The Lover

“Local lawyers and courthouse personnel, along with city policemen and our department, keep Methel’s in business,” Bernie told him. “There’s always a huge lunch crowd during the week. If you like down-home cooking, you’ll love the food here.”

He reached around her, grasped the door handle and opened the door. She jerked back, glanced over her shoulder and smiled at him, then walked into the restaurant. Apparently she wasn’t accustomed to men opening doors for her. She had seemed taken slightly off guard by his gentlemanly action.

“We just find the first available table,” Bernie said. “There is no hostess.” She surveyed the room, which had the look of an old diner, with one row of booths against the left side wall, a counter with six bar stools along the right wall and a dozen small tables situated in between. The waitresses wore jeans, white shirts and tennis shoes, and the best he could tell, they ranged in age from eighteen to sixty.

Just making conversation, Jim said, “Something sure smells good.”

“It’s the Friday special. Beef roast.” Bernie lifted her hand and waved. “There they are, in the very back booth. Come on. If we don’t put in our order before one, we won’t get any peach cobbler. It goes fast.”

Jim followed her. In his peripheral vision he caught the inquisitive stares of the other patrons. He figured everybody knew who he was and they were wondering how he would measure up. When they approached the back booth, two men slid off the red vinyl seats and stood. He recognized Ron Hensley, and by process of elimination assumed the other man was the DA, Jerry Dale Simms. Auburn-haired and freckled, Simms grinned and held out his hand. He was taller than Hensley, about six-one, broad shouldered, hefty, with a wrestler’s bulky build.

After Bernie made introductions, Jerry Dale grabbed Jim’s hand and pumped it as he grinned and talked and slapped Jim on the back. Jim usually hated it when people fawned over him—over who he used to be—but he got nothing but good vibes from Jerry Dale and decided then and there that he liked the friendly good old boy.

“Sit down. Sit down,” Jerry Dale said as he slid back into the booth. “We’ve done ordered peach cobbler for four. Didn’t want to wait and risk not getting any.”

Ron slid in beside Jerry Dale as Bernie sat and scooted in across from the two men. By the time Jim sat down beside Bernie, their blond, mid-twenties waitress appeared, a cheerful smile on her face, and handed each the one-page, vinyl-laminated menu. Jim had barely glanced at the items listed before the waitress asked, “What’ll it be, folks?”

“Today’s special,” Jerry Dale replied.

“Same for me,” Ron said.

“Make that three,” Bernie told her.

Jim glanced up at the waitress, caught a glimpse of her name tag—Renee—and said, “I’ll go along with everyone else.”

“Four specials. And four peach cobblers. Everybody want sweet tea?” Renee looked right at Jim. He nodded. “You the new chief deputy?”

“Yeah,” Jim said. “I’m Jim Norton.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Renee Michaels.” She glanced over at Ron and grinned, then turned and sashayed off toward the kitchen, swaying her cute little tush.

Jim wondered what the momentary exchange between Renee and Ron was about, but he pretended not to have noticed. He could tell by the expression on the lieutenant’s face that the waitress had struck a nerve. His guess would be that at some time in the not-too-distant past the two had been lovers.

“Have you gotten moved in and settled into your new place?” Jerry Dale asked.

“Pretty much,” Jim said. “Not a lot to do in a furnished rental.”

“I guess not. Later on you might want to buy a house. If you do, just let me know. My Amy is a realtor and she’ll be up to date on all the best bargains.”

“Thanks, but I figure I’ll be renting for a good while. I don’t really need much more than a roof over my head.”

“No wife? No kids?” Ron Hensley asked, and Jim wondered if the guy really didn’t know any of the personal details of his life.

“An ex-wife who lives in Huntsville with my son. Kevin’s twelve, and to be perfectly honest, he’s the reason I’m here in Adams Landing. He’s why I took this job.”

“And a good reason it is, too,” Jerry Dale said. “I’d move to the moon if Amy ever left me and took our kids up there. How long you been divorced? Did she up and remarry and take your kid away?”

Jim shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to be rude, but at the same time preferring not to go too deeply into personal matters with people he’d just met.

“So how are J.D. and Anna Leigh?” Bernie Granger asked Jerry Dale. “I hear Anna Leigh made the junior high cheerleader squad. I’ll bet she’s one happy little girl.”

“Lord, yes.” Jerry Dale went off on a proud papa tangent, giving blow-by-blow details of how his thirteen-year-old daughter beat out six rivals to win a spot on the squad.

Jim figured Bernie had sensed his discomfort at discussing his ex-wife and son and had diplomatically steered the conversation away from the topic. He’d been in town less than twenty-four hours and he already owed his new boss. Gut instinct told him he was going to get along just fine with the sheriff, that in time they would probably become friends. And that would certainly be a first for him. He’d never been good friends with a woman unless he was screwing her. But there was always a first time for everything.

