“Turn off the camera, Wendy. This discussion is not for the evening news.” Mac pointed at the weatherwoman and gave her his sternest look. What had he been thinking, asking the newshound out on a date?
She frowned and then nodded at her cameraman. He lowered the camera. “Okay, Mac, but I still want to report the story. I can do it in front of the shop.” She glanced at Holly, standing quietly behind the counter. “You’ll get some free publicity.”
“Oh, great. Come to The Wildflower. You might get robbed while you’re here but our coffee is worth it.” She did a ta-da stance, throwing her hands out to the side and smiling brightly.
A chuckle ran through the assembled group.
“Wendy, stop frowning,” Mac said. “You’ll get wrinkles.”
Immediately her face went blank.
“Do the story out front. Just make sure you stress the culprits have been apprehended and they are underage. You cannot, I repeat, cannot, identify them.”
Holding her pen poised over a notebook, Wendy pursed her lips. “I know, Mac. I am a professional.”
Mac caught Holly’s raised eyebrows and wry grin. Glancing back at Wendy, now scribbling madly, he continued. “Okay, then. I gather you all heard what happened last night and that’s why you’re here.”
“I need my money, Chief.” Pierre Lefonte perched on the windowsill. “Moving is not cheap.”
“Charge them with assault,” Sonny said. “I don’t care if they are underage. Holly could have been badly hurt.”
Holly held up a hand and waited until everyone was quiet. “The decision is mine, right? I mean as far as the assault charge.”
Mac leaned against the door and crossed his arms. He had a feeling he knew where she was going. She didn’t want to charge the teens with assault. “Holly, underage or not, these kids need to be held accountable.”
The room burst into excited chatter as everyone ventured an opinion. Mac held Holly’s gaze as she gave him a wordless shrug. Someone tugged on Mac’s sleeve and he swiftly brought his hand to his arm, only to find himself grasping Mrs. Hershberger’s hand.
She smiled, her gray eyes sparkling behind rimless glasses. “I have a thought, John.”
Mrs. Hershberger was the only person, other than his mother, to call him John. When she did, Mac always felt as if he was back in high school. “Yes, ma’am.” He raised a hand and the murmuring ceased.
The teacher clasped her hands together and cleared her throat. “I’ve taught most of you in school, and I don’t believe anybody in this room hasn’t been involved in some kind of mischief at one point or another.”
The guilty looks shared by the group would have been funny if the subject wasn’t so serious. “Do you have a suggestion?” Mac asked.
“Holly should decide whether or not to press charges for the assault,” Mrs. Hershberger said. “We can’t know how she felt.”
Every eye in the room focused on Holly.
Holly sighed. “I don’t want to press charges. A record could ruin them for life. There must be something else we can do to make sure they’ve learned a lesson.”
Fritz leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “Holly, those boys are the size of grown men and—”
Rose rested a hand on his arm. “Olivia is right. The decision is yours, Holly. I suspect if they’re charged with—” she tilted her head and glanced at Mac “—perhaps trespassing or vandalism, the charge won’t follow them into adulthood if they stay out of trouble.”
Mac nodded. “Depends on the value of the property they stole.”
“Regardless, they should reimburse us for our losses.” Sue, her apron covered with flour, stood next to Pierre. “I mean, surely the son of the bank president can cough up the money.”
Cheri ran a hand through brown hair with recently frosted tips. Big silver hoops swung from her ears. “Don’t be too hard on Tom and Laura. I haven’t raised a child myself, but I know from watching my sisters raise their kids it’s close to impossible to control them once they get their driver’s licenses—short of locking them in their rooms.”
“So are you saying...” Sue pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. “We don’t get our money back? Easy for you to say. You didn’t lose any money.”
Cheri held up both hands and opened her mouth to speak when the mayor spoke up.
“I’ve got an idea.”
“I’ll bet your idea has something to do with the town going vegan,” Sonny chimed in.
