“That explains why we don’t get many newcomers,” Graham said.
“Damn right,” Crandall said.
“It’s probably just kids, Sheriff,” Lucas said. “I wouldn’t pay it no mind.”
“There were numbers on the brick,” Graham said. “Like a message.”
“Code of some kind?” Lucas asked.
“Could be a Bible verse,” Large Richard said.
“That was my first thought,” Graham replied.
“Sudoku,” Crandall said. “That goddamn math game. Got a nephew plays that all the time. Smart kid. Game drives me nuts. I’d rather play checkers.”
“You hate checkers,” Large Richard said.
“Damn right,” Crandall said.
Delores crept up silently and dropped Graham’s plate down in front of him. Some of the gravy slopped over the side of the plate. He looked up at her sheepishly. “Thank you,” he said.
She nodded and walked away.
The food sure looked good. The potatoes were real, and there were still small chunks left after an intentionally inefficient mashing. The meat loaf smelled heavily of garlic and Worcestershire sauce. Graham unwrapped his flatware, put the napkin on his lap, took his fork and dug in.
“How is it?” asked Large Richard.
“Needs pepper,” Graham said.
“Damn right,” Crandall said, and all four of the men laughed.
***
Graham hung out at The Meal Worm for a good hour and a half. He didn’t have to eat that piece of chocolate cream pie, but he did. The coffee would probably keep him up later than was good for him, but it was strong and dark, and Graham felt an insane need to keep up with Crandall. He had no idea where the man put all that coffee. He decided Crandall had a hollow leg.
He bade a good night to the men at the counter and went back to the cruiser. Night was coming on, and he had his parking lights on as he drove.
“Station, this is Sheriff Strahan,” he said into his handset. “Any messages for me? Over.”
“Strahan, this is Station,” Tamara answered. “If there had been I would have texted you. Over.”
“Right, right,” Graham said. “Well, that being the case, I’m gonna call it a night. Call me if you need me. Over.”
“Roger that, Sheriff. Say hey to Shelley for me. Over and out.”
How did she know I was going to the Nine Back? he wondered. Never mind. He knew how she knew. Love is predictable.
Love? When did that happen?
He shook the thought away and drove home.
***
Graham lived in an upstairs apartment downtown, in a building some would label “historic,” close to the Station. He had only what he needed, and didn’t cotton much to extraneous possessions. There wasn’t even any art on the walls; there were diplomas and commendations, hung and framed, but no pictures of anything or anyone. He did splurge on the TV, though. It was huge, and his surround system was monstrous. After all, his brother owned a video store. Free rentals were a perk.
Someday, he would have to invite Shelly back here. They had only been dating four months, even though she had shown interest far before that. No one had been in his apartment, ever, except him. If anyone had asked Graham if he had been lonely, he would have looked at them, quizzically, and come up with a glib answer. Since Shelly, though, he would have had a surer, direct answer.
He shaved in the sink, applied some deodorant that didn’t smell like posies, and put on a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. He should have put his shirt on before he put his deodorant on. The shirt, of course, scuffed his pits. With a wet cloth, he managed to get some white powder streaks on the hem of the shirt. How do you wash off something designed to resist moisture? Good thing it was dark in the bar.
He drove there in his personal vehicle. It wasn’t always a good thing to see a police car in the parking lot of a bar, on a weeknight, when there wasn’t a fight going on. The last thing Graham needed was tongues wagging about how the Sheriff’s a drunk and blah blah blah. Small town politics were based on small town rumors.
Terry was on front desk duty at the Highlander Resort. Graham went in through the lobby. He wasn’t trying to keep his visit a secret. After all, it seemed like everyone knew he was dating the bartender. Still though, the more attention he could keep on Sheriff Strahan as opposed to Personal Graham, the better.
“Hey, Sheriff!” Terry called. “Is there a problem?”
“Nope,” Graham said. “Just came in to unwind after work.”
“I’m sure it helps that your lady friend is working tonight,” Terry cooed.