After lunch with fellow teacher and friend Shannon Tolliver, Thomasina Hardy returned to her classroom at the Adams County Junior College. She’d been teaching here since her graduation from Auburn University five years ago, having taken the job so she could move back home to Verona, a rural community about twenty-five minutes from downtown Adams Landing. She’d never had dreams of living in a big city, away from her family and childhood friends. Some people couldn’t understand why, at twenty-seven, she enjoyed living at home with her widowed mother and younger brother, with her two older siblings’ homes within earshot of the home place. The Hardy clan was close-knit—mother, four siblings, two in-laws, and three grandchildren. Thomasina hoped that someday she would marry a fine man and bring her own children into the clan. But for now, she liked her life just as it was.

But she didn’t love her life and hadn’t ever since she and Ron Hensley had broken up about six months ago. She’d gotten a little more involved in their relationship than he had and when she’d made the mistake of becoming possessive, he’d backed off so quickly it had made her head spin. Her heart had been broken and she’d gone into a mild depression for about two months; then she had looked around and realized there were a lot of other men out there—better men than Ron. One man in particular had caught her eye—Brandon Kelley, the art director here at the junior college. He wasn’t an Adams County native, wasn’t even an Alabama native, and had come to work at the junior college only last year. She didn’t know a great deal about him, only the basic facts. He was thirty-eight, divorced, no children, and had come to Alabama from North Carolina.

Once he started teaching at the junior college, enrollment in art classes doubled, and seventy-five percent of his students were female. But who could blame the students for drooling over the guy. He was simply to die for. Chocolate brown eyes, curly brown hair with a touch of gray at the temples and worn just a tad too long. He was handsome in a Greek god sort of way. Thomasina had to admit that she was as infatuated with Dr. Kelley as any of his young students.

After sitting down at her desk, Thomasina pulled out the right-side bottom drawer and placed her handbag inside, then leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She had less than fifteen minutes to relax before the start of her first afternoon class and she had found that a quick, ten-minute power nap usually refreshed her and gave her the energy boost she needed to keep her going until the end of the day. But today, for some reason, she couldn’t seem to drift off into that semi-asleep state. Her mind kept whirling with thoughts—thoughts about Dr. Brandon Kelley. Her older sister, Amanda, had told her to ask the guy for a date, and she’d been trying to build up her courage to do just that. After all, what was the worst that could happen? He’d say no. And if he did? No big deal. She’d at least know where she stood with him and could move on to someone who was actually interested in her.

Thomasina opened her eyes, grumbled to herself and gave up on getting her daily afternoon power nap. As her gaze traveled over her desktop, she noticed a square white envelope lying in the middle of a textbook she’d put there before leaving for lunch. She stared at the envelope for half a minute, then picked it up and turned it over to the front. Her name—Thomasina—had been printed in bold letters in black ink. Her heart did a nervous rat-a-tat-tat.

The envelope had not been sealed, but the flap had been tucked neatly beneath the V-shaped back opening. She slid the flap up, and with forefinger and thumb eased the one-page note out of the envelope.

Thomasina took a deep breath, then unfolded the paper, which had been pressed in half, and read the brief message.

I worship you from afar, my beautiful Thomasina.

With her heart fluttering and her pulse racing, she gasped. It was a love letter, of sorts. A succinct message from an admirer. But who? One of her students? Possibly. After all, she was rather attractive and had dealt with male students making passes at her on several occasions.

She read the note again; the words were written in bold print and with black ink. But what student could have written something so utterly romantic? None she knew of. It was something a man would have written, not a boy. A worldly man, with the heart of a poet. Or an artist?

What if Brandon Kelley had written it? What if this was his way of wooing her?

Thomasina held the note to her breast and smiled.

After just one bite of the peach cobbler, Jim understood why Bernie and the others had raved about it. Without a doubt, it was the best he’d ever eaten—even better than his mother’s, and she’d been a great cook. If he ate many lunches like the one he’d eaten today, he’d either have to work out more or he’d wind up putting on ten pounds his first month in Adams County.

“Amy’s going to want to have you over for dinner one night,” Jerry Dale said. “She’ll be calling you. She’s a wonderful little cook.”

How did he get out of such a gracious invitation? “That’s awfully nice of—”

Jerry Dale laughed. “Nothing nice about it. That wife of mine is a matchmaker. She’ll probably invite one of her unmarried friends to dinner the same night. Just warning you ahead of time. And she won’t take no for an answer.”

Jim swallowed. “I don’t suppose there’s some courteous way to say no thanks, is there?”

“Not with my Amy. She’s a little velvet steamroller.”

“When Amy calls you, why don’t you suggest that you come for dinner one evening when your son is visiting,” Bernie said. “Tell Amy you’d like Kevin to meet some of the kids here in Adams Landing and he could start with Anna Leigh and J.D.”

Jim released a silent sigh. Once again, his boss had come to his rescue. Was that just her nature? he wondered. Was she the caretaker type who was always looking out for others?

Suddenly Ron Hensley’s cell phone rang—a distinct, loud ring, no catchy tune. He eased the phone from the belt clip, hit the ON button and said, “Lieutenant Hensley.”

Jim studied the deputy’s facial expressions and figured something was wrong, bad wrong, before Hensley said, “Goddamn it. Who found her? I see. Yeah, we’ll be out there as soon as we can. Just don’t let anybody touch anything and keep them as far away from the crime scene as possible.”