by Kieran York
“It’s when a journalist pays for a story. Pays a source.”
“Reversing that, it would be someone paying not to print a story. Blackmail. I think that’s the key to it. And no, I’m not going to mention Jorie’s secret.”
Gwen sighed. “It’s just that it might be misconstrued as a motive. And it isn’t. Speaking of one step closer to being out of the closet, Hertha told us the crack the deputy made about lipstick rides. As if you’d be interested in Godiva.”
“I wouldn’t,” Royce confirmed. “She’s not my type.”
Nadine chuckled, “I heard that she’s got a racy poster coming out. She’s playing with a vibrator.”
“In a poster?“ Gwen clamored. “Hell’s bells! We thought she wanted a night out with the boys. She wants a night out with the toys.” Still sputtering, Gwen added, “She’ll probably start a vibrator theme park. I still think she might be involved. She gave her bodyguards the brush for some reason.”
“She’s a suspect,” Royce agreed. “She hated Sandra.”
“Godiva objectifies women. She makes us all sex objects when she parades around like she does. And her loyal fans make her a role model.” Gwen crossed her arms. “I just know Jorie couldn’t have killed anyone. Even to keep her secret.”
Nadine tried again to change the subject. “I’ll bet this is one birthday Dora never forgets. A trip to England has been her dream for years and years,” Nadine recalled. Nadine seemed lost in her statement for many moments and then she mused, “A great lesson of life. Putting the important things of life off until tomorrow. We shouldn’t really do that.”
Royce was silent and then said, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention the Peeping Tom incident to Gran. As you said, it’s her dream vacation, and I don’t want her worrying about Timber City.”
Parking beside the string of other cars and trucks, Royce opened her door and got out. She stretched and then saw Hertha motioning for her to enter. “Hurry up, you three,” Hertha instructed. The women entered and saw how festively Hertha had decorated the cabin. Most of the guests were out on the enclosed back porch.
A long table was filled with gifts. On the other side of the room was another table holding a multitude of foods; the centerpiece was huge sheet cake. Molly had decorated it with bunches of swirling wildflowers. A columbine took up the entire center. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DORA was scrolled in a semicircle around the top of the columbine.
“This is terrific,” Royce exclaimed as she greeted Hertha. She wanted to greet her lover with a kiss, but even among these dear friends, that seemed impossible. Royce smiled and her eyes targeted Hertha. Hertha wore her hair up, fastened by a silver hair clip that was studded with native turquoise. She had selected a bright maize blouse and matching azure blue, mango red, and maize full skirt. Royce whispered, “And you look terrific.”
“You too, Sheriff,” Hertha murmured. “There’s more iced tea in the kitchen, could you bring it?“ she asked.
When Royce returned, she saw Gran, Molly, and Bonnie entering. The party had been the surprise they had hoped it would be. But everyone agreed that the biggest surprise was when Gran opened the envelope from Royce. Without looking at the tickets, she remarked that she couldn’t wait to see her sister again.
Gwen teased, “Dora, aren’t you going to eyeball those tickets?“ Gran pulled them out and looked at them. Her face went from shock to complete joy. “My gracious me!“ she squealed. “Heathrow Airport is my destination. But how can I ever make it? I’ll be rushed off my feet,” her words rolled quickly.
“Gran,” Royce explained, “it’s all set. It’s been taken care of. Remember when Nadine took your photo and I had you sign those papers?”
“For a new senior citizen discount card?“ she quizzed. Then her eyebrows peaked. “There is no such outfit.”
“No,” Royce confessed. “Passport photos and paperwork. All you need to do is pack, call your sister, Blanch, and tell her what you’ll be wearing, so she can spot you when you meet at the airport in New York.”
“I’ll be wearin’ a smile,” Dora hooted. “A doggone big smile.”
“Now, Dora, are you sure you can get ready in time?“ Gwen quizzed with a chuckle.
“I’ll be movin’ faster than a rat up a rope.” Gran’s eyes teared. “Fancy that. Me in England.”
Hertha patted Gran’s hand, “Come on, let’s dig into that birthday cake.”
