The mountain mans badge, p.13
The Mountain Man's Badge, page 13
THE RULING DIDN’T TAKE long. Nor did it take long for the heat to rain down on Lehigh’s head.
“What were you thinking?” Ferguson’s voice echoed off the walls of Lehigh’s office—even over the phone. “Why did you even involve yourself in this?”
“Well, hello to you, too, Raymond,” Lehigh said into the receiver. He turned the handset 90 degrees so the earpiece extended in front of his face, saving his eardrum from the Rev’s crushing volume. “I take it the judge has made a decision?”
“Don’t play coy with me!” Ferguson’s voice grew hoarse despite dropping about ten decibels in volume. “You know as well as I do that his jail cell remains empty. You needn’t try to continue your deceptions with me!”
“Deception? I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“The entire county knows you fed that report to his defense team today,” the Reverend said, his voice rising again. “Did you really think we’d be so stupid as to not put two and two together?”
Lehigh smirked, glad Ferguson couldn’t see him. “You don’t want me to answer that.” He chuckled while the line went silent, knowing that Ferguson was doing everything he could to stop himself from saying something he’d later regret.
“Just whose side are you on, Carter?” Ferguson said after several seconds. “Or is it too much to ask for you to try to keep murderous criminals off the streets just once? To speak nothing of your oath of office, and your duty to the community? What makes you so blind, Carter? Family? Fear of McBride’s position in the community? ‘Do not pervert justice; do not show partiality to the poor or favoritism to the great,’ the Bible says. I know you can’t be bothered to go to church on Sundays, but I know your parents are God-fearing. Didn’t they raise you on scripture, boy?”
Lehigh took a breath. Despite the religious rant, or perhaps because of it, Ferguson had calmed to the point that Lehigh could hold the phone against his head, and that only meant that the Rev once again had full control of his mental faculties. Ferguson had earned a well-deserved reputation for his ability to bait witnesses into saying too much, and Lehigh vowed to stay out of that trap.
“I’m on the side of justice, Raymond. Which, in our system, means we lock up the bad guys—and only the bad guys. Which means,” he said, rushing on to keep Ferguson from interrupting, “in our system of innocent until proven guilty, being accused doesn’t mean you’ve done it. Or did I get that backwards? Help me out, I’m new around here.”
“Don’t give me your high school civics lesson,” Ferguson said with a nasty edge in his voice, his volume rising. “You pulled a fast one to help your father-in-law. I get it. But mark my words, Carter. If he doesn’t show up for his trial—if he so much as walks in a half-minute late—he’s going to prison for contempt. And so are you. Not to that rinky-dink vacation home of a jail you run over there, either. You’re going downstate, where the hard-time convicts split heads just to stay in shape. Have I made myself clear?”
Lehigh shook his head in amazement. When the Rev got wound up, he could lay it on hard. “Raymond, if George is guilty, I promise to help you lock him away, and I’ll throw away the key myself. But until then, I don’t intend to treat him any different than any other person accused of a crime. Am I being clear?”
After a loud breath, Ferguson responded. “Be careful about protecting him, Carter. If your father-in-law walks because of your help, you will pay. Remember: ‘God stores up the punishment of the wicked for their children. Let him repay the wicked, so that they themselves will experience it.’ Job twenty-one nineteen.”
Lehigh gritted his teeth. “Yeah? Well, you best be careful too, Reverend. Remember, ‘Fools give full vent to their rage, but the wise bring calm in the end.’ Proverbs, twenty-nine.”
The line went dead. Lehigh brought the headset back to its receiver, and noticed, to his own surprise, that his hands were shaking.
Chapter Seventeen
Stacy slid into the booth at Shirley’s Cafe with her back to the wall and one eye on the door. It meant sitting too close to the swinging saloon-style doors and the cacophony of the kitchen, but it guaranteed that no one could enter or escape without her seeing them.
“Coffee, hon?” A heavy-set waitress with a brown tower of curls atop a round, ruddy face turned Stacy’s cup right-side up in its saucer and splashed light brown liquid halfway to the brim. “All by yourself today, or will a tall-dark-and-handsome be joining ya?”
