Stillwater, p.12
Stillwater, page 12
“That’s him giving the middle finger to Jane Maxwell. I will say this for Buck—he didn’t have much crime in his town.”
“Why does that sound like a backhanded compliment?”
“Because it is. Buck Pollard had a low crime rate because he didn’t arrest anyone. Or, maybe I should say, he only arrested people who did something they shouldn’t in public or if they couldn’t do anything for him in return.”
“And he got away with this for years, why?”
“Rumor has it he has dirt on everyone in the county with even a modicum of power.”
“You?”
“No, not me.”
“How is that possible?”
“I live a clean life.”
Jack scoffed. “Jane Maxwell?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised. He was never investigated. Given more Man of the Year awards than anyone in the county. He’s so clean that I am 100 percent sure he’s covering up something so big, it will blow this county apart if it ever comes to light.”
“Why didn’t you ever investigate him?”
“Never broke any law that I saw. Never directed to investigate him by the DA or anyone else.”
“You didn’t want the trouble.”
Ann leaned forward. “I’m a damn good sheriff, Jack. When I arrest someone, I put an airtight case together and they are convicted 90 percent of the time. The DA would kiss my feet if I asked him to. I run a tight ship but I’m elected, not appointed. Going after a corrupt cop who is related to half the county and has the other half in his pocket would kill my career. It would be a disservice to the residents of Yourke County who rely on a competent, clean sheriff’s department. Judge me if you want, but I don’t lose one moment’s sleep over it.”
“If Pollard had that much power, why did he resign?”
“No one knows. One day, he gives the city manager his two-weeks’ notice and was done. Spends most of his time in Galveston deep-sea fishing in his boat.”
“Guess that explains why I haven’t seen him since I’ve been here.”
“Oh, I bet you have. Gone to the Chevron?”
“Sure.”
“He hangs out there every morning he’s in town with three other old men. Seen them?”
Jack thought back to the man who spoke to him that first day. “Yeah, okay, I’ve seen him.”
“If Buck wants to pull strings, he’ll use Miner. They’re close.”
Jack thought back to Miner’s vote of confidence Thursday and how agreeable he had been helping Jack get acclimated, answering questions, the way he stepped up when Jack was hurt. Granted, his answers were much briefer than a man with his memory would or should provide, but Jack hadn’t felt like Miner was holding anything back. Now, he wondered if Miner’s affability wasn’t merely a ruse to lure Jack into a false sense of security.
Jack shifted in his chair, recrossed his legs. “What do you know about Ellie Martin?”
Ann narrowed her eyes and turned her head to the side. “Why? She done something?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Ann’s face cleared and she sat back, suppressing a small smile. Jack held her gaze and tried to not to look or act embarrassed. “I’d be surprised if she did. She’s been on the county Crime Stoppers board for years, since she got back from Dallas.”
“She lived in Dallas?”
“For a few months. After all that happened with her husband.”
Jack ran his fingers along the gashes in the arm of his chair. The question of what happened with her husband was on the tip of his tongue, but he refrained asking it. “I ask because she offered to help with questions about town history.” Okay, not completely the truth. Jack hadn’t talked to Ellie since Friday, but she had sort of offered to help him when they met. “I just wanted to make sure she is someone I can trust with information that the public might not be privy to.”
“I would trust her completely. If you tell her something in confidence, she’ll keep it.”
“That was my read on her, as well. Nice to have it confirmed.” Jack stood and held his hand out to Ann. “Let me know when Miner can come look through the files.”
“I’ll put Juanita on it ASAP.”
They shook hands. Jack nodded to the picture on the desk. “That your granddaughter?”
“Yes.” Ann beamed. “Madison. Best baby in the world.”
“That’s what all grandmothers think.”
Ann walked around the desk to usher Jack out. “But she really is.” She stopped him from opening the door. “About Ellie. You shouldn’t have concerns about her on any level. She’s good people.”
Jack smiled at the colloquialism. “She seems like it.”
Ann narrowed her eyes. “Should she have any concerns about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, don’t fuck with her if you aren’t available.”
“Ann, I would never—”
She held up her hand. “Don’t even. I made a few calls.”
Jack went cold. “What kind of calls?”
“The kind that gave me a pretty good idea of the cloud you left under, of your behavior those last few months.”
“We talking personal or professional?”
“Both.”
Jack released the doorknob. “What do you want to know?”
Ann shook her head. “Nothing. I get it, Jack. I really do. If anyone can understand what it feels like to be abandoned, what it does to your psyche, it’s me. Probably Ellie can, too. You got all that anger out of your system, yeah?”
Jack nodded.
“Good. I know the man you are. I like you. I’m glad you’re here. You’re going to be great for Yourke County.”
“But?”
“This ain’t Dallas. You have to be much more careful about what you do and who you do it with. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
He didn’t, not really, but said, “Yes.”