Gran squeezed Hertha’s fingers. “I don’t believe there’s a thing in the world that equals my daughter-in-law’s hand-beaten cake.”
***
Royce had switched duty shifts in order to attend her grandmother’s party, so the later afternoon and evening shift was ahead of her. It was nearly six o'clock when Royce crossed Main Street. She automatically surveyed the areas where Rick Brown might be. When she didn’t see him, she thought he must not be spying on Hertha. Royce had checked with Crystal Lodge, and he had been off-duty the night Royce chased the Peeping Tom into the forest. It had been Rick Brown. And he had taken tonight off too.
Royce decided to check behind the buildings. She turned and moved through the walkway between the Times and the barbershop. “Hey, stop that!“ Royce commanded.
The little girl dropped the rock she’d held in her hand. She had already discharged one fist-sized rock at an alley cat. She pressed dark curls back from her forehead. Deep blue eyes squinted from a freckled, rosy face. The plump young girl was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, and on her feet were untied sneakers. “It’s just an old alley cat,” she grumbled.
“The cat’s defenseless, and that’s all the more reason for us to look after it.” Royce put her hands on her hips. “What’s your name and age?”
“I’m Carrie Donovan. Nine.”
“Where are your parents?”
“My mom’s at the bank, working.”
“Donovan,” Royce mulled. “Aren’t you staying with the Lairds?”
“Yeah. I can’t sit in there with those old biddies all day,” she huffed. “I’m fed up with that crap. It’s all bullshit. This hick town sucks.”
“OK, you win. Your language has shocked me. Now why are you bothering this poor animal?”
“I hate you and your town. You’re all hicks.”
“You’re not exactly flavor of the month with me either.” Royce motioned. “Come on, I’m taking you back over to Bonnie’s.”
“You aren’t going to arrest me?”
Royce contemplated her response. It was an idea. “Right. I’m taking you into custody. Let’s go on over to the courthouse.”
“Where Amy works?”
“Yes.” They walked silently to the courthouse. When Royce reached the door, she opened it. “Haven’t you met any kids your age to play with?”
“School just started. And they hate me. They call me blubber 'cause I’m fat.”
Royce felt a stab inside. She could recalled how the kids had teased her about being thin. Stringbean. And she was taller than most of her classmates when they were growing up. She took her share of jokes. But she had positive reinforcement from her parents and grandparents.
“Carrie, it might not make sense now, but one day you’ll understand that your differences make you unique. And it’s uniqueness that can make you wonderful.” Royce looked down at the girl’s face. She isn’t buying any of it, Royce thought.
“That’s a load of shit,” the girl snickered. “Gonna take me to Amy?”
“No. We’re going to the judge first. For sentencing. It’s a crime in these parts to throw stones at defenseless animals. Cruelty to animals is not only unkind, it’s illegal.”
Carrie followed the long strides of the sheriff. When they entered the office, she muttered, “If you let me go, I won’t do it anymore.”
“Maybe you can bargain with the judge,” Royce answered. She asked the receptionist if Judge Meg Carter was in session. She was glad when told that Meg was in her chambers. Meg had become a ’transplanted' citizen of Timber City only a few ye
ars before. A leading attorney, she had become the judge alternate in Timber County a year ago. Meg was a no-nonsense feminist. Portly, her stylish, businesslike manner impressed people in Timber City. Meg was known to be fair, above all. She could be confident that she would become a full-time judge after the election in November. There were no other serious contenders.
She carefully inspected Royce’s young prisoner. “Judge Carter, I apprehended this young woman, age nine, throwing rocks at a cat,” Royce reported. “Her name is Carrie Donovan.”
Meg peered over the rims of her glasses. Her silver hair had been stylishly swept upward. Her dress and demeanor were classic. Her large frame rose, and she pointed to the two empty chairs. “Be seated, Sheriff, and Ms. Donovan. Why were you committing such a cruel act?”
Carrie stammered, “I was bored. Nobody wants me around. The kids all hate me.”
“Who is supposed to be caring for you?”
“My mom works at the bank. We’re staying with the Lairds until we get our own apartment.”
