Seaside Gifts: a Seaside romance (Hometown Romance)

by Gayle Roper

  "I've been watching her, you know?" Mooch rubbed his hand over his head, messing up his hair even more than usual. "She's so pretty. Beautiful. Any guy'd watch her."

  Nan nodded as she sank into her desk chair.

  "I know you said no fraternization, but I could look." Mooch seemed to think she was going to yell at him.

  She rubbed her forehead. "So what did you see?"

  "I saw her handwriting a receipt. At first, I couldn't figure out why. No one has taught me how to use the register, but you always use it, and so does Ingrid, and even Tammy does most of the time, and it prints out the receipt. Then I realized what she was doing last night. I saw her slip the money into her pocket. I'd have told you then, but you had already gone with Rog."

  Nan made a small sound of distress. Rog came to stand behind her with his hands on her shoulders. His thumbs made small circles on her back, soothing her. She rested her head against his arm.

  Mooch looked like he'd taken a punch in the stomach. "I realized she must only write receipts when someone pays in cash."

  Nan had already come to the same conclusion, because she could see no other possibility. "I've been wondering at the low cash amounts in the drawer each night. I know most people use plastic these days, but still, I'd have expected more cash transactions."

  "I feel like a rat telling on her, but if you see something, you say something." He blinked rapidly, and Nan saw he was close to tears. "Wrong is wrong."

  "What about Ingrid?" Nan asked.

  Mooch shook his head. "I never saw her take anything or write a receipt. Just Tammy."

  Nan felt sick. She had trusted the girl, put her in charge when she left. When she saw Tammy writing things for a customer, she had assumed it was information about a product or something equally helpful. She'd been happy to see how committed the girl was to giving good service. Instead, she'd been cleverly robbing her. Talk about being made a fool of.

  Nan's throat felt tight, and she had to force words out. "If you don't put carbon paper between the pages, there's no record of the transaction. So easy. So clever. So tidy."

  "So wrong." Rog's voice was cool, professional, his cop voice. "I wonder how often she did this and how much she's taken."

  Nan knew she couldn't be so unemotional. She felt violated, but the thought of making the girl's actions a police matter made her stomach churn. "What will be the cost to Tammy if I report this?"

  "If?" Rog raised an eyebrow.

  Nan nodded and sighed. "What will it cost her?"

  "It depends on how much she's taken."

  "How will we ever know that? We don't know how many receipts she wrote or the

  amounts they were for."

  "It can't be that much, can it?" Mooch asked. "You haven't been open that long."

  "And Tammy and Ingrid have only worked for me a couple of weeks."

  "Say a hundred dollars a day," Rog said. "That's fourteen hundred dollars."

  "That's a lot of money." Mooch started straightening Nan's desktop, his automatic response to a bad case of nerves. "You know, suddenly, being a cop doesn't sound so fun after all."

  Rog smiled with understanding. "Don't worry, kid. You don't usually have to arrest friends."

  Friends. That was the problem. She didn't usually know people who got arrested either. "I know she was wrong, but I hate to think of her going to jail." A trailer of all the terrible things that could happen to a nice girl like Tammy played across her imagination.

  Rog released her shoulders and sat on the edge of the desk facing her. "Nan, did you tell Tammy to take the money, or did she decide to do that on her own?"

  "She decided."

  "Is the money hers to take?"

  "No. It's the store's money."

  "And by extrapolation, yours," he pointed out. "Nan, you are not responsible for whatever happens to Tammy. She is. She and she alone decided to take what wasn't hers."

  "I know, but still..."

  Rog leaned forward and took her hand. "Chances are nothing more than restitution, a fine, and community service will happen to her, especially if this is a first offense. She's hardly a hardened criminal."

  Nan stared at the ceiling. "It's so hard to believe this is happening. It sure puts the leavery in perspective."

  "That's because you would never steal, either from someone you knew or someone you didn't." Rog smiled at her, a smile that melted her insides in spite of her distress. "Remember, you're tough. You can handle this."

  She squared her shoulders. "Right." She leaned forward, and the disk that read 1 Peter 1:2 banged against the desk. Grace and peace in abundance.

