Take Me Back (Paradise, Idaho Book 4)

by Rosalind James

  “Sure.” She glanced at him sidelong, the same way Mac had done earlier, and said, “I notice we’re gossip material.”

  “Did you recognize him? Charlie, in the back?”

  “No. Should I have?”

  Jim told her, and she laughed. “Talk about second chances. I’ve sent his kid to the principal’s office once already, and moved his seat right up by my desk, and we’re only on day four. I’ll keep hoping to make an impression on him, but meanwhile, at least he’s not keeping anybody else from learning, and that’s something.”

  “You really like this,” he said, holding the classroom door for her, then waiting while she locked up.

  “Only reason anyone would do it,” she said. “The hours stink, and it doesn’t pay enough. Probably like being a deputy sheriff.”

  “Probably.” They walked down the echoing corridor together, only a few stragglers remaining now, and past the rows of lockers. “So I’ve got a question for you,” he said.

  “Just don’t make it too hard, because I’m about dead on my feet.”

  “Yeah. Noticed that. This’ll be a quick one. What age are girls when they . . . notice boys?”

  “That’s your idea of a quick question?”

  He gave her a sheepish half smile. “Just give me a hint.”

  “This is about Mac, I presume?”

  “Yep. She was asking me all these questions tonight. No body armor for that.”

  “Like what?”

  He shrugged a shoulder. They were out of the building now, headed to her car. “Like, did I want a girlfriend. Would I be having sex with my girlfriend. I about spit out my drink.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “I guess being a single dad gets pretty tough.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But you haven’t—” She hesitated. “I mean, this hasn’t come up.”

  They were at her car now, with good-byes being called around them, the sound of engines turning over in the cool October night. “No,” he said. “It hasn’t. And now it is.”

  “Oh.” She unlocked the car and put her bags in the back, then said, “When do boys start thinking about it?”

  “You asking when I did? I remember right there in sixth grade, noticing your butt, wondering how come I liked to look at it. If that helps.”

  She gasped, and he said, “You just did that sucking-in-your-breath thing again. I noticed that, too. Bothered me then, just like it does now.”

  “I was ten.”

  “Yeah, well, what can I say. I was eleven. Twelve. Whatever. When did you notice boys?”

  “If we’re being honest here,” she admitted, “I noticed you. You made me feel all sort of . . . weak. Knee-wise.”

  “Ah. That’s nice.”

  “So I’d say,” she said, going for that brisk professional approach again, “that Mac’s probably normal. I can tell you that Eli Chambers likes her just fine, and she likes him, and since they’re both nice kids, you don’t have too much to worry about. She’s got good taste, anyway. Doesn’t go for the bad boys.”

  “Oh. Whoa. You’re kidding. I wasn’t ready for that.”

  “I’m guessing no dad ever is. But if you’re answering her questions calmly—I mean, the ones about you, besides any others that come up—you’re doing it right.”

  “I told her it was none of her business.”

  “Maybe not quite right,” she conceded.

  “I’m working on it.” She stood there, holding the door, and he wished he could kiss her goodnight. See if he could still make her weak in the knees. He was willing to work on that, too. But there were people all around them, so instead, he just said, “I still like looking at your butt. So you know. I liked you all messed up in those short little shorts both times, and I liked you in that pretty white dress, and I like the way you look tonight. And trying out your pool table with you would be about the finest thing I could imagine. So if you need anything, out there by yourself? You’ve got my number.”

  Then he went and got in his rig, let her pull out first, followed her to the first turn, and headed to his mom’s to pick up Mac.

  Who liked Eli Chambers just fine. He was definitely not ready for this.

  DISTURBING THE PEACE

  Jim’s mind had gone straight back to Hallie, and the look on her face when he’d said that last bit, when his attention was caught by the rig in front of him that had turned left at the stop sign just before Jim turned right. A brand-new black Ford F-150 with light bars and a trailer hitch and all the bells and whistles.

  Henry Cavanaugh’s truck.

  Well, shit.