Graham smirked and headed towards the bar. “Doesn’t hurt,” he called over his shoulder.
As usual, the Nine Back was stylishly dark. Televisions showed sporting events with the sound muted and Shelly had the local station, WREK, playing full tilt boogie behind the bar. The station had no real format, and one never knew what they would play next. At that moment, it was “Everybody’s Happy Nowadays” by the Buzzcocks.
He sidled up to the bar and sat on one of the wide, black padded stools. Shelly was waiting on some patrons sitting at tables. The place was dark for a reason, and Graham felt sure there was more no-tell at this hotel than he wanted to know.
When she came back behind the bar, she slapped a cocktail napkin down in front of him. It was an autopilot move. “What can I get you?” she said, without looking at him.
“How about a cold beer for a workin’ man?” Graham asked.
She looked up and grinned, her eyes suddenly the brightest thing in the room. “Hi, you!” she said. “You know I love it when you get all Stone Cold on me.”
“Hell, yeah,” Graham said.
“The usual?” she asked, mug already in hand.
Graham nodded. “You know what I like.”
“I do, I do!” she said, and she drew Graham a pint of the darkest beer on tap.
“Salt?” Graham asked, and Shelly produced a shaker from under the bar. Graham put some on his napkin to keep the mug from sticking together. She put his beer down on the salted square and turned around to fix drinks for her patrons.
“How’s it going tonight?” Graham asked.
Shelly made a noncommittal sound. “Not bad, not great. It’s a Wednesday. Not much going on. Just a few people pretending to work late, nudge nudge, wink wink.”
“Say no more,” Graham said, acknowledging this private information with a nod.
“Speaking of,” she said, motioning her head towards the main section of the bar, “I got drinks to make.”
“Take your time,” Graham said. “I got nowhere to be.”
“Mixologist” was a stupid word, in Graham’s opinion, but watching Shelly Powell make drinks was nothing short of magic to a beer drinker like Graham. She used both hands, icing and mixing in perfect proportions. Margarita glasses were perfectly rimmed with salt. There was just the right sized dollop of grenadine in the Tequila Sunrise. When she was finished, Graham wished he would have timed her. He was sure she pulled that order off in less than ninety seconds. Shelly had them on the cork tray and out to her customers just seconds after that.
“I do love watching you work,” Graham said when she returned.
“Is it my work you love watching, or is it something else?” she asked. There it was again. Graham blushed. Shelly saw the red flush rising up into his ears and giggled.
“You’re so easy,” she said. Graham could do nothing but nod.
Shelly ran a credit card through the terminal to start a tab for her newest table. “So what’s on your mind, Sheriff?” she asked.
That was a loaded question, for sure, but Graham wasn’t about to head down that conversational road.
“I was wondering what time you got off work tonight,” he said.
“Actually,” she said, “in about an hour. Gina’s coming in to close it up. Why? What do you have in mind?”
“I don’t know,” Graham said. “Thought maybe we could go get a drink.�
��
Shelly cocked an eyebrow. “You’re asking a bartender if she wants to go to a bar? Come on. You’re going to have to be a little more imaginative than that.”
“All right, then,” he said. “How does dinner sound? Italian. We’ll drive out to Bell Plains. Go somewhere nice. Or at least decent, seeing as how I’m dressed. I’m not much for fancy.”
Shelly grinned. “Sounds good. Want another beer while you’re waiting?”
“I’ll not say no,” Graham said. She poured him another one, expertly, with zero foam, and went out to the floor to check on her tables.
That was smooth, Graham thought. You’ve been dating four months and you still stammer when you ask her out to dinner? What the fuck is wrong with you?
But he was afraid he already knew the answer to that question, and his nose bristled with the remembered scents of blood and cordite. He sipped his beer and hummed along with the radio to clear his mind. The song was “Up Against the Wall, You Redneck Mothers” by Jerry Jeff Walker, and it cheered Graham right up.