  Oh, Lord, grace and peace are found in You. In You. Not circumstances. Not people, and certainly not the disappointment they sometimes give. Help me remember that!

  With a hurting but calm heart, she looked at Rog. "What should we do?"

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Nan manned the register Friday afternoon while keeping an eye on things and smiling at customers. Her heart raced, and her chest felt tight. She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, hoping she could act naturally when Tammy arrived.

  "You're too uptight, Boss Lady," Mooch muttered as he walked by with a load of product to put on display. "Relax."

  "Like you?"

  "I'm Tony from NCIS, a cool dude on a case. You can be Abby."

  She actually laughed. "Aside from the fact that I barely know which end of a microscope to look through, and I know nothing about sophisticated computer stuff, I don't have a tattoo." She brushed her hand over her neck. "And my hair isn't black."

  "Minor issues. You can be Zivah. She didn't have a tattoo."

  Nan studied Mooch. "Don't give up on your dream. You'll make a good cop someday."

  "Ha! I'm a wreck. I like Tammy. Not just as a potential girlfriend, but as a person, you know? I'm acting all cool and stuff, but I never thought I'd have to help arrest someone I know. It sucks."

  Tammy walked through the front door, looking lovely in her Present Perfect blue shirt, Ingrid behind her. She gave a little wave as she headed toward the back of the room to put her purse under the counter. She grinned at Nan. "I'm he-ere." She made it a three note, sing-songy sound.

  "It sucks a lot," Mooch muttered.

  "It does," Nan agreed. She looked at the clock on the wall, a large compass face that someone with a very large room might like to purchase, though so far no one seemed to realize its potential. "Five minutes early, Tammy. I'm impressed."

  "Just can't wait to get to work, because I love it so."

  Mooch turned from rearranging a countertop and snorted. "She won't give you a raise."

  Tammy laughed. "Can't blame me for trying."

  Nan's cheeks hurt as she smiled. She was not good at dissimulation.

  "Any leavery today?" Tammy looked as if she cared about the answer, and who knew? Maybe she did.

  "Nothing today. I've walked around the store several times looking."

  "Do you think it's stopped?" Tammy studied the store. "Why would it stop? Not that I understand why it started."

  Nan was sure it was over, but Tammy didn't know the whole story. "I hope it's finished. Whoever did it was probably scared off when Mooch and Rog chased the last leaver."

  Tammy shook her head. "I still can't believe someone left nice stuff like that. It doesn't make sense."

  Nan laughed. "I have to agree." She patted the counter. "I'll be in the office if you need me."

  Tammy nodded and smiled at the customer who walked up shaking a snow globe with a lighthouse inside. "Don't you love it?" Tammy asked cheerfully. "It must be so cool here when it snows on the beach."

  Nan lost the customer's reply as she walked into the back room. She shut the door carefully behind her and leaned against it. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She hated this.

  "She's here."

  Rog looked up and smiled, his warm brown eyes shooting her encouragement. He was standing by the previously useless security panel i
n the corner, talking to a man in a red golf shirt who was putting the badge that had been hanging around his neck in his pocket. Rog was in his painting clothes, so if Tammy came into the office, she wouldn't get suspicious.

  "Nan, meet Wes. He's got everything hooked up, so we have a feed from the camera by the register."

  Nan nodded at him and looked at the clear picture of the register with Tammy leaning against the counter. Nan felt a sudden panic. The receipt pad had been put back in the drawer, hadn't it? She looked to her desk. Not there. She closed her eyes and tried to remember. Yes, she had returned the pad. In her mind's eye, she saw it lying in its spot as she closed the drawer.

  The back buzzer blatted. Nan jumped at the sound and went to look through the peephole, Rog right behind her. A woman dressed in a knit top and carrying a wildly patterned beach bag stood there.

  "That's Maureen Trevelyan, my sometimes partner." Rog opened the door and made introductions.

  "Hello, Nan." Maureen's smile was warm, her handshake firm. "I'm so sorry you have to endure this."

  Nan forced a smile. "Thanks."

  "You've got the arrest warrant?" Rog wanted to know.

