by Jeff Carson
MacLean blinked rapidly. “What?”
“Your flasher and the car thefts.”
“What? How?”
“Only the flasher’s not really showing his genitalia to women, is he?”
MacLean tilted his head. “How did you know that? Oh, right. One of your loyal minions out in the squad room.”
“No, it wasn’t. There was a guy in our middle school, Matthew David. He used to walk down the hallway with his ... uh … pants down and his genitalia tucked back with his legs together in a way that made him look like a girl? Anyway … used to waddle down the hall, chasing girls like this, shouting at them. He did that, I don’t know, fifteen, twenty times a year for two years in sixth and seventh grades. Everyone called him Tuck.”
MacLean laughed. “You’re kidding me right now.”
Wolf shook his head. “He was developmentally challenged. Whatever was wrong with him, he couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t stop. They eventually kicked him out of school, and he was home-schooled by his mother for his high-school years. Ever since, his mother seemed to keep his urges reigned in, or at least kept them in the privacy of their home.”
“So it’s him.”
“And he had another quirk. He used to break into lockers, teachers’ desks, and offices and steal things.”
MacLean set down his coffee, spilling some on the top of the desk.
“Not just anything, though. Only eyeglasses. Reading glasses. Sunglasses. Yesterday’s paper said the Sheriff’s Department was not divulging what was stolen out of the cars, but I take it by the look on your face that it was eyeglasses and sunglasses. Busted-out windows, cars rummaged through, all for that one specific item in each instance.”
“My God, you’re right. So what? This guy’s having some sort of relapse?”
“His mother died nine days ago. That was also in the papers. Obituary section. There’s been no mention of the flasher yet, so I hadn’t had the opportunity to make the connection until just now. His older brother still lives in town, but clearly he isn’t too excited about the role of caretaker he’s inherited. His name’s Bill David. Lives on Central and 4th.
“And you’d better be quick about whatever you’re going to do, and delicate about it, because two of the eleven council members know the whole story of Matthew David as well as I do. And they weren’t the ones likely to call him Tuck growing up. In fact, one of them felt the school had been cruel to kick him out, and he used to visit Matthew all the time at home. Good thing the paper hadn’t picked up on the flasher yet, otherwise half the town would’ve had the whole thing solved before you.”
MacLean made a fist. “Not one deputy knew about this guy.”
Wolf shrugged. “They’re all too young, or transplants from elsewhere.”
“Which council member was it that used to visit him?”
Wolf smiled and walked out. “Twenty percent.”
“Okay, okay, okay.” MacLean strode next to him. “Twenty percent it is. You’re killing me.” He laughed and flourished the contract. “Here.”
MacLean flipped to the page that dealt with salary, crossed out the number with his platinum pen, added twenty percent, and then handed it to Wolf.
Wolf studied it for a few seconds, and then shook MacLean’s hand. “Thanks, Sheriff. It’s going to be a pleasure working with you.”
Wolf pressed the contract against the wall and signed it, and then found another line, crossed it out, and wrote in something else.
“What’s this?”
Wolf left, crutches creaking in rhythm down the polished hallway.
“Wait a minute. This says you’re starting a month from now. Over a month.”
Wolf smiled.
“And which freakin’ council member?”
He slowed to a stop. “Trust me, you’ll look better if you don’t know. Just be nice to Matthew David.”
MacLean lifted a finger. “You said he earlier. It’s a man.”
Wolf left.
“What are you going to do for another month?”
“Heal.”
MacLean made a disgusted noise and his shoes clicked away behind him. “You’re killing me.”
Chapter 52
“There he is,” Patterson said as Wolf entered the squad room.
Wolf stopped outside the circle of deputies that included Patterson, Rachette, Wilson, and Munford.
“Hey.” Rachette lifted a cup of coffee and took a large bite of donut, leaving a chunk of blue icing on his lip.