“There’ll be two of us. That’s enough coffee, thanks.” Stacy opened three thimbles of cream and dumped them into her cup, turning its contents snow white. “I’ll wait to order until he arrives.”
“Gotcha.” The waitress winked. “Good thinking. Men like ordering for you. Makes ’em feel smart.” She hustled away, the heels of her flats clapping an uneven beat on the dingy brick-red tile floor.
Stacy stirred fake sugar into her coffee and stewed over the waitress’s inappropriate comments. She couldn’t care less about making men, or anyone, feel smart—including the man already five minutes late for what she’d hoped would be their first make-up date since their big fight. Men didn’t need women calling them smart. If anything, they needed reminders of how clueless they acted most of the time.
Most men, anyway. Lehigh seemed pretty grounded and self-aware most of the time. Maybe that’s what drew her to him—the self-assured way that he took on the world, always on his own terms and without pretense. “It is what it is,” he always said, a wisdom he’d gained from his salt-of-the-earth parents. Despite her anger over him arresting her father, she missed him. A lot. But, as hard as she tried, she couldn’t forgive what he’d done to her father. George had emerged from his few weeks in jail a broken man, shamed and afraid, his fragile health weakened by the ordeal. Not the strong, confident man who’d raised her.
But then Lehigh had helped him. Maybe she had reason to hope. Heaven knows, she wanted a reason. She couldn’t decide which made her more sad: waking up each morning alone, or eating microwaved dinners in front of the TV with the sound turned up loud enough to drown her loneliness until she nodded off. Or trudging upstairs to bed, knowing that she wouldn’t sleep a wink without his strong presence lying next to her.
The front door opened with a whoosh, and a tall, broad-shouldered man in a khaki uniform shuffled through. Her hopes rose—then fell. The man removed his aviator sunglasses, met her gaze, and smirked. He took off his hat, revealing a conservative black buzz cut, and ambled over to her table.
“Dining alone today?” Sergeant DuPont asked. He smelled like spicy gym socks, reminiscent of the cheap aftershave her grandfather used to wear when grandma went out of town.
“For the moment,” she said.
“That’s a shame,” he said. “And risky. You never know what kind of trouble a pretty woman like you could attract in a town like this.” His tone grew even slimier. “Word’s out that you’re single again. Wouldn’t you rather have the company of a strong man beside you?”
“I will, soon,” she said. “Until then, I’d rather be left alone.”
“Now, let’s not be all unfriendly.” DuPont edged closer. Too close. “I’m just looking for some company myself.”
She thought about sliding away from him, but he might take that as an invitation. Instead she glared at him with false bravado. “What’s the matter, Deputy?” she asked. “Have you run out of defenseless women to harass on the streets, or are diners your preferred venue for annoying private citizens?”
His eyes darkened and he leaned over the table, his large frame casting an imposing shadow over her. He put his face inches from hers, overwhelming her with the aroma of moldy laundry. “You know,” he said, “your husband isn’t gonna be sheriff forever around here. Maybe not even six months from now. You might want to reconsider who you want as friends when he goes back to hunting squirrels for a living.”
“I don’t kill squirrels. I eat ’em alive, like I do misbehaving deputies.”
DuPont froze, his snarky smile fading like the color in his face. Over his shoulder appeared a lanky, long-haired man, disgust apparent in his downturned lips and furrowed brow. Despite the current tensions with her husband, Stacy couldn’t help but smile at Lehigh’s strange humor.
“I–I–” DuPont shuffled aside, a hang-dog look overtaking his face. “I didn’t expect—”
“You never know what to expect from a wild mountain man who eats rodents, do you, Deputy?” Lehigh glared at his employee and slid around him to sit in the booth opposite Stacy. “Now, don’t you have some actual criminals to arrest somewhere?”
“Y–yes, sir,” DuPont said. He stared at his shoes, hat in hand, and backed away from the booth. After a few steps, he bumped into a waitress carrying a tray loaded with stacks of sandwiches, drinks, and deep-fried treats. He mumbled an apology and hustled out the door.