  She nodded and patted her bag. "Everything's good to go. The judge was quick to comply with the request for the charge of theft by unlawful taking."

  "What's the sentence for that?" Nan squeezed her hands together, trying to control her nerves. Rog, Maureen, and the tech guy looked so calm, and she was a nervous wreck. "For theft by unlawful taking?" Why didn't they just say stealing?

  Maureen leaned against the desk, taking care not to topple the pile of catalogs. "Whether she's held for a third- or fourth-degree crime depends on how much she's taken."

  "We don't know how much she's taken."

  Maureen shrugged. "Maybe she'll tell us."

  "Maybe. Which is worse, third or fourth?"

  "Third. That's theft of five hundred to seventy-five thousand dollars."

  "Well, she obviously didn't take anywhere near seventy-five thousand." If it were that much, Nan suspected she wouldn't feel so soft-hearted toward Tammy.

  "Fourth degree is two hundred to five hundred."

  Nan looked at Rog in his painting clothes, the tech with his hidden badge, and Maureen ready to go undercover. Three cops under one roof. "That seems such a trivial amount to make such a big deal out of."

  Rog leaned against the back door, ankles crossed in that way he had. "Nan, justice has to be based on right versus wrong, not emotion, not even the amount. Whether she took two hundred or seventy-five thousand, she was wrong. But if you want to think with your emotions, think what would happen to her if she were allowed to continue taking what isn't hers. What does she take next time? What does she take the time after that? Who does she hurt? Who does she deprive of resources that should be available for that person's use?"

  "You want her to hurt for her crime, Nan." Maureen pushed away from the desk. "She needs to learn. She doesn't have a record. I checked. Since this appears to be the first time she's tried something like this, let her get caught. Let her feel the pain before she establishes a pattern or develops a mindset that whatever she wants should be hers. The crime is minor; the consequences will not be that severe. Probation, a fine, restitution. Believe me, no one wants someone like her in jail. But she has to be held accountable."

  Nan knew they were right. "You want to scare her straight." Which had always sounded good in theory, but this was Tammy. She knew Tammy. She liked Tammy.

  "You're taking her actions personally, feeling her deceit is aimed at you, Nan Patterson, but she doesn't see it as personal." Maureen pulled a pair of sunglasses from her beach bag. "To her it's just money, not your money. When people steal, there's a great disconnect between taking something that belongs to another and taking something they want. Sure, they realize what they're taking isn't theirs to take, but the hurt or harm taking it might cause the owner doesn't usually cross their radar."

  "Here comes a customer," Wes said, and they all watched Tammy take the woman's credit card, run it, and hand her the register-generated receipt and neatly bagged item.

  "I'm ready." Maureen hiked her bag over her shoulder and slid her sunglasses on.

  Rog jerked a finger at the tech. "Wes has a great picture. We'll watch it go down. If you have trouble, which I doubt, I'm right here."

  Maureen nodded and slipped out the back door. In about ten minutes, she appeared on the video feed. She had a set of four dishes with starfish and sand dollars on them, drinking glasses that matched, and pretty seashell napkins. She held up a wait-a-minute finger and disappeared from the screen. She was back in a few minutes with a framed map of Seaside. Again, the wait-a-minute, and again she disappeared. This time she reappeared with four matted watercolors of beach scenes. She and Tammy exchanged conversation with smiles, though there was no audio, so Nan couldn't hear what they were saying.

  Maureen pulled out several fifties and handed them to Tammy. Tammy opened the drawer in the counter, pulled out the pad of receipts, and wrote up Maureen's purchases. She opened the register, inserted the money, and took out change, which she handed to Maureen.

  For a brief moment, hope flooded Nan. For some reason, they had read the situation wrong. Tammy just liked giving hand-written receipts.

  The girl pushed the cash drawer almost closed as Maureen turned to leave, weighed down by her many bags. Maureen moved out of camera range. Tammy waited a couple of moments, then looked around, her face suddenly sly. No one was nearby. She reached into the till and counted out the amount of the sale. Very casually, she slid the bills and change into her big purse on the shelf under the counter, pushing them deep inside.

  "Money in; money out," Rog murmured. "Make me a copy of the video, Wes." He started toward the door into the store.