  Jim was in his personal vehicle, and he wasn’t on duty. He thought about calling it in, then decided just to follow it for a while and see what he saw.

  Ten blocks, all the way through town. A right, then another one. All the way down to Frogtown, where the truck pulled over in front of a dingy apartment building Jim recognized.

  The driver got out, and Jim had about ten thoughts all at once. That he’d made a stupid assumption, a rookie mistake. That the easy answer was so often the right one. That real life wasn’t a mystery novel, and you didn’t look for the least probable person, you looked for the one with motive and opportunity. Not to mention the one who had a key.

  And that women could have lowlife boyfriends who could be real interested in valuable items in somebody’s house, things they could have their girlfriends spot for them.

  It was Eileen Hendricks, driving Henry Cavanaugh’s truck through town and apparently thinking nobody would notice.

  Had Hallie reported it missing? No, or Jim would’ve heard. Could she not have noticed it was gone, maybe? He could tell she didn’t like being in the garage much. Or had she noticed, and suspected, but had some sort of Noble Hallie moment, thinking that you could excuse theft because the person who’d taken your property must have needed it more than you did? That would be exactly like Hallie. Especially if it was this person.

  He was pulling over on the opposite side of the street, a little ways back, on that thought. He had a moment of indecision, then told himself, Don’t be stupid again, pulled out his phone, and called it in.

  “I’m going to approach the subject,” he told the dispatcher.

  “I’ve already dispatched,” she said. “Wait for backup.”

  Jim was watching Eileen, though. She was reaching into the backseat and hauling a sturdy little figure onto the sidewalk, with a taller kid jumping down after them. Then she went for some plastic bags in the truck bed, handing one to the older girl and taking four herself.

  “Negative,” Jim said. “I’m approaching. She’s got her groceries and her kids.”

  He hung up, stuffed the phone into his pocket, jogged across the street, and came up fast. Eileen whirled, and even when Jim came into the pool of light cast by the street lamp and she recognized him, she still looked tense.

  “Oh,” she said with a tentative smile. “Hi.”

  Jim said, “I’d like to know why you’re driving Henry Cavanaugh’s truck.”

  She looked shocked. Guilty. “I . . . Hallie . . . Ms. Cavanaugh. She gave it to me.”

  “She gave it to you,” he said flatly. He could hear the siren, approaching fast, and he relaxed a little, but she tensed more.

  “Well, actually,” she said with a nervous laugh, “she traded it. I mean, she sold it to me.”

  “Which is it?” Jim asked, doing his best to harden his heart against the wide-eyed little girl who stood, canted to one side by the weight of the grocery bag she was holding in two hands, staring at him in what looked like terror. The same terror he could see in her mother’s eyes. The little boy had hold of his mom’s pant leg and was staring at Jim, too. “She gave it, she traded it, or she sold it?”

  Eileen said, “She did. I know it’s crazy, but she did. I can prove it. Here.” She set the groceries down awkwardly and pulled open the door of the truck.

  Jim said sharply, “Stop,” and she froze.

  “I was ju
st going to . . .” she said. “Get the registration for you.”

  A cruiser came down the street fast, lights and siren going, and Mike Abbott pulled up behind Henry’s truck and got out with a hand on the butt of his weapon. The lights on the squad car continued to rotate, cutting the night with swaths of blue and red.

  “Hang on, Mike,” Jim said. “Just checking this out.”

  Mike nodded, took his hand off his weapon, but stayed where he was.

  “I’m going to reach in your glove compartment,” Jim told Eileen, “if it’s all right with you, and look for that registration.”

  She nodded jerkily. “S-sure.”

  “Mommy?” the little girl said in a quavering voice.

  “Shh,” Eileen said. “Don’t talk now.” Her daughter shut up, but moved a half step closer, and Eileen took the grocery bag from her, set it down, and put an arm around each of her children.

  Jim climbed into the cab, opened the glove compartment, and found the black plastic pouch sitting on top. He examined the document inside under the dome light. Great Seal of Idaho stamped on the paper, Temporary Notice of Automobile Registration printed on top, and Eileen’s name, address, and the vehicle information handwritten on the form beneath. He put it away again, closed the glove compartment, and climbed out of the truck.

