Sadie blinked at the Coke dripping off the table, then turned to see Margo looking at her in shock.
The entire bar was frozen, except for the music, which sounded tinny and sparse in the instant silence.
Shel struggled to his feet while everyone stared, cupping both his hands over his face. Once upright, he pulled his hands away to reveal his mouth, chin, and hands covered with blood.
Sadie had hit him harder than she’d meant to, and she wondered if she should apologize.
He looked down at his blood-covered fingers, then up at the three of them standing across the table while Garrett, who was closer to Shel, started moving away. Shel narrowed his eyes, and in one movement, he grabbed the edge of the table and threw it over.
Margo, Langley, and Sadie tried to jump out of the way but ended up running into each other and the people from the table behind them, their feet sliding on the peanut shell-covered floor. Coke and beer went everywhere; Sadie dropped her Coke bottle as she stumbled over someone’s foot. She grabbed the back of a chair, hoping to save herself, only to realize someone was sitting in the chair. They tumbled to the ground together—the woman screaming and swearing while Sadie tried to apologize. She heard someone laugh, and from a few feet away someone else yelled “It’s on!”
People were enjoying this?
The entire bar seemed to erupt an instant later, and Sadie scrambled up from the sticky floor only to duck a punch. Who wanted to punch her? A moment later, she didn’t duck fast enough and a fist hit the side of her neck.
With her neck throbbing, she put her arms up in a protective block while trying to back out of the crowd. The next time an arm came toward her, she hit it as hard as she could in order to deflect the blow. There were easily a dozen people fighting as a mob now, everyone throwing random punches. For real? People just jumped into a fight and started punching whoever was in their way?
How did this night go from asking a few questions to a full-on barroom brawl?
Sadie caught sight of Langley holding some guy in a headlock. Margo was yelling at a man in a cowboy hat in the epicenter of the fight. Sadie wondered who he was—she’d never seen him before—and why Margo was so angry with him. The drinks had mixed with the scattered peanut shells and created a slippery mess all over the floor.
Sadie pushed toward Margo and grabbed her arm, trying to pull her out of the fray just as Shel appeared, getting in Margo’s face and screaming at her. Before Sadie could get her away, Margo threw a punch, catching Shel under the right eye. He responded like a wild animal, swiping at her and anyone else in striking range.
Where were the bouncers? Shouldn’t someone break this up? She didn’t see Garrett in the mix. She hoped he wasn’t involved, the poor boy seemed completely baffled by the direction of the discussion earlier, and she’d hate for him to be drawn into this as well.
Sadie heard glass break, and she pulled Margo again only to have someone step hard on her foot, causing her to stumble and lose her grip on Margo’s arm. Sadie pushed the person away, which earned her a push back. What a nightmare! The shouts were getting louder. Something hit the back of her head and made the room spin. She had to get out of the pileup. She reached for Margo again, but she was gone. Sadie couldn’t even see her now. She had to save herself!
Sadie started elbowing and pushing her way toward what she thought was the outskirts of the madness, getting pushed back almost as often as she made progress. She started yelling too, and she threw a few jabs of her own as adrenaline coursed through her veins. If the group could understand she didn’t want to be in the middle of the fight, they would let her go, right? She was beginning to feel the panic rising in her chest when she heard a whistle and authoritative shout. Thank goodness someone was putting an end to it!
The fighting mellowed a little, though there were still several people proceeding unheeded. Sadie continued toward the edge of the crowd—her eyes fixed on an exit sign at the back of the bar—her only goal self-preservation.
A hand grabbed her arm and threw her to the side; she tripped over a chair, but someone else caught her from falling completely.
“Thank you,” Sadie said, wondering if this same person hadn’t punched her at some point in the last few minutes. Her head throbbed and her lip burned. She reached up to make sure she wasn’t bleeding. Her hand came back red, but she quickly realized it was lipstick.
“Nobody leaves,” a booming voice said over the din of the crowd.