“Sheriff Madison,” Meg quizzed, “what are your recommendations?”
“Maybe a work-release program. She could work for the town’s vet a couple afternoons a week. Learn the value of patching animals up instead of harming them. Her paycheck could then be contributed to the animal rescue fund. That way she could make reparation.”
“What do you say, Carrie?“ Meg inquired.
Carrie frowned. “I’ve never worked before.”
“No time like now to begin,” Meg started her sentencing. “I sentence you to work at the animal clinic two afternoons a week for the next three months. And if I ever hear of you being cruel to animals again, I’m going to throw the book at you. Is that clear young lady? Case adjourned.”
Carrie nodded and stood up. Royce eased out of her chair and placed her hand on Carrie’s shoulder. “I’ll take you over and introduce you to our vet, Hertha White, in a few minutes. Right now why don’t you go downstairs and talk with Amy until I get there. I want to confer with Judge Carter.” She watched as the youth made her plodding exit. Then Royce sat back down.
“You look troubled, Royce,” Meg guessed. “Election?”
“That too,” Royce confessed.
“Politics is a factory, and its business is producing lies.”
Royce grinned. “Not far off the mark.”
“And?”
“You might have heard about the stranger bothering Hertha. He spends all his free time watching the clinic. One evening we believe he was peeping in Hertha’s window. It’s beginning to look as if he’s actually stalking her.”
“I’ve seen him lingering. Give me one iota of a case, and I’ll stitch him up,” Meg offered.
“I wish it were that easy. Meg, I’m really worried. He knows his way around the law. What do you suggest?”
“A restraining order is pretty flimsy, but the one thing it does is keep the case documented. An injunction does very little as far as being a deterrent against mental thugs. But you need to have the evidence that he’s got a history of bothering the victim. I’ll issue a restraining order; you serve it. If he goes near her, we’ve got him. The probability is that he will just continue the vigil and stay out of the boundary. That’s what they usually do.”
“Until?”
“Until they strike.” Meg recognized the concern on Royce’s face. “That’s why they’re dangerous. Timing is their first and best weapon.”
Royce stood. “Yeah. Speaking of timing, I’d better get back to the department. Thanks for your help with Carrie, Meg. I owe you a couple.”
Royce returned to the Sheriff’s Department office. She sat on the corner of Amy Laird’s desk. “Well, Amy,” Royce began, “our little offender got sentenced.”
Amy looked across the room at where Carrie was seated. She whispered, “The girl is an incorrigible little delinquent. Mom will be glad to have a couple afternoons off.”
“Latchkey kids. Well,” Royce sighed, “now that she’s here in Timber City, maybe we can do her some good. If we all pull together, maybe we can turn her around. I’ll check with Mom, and maybe she’ll take her an afternoon a week to help her at the bakery. And I’m sure Gwen and Nadine will be glad to help out.”
“That would be great. I know Mom would appreciate the break. The kid hasn’t had much supervision. Norma, her mother, is a good woman. But her scuzball husband hasn’t sent a dime of support. Norma works hard over at the bank, but you know they don’t pay tellers much. She does her best.” Amy’s monotone added, “I don’t know what the answer is.”
“Here in Timber City we’ve always sort of believed children belong to all of us. They’re our future.” Royce paused and then looked into Amy’s moon face. “Amy, when I was growing up, my mother always worked, but I made my rounds. Between Gwen and Nadine, your folks, and the others, I always had a welcome place. Now I wonder if we aren’t living up here with a false sense of security. Carrie shouldn’t be roaming around on her own. We’ve all got to make a concerted effort to see that she’s safe.”
Amy agreed, “Maybe that’s just what she needs. Funny, she’s had a lack of supervision, and then there are people like Tyler McDermott. He’s been smothered by Elizabeth McDermott.” Amy leaned near, her secret hushed. “Norma tells me that Mrs. McDermott has even been financing Tyler’s career. She comes in and withdraws money from her personal account every month.”
“Guess that’s Godiva’s job now,” Royce remarked.