Wolf gave a round of handshakes and noted that Rachette stood shoulder to shoulder with Munford, and she seemed to welcome the closer-than-normal proximity, despite the food dangling from his face.
“Congratulations on undersheriff,” he said to Wilson.
Wilson’s mouth fell open. “Really?”
“I told MacLean he made a good choice and you’re the perfect man for the job.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You’re the sir, now.”
“Wait a minute,” Patterson said. “What are you going to do?”
“I still can’t handle being on my feet for very long. Jack and I are heading down to Arizona with his grandparents for the holidays. I think I’ll sit by the pool, work on my tan.”
Patterson blinked. “No, I mean about working here. At the department.”
“I’ll be heading up the detective bureau when I return.”
Patterson sagged with relief.
“You have your detectives picked yet?” Rachette failed to hide the eagerness in his voice.
Wolf nodded. “I’ve had the job for about forty seconds but, yeah, I have a couple of them picked out already.”
“I hope one of them is me,” Rachette said.
“And me,” Patterson said.
“And me.” Munford stood straight.
Wolf nodded and eyed them in turn. “I’ll see you guys in a month. We’ll talk then.”
Patterson smiled wide with sparkling eyes. “I’m so … so …”
“Oh, no,” Rachette said. “Here we go. Easy, fruitcake.”
“Hey, Thomas.” Munford slapped Rachette in the shoulder. “Watch it.”
Rachette looked at Munford. “Yeah, okay, you’re right. Sorry.”
“And wipe the frosting off your lip,” Munford said. “You look like you just blew a Smurf.”
Rachette and Munford exploded in laughter as he wiped his mouth with a napkin.
Everyone else waited in silence as Rachette and Munford finished their laughing fit.
“Well, I have to go,” Munford said with a red face. “I’ll see you when you get back, sir. I look forward to working with you.”
A snap echoed off the walls as Rachette backhanded her behind.
“Ah, geez!” Munford’s face went red and she giggled uncontrollably as she walked out of the room.
Rachette smiled wide and bounced his eyebrows.
Patterson rubbed her eyes. “Ugh. You know when two dogs start sniffing each other’s butts and everyone kind of just stops and watches it happen?”
“Whatever. You’re just jealous.”
She stood with closed eyes, clearly practicing breathing techniques to calm herself.
“How’s Burton doing?” Wilson asked.
“He’s fine,” Wolf said. “Wound’s healing nicely. He raves about how he’s lost forty pounds in two months.”
“So that’s the secret?” Wilson asked, patting his ample belly. “Just get shot?”
They laughed, and underneath the vaulted ceilings of the brand-new squad room, with floor-to-ceiling windows that framed snow-covered mountains carpeted with pine forests, Wolf felt a calm that had eluded him for over five months. And, he realized as he looked at his watch, it had nothing to do with the contract he’d just signed. It had nothing to do with the certainty of his future as a cop being re-chiseled in stone.
“I’ll see you guys in a month.”
Chapter 53
Wolf and Jack stood in silence underneath the
cloudless December sky. The air stung their nostrils with each inhale, and froze their exhales into plumes of smoke.
Here lies Sarah S. Muller. A Beloved Mother, Daughter, and Wife.
Ex-wife, Wolf thought, but knew the headstone needed no editing. The text had been deliberately written that way months ago, chosen by Sarah’s parents, and it didn’t bother him in the least.
“You know, I told Grandma and Grandpa to write the headstone that way,” Jack said.
The truth stunned Wolf. He adjusted his numbed right hand perched on Jack’s shoulder and cleared his throat. “I like it.”
Jack sniffed and exhaled through wet lips. “Do you?”
“Yeah, I do. That’s how I remember Mom.”
A tear dripped off Wolf’s chin, adding to the frozen glaze of tears already on his jacket. It was the truth. He’d never once been comfortable referring to Sarah as his ex-wife, knowing in his heart that one day they were going to pick up where they’d left off all those years ago.