Sadie looked toward the main doors where a uniformed officer blocked the door, his hand on the gun in his holster. Another officer, built like a Viking, had waded into the middle of the fight, and there was more shouting as he flung people out of the group one at a time. The last two people to be broken up were Shel and Langley, both of them bloody as they stared at each other, chests heaving. Sadie couldn’t see Margo or Garrett anywhere.
“What happened here?” the Viking officer asked, looking from one to the other.
Shel turned away, scanning the crowd, and then he pointed at Sadie, who tried to shrink backward into the closest shadow.
He narrowed his eyes and his nostrils flared. “She started it!”
Chapter 8
You’re not really arresting me, are you?” Sadie asked the female officer who pushed her across the threshold of the police station an hour after Shel’s accusation. Sadie’s shaking hands were cuffed in front of her, and her anxiety was still building. She’d listened to her rights, dutifully put her wrists forward for the cuffs, and patiently endured everything based on the belief that the police would let her go once she was away from the bar. It was all part of an act, right? She was a BLM informant, for heaven’s sake!
“You started a fight,” the female officer said from behind her. “That’s disorderly conduct down here in New Mexico.”
“I didn’t start a fight,” Sadie contended, glancing over her shoulder at the officer who was staring straight ahead. “I blocked Sheldon Carlisle’s attempt to start one. He’s the one who should be arrested, not me.”
“He was arrested too,” the officer said. “Eyewitnesses confirmed the two of you as the primary aggressors.”
“But I was trying to stop him!”
The officer walked up beside Sadie and grabbed her arm as if Sadie might make a run for it now that they were in the police station. “Then you failed, didn’t you?”
“Is that a crime too?”
The officer gave her a look that made Sadie aware of her own cheekiness, and she ducked her chin. The woman was nearly six feet tall and wore her hair pulled up into a severe bun; Sadie didn’t want to call her out too much. “So what happens now?”
“Sit,” the officer said, pointing to a bench along one side of a long white hallway. “We’ll get you booked in a few minutes.”
Booked? Really? Sadie sat down, swallowed, and tried not to let her thoughts run away from her, but she’d seen way too much TV to not be absolutely terrified of being taken back to a cell full of thugs and drug dealers. Pete and Agent Shannon had told her not to tell anyone about her informant status, but surely they hadn’t meant in a situation like this, right?
Pete!
She’d told him she was going to the bar with Margo to ask a few questions, and he’d been hesitantly supportive. Pete would know exactly what she should say; in fact, he would probably tell the police about her informant status himself and then everything would be okay. She hadn’t even thought to text him before they’d put the handcuffs on her.
“Can I make a phone call, please?” she called out to the officer who’d retreated to a desk on the other side of a half wall.
“Not yet.”
“Doesn’t everyone get a phone call?” Sadie said. It was practically cliché, right?
The woman looked her over and held her eyes. “Not yet,” she said again, slower this time as though trying to make sure Sadie understood.
Sadie sat there, trying to think affirming thoughts until another officer told her to stand and fol
low her down a hallway.
“What’s your name?” the officer asked once she had Sadie sitting in a chair next to a desk.
“Uh, my name is . . .” Should she give them her fake name, Sarah Worthlin, like she had told the cops at the dig site, or should she give her real name? Would that mean her real name would be published in the newspaper? If so, she could be tracked to Santa Fe.
“Name,” the woman said again, watching Sadie closely. Annoyed.
“Can I please make a phone call first?” Sadie begged. She needed to talk to Pete in the worst way.
The woman swiveled in her seat and put her face within inches of Sadie’s. She’d had tuna for dinner. “Give me your name,” she said in slow, clipped tones.
Sadie’s heart rate took off like a shot. “Sarah Diane Wright Hoffmiller,” she said quickly, though she whispered it just in case. Heat washed over her at having told the truth. The truth was supposed to set you free, that’s what everyone said, but she felt sure she was making a mistake. Oh, she needed to talk to Pete!