II
On the morning of her fortieth birthday, three years earlier, Ellie had woken up and felt her stomach laying like a blob on the bed. Horrified and disbelieving, she stripped down and stood in front of her full-length mirror. She stood there for ten minutes, wondering how, why, and when she had morphed from a star high school basketball player to a forty-year-old fat woman with dull, stringy hair, puffy cheeks, and dark circles under her eyes. Her stomach stuck out, her back was fat, and her arms were flabby. Her ass, legs, and thighs, always her best features, were spared the carnage. Mostly. Thank God.
She’d had to dig deep in her closet to find her too-tight running clothes, and never-worn shoes, all left over from an earlier weight-loss resolution. Now, the number on the scale made her cry so hard, she vomited the remainder of the candy and ice cream she had eaten the night before.
She’d walked to the end of her driveway, turned right, and started to run. Within two hundred yards, she was short of breath and wanted to stop. Instead, she kept on, turned left onto the steep, overgrown, grassy road that led to the abandoned German church. No one went up there except kids parking late at night. Ellie knew no one would be there on a random predawn Tuesday. She could have stopped at any time, but she didn’t. She told herself if she made it, then she could do anything: she could lose thirty pounds, quit her boring job, and follow her dream.
She touched the wall of the church and leaned against it, arms outstretched, her breath like a jagged knife sawing through her chest. Her legs buckled and she sat heavily on the ground, the cool breeze drying the mingled perspiration and tears on her cheeks.
Through the trees Ellie could see the bend of the river hugging downtown Stillwater like a protective mother, reminding her of mornings of her childhood. Her most vivid childhood memory was of sitting on the back porch with her mother, watching the sunrise and the river transform from a black gash to a ribbon of reds, purples, pinks, and golds until it finally revealed its true state—muddy brown and shallow. Her mother, stroking Ellie’s long hair, would sigh. Ellie would pat her mother’s hand and say, “Maybe tomorrow it’ll stay pretty, Momma.” Her mother would give her a wan smile and say, “Maybe.” It was years before Ellie realized her mother was not sighing about the river.
Now, three years later and fifty-five pounds lighter, she stood at the same spot and watched the river. Ellie had long since stopped being ashamed of her former fat self or impressed with her weight loss. Both selves were integral to her journey, to who she was, to her ability to accomplish those goals she set forth on her fortieth birthday. Two were crossed off the written list. One would be crossed off this week. The unwritten list, the list she carried inside, was more complicated, challenging, terrifying, and mostly unaccomplished. For now.
The sun crested, the river turned muddy, and Ellie walked down the road. When she got to River Road, she turned right and ran, quickly falling into the familiar rhythm. She slowed as she approached her old house, her body finally used to going past, around the corner to the left, across the bridge and into downtown. She opened a narrow door to the left of her storefront and jogged up the stairs. She stopped at her front door—bright red-orange for no other reason than that she liked it—caught her breath and went inside.
When she decided to move into the top floor of the building that was to house her bookstore, she had the walls torn down and had spent an entire day cleaning the eight-foot-tall windows. Light had flooded the open space and Ellie felt at home for the first time in her life. Refusing Kelly’s offer to help design and decorate, Ellie went about turning the empty room into exactly what she wanted. She had a wall put up to the left of her orange door, partitioning one-quarter of the space for her bedroom. She had a small kitchen built next to the wall near the door and had a combination bathroom/laundry room installed on the outside wall. Decorating was a work in progress but leaned toward comfortable and squishy, a couch that invited curling up with a book, a campaign desk next to the windows to capture the light, flea-market tables she refinished herself. Everything about it was completely her. Six weeks after moving in, she still got a thrill walking through the door.
She went about the rest of her morning routine without thinking. Stretching, push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups were her least favorite part of the morning but skipping them was not an option. She was self-aware enough to know if she ever cheated on her routine or her diet even a little, she would backslide completely.
When she finished, she checked her email. Her phone rang. “Good morning,” she answered.
“God, you’re so peppy in the morning,” Kelly said.
Ellie closed her computer and rose. “I’ve been up since 5:30, attacking the day.” She smiled, knowing full well her enthusiasm would irritate Kelly.
“Ugh.”
“You haven’t had your first Diet Coke, have you?”
Kelly grunted.
“What’s up?”
“I’m calling to offer my services today. I’ve cleared my schedule to be at your beck and call.”
“Have you?” Ellie picked a protein bar from the basket on her counter, grabbed her keys, and walked out of her apartment. She jogged down the stairs. “I’m going to the store now. Let me see where I am and call you back.”
“I still can’t believe you aren’t going to have wine and beer at your launch party.”
Ellie unlocked the front door, went inside, and flipped on the lights. “I don’t want to alienate half the town before I open.”
“You don’t want those people as customers anyway.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You should invite Jack McBride.”
“I told Susan to mention it to him.”
“Make sure he comes. We can grill him about the skeleton.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ellie said, with no intention of inviting him or grilling him. She still hadn’t fully recovered from their conversation Friday night. “Get your lazy butt out of bed. I’ll call you later.”
Ellie hung up without waiting for a response. She started a small pot of coffee and got to work.