“I can see why your deputies love you so much,” Stacy said in a teasing tone. “With a bedside manner like that, maybe you should become coroner next.”
Lehigh glared at her. “You’re welcome.”
Stacy flushed. Uh-oh. She’d misjudged his mood—again. When in a take-no-prisoners frame of mind, Lehigh’s rough edges could leave a wide path of destruction in his wake.
“I’m sorry. Thank you. Tough day so far?” She tried on a smile. It didn’t fit, and from Lehigh’s reaction, he could tell.
“Every day. What’s up with DuPont? Is he still bugging you?”
She shrugged. “This is the first time since the traffic stop. After this, I don’t suspect he’ll bother me again.”
“You let me know if he does.” Lehigh signaled the waitress for a cup of coffee. “Have you ordered?”
“No, I just got here. Are you pressed for time?” He seemed fidgety. Nervous. As if he wanted to leave—or not be there in the first place.
“No.”
They sat in silence for a time. After what seemed like hours, Lehigh picked up the menu and stared at it.
“The lunch menu’s on the other side,” Stacy said.
He lifted his eyes over the top of the menu, gazed at her several seconds longer. “I’ve got a hankering for some pancakes. Breakfast all day here, right?”
She took a heavy breath. “Right. Of course. Pancakes for dinner?” She managed a smile.
His gaze did not waver, nor did his expression. “Lunch. Unless this is a longer meeting than necess—er, expected.”
Heat flashed over her face. Her fingers trembled on the edges of her own menu. “Longer than necessary, huh? I should think that—”
“Stacy, I didn’t mean—”
“Saving our marriage is worth—”
“I have a meeting—”
“A few minutes out of your precious workday—”
“I can make a few calls—”
“Of the job you hate!”
Her voice echoed off the walls of the suddenly quiet restaurant. Not so much as the “ting” of a fork touching a plate disturbed the silence. Every set of eyes in the busy cafe seemed to stare at her.
Including Lehigh’s. But unlike the others, which expressed curiosity or pity, his blazed with anger.
“Thank you,” he said, setting down the menu. “Now every soul in town knows how I feel about being sheriff. That ought to go over well in the November election.”
“Lehigh, I—”
“I wonder if Bruce Bailey’s here? Maybe we could see a replay of all of this on the six o’clock news.” He grabbed his hat and slid across the booth. But before he could exit, the brown-haired waitress returned, blocking his escape.
“Are we ready to order?”
“Yes!” Stacy blurted out the words before Lehigh could object. “I’ll have the chicken Caesar salad, light on the dressing. He’ll have the pancakes. Right, honey?”
He fixed his eyes on her, his face darkening, a harsh breath escaping through his lips. “Reuben. Extra dressing. Fries. And I believe I already asked for—”
“Coffee?” A curly-haired, freckle-faced boy dressed all in white, save for the smorgasbord of food stains on his apron, held a cup and saucer out to Lehigh from the waitress’s blind side, his hands as shaky as his customer-service smile. “Will you need—”
“Cream and sugar.” Lehigh nodded.
“I’d like some more coffee as well.” Stacy fought to keep the edge out of her voice, but probably failed, judging by the boy’s frozen stance, with a cup and saucer poised inches above the tabletop. Lehigh sideways-eyeballed the kid and extended an index finger in Stacy’s direction. The boy slid around the waitress and reached out again with the saucer, this time in front of Stacy, his hands shaking more than ever. Coffee splashed from cup to saucer to placemat, creating brown rivers rushing to encircle the condiment containers spread across the center of the table.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I’ll go grab a rag.” The boy disappeared in a white blur toward the kitchen. The waitress clucked her tongue, rolled her eyes and wiped up the mess with a brown-stained rag.
“Can’t get good help no more,” the waitress said, clacking her gum. “I’ll run and get you both some fresh coffee and cream and get your orders in. You all sit tight.” In a flash, she, too, disappeared behind the swinging saloon-style doors.
Stacy stared at the wet, brown-streaked table, then lifted her eyes to Lehigh’s. His eyes seemed sad, filled with resignation and regret. She imagined hers did, too.