The truth was that he and Sarah had never been separated, but at the same time had never given life together a chance. After they’d said their vows, Wolf had joined the army and left her high and dry. When he returned, she was a changed woman, and they’d struggled with and ultimately given up on their relationship.
He had to reach back all the way to high school and college years to find a snippet of memory of when they were a normal and happy couple.
After that, they had split into two entities, destined to drift in the same system on different but crossing orbits—only passing close to one another in fleeting moments, the gaps between way too long.
And what were they orbiting? This boy, this young man at Wolf’s side.
“What are you thinking about?” Jack asked.
Wolf looked at him and wiped a cheek. “You.”
“What are we going to do?” Jack asked.
He was taken aback by the question, but managed to keep a strong face. “We’re going to carry on, but we’re never going to forget the great person your mother was. She’ll always be with us. She’ll be there to talk to when we want, or when we need. She’ll always be in our hearts.
“And you’re going to come live with me if you want, or you’re going to live with your grandparents if you want. And whether you want it or not I’m always going to be there for you.”
Jack looked down and fresh tears spattered onto his jacket. With a nod, he sniffed and then laughed.
“What?”
“I feel sorry for Mom.”
“Why?”
“She’s gotta sit here with your dad and John. They’re going to annoy the crap out of her.”
Wolf laughed and blew a bubble out of his nose. Then they laughed even harder.
Ten minutes later, with the aid of his son, Wolf hobbled down the ice-laden pathway into the parking lot.
Jack stopped next to the driver’s-side door. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Wolf tossed the crutches next to the bags in the truck bed. “My leg hurts too much when I do it.”
“But it’s like a twelve-hour drive to Arizona, isn’t it?”
“If you keep your foot on the gas.” Wolf climbed into the passenger seat.
Jack shuffled in behind the wheel and with wide eyes remembered to put on his seatbelt. “Am I allowed to do this with a learner’s permit?” He adjusted the rearview mirror. “And between states?”
Wolf leaned back and exhaled. “How the hell would I know?”
With spinning tires, they lurched backwards out of the parking spot.
Jack jammed the brake and shifted the stick into neutral. “I want to live with you, okay?”
Wolf nodded, unable to hide the wave of happiness passing through him. “Sounds good.”
He cringed as the gears scraped and the engine revved to blood-pounding volume. Then Jack let off the clutch in a smooth motion, just as Wolf had taught him the day before, and they were trundling back down Hilltop Road, on their way to the desert southwest, and to warmer weather.
“How was that?” Jack asked over the climbing pitch of the engine.
“That was better. You’re getting the hang of it.”
“I hope the truck holds up.” Jack mercifully shifted into second gear and they rocked back and forth. “All right. Now just another twelve hours.”
Wolf smiled and leaned back, blocking out any thought of the endless stretch of highway that awaited them, not to mention the weather they would face on the way.
“One mile at a time,” he said. “One mile at a time.”
To the Bone
David Wolf Book 7
Chapter 1
The girl stood at the side of the dirt road, rooting around inside her trunk. As she looked up at Wolf’s approaching vehicle, he recognized her immediately.
She must have recognized him too, because her first reaction was to step back and drop her jaw.
Skidding to a halt, Wolf rolled down his window just as a cloud of dust engulfed them both.
“Hi, Cassidy,” he said, peering through the choking dirt.
“Hi, Mr. Wolf.”
Her pristine red German sedan was tilted to the rear passenger side.
“Flat tire?”
“Yes,” she said, waving a slender hand in front of her face.
“Sorry.” He squinted as a hot blast of air came in the window. “Let me pull over. I’ll give you a hand.”
“Okay, thanks,” she said with a mixture of relief and what sounded like dread in her voice.
He pulled behind her car and shut off the engine. As he stepped out onto the shoulder, the weeds snapped and crunched under his old leather work boot, flushing out some grasshoppers that scattered like popping popcorn. Their cracking wings and the burbling Chautauqua River below on the opposite side of the road were the only sounds.