“On the contrary,” Amy murmured. “The day Godiva and Tyler arrived, Mrs. McDermott made a whopping big withdrawal. Tyler must be picking up the tabs. Like I say, Mrs. McDermott is an overprotective mother. Always has been. Doted on her boy. I don’t suppose he’s ever had a spanking in his life. My dad always says parents have two hands. One to give the child a slap on their backside, the other to give a hug.”
“Orson never needed to give you many spankings, I’ll bet.”
“Never one.” Amy’s familiar laugh chimed. “But then, I was a sweet kid.” She handed Royce a stack of messages. “I still am.”
Royce grinned. “Well, let’s see if we can’t sweeten up that rotten kid Carrie. I’ll walk her over to meet Hertha and get a hug from Smoky. Children like that. Then I’ll take her and place her in the protective custody of your mother.”
“Are you sure you can manage Timber County’s littlest prisoner that long?“ Amy joked. “Or shall I call for backup?”
“I’ll use handcuffs and leg irons if she gets too unruly.”
***
Royce had barely slept the night before taking her grandmother to the airport for her flight to London. Her nights and days had been filled with concern for Hertha, the murder case, and the upcoming election.
“When I hear the squeal of those jet engines,” Gran chatted, “I just go weak in the knees.” She looked around at Denver’s airport concourse and then back into her granddaughter’s face. “Roycie, I just can’t believe I’m going to England. It’s all too grand. I’m so excited, I’m shaking like a thoroughbred Chihuahua.”
Royce gave her grandmother’s shoulder a squeeze of confidence. “Everything will be fine, Gran.”
“You need your brain tested for spending all that money on sending me.”
“It’s my pleasure. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen you looking so lovely. All dressed up in your new outfit.” Dora Madison was wearing a new fawn-colored pantsuit Molly had bought for her. Molly insisted it would travel well.
“Well, this trip means the world to me, honey.”
“You just have a wonderful time, and don’t do any worrying about things in Timber. Everything’s under control.”
“You’ll remember to replenish the birdseed?”
“Yes. And I talked with Hertha about going out to spend a few nights at the cabin. She said that when she didn’t have any overnight patients, we should do that. It will be good to get out in the wilderness. And we’ll just take Smoky, Patches, and Elsa with us. That way
Elsa will be on her own turf for part of the time.”
“I’m glad they all get along together. Patches is such a timid little calico.”
“Good thing,” Royce said with a laugh, “because Elsa is a bit of a bully.”
Gran chuckled. “She would have a hissy fit if I didn’t always give her her way.” The loudspeaker announced the final call for boarding.
“Looks like you’re on your way.” Royce lifted Gran’s carry-on travel bag. “Everything will be fine. And Elsa will have an on-site vet.”
“That Hertha is a person of sterling worth,” Gran acknowledged. As she reached the gate, she turned and her arms surrounded Royce. Tears shone in her eyes. “This is a fine kettle of fish. Goin’ off on the trip of a lifetime, and I’m getting all sentimental.”
“You’ll wow 'em in London,” Royce said. She kissed Gran’s cheek. “Send our love to Blanch. And to Great Britain.”
“Yes. And Royce, I want you to do one thing for me. You’ve got to promise to take a little time off. You and Hertha have a picnic in the mountains. Promise?”
“Yes. I promise.”
After Dora Madison boarded, Royce stayed on, watching for the plane to debark. When it lifted, she scanned the skies. The sun was a great Cyclops eye brightly shinning.
Loneliness accompanied Royce back to her Blazer. She had dissuaded the others from making the Denver trip, so she could stop by the police department and renew old friendships. And she wanted to talk with the staff forensic psychologist. She knew that the stalker profile included paranoia, hostility, an impulsiveness, and a severe personality disorder. That was called hate in Timber City. And the psychos possessing this hatred were called nuts. But it was all so much more complicated, Royce mused. She wanted to reassure herself that she knew as much as possible about a man like Rick Brown.
She would stop by and talk with the captain. He would tell her that there was a badge in Denver for her, if she lost the election. He would tell her that she had a great future in law enforcement, and it was being wasted in a small mountain community. Royce would thank him. She hoped his offer wouldn’t become her alternate future plan.
