shiny scalp, and started laughing. “So it is.”

  “How do you want to handle this?” Daisy asked.

  “We’re going up there now before the parade passes by and the whole town sees the thing and The Weekly Rebel gets their story.”

  “You want to climb onto the roof now? The parade has begun.” In the distance, the sound of a marching band confirmed her words.

  “Sure enough. I’m not going to let the Rebel Police Department look like a bunch of yahoos. Nope. Not on my watch.”

  Daisy’s mind raced as she processed Roscoe’s intentions. Climb on the roof? That would make her a coconspirator with her partner in whatever happened in the next few minutes. “We should call Mitch.”

  “The chief thinks you and I are ticket peddlers.” He looked at her. “Weren’t you the one who said that you wanted to enforce the law?”

  “Mitch says it isn’t a case.” Daisy met his gaze. “And you were the one who didn’t want to expend any energy on the cherub.”

  “This is different. It’s about saving face.” Roscoe glanced around, determination in his eyes. “I can tell you that whoever put that cherub up there will be monitoring the situation so they get the last laugh, and I’m not going to let that happen. The parade starts on First and Main Streets. I’ll go around to the back side of that store and get our evidence before the parade turns the corner and hits Second Street.”

  “You don’t have a ladder. Maybe you could call the fire department.”

  “I can climb up there.”

  Daisy punched in Henna’s number on the dashboard phone.

  “Henna, Roscoe found the cherub, and he’s going to scale the roof of Beep Jeep to get it. Can you please talk some sense into him before he breaks his neck?”

  “Go, Roscoe. I’m so proud of you,” Henna said.

  “Henna!” Daisy let out a breath of stunned surprise.

  “Someone has to defend the department,” Henna said. “Keep me posted, Roscoe.”

  Roscoe disconnected the call and removed his seat belt.

  Daisy looked at her partner. “So basically, I’m the only person here who thinks this is a very bad idea?”

  “Yep. But I respect your right to disagree,” Roscoe said.

  “This is not going to end well.”

  For once the cloud of generic discontent that perpetually hung over the old-timer seemed to have dissipated. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and there was a sparkle in his eyes.

  Was she really going to try to stop him? No. This was his moment.

  “Are you coming or not?” Roscoe said as he opened his door.

  “Yes. Someone has to catch you.”

  Daisy pushed open her door and stepped out into summer’s sauna. For a moment she stood staring at the pitched roof of Beep Jeep Tours, where the stone cherub wore a rope around its middle and nothing more. Mitch was not going to be pleased.

  Chapter Seven

  “It’s your turn, Mr. Mitch.” Grace scooted closer to the table, her eyes on the board-game pieces spread over Daisy’s kitchen table.

  When she shoved her long hair away from her face as she concentrated, Mitch smiled. The eight-year-old reminded him of his little sister Kate at that age.

  “Pass that spinner over here, pal.” He shifted little Sam onto his other knee, and studied the board himself.

  “Will Aunt Daisy be home in time for fireworks?” Christian asked from his seat on the chair next to Mitch.

  “Probably,” Mitch said. In truth, he didn’t have a clue. A glance at the rooster wall clock said it was five minutes since the last time he’d checked. Eight thirty. Hours past the end of Daisy’s shift. He’d called in to dispatch, and they didn’t report any unusual
activity on her shift.

  It occurred to him that she could have had a date, and he’d been mulling over that thought for the past hour, confused at the mixed emotions the idea had stirred. If he didn’t know better, he might even think one of those emotions might be jealousy.

  “Are you sure?” Christian continued.

  “I, um...”

  Before he could finish, the door opened and Daisy walked in.

  She was still in uniform, eliminating the idea that she was on a date and raising a dozen other questions. Still, Daisy was in one piece and appeared fine, which left him more than relieved.

  “Aunt D, we’re winning,” Seth said. A wide grin lit up the boy’s narrow freckled face.

  “Yes, Aunty D. We’re beating Mr. Mitch,” Grace added.

  When Daisy stared dumbfounded at Mitch, he smiled and concentrated on moving the plastic arrow on the spinner. Now would be a good time to feign nonchalance instead of staring at her like...well, as though it was really good to see her.

  “Is my grandmother here?” Daisy asked.

  “Alice had another engagement.”

  “She had...” Daisy looked around. “Wait. Where’s PJ?”

  “I gave her a bottle and put her down.”

  “You? You did that?” She uttered a small sound of confusion and turned toward the hall. “Let me put my service weapon in the safe and change my clothes before you explain why you’re playing Chutes and Ladders.”

  When she returned a moment later in shorts and a T-shirt, she glanced around the spotless kitchen. “Did you eat dinner?” she asked the twins.

  “Oh, yes,” Grace said. “Mr. Mitch made macaroni and cheese. Real mac and cheese. Not that icky powdered stuff.”

  “Uh-huh,” Christian said. “Good macaroni.”

  Daisy frowned. “I like the icky powdered stuff. It’s an American classic.”

  Mitch lifted a brow. “Not seriously?”

  “My mother wasn’t much of a cook.” She looked Mitch up and down. “What’s that on your shirt?”

  “Where?”

  Sam turned in Mitch’s lap and pointed a pudgy finger at a smear of something that resembled macaroni and cheese on his shirt pocket, along with an unidentified stain on his sleeve. “Right there,” he said.