It was only 9 a.m. and the early August sun was cooking the back of his neck.
The wind cleared the dust and Cassidy Frost stood with her hands in the pockets of her frayed jean shorts, which were barely more than a bikini bottom in Wolf’s estimation.
He knew Cassidy Frost, had known her well for the past seven months, because she was dating his fifteen-year-old son, Jack. She was just older than Jack, two months into her sixteenth year, and with a driver’s license; and since Jack was living with Wolf, and still without a driver’s license, Cassidy had been burning a lot of gas, driving up and down this road lately.
But today? He hadn’t expected to see her today.
Her eyes were wild-looking, adrenaline still pumping through her veins from the tire, and she stutter-stepped forward with an outstretched hand.
He nodded and took her thin, dainty hand, which tensed into a firm shake.
She really was quite beautiful. Her large blue eyes always reminded Wolf of his late ex-wife, Sarah. And then there was the straw-blonde hair streaming across her face. The resemblance was uncanny, and he knew it was more than coincidence that Jack was drawn to this girl who looked like his mother.
Skid marks had gouged the gravel just a few yards from where she’d pulled over. It was clear she’d been traveling just above unsafe speed when the blowout had happened, and now the adrenaline-powered look in her eye made sense.
“You all right?”
She nodded.
“You have a spare, right?”
“Yeah, it’s in the trunk.”
He walked to the open trunk. Inside, a piece of carpeted plastic had been pulled away, revealing a thin spare tire and a cheap, insufficient-looking jack. Next to the compartment, a sleeping bag was pushed into the corner, and next to that was a duffle bag, dusty with a piece of pine bark clinging to the fabric.
Pretending not to see those two items, he pulled out the tire and jack.
“I was trying to call for help,”—she held out her phone—“but there’s no service here.”
“There’s never any service all the way down this road until you hit our house.”
He
wondered where Cassidy’s tent was.
“I’m going to help you do this, all right?” he said. “Every sixteen-year-old needs to learn how to change a tire.”
She smiled sheepishly and put her phone in her back pocket. “I know. My dad keeps saying the same thing.”
Wolf helped her set up the jack, remove the tire, and put on the spare. She was a quick study, asking intelligent questions, all in all diving into the whole thing with a commendable attitude.
But his mind reeled as he watched the sixteen-year-old girl tighten the last lug nut.
Just a sleeping bag and a duffle bag. Where was her tent?
“Mr. Wolf?”
“Yeah?”
“I … was asking, what next?”
“Oh, yeah.” He showed her how to lower the car safely and stow the damaged tire and jack—once again playing the unobservant idiot with the camping gear as he pushed down the trunk with a thump.
“Take it into Mitch’s tire shop as soon as you can,” he said, keeping his hand on the warm paint of the trunk.
They stared at one another for a few seconds.
“And, Cassidy?”
Cassidy swallowed. Her face dropped and her lip quivered involuntarily as she looked into Wolf’s eyes. “Yes?”
“Were you camping with Jack last night?”
Her eyes welled up with astonishing speed.
“What’s the matter?”
“You think I’m some sort of slut. I know it.”
His mouth dropped open and his face went red hot.
“I see it. I know you do.”
He felt like he was being punched repeatedly in the stomach. “Cassidy, I don’t think that.”
She was openly weeping now, tears splashing in the dust.
He reached out a stiff arm and patted her shoulder, unsure of what else to do. “No. I don’t think that.”
“I hope you’re telling the truth.” She looked up with desperate eyes and sniffed.
It was the truth. He often questioned where the second half of her outfits had gone, but he’d known a lot of sluts in his day, and Cassidy Frost was not one of them. Her parents were good people and he knew they were good parents, and she was a good kid. And if Jack and Cassidy were now … ugh … “I just saw your sleeping bag. Jack didn’t tell me you were included in the group of his friends going camping.”
