by Elle Rush
“No, thanks, Sheriff. Jean mostly wanted me out of the house so she could arrange my birthday supper. She should be back from the grocery store any time now with a couple thick steaks to throw on the grill.”
“She’s barbecuing you dinner?”
“No, she’s baking the potatoes and making the other fixings. The grill is my domain.”
“Well, I’ll let you get finished here so you can have a nap before your big party.”
“Nap? Nap? I’ve heard this word. I’m pretty sure they’re for people without to-do lists.”
“Isn’t that the truth. Those preschoolers don’t know how good they have it,” Aaron agreed with a laugh. “Happy birthday, Gene.”
“Thanks, Sheriff.”
That’s what his job was supposed to be like, Aaron thought. Checking on the community. Making sure everyone was doing okay.
Not getting robbed while they were doing yard work and their wives were at the store.
He tapped the brakes as he turned right at the corner. Two young men in their early twenties were walking out the Wyatts’ front door, one carrying a medium sized flat-screen television, the other caring a sound system console with a sound bar balanced on top of the black box. Aaron put the cruiser in park at the foot of the driveway, blocking in a battered blue pickup truck with unfamiliar plates.
“Good afternoon. Does Gene know you two are walking his entertainment system out the front door while he’s raking leaves in his backyard?” Aaron asked. He was certain that Gene would have said something about giving away several hundred dollars’ worth of electronics when he wasn’t in the house.
“Of course he does,” one of them said. “But we’re kinda in a hurry.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He was feeling generous,” the shorter of the two men said with a smirk.
“Let’s verify that theory. I’ll go ask Gene, and you two can wait in the back of the cruiser.” There was a little satisfaction when the smug look on the fellow’s face evaporated. It was replaced with a mix of confusion and anger.
“Are you serious?”
“The badge says I am.”
They entered the back of the cruiser, grumbling and sullen, but without a fight. Once the door was closed, they were locked in until he let them out. Aaron couldn’t believe the brazenness of their actions. They’d been entirely confident as they walked out of the house. If he hadn’t been there… Aaron looked around the neighborhood. At this hour, hardly anybody was around. Most of the folks who worked at home were on their way to the schools to pick up their kids. Those two could have just kept walking away, and nobody would have been the wiser.
“Hey, Gene,” Aaron yelled over the fence. “Can you come through to the front door, please?”
“Okay?” Aaron heard the scrape of a metal rake as it rubbed a concrete sidewalk stone. A minute later, the senior opened the door wearing a puzzled look. “Is there a problem, Sheriff?” he asked.
“You didn’t happen to give two young fellows permission to take your television and sound bar, did you?”
“You bet I did. Take a look.” Gene swept his arm, indicating that Aaron should step inside and head into the living room. A brand-new, larger flatscreen sat on a table, with a new sound system, including a sound bar and a subwoofer, on the shelves underneath. The boxes were still on the floor, Styrofoam corner blocks poking out of the top. “My dear Jean got me a new setup for my birthday. You only turn seventy once. How did you know?”
“I saw two men carrying your television out the front door while you were in the back.”
“That’s Sean Patrick’s nephew. He’s bought the old ones for his dorm room.”
“Oh.”
“Sheriff, is there a problem?”
“It looked suspicious, so I asked them to wait a minute while I verified the situation.”
Gene stared at him through his bushy eyebrows. “Where did you ask them to wait?”
“In the back of the cruiser,” Aaron admitted. No wonder they were upset. They hadn’t done anything wrong. They’d even answered his questions honestly; the smirk had just set off a switch in his brain that made “suspect” flash over the fellow’s head.
“Well, let’s go let them out and send them on their way,” Gene said.
Aaron opened the cruiser door, and the men scrambled out silently. “Mr. Wyatt verified your story. I’ll let you finish loading your truck.”
The short one remained silent. The other gave him a grudging “Thanks, Sheriff Gillespie.”
Aaron put the cruiser in reverse, so they had room to pull out. He stayed in the vehicle while they secured the electronics. Gene shook their hands and clapped them on the shoulder. Both studiously ignored Aaron as they drove away.
Aaron returned to the senior on the porch. “I feel like I should apologize for that, but it was too suspicious to just let go without checking it out.”
“Is there a lot of suspicious activity in Holiday Beach these days, Sheriff?”
“It feels like it.” It seemed like everything was a threat these days. Holiday Beach hadn’t seen this much off-season crime since he’d been a second-year deputy. With the recent vandals identified and under watch, Aaron expected the callouts to Shakespeare Drive to fall off considerably until it got too cold for people to go out and make trouble.
He still didn’t have a solid lead on the arson. He’d asked Poppy, and she couldn’t remember the last time the department had to investigate an arson. While his logical brain knew the crime wave was an anomaly, it seemed like his nerves were so tightly wound, he saw everything as another invader attacking his hometown.
“I’ve heard you’ve had some action lately. You should take some time off. Relax before you gave yourself an ulcer. A man needs a break,” Gene told him, his voice heavy with old man wisdom.
Maybe Gene was right. Maybe he could use a good vacation.