At the ensuing laughter the mayor smiled and shook her head. “As tempting as that is, Sonny, I have an idea to benefit the entire town, but I don’t want to say anything until I meet with the board.”
Pierre threw his hands in the air and headed for the door.
“She’s right. As involved as all of you are, it’s not your place to decide what happens here. We’ll meet with the magistrate. Let’s all get back to work.” Mac motioned for everyone to leave. The consignment shop owner was the last one out.
“Hey, Cheri.” Holly waved as the woman passed in front of the window.
Cheri stuck her head through the door. “What?”
“Do you still have the polo shirts?”
Cheri raised her eyebrows. “Why, I believe I do. Why do you ask?”
Holly grinned. “I’ll be over later to check them out.”
“You got it, girlfriend. That hit on the head must have knocked some sense into you.” Cheri smiled and disappeared.
She’d no sooner left than Skinny Smith, hat in hand, came up to the counter. “I heard you had some excitement, Miss Hoffman. How are you?”
Holly smiled at the older man. “I’m fine, Mr. Smith. Where’s your brother?”
Skinny shook his head and looked at his feet. “He’s feeling poorly. The doctor says he’s got bronchitis. He wasn’t up to traveling into town this morning.”
“Too bad,” Mac said. Of the two brothers, Skinny had seemed the frailer twin. One never knew.
Holly poised her fingers over the cash register. “What can I get for you today?”
“I’ll take one pound of my usual. Brother’s been drinking tea lately.” He tapped his ball cap against his hand as he studied the shop’s menu board.
Mac laid a hand on Holly’s arm as she started toward the kitchen. “I’ll see you later.”
Holly flashed him a smile, the same smile he remembered from their teen years. Even then it had made his heart beat faster.
When he stepped onto the porch Wendy was ready to pounce on him.
“Come on, Chief, you’ve got to give me something. This story could be my big break.”
Mac frowned at her and then held up a finger. “One minute.”
Wendy nodded at the lanky, long-haired cameraman and waited until a red light came on. “What can you tell us about the couple arrested for the recent bank robberies in our area?” She tilted the microphone in his direction.
Mac shook his head. “People who admire that sort of lifestyle need to remember that eventually they’ll get caught. Even Bonnie and Clyde were finally apprehended.”
“What about the culprits in the copper theft?”
Mac glanced at the camera and then back at Wendy. “Sometimes people rationalize stealing, but if the property’s not yours, it’s theft. They will be prosecuted.”
He answered a few more questions, and then, as the cameraman put his equipment back into the news van, Wendy touched his arm. “Could I clear up some background, Chief?”
“What background? I’ve told you everything I can.”
“I mean about you.” Wendy pulled her pad and pen from a large briefcase sitting on the porch. “You’ve been in this position less than a year. You served on the police force in Fayetteville, North Carolina, correct?”
Mac’s brows
bunched. Annoyance flared at Wendy’s persistence. “What does my prior employment have to do with anything?”
She looked at a sheaf of papers. “You came back home after your wife was killed in an automobile accident, right? It says here she was driving during a freak snowstorm.”
Mac clenched his fists and pressed his lips together tightly. If he had learned one thing about dealing with the press, it was to not say the first thing that popped into your head. “Wendy, all you need to know is I had four years of experience with the Fayetteville police force.” He sliced the air with his hand. “That’s it.” Mac headed for his vehicle.
Wendy’s words followed him across the street. “Chief, why did they ask you to leave?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
HE DROVE AROUND for an hour, not wanting to talk to anyone at the station, needing to be alone with his thoughts. Wendy’s question had unearthed some long-buried memories. She was sharp. His answer would’ve provided her with a juicy news bite. Instead he had walked away.
When he found himself at the edge of town, he decided to pay a visit to the Smith brothers. Skinny hadn’t been his usual jovial self when he’d picked up the coffee. Mac drove up the gravel drive and parked at the foot of the porch steps.