Sadie was almost in tears by the time the officer had finished taking her pictures, fingerprints, and shoes—thank goodness she’d worn those footsy socks and didn’t have to walk around barefoot. Or maybe they had booties they’d have offered her, like at a hospital, if she hadn’t had her own. They led her to a holding cell that was basically a big concrete room about twenty feet square with bars on the front, a cement bench running the length of the back wall, and a stainless steel toilet in one corner—no privacy whatsoever. Sadie was so glad she hadn’t drunk that entire Coke.
Seeing the cell looming before her made it all so real. The police had really booked her. She was really in jail! And they hadn’t let her make a phone call. Did Pete still monitor her from Colorado? What if he found out she was in jail before she had a chance to explain? He’d think she was trying to hide things from him again, but she wasn’t. She was dying to call him.
“What happens now?” Sadie asked the officer who was walking in front of her. She tried not to let the emotion show in her voice as they approached the cell meant for murderers and Mafia kings.
“We’ll finish your paperwork, figure out bail, and set a court date to appear before a judge. Then you can make some phone calls.”
“How long will that take?” It was almost midnight. Caro must be worried sick! Sadie felt tears coming to her eyes and pushed them down. She could not cry in jail; she’d be beaten up for sure. But she felt so bad for the stress she was causing Caro. Would Caro call Pete when Sadie didn’t come home?
“However long it takes,” the officer said without emotion.
The sound of the big metal barred door opening was horrible, and she had to swallow the tears again.
The only thing in her favor was that the cell was empty. What she wouldn’t give for a bottle of bleach and a scrub brush.
The officer walked away, and Sadie tried to think positive thoughts. If she were a mystery novelist or a journalist, she might be able to see this as a valuable learning experience! But she wasn’t either of those things. She was a retired elementary schoolteacher with really great reflexes—surely that wasn’t criminal.
She paced for the first hour, sat on the bench for the second hour, and gave in to tears for the third. She was just recovering when an officer came for her. She was certain she was being freed—pardoned from the terrors of having been actually arrested—but instead they took her down the hall and put her into another cell almost exactly the same as the first one except in this one there was a rough-looking bald woman who appeared to be passed out on one end of the cement bench.
Sadie asked about her phone call again, but was told “Not yet” for the fourth time. She prayed her new roommate would stay asleep and sat down as far away from her as possible.
Sadie watched the bald woman for nearly thirty minutes, trying to prepare herself for how to react when she came out of her stupor. Should she try to make friends? Every time she heard a noise outside the cell, she held her breath and straightened, waiting to get permission to make her phone call or be informed that there had been a mistake—it had to be close to three o’clock in the morning now, right? Cameras were mounted in every corner of the cell, but she was afraid to try to get anyone’s attention for fear she’d get in more trouble, or wake up the bald woman. Luckily, her cellmate kept sleeping, and eventually Sadie propped herself up in the corner and let herself relax, just a little. She closed her eyes in hopes of finding some level of calm amid all the anxiety, and prayed she’d be let out soon. She wasn’t sure how long she could hold everything together under these circumstances.
“Hey.”
Sadie felt herself jolt before blinking her eyes open to see a big round head a couple feet from her own face. Moving away from the bald woman who was violating her personal space was reflexive, but the concrete bench didn’t allow much room for retreat, and instead of putting distance between her and the scary woman, Sadie tumbled onto the concrete floor. She quickly scrambled to her feet and pressed her back against the wall, still trying to wake up completely. She didn’t want to think about all the horrible things she’d touched when her hands hit the floor. What time was it? How long had she slept?
“What’s wrong with you?” the bald woman said.
“Nothing,” Sadie said quickly. She realized she was pressing herself flat against the cinderblock wall, fingers splayed and everything. She forced herself to relax somewhat, but smiling was beyond her abilities. “I—I was asleep,” she said dumbly, then feigned a yawn and a stretch. “Tough waking up sometimes, ya know?”
The woman stared at her with big, dark eyes surrounded by saggy, pockmarked skin and no eyebrows at all.