Which meant Brooke was right too. If he couldn’t take off his sheriff’s hat, he was going to burn out, and then he wouldn’t be able to help anybody, including himself. Even worse, the relationships he’d be damaging would be personal ones.
Aaron was running out of time. He had to make some changes. He had too much to lose.
Chapter 31
It wasn’t easy finding a time where she and Lucy were both free that also coincided with Caleb finishing a shift while he wasn’t working with Jordan, but with a little help from Rachel Best, they were able to find a twenty-minute gap in all their schedules.
Brooke and Lucy claimed the corner table in By the Cup and waited for Caleb. Brooke had been hesitant to give Lucy all the details, but the conversation would have been impossible otherwise, so she swore her friend to secrecy. Then they got to work.
“Caleb, why don’t you join us?” Brooke invited. She recognized the look that flashed across the teenager’s face. He was going to make a break for it. “No, I insist. I really do.”
Lucy took the lead. The sandy-haired woman solved problems for a living, although most of those were building-related. Brooke trusted her to find a way to make their current life-fixing scheme work. “I don’t know if you know this, Caleb, but I’m currently holding on to the damage deposit from your family’s apartment.”
The kid relaxed slightly when he realized he wasn’t in trouble. “I didn’t know that.”
“I can’t release the funds to you, but I could carry them forward as a damage deposit toward a new apartment for a family member, which leads me to my next subject.”
Caleb shifted in his chair, his toes pointing to the exit.
“I hear you might be looking for an apartment if the price was right. We haven’t rented them in years, but I’m looking at renting one of the studio apartments in the Remington Arms complex as a trial to see if there’s a market for them in Holiday Beach. I have to warn you, they are small. They have the same footprint as a two-bedroom unit but over half of the square footage went into the manager’s office. You get a full bathroom, a kitche
nette wall with a fridge, sink, stove and two feet of countertop, and one room that’s for everything else.”
His eyes widened at the description. Not in horror at the postage-stamp size suite she described, but in eagerness at the offer.
Lucy held up her hands. “Don’t get excited. That’s a trial rent for the first six months. There would be no penalty on your end if you decide you want to break the lease early. I cannot overstate this enough—this place is tiny. It’s also old. I can clean it and slap a fresh coat of paint on the walls, but it needs an overhaul, which it won’t be getting until I can prove to the Franklins that people are willing to live there.”
Caleb looked like the deal sounded too good to be true. Brooke knew the feeling. She’d had too many of her own hopes dashed after reality reared its ugly head when she was desperate for a break. It had taken a lot of work to achieve the stability she and Jordan enjoyed now, and she was working hard for something even better. If somebody offered her a lucky opportunity, she’d take it without thinking twice. Happily, she had a cushion to fall back on now.
“How much rent are we talking about?” he asked cautiously.
Brooke was shocked at the ridiculously low number Lucy gave him. Even at the minimum wage Caleb was earning, he’d be able to afford it, with enough left over for groceries and a few extras. “And, as I said, I already have your damage deposit. You could have the place starting November first. Earlier if you offered to help with the painting,” Lucy told him.
Considering that it was already the twenty-fourth, that meant Caleb could be settled into his new place in less than a week. Brooke crossed her fingers under the table. Come on, kid, take the deal.
“I think that would work.”
“Excellent.” Lucy stood quickly and grabbed her coffee. “I’ll go get started on the paperwork. Come by Building A tomorrow, and we’ll get the lease signed. I’ll hand over the keys and show you what needs painting. Spoiler, it’s everything.”
“I have the late shift. Will twelve o’clock work?”
“Sounds good.” She clapped a hand on his shoulder as she squeezed by him. “If this works, and I get the other two studio apartments leased as well, the Franklins are going to love me. You could be my lucky charm, Caleb.”
Brooke was surprised when he didn’t race for the door after Lucy left. He turned to her, then ducked his head. “Trevor said that you recognized my towels. He told me he told you.”
“I’m not asking where you were staying. It’s probably better that I don’t know for sure. Are you okay at the shelter for a while longer?”
“Yeah. It’s warmer than my car. Thanks for the tip.”
She nodded.
“This was you, too?” He gestured at Lucy driving by the window.
“I put the bug in her ear that you were looking for a cheap place to rent. Renovating the studios was her idea.” It was too late to be delicate now. “Will you be able to afford it?” The whole plan was moot if it was still too expensive for him.
“I can get some more work. Mac Mackenzie said he might have some hours if I can work around my barista schedule.” Caleb sat a little straighter on the hard-backed plastic chair. “I’m not afraid of work, Ms. Portman. I just got a little overwhelmed, and then things snowballed.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation, Caleb. I’ve been there. Maybe not all the way there, but I’ve been close. I know what it’s like to pay rent and have ten dollars left in your wallet to make it to your next payday. I’m just happy I was able to help a little bit.”
“You helped a lot. You didn’t have to.”
