“I’ve lost my cell.”
Brandwyn looked around and said, “Here it is,” as she stooped to pick up the phone from where it had skidded under another table. Bo took it and pressed the home button to bring up the time. Yes, less than five minutes had passed since she’d spoken to Evan in front of the bank. And what the hell difference did it make anyway?
It didn’t. Checking the time was just more of that sense of disconnection, trying to find something solid, something normal.
Maybe the best way was in conversation. As soon as she had the thought, she realized the rest of them were talking, Jesse asking questions, Brandwyn and Miss Doris talking over each other, Emily starting to cry.
Bo said, “Who is that?” and pointed at the handcuffed man on the floor, because she didn’t recognize him.
The four of them stared at her. “That’s Kyle,” Emily said, sniffling. “My husband.”
“What? Kyle? What happened to his hair?” She’d met Kyle once or twice; she’d always thought Emily had married the pick of the Gooding family, but maybe not. When she’d seen him before, he’d worn his hair buzzed, been clean shaven; now his light brown hair was long, almost touching his shoulders, and he had the scruffy three-day beard a lot of guys were wearing to show how cool they were.
“He’s been growing it out,” Emily replied unnecessarily.
Kyle began shifting and making sounds that were a combination of grunts and groans. Following hard on that were some slurred curses, including “Stupid bitch, you’ll pay for this.”
“Are you threatening your wife?” Jesse asked in his cop voice, setting the ice bag aside and gripping the front of Kyle’s jacket with both hands to haul him to a sitting position. As he did so, the first of the sirens became audible, coming in stereo from both ends of town.
Kyle wasn’t stupid; his father had always paid to make trouble go away whenever any of his kids misbehaved, but Miss Doris and Emily were both well liked, and some trouble trumped money. Not only that, he was beginning to realize he’d been in a fight with two law officers, and that wasn’t good. “No,” he said sullenly. “I’m talking about a divorce.”
“Praise the lord,” said Miss Doris, glaring at him. “You’re so low-down, you’d have to grow ten feet taller before you could lick the soles of Emily’s shoes.”
“Miss Doris, how about you and Emily, and Brandwyn, move to the other side of the room, please.” Jesse cast an encompassing look at both Kyle and Bo, decided one wasn’t going anywhere and the other was doing okay, and he began herding the ladies along.
Kyle slanted Bo one of those sullen looks.
“I didn’t know it was you,” she said, though it wouldn’t have made any difference if she had. “I haven’t seen you since you grew your hair out.”
He didn’t look apologetic, but again, he wasn’t stupid. “I didn’t know it was you either,” he mumbled, and that was likely true given that she’d jumped him from behind. “Sorry.” After a pause, “You okay?”
She didn’t answer because the medic truck screeched to a stop outside the shop, followed by a county car coming from the opposite direction. They parked nose to nose, and two medics and a deputy bailed out. Other sirens were wailing as more patrol cars descended on them.
The medics came first to her, for reasons unknown. The attention was overwhelming, swamping her with the sense of being out of control as well as disconnected. She wasn’t hurt all that much, a little bruised and sore, while Jesse was actually bleeding, but then she realized all the others were on their feet while she was sitting down-well, except for Kyle, but considering he was handcuffed, evidently sympathy for him was running low. One of the medics finally peeled off to check out Jesse and Emily, while the other checked her pupils, which appeared to be normal.
Maybe they were reacting to the novelty of the “lady chief” being in an altercation, but the small bakery was soon filled to bursting with county deputies and other official types, as well as the town’s other four police officers, two of whom were off-duty. For God’s sake, even the coroner showed up; it must have been a slow day for bodies. Several of the town council members arrived, as well as Mayor Buddy. Kyle Gooding was hauled to his feet, his head examined where Brandwyn had clobbered him with the chair, and taken away to the hospital in the next town over for checking out. He wanted to have whoever hit him arrested, but that didn’t fly considering he’d been in the process of attacking two law officers when Brandwyn brained him. After he was checked out, assuming he wasn’t admitted, he’d be taken to the county jail because the town didn’t have a jail and all their arrestees were put in the county facility. Even after Kyle was gone, people still stood around, laughing and retelling the fracas.
Bo instinctively retreated behind her mental walls, where she always went when she was in protective mode. She’d learned to do that at an early age as a means of coping with her mother’s parade of boyfriends and husbands, constant relocating, and a father who appeared to forget about her for years at a time. What had worked for the kid still worked for the adult. She didn’t like being the center of attention, and if the attention wouldn’t go away, then she would, at least inside her head.
Mayor Buddy came and patted her hand. “Quite a bit of excitement,” he said kindly as he pulled a chair around and sat down beside her, his pleasantly homely face caught in an expression halfway between concern and laughter.
Bo roused herself to reconnect. “I want to apologize for my language,” she said because she’d heard the phrase “tear your fucking head off” several times during the past half hour or so. The deputies had gotten a kick out of it, but she didn’t know how the town elders would feel. No one would care if she cussed like a sailor in private, but public perception was a different animal.
He chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. It makes such a good story most everyone in town will likely tell it themselves. The few that get puckered up about it will be outnumbered. I swear to you, I never thought this kind of thing would be in your job description.”
“I didn’t either.” She’d thought it was administrative, all the way. And it would have been; jumping in had been her choice, no one had told her to do it.
“Kyle’s daddy will likely kick up a fuss.”
“I know.” Warren Gooding owned a couple of prosperous sawmills in the area, which meant he employed some of the townspeople, and he liked to throw his weight around because of it. He’d always stepped in whenever his kids did anything wrong, blaming everything on someone else, so she expected him to follow pattern. Still, he didn’t live within the town limits, so he couldn’t even vote in elections, and considering the circumstances, she thought he’d concentrate his efforts on finding Kyle a good lawyer and maybe trying to get the prosecutor not to press charges.
If it were left up to her, she’d let bygones be bygones; she wasn’t really hurt and neither was Jesse. Hitting Emily, to her, was the big deal, but whether or not Emily pressed charges was up to her. But there would be charges because no one wanted people to get the idea they could get away with resisting arrest and assaulting officers of the law. This whole thing was going to get very messy before it was over; Miss Doris was beloved in the town and the Goodings weren’t, but the Goodings were influential, strident, and persistent.
She caught a glimpse of the big school clock on the wall behind the counter, and saw that almost an hour had elapsed. Aghast at her own negligence she said, “Tricks!” and surged to her feet. As cold as the day was, she knew overheating wasn’t a problem, but it was definitely time to get her out of the Jeep.