Skinny showed him into the living room where Hawkeye lay on the couch, his legs covered with an orange-and-brown-ripple afghan. When he moved to get up, Mac waved his hand. “Don’t trouble yourself, Hawkeye.” He took a seat in the chair.
Hawkeye worked on a piece of wood cupped in his hands.
Skinny perched in the chair opposite Mac and nodded toward his brother. “That’s what makes our turkey calls so special, is Hawkeye’s handwork. Look at the detail.”
Mac peered at the wooden box in the man’s hands and glanced back at Skinny. “Turkey calls?”
“Those boxes in the hallway are all full. Orders ready to be shipped.” He chuckled. “Who woulda thought two old codgers like us would have a website?”
Mac swallowed. “You have a website?”
“How else could someone find Smith turkey calls out here in the middle of nowhere?” He peered at Mac. “How about I make us a fresh pot of French press? I picked up some cookies at the bakery, too. The Hunter woman isn’t the friendliest but she’s a fine baker.”
Before Mac could respond, Skinny had disappeared down the hall. Mac had never really suspected the twins of foul play, yet at the same time he felt bad for assuming the two older men were no longer able to make a living. On the contrary.
A grandfather clock chimed the hour. Mac cleared his throat. “Maybe I should—”
“I hear you’re courting the Hoffman girl.”
Mac’s head jerked up. The sentence had to have come from Hawkeye because no one else was in the room. The man’s head was still bent, his gaze focused on the piece of wood. “Excuse me?”
Hawkeye grunted. “Young people don’t say courting anymore, do they?” Bright blue eyes peered at Mac for a second. “I should say, I hear you’re dating the Hoffman girl.” His voice was surprisingly well modulated, not at all what Mac would expect after hearing his twin brother’s local twang.
“No,” Mac said. “What gave you that idea?”
Although his gaze remained fixed on the call in his hands, the corners of Hawkeye’s mouth twitched. “People talk.”
Mac twirled his hat in his hands. “People gossip, you mean.”
“You’re a lucky man.”
“How so?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Mac regretted his sarcasm. Maybe the old man wouldn’t notice. Regardless, he didn’t know Mac, or that he’d lost his wife and was raising a child on his own.
Hawkeye’s brows lifted in surprise. “You’ve had the love of two women in your life. Most of us are lucky to have had one.” His long fingers worked the point of the knife into the wood.
Mac pursed his lips and stared at the polished hardwood floor between his boots. How Hawkeye knew about Anne, Mac wasn’t sure, but then this was a small town and yes, people talked.
“I had a girlfriend once,” Hawkeye said, “dated her all through high school. Then Vietnam and the draft came along and I got an all-expenses paid tour of Southeast Asia.” He grunted. “Betty wrote to me every week, sometimes two or three times a week. So I come back from ’Nam, skinny as a rail and mean as a snake, and find out she’s gone to California with her cousin. They drove a Volkswagen van the whole way across the country—you know the kind, the ones with flowers painted all over them. She left a letter asking me to follow her.” He held the box up to the light, blew off the wood shavings and inspected it before bringing it back to his lap.
Mac waited for Hawkeye to continue, but he’d become engrossed in his carving, his lips pressed tight with concentration. Curiosity getting the better of him, he asked the obvious question. “So did you go to California?”
Hawkeye looked up as if surprised to see Mac still sitting in the chair. “Oh, sure. I hitchhiked out. Spent the summer at the vineyard where she was working. We had a time of it. Bought an old panhead Harley we would take out on Highway One. Good times.”
“Did you get married?”
Hawkeye dropped the call onto his lap and pulled a blue handkerchief from under the blanket. He coughed into the hankie, returned the cloth to its hiding place and took a sip of water. “We tossed the idea around, and then I got a letter from home. Beginning of August and Skinny was sick. He’s had a heart condition ever since he was born. The doctor didn’t think he would make it. Anyway, that’s why he didn’t get drafted. So Skinny and my dad had acres of tomatoes planted that summer and no one to pick them. Planting all those tomatoes is probably what got Skinny sick in the first place. If I’d been here, well...”