Before he realized it, Gina was there to relieve Shelly. He heard them talking shop behind the counter.
“Slow night, girl,” Shelly said. “Hope it picks up for you.”
“I don’t,” Gina replied. “I am PMS’ing hard. I’ll probably end up spending my tips on Screwdrivers.”
“Don’t overdo it,” Shelly warned. “I’ve gotta take stock tomorrow afternoon.”
“No worries, boss,” Gina said. “I’ve got enough aspirin in me to eat through my liver.”
“All right, then,” Shelly said. “I’m out! Off to get a decent dinner for once.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Gina smiled. She looked over Shelly’s shoulder towards the bar. “Hi, Sheriff!”
Graham waved, saying nothing.
Shelly took her apron off and stashed it behind the counter. She walked around the bar and stood in front of Graham. “How do I look?” she asked.
Graham gave her a once-over. “Like you just got off work.”
Shelly cupped her hand behind her ear. “I’m sorry, what was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”
“I said, you look perfect.”
She held one arm out akimbo, and Graham placed his arm into the crook of hers. They walked out through the lobby, heads held high, like a proper couple.
Terry watched them leave from behind the desk. Ain’t love grand, he thought, before going back to watching gay porn on his phone.
***
It was a half hour drive to Bell Plains, give or take a few minutes, and by the time they hit town, Shelly was starving. Her stomach was rumbling so loudly, Graham could hear it over the music on the radio. After that big lunch at The Meal Worm, Graham was feeling okay, but he could eat some.
“Can we go somewhere that’s not a chain?” Shelly asked. “I want to try some place new.”
“Sure!” Graham said. “I’ve heard about a little place like that, and that’s where I figured we’d go. It should be just up here on the right.”
“Awesome,” Shelly said.
“Are you hungry, babe?” Graham asked.
Shelly’s stomach rumbled again. It sounded like whale song. “I could eat,” she nonchalantly said, looking out the window.
The restaurant used to be a pancake house, and was constructed like one. There was a definite wagon wheel motif in the woodwork. The new owners hadn’t torn down the old sign outside, only painted over it. The name of the place, L’uomo Verde, had been stenciled over a still visible wooden syrup pitcher and pat of butter.
Shelly looked at Graham, one corner of her mouth turned down. “Are you sure about this?” she asked. “Looks like the International House of Pasta.”
“I’ve heard good things,” Graham said, shutting off the car. “I’m willing if you are.”
“This better be good, Sheriff,” she said.
“The parking lot is full,” he noted. “That’s a good sign.”
Shelly shrugged. Graham gently took her hand and they entered the restaurant.
***
Just as she feared, the interior looked like a log cabin. But it smelled like heaven. Tomatoes and garlic, oregano and basil, cheese and wine; whatever it was, it sure seemed a damn sight better than the frozen dinner she had waiting for her at home.
“My taxpayer dollars go towards your salary, right?” Shelly asked.
Graham nodded.
“Good,” Shelly said. “I’m about to take a chunk of it back.”
The food bordered on expensive, and the wine crossed that line. It was worth it to Graham, though, just to see the look on Shelly’s face as she enjoyed every bite of it. It was like being served a gourmet meal inside a tent. With food that good, though, there was no reason to complain about the décor.
“Oh my god, Graham,” she said, “this is amazing. Holy shit. Did you try the lasagna? Try the lasagna.”
“That’s okay,” Graham said. “You enjoy it.”
“Open your fucking mouth, and let me feed you a bite of lasagna, like we are two people who like each other on a fancy date in the big city,” Shelly said, smiling the whole time.
“Lasagna sounds great,” Graham said, and he opened his mouth. Shelly scooped some lasagna onto her fork and gently tapped Graham’s tongue with it. He closed his mouth. She pulled the fork out. Graham chewed and swallowed.
“It’s good,” he said.
“It’s divine,” she said. She took another bite, blotted her mouth with her napkin and took a sip of wine. “So. This is a thing now.”
“What is?”