There wasn’t much left to do. The books were shelved, the display tables organized, the coffee bar stocked and clean, the buffet table for the night’s reception set up, the storeroom organized. Ellie checked everything three times, sure there was no way it could all be done. There must be something she was missing. Damned if she could find it.
She dusted the shelves again. A mystery with a “cat” in the title caught her eye. She opened it to a random page and started to read. Good Lord—it was from the cat’s point of view. She couldn’t help but smile.
A knock on the window startled her. Jack McBride waved from the other side of the glass.
“Oh,” Ellie said.
She fumbled trying to re-shelve the book and settled for laying it on top of the others. At least that would give her something to do later on. She caught sight of her reflection in the door and groaned; she still wore her running clothes, her hair was stiff with dried sweat, and she wasn’t wearing an ounce of makeup. She was sure she stunk to high heaven after running six miles and working out. She didn’t want to impress him, not in the least, but she was vain enough that she didn’t want anyone, even Jack McBride, to see her in this state. She pointed at the sign in the window. “We’re closed,” she said with a smile, hoping her good nature would defer him.
Jack gave her an incredulous look, lifted the badge that hung on a chain around his neck, and said, “I’m here on official police business.”
She pursed her lips. “I’m really not fit for any business, official or otherwise.”
“I’m thirsty. And I can smell the coffee from here.” He smiled. His teeth were so perfect and white, she expected one to sparkle. She stifled a laugh. Even with the multicolored bruise and stitched eyebrow, he was ridiculously urbane. Had he realized how out of place he was in Stillwater?
“Please?” he said.
She resolved to stay as far away from him as possible, to not even look at him, and opened the door. Who knows? Maybe if he saw her like this, he would stop flirting with her. Ellie ignored the stab of disappointment at the idea.
“Don’t you want to lock the door?”
“With the chief of police here? Who would dare rob me?”
“Excellent point.” He looked around her store. “Very nice. The Book Bank—is that in honor of your former employer?”
“No.” She walked around the bar, a mahogany monstrosity salvaged from a historic hotel in Jacksboro. It was huge, maybe a little big for the space, but she loved it. She poured Jack a cup of coffee. “This building was a bank at one time. The competition. It’s been a few things actually, so none of the bank trappings are left. Except the safe, which is the office.” She placed the cup of coffee on the counter. “Cream or sugar?”
“Is your coffee that bad?”
She leaned against the back counter and crossed her arms over her chest. “See for yourself.”
He sipped it. “Very good.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Better and better.” His smile was mischievous. He sipped again and looked up at the chalkboard menu above Ellie. “Brown Sugar Latte, Turtle Cake Latte, Raspberry Mocha, Snickerdoodle Latte? Good Lord, those sound good. What’s your favorite?”
“Snickerdoodle.” Ellie pushed her crunchy hair behind her ear, and looked down. Christ. She needed to shave her legs.
“Where did you learn to make a latte?”
“Hmm.” Ellie paused. Part of her wanted to dodge the question, not because the answer was scandalous or even interesting. In fact, he might already know the answer, but hearing it from her would make it personal, somehow.
“Is that too personal?” he asked.
Her surprise at his use of the very word she was thinking spurred her to answer, to contradict his unsettling clairvoyance.
“I took a sabbatical a few years back. Moved to Dallas and got a job at Starbucks.” His eyebrows shot up and his mouth twitched. “Don’t laugh,” she said, suppressing her own. “It was exactly the job I needed at the time. I had a rough year, personally and professionally. I needed a change. Like you.”
“Like me.” He sipped his coffee. “So, I don’t know if you remember, but when we met that first day, at the bank, you offered to help me with information about the town.”
“I remember.”
“I suppose you’ve heard about the skeleton.”
“I have.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “That’s it? Aren’t you going to ask me about it?”
“No.”
Jack stared at Ellie over the rim of his cup. “Hmm,” he said, putting his cup down. “Why not?”
“Honestly, I doubt there’s anything you can tell me I haven’t already heard.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really.”
Jack leaned his elbows on the counter and motioned for her to continue. “Enlighten me.”
“It is the skeleton of a woman, in the ground about fifty years.”
“We don’t know for sure if it’s a woman.”
“You suspect so because you found a woman’s shoe. Just one, which is kind of weird.”
“What else?”
“I really shouldn’t.”
“Please. You might know something I don’t.” He was enjoying himself.
She crinkled her nose. “Ethan sent a picture of it to Troy.” Jack straightened up and his smile faded.
“The only reason I know that is because I was at Susan’s house yesterday when she found it. I won’t tell a soul. I would never.”
Jack drummed his fingers on the countertop, stared into the empty pastry case. He looked at Ellie. “Why aren’t there any pastries?”
“There will be tonight.”
Jack pursed his lips and nodded. He studied her. “I know.”
“You know about the pastries? How could you know about the pastries?”
“No,” Jack said. “I know I can trust you.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m so confused.” She opened her eyes. He was smiling at her, the same expression from the game. It puzzled her even more here. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“You have this, forgive the phrase, but a shit-eating grin on your face.”