And then, to her surprise, his eyes brightened, and the lines around his eyes and mouth deepened. Not lines of worry or anger, though.
He was laughing.
At first, it was just a chuckle. More of a snort, followed by a choked-back guffaw, unsuccessfully suppressed as the irony of their situation overcame the inappropriateness of his reaction. Then giggles, his hand covering his mouth. Tears, even.
To her even greater surprise, she found herself laughing, too. Not just polite expressions of amusement, but loud, uncontrollable high-pitched peals of ridiculousness. He responded in kind, laughing loud and hard, and in moments they’d lost all control of their laughter, like drunks telling obvious lies about fish caught, touchdowns scored and royalty kissed in outer space. They laughed until their tension evaporated, their anger spent, and their coffee, which had somehow appeared without notice, had gone cold.
For a moment, all went quiet again. Then:
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too,” she said. Then, as quickly and forcefully as they’d laughed, she cried, tears bubbling forth like geysers, and through the blur she saw he’d started crying, too. Then he held her hand, both hands, and they sat there, crying, until both of them somehow knew it was time to stop.
“WELL, AIN’T THIS GREAT,” he said, minutes later when they could speak again. “Ain’t no one gonna vote for no crybaby sheriff.” He smiled, not that he felt the least bit happy, but to let her know that he was joking.
“I will.” She smiled too. Not joking.
Their lunches arrived and somehow that got them down to business.
“So, about my father,” she said, scooping up a bite of chicken onto her fork. “Thank you for helping to get him released.”
Lehigh dipped a French fry in ketchup and stuffed it into his mouth. He hated ketchup, but Sheila’s fries were inedible otherwise. “Just doing what’s right. But, you’re welcome.”
“What can we do to get them to drop the charges?” she asked.
He shook his head. “It’s out of my hands. It’s up to the D.A. and the courts now. But if it helps, I don’t think we had enough evidence to arrest him—yet.”
“It does help,” she said. “But if that’s the case, why did you arrest him?”
He picked up a fry, set it back down. He’d lost his appetite. “Once the D.A. decided to charge him, it’s my sworn duty to take him into custody.”
“So you take that oath more seriously than our wedding vows?”
His breath caught in his throat. She could be impossible sometimes. “I take our wedding vows as seriously as you do. Which is why you surprised me by kicking me out. For better and for worse—”
“Faithfulness matters!” Her volume soared.
He took a deep breath, exhaled it out his nose. “I haven’t been unfaithful to you.”
“You’re being unfaithful to my family. Our family. Arresting my father! Putting him in that disgusting jail cell! For murder of all things!” She tossed her napkin onto her unfinished salad and turned away from him.
“Are you listening to me? For Pete’s sake, Stacy. The D.A. charged him, not me!” He picked up his untouched Reuben, stared at it, set it back onto his plate, and ate another awful French fry instead.
“You’re an elected official. Seems to me you could show a little political backbone.” Still she refused to look at him.
“I’m an interim public servant, appointed to fill an unexpired term by a corrupt sheriff who played favorites. Do you want me to just follow in Buck’s footsteps and land myself in jail?”
“Better you than my f—” She stopped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “No, I mean—”
“I know what you mean.” He stood, grabbed his sandwich off his plate, and slapped a twenty and a five on the table. “And I’m very glad I understand how you feel now. For better or for worse, my ass!”
He stomped out the exit, ignoring her protests. He strode over to his truck, unlocked the door. Footsteps crunched the pavement behind him. Hand on the open door, he took a deep breath. “Stacy, I don’t think this is the time and place to—”
“Sheriff?” A familiar male voice surprised him. He swiveled to find an old high school pal, Phil Reardon, approaching.
Lehigh calmed and even managed a weak smile. “S’up, Phil?”
The balding man, a few inches shorter than Lehigh with the build of an out-of-shape linebacker, coughed into his fist. “I just wanted to say, Lee. I–I think you’re doing a great job as sheriff.”
“Why, thanks, Phil. What brings this on?”
Phil shuffled his feet and put his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “I saw what went on in there with your wife. I know arresting your father-in-law couldn’t have been easy. But you did the right thing, in my opinion.”