  “Looks legit,” he told Mike. “The registration.”

  “It is,” Eileen said. “You can ask Hallie. Please.”

  Jim said, “One minute,” pulled his phone out again, and made the call. Four rings. Voice mail. He hung up, waited a second, then redialed, while everybody stood and waited.

  Damn it, Hallie, he thought. Pick up. Either I’m solving about three cases, or I’m the world’s biggest prick. And I’d sure like to know which it is.

  Hallie was grabbing her laptop bag from the back of the car when the phone rang. She lunged across the front seat for her purse, which had slipped onto the floor, and got whacked in the hip by the car door on the way out. She swore, scrabbled in her messy purse for the phone, finally got her hand on it . . . and it stopped ringing. She dropped it back into her purse and headed for the house. Probably some parent wanting to talk about terrorism some more. Well, she didn’t have to answer tonight.

  The phone started ringing again, and she swore again, fumbled with her bags and pulled it out, stuck it under her chin, and said, “Hello?”

  “Hallie.” Not some parent, or, rather, it was. The only one who made her heart flutter.

  “Hey,” she said. “You forget something?” It came out a little flirtier than she’d intended.

  Trying out your pool table with you would be about the finest thing I could imagine.

  He said, “Did you know that Eileen Hendricks is driving your father’s pickup?”

  She blinked. All righty, then. Not the pool table. “Yes.” She put her key in the lock and opened the front door to an ecstatic Cletus, who was uttering a happy cavalcade of deep-throated barks that drowned Jim out. “Hang on a second.”

  She dumped her laptop bag and purse on the hall table, told Cletus, “Quiet, you,” went into the dining room, dropped into a chair, and struggled to get her boots off with eighty pounds of golden retriever in her face. “All right,” she told Jim. “I’m back. What about Eileen and the truck?”

  “Is she driving it with your permission?”

  “Not exactly. It’s hers. I traded her for it. Or rather, I sold it to her. I traded for her dog, but then I thought that might not make it legal, so she paid me a dollar. It’s hers. She bought it for a dog and a dollar.” She gave Cletus a couple thumps on the shoulder to emphasize her point, which he appreciated.

  “Which is what she said,” Jim said with what sounded like resignation. “I should have figured.”

  “Why? Because I’m . . . what? A fool?” It had been too long a day, or maybe it was being back here. She could hear her dad’s voice, when she’d tried to argue politics with him at this very table.

  Here’s how the world really works. You get yours, and that’s it. That’s what everybody else is trying to do, and don’t you ever forget it. You get yours, and you hold on to it, or somebody will take it away from you. They’ll be a thief, but you’ll be a fool. I’d rather have a thief for a daughter than a fool, so don’t let me hear that fool’s talk again.

  “Wait, though,” she said, shoving the memory away. “Are you telling me . . . You didn’t pull her over or anything, did you?”

  “In a way, yeah. Hang on.” She heard the muffled sound of Jim’s voice, another, softer one answering, and she was yelling, “Jim! Hey!”

  He came back and said, “What?”

  “You’re kidding me. Put her on.”

  “It’s all good,” he said. “We’re done. She’s free to go.”

  “Put. Her. On,” she said through gritted teeth. “She’s about one step from losing it completely, and you pulled her over? For car theft?”

  “I was checking.”

  “Put her on,” she said again. “Right now.”

  He sighed. “Right. Hang on.”

  Another voice, then, a tentative one. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Eileen,” Hallie said. “I’m sorry about that. Don’t worry, though. You’re all set. And Jim Lawson is an idiot.”

  “He was checking, I guess.”

  “Did you get it registered?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. You bring me those receipts for the registration and the first six months of insurance this weekend, and I’ll give you a check.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. I told you. This is helping me as much as it’s helping you. Trust me.”

  “All right,” Eileen said. “Thanks. A lot. I mean it. Thanks.”