“Us folks in the service industry have to stick together. Can I offer you another tip?” She was loath to do it, but it wasn’t about him being embarrassed. It was about offering a hand to someone when she’d been in their shoes. “The Main Street United Church here in Holiday Beach is associated with the Mission Church in Bixby. We operate a food bank out of the basement that’s open Wednesday nights and Saturday mornings. We’re always looking for more hands, and volunteers can set aside a box at the beginning of their shifts. Sometimes you need the hand, sometimes you can lend one, and sometimes it’s both at the same time.” Brooke had been on both sides of the equation when she and Denny had just gotten married and were trying to make it with a baby on his salary. She’d never forgotten.
“Thanks, Ms. Portman.” He stood to go. “Do you know if Sherriff Gillespie is still asking questions about Shelley’s Shack?”
“No, I don’t. I would suggest that you not do anything that gets you in trouble for the next little while, until things settle down about the fire.”
“That’s good advice. He seems like a good guy, but I don’t want to get on his bad side.”
Brooke shook her head in agreement. “Nobody wants that.”
Especially her.
Chapter 32
The first thing Aaron Gillespie needed to do was figure out the first thing he had to do. The problem that Brooke had dropped in his lap—
No. That wasn’t fair. She’d had just two days more than him to deal with some very disturbing knowledge. The cabin fire wasn’t even a consideration when she’d learned about Caleb Quentin’s situation. All Brooke had done was try to be a decent person and help a kid who, from the sounds of it, didn’t have anyone else in his corner.
Aaron had done a thorough background check. Caleb’s parents were in the wind. After moving out of the Remington Arms in August, they’d vanished. Lucy confirmed that nobody had called to verify their rental references.
As for the kid they’d left behind, the eighteen-year-old was doing well at the coffee shop and was making a livable wage. Unfortunately, he had no place to go because as a brand-new adult, he had no savings and no credit history, which mean any reputable place wouldn’t give him a lease, and any unreputable place would be as risky as staying in his car. His options sucked. The shelter would do for now, but Aaron needed to follow up with Brooke about the apartment she’d mentioned. He couldn’t do much, but he might be able to help an inexperienced teenager negotiate a lower rent.
Of course, that meant talking to her about something of substance. His pride wasn’t ready to do that that.
His temper wasn’t appeased at Brooke’s arguments either. Her point about the owners of Shelley’s Shack not being interested in the property was more on point than she knew. Aaron had spent the afternoon on the phone to Minneapolis and had finally got a hold of somebody. But it wasn’t any of the Pineys. It was a lawyer for the estate of Joe Piney, Senior.
“What do you mean, you can’t confirm if Caleb Quentin had permission to stay at the cabin?” Aaron repeated.
“Joe Senior went into palliative care at the very beginning of the summer and passed away at the beginning of the month. I can’t discuss the power of attorney, but suffice it to say that there were some communication difficulties between them, plus the fact that Joe Senior was still making decisions. I have no idea if the young man you’re asking about received permission from one or any of them to be on the property at Holiday Beach,” the tired-sounding woman said.
“So, Caleb Quentin might have been trespassing, but he also might have had permission, but we’ll never be sure?”
“Which answer will generate less paperwork?” she asked.
“Saying he had permission.”
“Good, let’s go with that that.”
“What if the family decides that nobody gave Caleb permission? Will they want to press charges for breaking and entering?”
“Absolutely not.” It was the first direct answer the lawyer had given him. “Sherriff Gillespie, can I be blunt?”
“It would be appreciated.”
“The family isn’t interested in pressing charges. Not for the damages caused by the party, not for”—Aaron heard pages shift—“your own breaking and entering. Not if somebody was staying there, with or without permission.” The woman at the other end of the call sighed. “Honestly, Sheriff Gillespie, the family is too bus
y squabbling over the value of the property to do anything with it. Nobody is interested in investing any money in the cabin in case they don’t get it back. That place burning to the ground was the best thing that could have happened. Now I can just sell the property and close out this file.”
He didn’t understand people sometimes. “You want to sell it? You understand that there was a fire there that looked like arson.”
“Joe Piney Senior let the insurance lapse on the cabin before he died. The family can’t even make a claim for damages. That’s probably why nobody’s gotten back to you. They’re very lucky nobody got hurt.”
“The town is going to want someone to pay for the fire crew and all of that.”
“If you give me a name, I’ll forward them my contact details, but Holiday Beach will probably just have to put a lien on the property and get paid back when it sells.”
“What about the potential squatter?”
“If you had any proof there was one, it would have burned in the fire, right?”
“Right,” he reluctantly agreed.
“Put the reports in the circular file, Sheriff. Don’t spend another minute on them.”
Aaron wasn’t a lawyer, but he had a feeling that the lawyer’s instructions meant Caleb Quentin was in the clear for anything he might have done. Which was good for the kid, frustrating for him professionally, and relieving for him as the father of a teenager who only wanted to help his friend. Besides, the only option he really had was to put pressure on Caleb to see if the kid would confess to being there without permission, but even if Aaron had that information, he couldn’t do anything with it.
Was Brooke right? Was he so used to seeing the worst in people that he wasn’t able to give anyone the benefit of the doubt? Was he so burned out on the job that he was trying to create cases for himself? This, plus the incident at the Wyatts’, certainly gave that impression. Maybe he did need some time off. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken more than a long weekend for a vacation. There was no good reason for the self-denied privilege.