“This is our place. Our special place no one else knows about. Special occasions and stuff should take place here.”
Graham shrugged. “Cool,” he said.
“Cool?” Shelly said, weighing the word as she spoke it. “Cool. That’s cool. Hmmm.”
Warning bells went off in Graham’s head. “Did I say something wrong?”
“Oh, no,” Shelly said. “It’s cool.”
Graham folded his hands atop the table and waited. “I’ve missed something here, and it’s obvious you’re upset about it. Is there any chance I can get you to simply tell me what I missed instead of you making me guess?”
Shelly drained her wine glass, then she pulled the half-full bottle to her, clutching it in one hand like a candle. She focused on the wall, avoiding Graham’s earnest gaze. Even through the new paint job, she could still see the outline of an old cactus appliqué on the wall, a ghost from the place’s previous incarnation. Because when you’re in the desert, the first thing on your mind is how to get your hands on some fucking flapjacks.
“You’re not good at this relationship thing, are you, Graham?” Shelly asked.
“Never really had one before,” Graham answered. “It’s been a learn-as-you-go sort of thing.”
“Okay, that’s fair,” she said. “Well, let me help you out with something. When a woman – in this case, me – tells you that something or somewhere or some date is important, the proper response is not, ‘cool.’ It needs to be something a little more inspired than that, more enthusiastic.”
Graham nodded. “I understand.”
“And you know what? This laconic lawman bullshit you keep throwing at me? It needs to stop. I want a relationship, Graham, and I don’t want it with your fucking badge. I know there’s a real person behind there because I’ve seen glimpses of him. He’s wonderful. I… I really like him. But if you want to keep me, then you need to quit this Dirty Harry shit. You talk to me. Be real with me.”
Graham stared intently at the table, letting Shelly’s words sink in. Shelly took a swig of wine from the bottle, then another. These were simple requests she had made, certainly not deal-breakers. Were they? She grew nervous then, wondering if she had pushed too hard, too soon.
The silence stretched. Shelly watched him stare at the table while she sucked the bottle of wine dry. As soon as it was empty, she wished for another one. His shoulders moved up and down with each deep breath. His n
eck vein was showing, and she was strangely frightened by its pulsing. Had she made him angry? Holy shit, this had gone all wrong.
Before he could look up, Shelly caught the attention of their server. She held up her empty wine bottle, pointed to it and made a desperate, plaintive face. The server smiled and nodded, indicating that he would be back in just a moment.
“There are reasons,” Graham said. Then he went back to staring at the table.
“Uh, was that the entire sentence, or is there more to it?”
Graham cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “There are reasons why I am guarded around you, Shelly. You’re not dating a normal guy, or one of your customers. I’m the Sheriff. I see, hear and do shit that a civilian does not and cannot know about. If you ask me how my day went, and all I say is ‘fine,’ then you’re going to have to drop it. You need to leave it at that.”
“I understand that, Sheriff,” she said. “And yes, that will drive me nuts, but I’m talking about your feelings, Graham. Your emotions.”
“So am I, Shelly,” Graham said. “I enjoy being a police officer. It is in my nature to protect people. I do it for strangers. I do it for assholes I don’t like. Imagine how much more I’m going to do it for people I care about.”
The server quietly put another open bottle of wine on the table within Shelly’s reach and shuffled away.
“Shelly, there are things I am never going to be able to tell you. Doors you’re not going to be able to open. And it will be for your own good, but you’re not always going to see it that way.” He leaned forward and touched her cheek. “So this is up to you. I’m not trying to make rules. I don’t want to set harsh boundaries. This is just the way things are for me. The way things have to be.”
Graham grabbed the bottle of wine away from Shelly and took a long pull.
“Also,” Graham said, “you may see and hear some weird shit. And you could be in danger, simply by virtue of being with me.”
“Okay,” Shelly said.
“There’s a large part of me that wants to tell you to fuck off, because I know if you leave, you’ll be safe.”
Hunting Witches Page 10