Mac waited. When Hawkeye leaned back and shut his eyes, he couldn’t stay quiet any longer. “Did you and Betty come home?”
Hawkeye didn’t answer and with his head resting on the pillow and his eyes closed, Mac thought for a minute he had gone to sleep. But the voice that answered was quiet. “I came home. Betty stayed and married the oldest son of the vineyard owner.” He paused. “I still get Christmas cards from her.”
“Are you talking about Betty?” Skinny entered the room carrying a silver tray with the coffee carafe and three cups and saucers. “You dodged a bullet, brother. What kind of woman doesn’t wait for her man?” He set the tray on the coffee table and filled the cups. “What do you think of my brother’s talent, Chief?” Removing the box from his brother’s hands, he handed Hawkeye a cup and saucer. Then he gave the box to Mac.
Mac studied the carving on the side. Recognition shot through him. “This is Buddy, your coonhound.” He glanced at Hawkeye, who sat up drinking coffee.
“Yep.”
“He usually does simple drawings, like a turkey feather, or a pinecone. They don’t take as much time as something intricate like Buddy.” Skinny beamed with pride. “Of course, the call itself is what sells it.” He set down his cup and took the call out of Mac’s hands. When he scraped the thin sliver of wood across the open end of the rectangular box, a high-pitched gobble emerged. Skinny tilted his head, one ear to the box, and peered at the ceiling. He slid the piece across the edges of wood again and this time, Mac would have sworn a turkey was in the room. “Takes a little time, but it’s not too hard once you get the hang of it.” He handed the box to his brother, who dropped it in a dark blue felt bag with a red drawstring.
Hawkeye set the bag on the coffee table and picked up his cup. “I hear you caught some teenagers stealing in town. What will happen to them?”
Mac shrugged. “They’ve been released to their parents. A lot depends on how much money they took and whether Holly presses charges.”
Skinny shook his head. “Darn shame. Kids don’t have enough to keep themselves busy so they get into trouble. You ought to be able to harness t
heir energy somehow. Now if we had them out here on the farm back when we were growing vegetables, they’d be too tired for monkeyshines, how about it, brother?”
“Yep.”
Mac set down his empty cup. “I should get back to town.” He touched Hawkeye’s afghan-covered knee. “Hope you’re feeling better soon.”
Skinny picked up the tray. “I’ll take this back to the kitchen while you say your goodbyes.” He left the room.
Hawkeye picked up the felt bag and held it out. “This is for you.”
Mac dropped his hands to his side. “I can’t accept, Hawkeye. It’s your dog. You should keep it.”
Hawkeye shook his head. “What would I do with it? Leave it to Skinny?” He chuckled. “Although he will probably outlive me. No, I want you to have it, maybe pass it down to your girl—” he raised his eyebrows “—or boy, if you have one.”
Mac held out his hand and the old man laid the cloth bag in his palm. He waited until Mac met his gaze before saying, “Remember, you’re a lucky man.”
For a moment Mac didn’t think he could force any words past the huge lump in his throat. He swallowed. “Thank you...what is your real name?”
Hawkeye smiled. “Joseph.”
“Why do they call you Hawkeye?”
“A story for another day.”
“Thank you, Joseph.”
Joseph Smith lifted the afghan off his legs and stood, thrusting out his hand. “You’re welcome, John.”
Mac waited until Hawkeye settled himself back on the couch and then left. Outside, Skinny leaned against his truck.
Mac looked around the immaculate front yard. A late-blooming shrub grew red roses at the foot of the steps. “Where’s Buddy?”
Skinny looked off into the distance, as if remembering long-ago coon hunts. “His heart finally gave out. Went to sleep the other night and in the morning we found him stretched out at the foot of Hawkeye’s bed. He always was more Hawkeye’s dog than mine. My brother’s takin’ it pretty hard.”
Wanted--The Perfect Mom Page 19