  "No discrepancy in totals." Nan followed him. "She was smart enough not to take any extra."

  They opened the inside office door and walked into the store. Nan hoped she wouldn't be sick.

  "Officer Studly." Tammy smiled at them. She looked at Nan. "Can I still call him that even if you're dating him?"

  "Oh, Tammy." Nan felt her heart break some more. The girl acted as if she'd done nothing wrong.

  "Tammy Sterling, you are under arrest for theft by unlawful taking." Rog looked his most intimidating.

  "What?" Tammy looked floored.

  Maureen appeared at the register. "The arrest warrant." She put it on the counter. "Feel free to read it."

  Tammy backed up until she was against the wall. "What are you talking about?" Her eyes were wide and scared.

  "You just stole from Nan," Rog said.

  "No, I didn't! I wouldn't!"

  "We recorded you taking what wasn't yours to take."

  "You recorded me? You can't do that!"

  "Open your purse," Rog ordered.

  "No! You can't go in my purse. It's private property." But her voice shook, and her face was white.

  "This warrant gives us the right." Maureen pulled the bag from its place under the counter.

  "You have the right to remain...." While Rog read Tammy her rights, Maureen opened the bag.

  Tammy grabbed for it. "No! Nan, tell her no!" Tammy looked at Nan with panic. "Tell them no!"

  "I can't, Tammy." Nan's chest hurt at the girl's fear. "You made a choice. It's out of my hands."

  "Come out from back there, Tammy." Rog spoke quietly but firmly. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

  Tammy's eyes were huge. "You can't arrest me!"

  "Come quietly, Tammy, and I won't cuff you in front of people." Maureen took Tammy's arm to lead her away.

  "Take it back," Tammy cried. "I don't want it any more. Take it back! I'm sorry! I won't do it again!"

  Maureen pulled her from behind the counter.

  "Nan! Please!"

  Nan pressed her lips together to keep from saying, Stop! Don't do this. She glanced at Mooch and Ingrid, who stood watching, faces white. Ingrid had her hand pressed over
her mouth.

  "She'll be all right," Nan assured Ingrid, who was shaking almost as badly as Tammy. She prayed she was telling the truth.

  "I didn't know, Nan," Ingrid protested. "Honest! I didn't know."

  "I didn't think you did." Nan patted her hand. "Do you want to go home?" She wasn't sure whether she meant back to her apartment or back to Kentucky.

  Ingrid shook her head.

  "You sure?"

  "I'm fine. Or I'll be fine, especially if I'm busy. I have to be busy. I want to stay."

  "Take the register, will you? And Mooch, you be ready to help her any way she needs."

  Mooch stood straight. "Don't worry, Nan. We've got things under control." But his eyes looked miserable.

  Nan watched as Maureen led Tammy out the back door. Rog stopped for a moment to speak with Wes, who handed him a disc. Nan felt her shoulders slump. The evidence.

  Rog caught her sad look and walked to her. He gathered her close, and she clung to him as her mind spun.

  "Rog, I don't want to press charges."

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Nan sat in the back row of the small district courtroom in downtown Seaside the next morning. Her foot bounced up and down as she waited for proceedings to begin. She'd never had occasion to be in a courtroom before, and she was a little overwhelmed by the judge's bench and the attorneys' tables, so much like things she'd seen on TV. There was even a railing that separated the official area from the observation area.

  Futures were decided in this room. Her foot bounced harder.

  Finally a door at the back of the room opened and several prisoners, first men, then women, were led in. Tammy walked between two girls about her age, both sporting several tattoos on their shoulders and arms. One had a black eye and the other had several scratches on her face and neck. Nan guessed Tammy was supposed to be the buffer between the warring parties.

  The prisoners shuffled into the row of chairs behind the lawyers. Nan didn't think Tammy saw her, and that was fine with her. She wasn't here for acknowledgement. Grace-gifts didn't require acknowledgement.

  The prosecutor, a thin blond man who had drawn the short straw of working the weekend, stood to address the court for each prisoner, but different defense lawyers stepped forward, as some of the prisoners had their own attorneys.