  More muffled conversation, then, for a full minute or two, and Jim was on the line again. “OK,” he said. “She’s gone inside with her kids, and we’re all good. And, yes, I apologized. Consider me officially a . . .”

  He seemed to be groping for a word, so she said, “I can’t wait for you to fill in the blank. I’m glad you apologized to her, but why the heck would you pull her over instead of just calling me?”

  “That’s forty-five thousand dollars’ worth of truck. And what I’ve wondered about the way your dad died, then the guns . . . when I saw her driving it, too many pieces fell into place.”

  “Well, those pieces don’t fit.” She stood up, said, “Hang on” again, and pulled her top over her head, then picked up the phone and shoved it under her ear before unclipping her bra and pulling it off. “OK, I’m back.”

  “So you traded that primo ride for a dog and a dollar,” he said, then started to laugh. “Man, I still feel like a prize jerk, those little kids and all, but I can’t help seeing the look on Henry’s face.”

  “Yep.” She wriggled her leggings and underwear down her legs, struggled to get them over her feet with one hand, and dropped the phone, which bounced and skittered across the hardwood floor. Cletus ran across, his toenails making an excited clackety-clack noise, and barked at it, and Hallie lunged for the phone, picked it up, and said, “Shoot. Sorry. I’m trying to get into the bathtub. Long day.”

  “Hallie.” His voice had lost the laughter. In fact, it was sounding a little strained. “Have you been getting undressed? Just now?”

  She should still be upset with him, but he had apologized to Eileen. He’d been looking out for her, as he had been all along. And besides . . .

  “Why, officer?” she asked. “Is there some law against taking your clothes off while you talk to a man on the telephone?” She bent to pick up her clothes and give Cletus a pat, then sauntered to her bedroom as if Jim were watching. She’d never been a real babe, but when he’d been talking to her tonight, she’d felt like one. And she felt like one now.

  “If there isn’t,” he said, “there should be, because that’s cruel and unusual.”

  She dropped her clothes in the hamper and lowered her voice to a purr. “You going to arrest me?”
r />   She heard the sound of a truck door slamming. “You know,” he said, “I’ve got half a mind to come on over there right now and do just that. For disturbing my peace.”

  “That is the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard. Try harder.” She sat on the edge of the tub, put the plug in, then turned the faucet to full. “And that’s me starting my bath. Gotta go.”

  “You’re going to kill me,” she heard, but she was pressing the End button and setting the phone on the counter.

  “Cletus,” she told the dog, who was sitting right outside the door, waiting politely. “You’re still the only man for me, but you’ve got some real competition.”

  At the sound of his name, the dog wagged his tail and grinned. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m being silly. I know it. But it’s the closest I’ve come to sex in almost a year, and it’s harmless, because I can’t do anything about it anyway.”

  Harmless or pointless. Or both. She got into the tub, lay back with a sigh, stuck her aching toes gratefully under the running water, and wiggled them. And then she thought about Eileen Hendricks driving down the hill from Henry’s house, sitting tall in that big black pickup, and smiled.

  DOWN IN FLAMES

  Hallie stood in the driveway on Sunday afternoon with one hand on Cletus’s collar and waved good-bye to Eileen and the kids while the dog whined and strained against her hold. He’d seemed happy living with Hallie—well, Cletus always seemed happy—but today, he’d wanted to go with his real family. Especially with his kids.

  The little girl, Audrey, had been crying when they’d left. Quietly, so nobody would hear her, trying to wipe her tears before her mother saw them. She’d climbed into the truck, though, like she’d accepted that this was what life was going to hand her, and Hallie had wanted to cry herself.

  “I know,” she told Cletus now, feeling the prick of tears behind her own eyes and hearing his gentle whine. “It stinks.”

  It wasn’t that Eileen was ungrateful. In fact, Hallie couldn’t have imagined anybody more grateful. When Hallie had given her the check, Eileen had hugged her in a spontaneous outburst that had been totally unlike her tightly wound demeanor of the week before, and had told her, “I’ll never forget this. Never. I’ll keep you in my prayers, too. You deserve all good things, and I know you’ll get them.”