“You want breakfast?”
“Breakfast?” Was it morning already? The police had taken her watch along with everything else removable, and without windows in the cell, she had no idea what time it was. Was it possible she’d slept for a few hours?
“It’s coming in a few minutes. You want yours?” The bald woman cocked her head to the side in what Sadie took as a challenge.
“Nope!” Sadie said, shaking her head. “I’m not hungry.”
The woman smiled, revealing surprisingly good teeth, then stood up and returned to her end of the bench. She didn’t say anything else, and Sadie moved back to her corner. She was so tense her jaw hurt.
A few minutes passed before she heard clangs and footsteps from the other side of the bars. Sadie held her breath but didn’t move. Please be coming to let me out, she pleaded in her mind.
Sadie’s cellmate darted to the door before a guard appeared with two Styrofoam trays holding Styrofoam dishes filled with food. The bald woman motioned Sadie to come forward and get one of the trays, which Sadie hurried to do. She returned to the bench and sat with the tray on her lap until the guard left, at which time she put the tray on the bench and pushed it toward her cellmate.
“Thanks,” the woman said, pulling the tray closer to her side while she ate her bowl of oatmeal.
“You’re welcome,” Sadie said, although she was pretty sure if she hadn’t shared, she’d have been sorry. She thought of the breakfast burritos Caro made nearly every morning—simple, filling, delicious—and had to close her eyes as her longing to be back at Caro’s nearly overcame her. Tears pricked her eyes, and she blinked them back quickly.
She walked up to the bars in hopes of finding a clock somewhere. She couldn’t see one, however, just doors with windows in them at either end of the hallway. When she turned around, the bald woman was drinking down the juice from the bowl of peaches and watching Sadie over the rim of her bowl. She wore a man’s T-shirt and had some letters tattooed onto the back of her fingers.
As hesitant as Sadie was to talk to this woman, there was no one else to talk to, and she was suffocating from the lack of information. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Breakfast is at 6:30,” the woman said after finishing off her peaches and reaching for the fruit on Sadie’s t
ray.
Six thirty? She’d been here for seven hours already? Sadie turned back to the bars and held on to them with both hands even though she knew they were filthy from thousands of other unwashed hands that had held these same bars. “They didn’t let me make my phone call.”
“Yeah, sometimes it takes a while.” This woman spoke from experience. “You makin’ bail?”
“I don’t know,” Sadie said, looking down both sides of the hallway again. “I’m not even sure how bail works.”
“Someone puts up money or stuff to make sure you come to your court date.”
“How do I even get a court date? Will I go in front of a judge?” Would she have to wear one of those horrible orange jumpsuits?
“Sometimes you go to a judge, but lots of times they go by the schedule.”
Sadie looked over her shoulder. “Schedule?”
“Bail schedule—assigned amounts based on what you done.”
“Is disorderly conduct on the bail schedule?”
“That what you done?” the woman asked. She’d worked through both breakfasts and now held a Styrofoam cup of coffee in each hand.
“That’s what they said I did,” Sadie clarified, looking back out of the bars before accepting no one was coming. She sat down on her end of the bench again, keeping her hands in her lap in hopes of touching as few surfaces as possible.
“I hear ya,” the woman said with a nod.
“And then, if I get bail but don’t show up for my court date, Dog the Bounty Hunter comes after me?”
The bald woman snorted and drank from one of the coffee cups. “Court opens at eight, things get moving after that. First arrest?”
“Sort of,” Sadie said, thinking about how her interference with a police investigation a couple of years ago had resulted in a few hundred hours of community service and an official arrest record. “I turned myself in last time, and I knew most of the officers.” Specifically, she knew Pete, who had been with her throughout the entire process, which had been calm and fluid and necessary. Did Pete know she was here yet? Did anyone know? She realized she should have asked the guard who brought the breakfast tray about her phone call. Caro would be worried sick.
Tres Leches Cupcakes Page 7
