Small-Town Secrets

“Actually, I like the idea of everyone doing their part,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as if she was trying to flatter her boss. “I’d hoped a smaller town meant a chance to get out more and meet with the people.”

He nodded in agreement. “Be there at quarter of two and ask for Joshua Patterson. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

Hearing the dismissal in his voice, Bree left the office and walked over to her desk.

“Community relations are very important,” she instructed herself, as she stared at the too clean surface. No pink message slips were waiting for her. She told herself it was a good thing, since the only people who would have tried to get hold of her were from the kids’ schools. “The public gets to know the officers who protect them. Nobody can say I’m not being thrown into the fray.”

“Sheriff Holloway said to give these out at your talk.” Irene set a small cardboard box down in front of Bree. “We just got them in. They’re magnets they can stick on the refrigerator. They have the phone numbers for the sheriff’s department and fire department, plus blank spaces where they can write in their doctor’s and pharmacy’s numbers,” she explained.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Bree said approvingly, looking at the white squares with red lettering. “Is this senior citizens center pretty active?”

“They have something going on all the time,” the receptionist replied. “Dances, bingo, day trips to San Diego for plays and concerts. You name it.”

“Definitely a better social life than mine,” Bree told Jinx, who lay under her desk.

The moment Bree and Jinx entered the Warm Springs Senior Center, they were approached by the administrator.

“We’re grateful you were willing to step in at the last second and take the sheriff’s place, Detective Fitzpatrick,” Josh Patterson said after he’d introduced himself. He clasped Bree’s hand in a warm grip.

While the man’s weathered features indicated he had to be in his mid-to late seventies, his demeanor was that of a man a good twenty years younger. His silver hair and mustache gave him a dashing look that reminded her of Douglas Fairbanks Jr. Bree wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been told more than once about the strong resemblance.

“Thank you. Hopefully, this will be a good chance for me to meet some of the county residents, and in turn, they can begin to get to know me,” she replied with a warm smile, finding it easy to fall under the spell of his courtly charm.

He looked down. “And I see you brought your partner with you. Excellent.” He beamed. “That box looks heavy. Let me help you with it,” he offered.

“Oh my, the man is doing it again. I swear he can’t be trusted to keep his hands off any female.”

Josh turned his head at the sound of the woman’s voice. His mouth broadened in a smile and his eyes softened with an expression Bree remembered well and ached for again.

“Detective, this is my wife, Renee.” He made the introductions. “Renee, this is Detective Fitzpatrick. She’s taking over for Roy today.”

“And I must say it’s a definite improvement.” Renee smiled at Bree and held out her hand. “Roy is a dear man, but there are times when he can be a real tight-ass,” she confided.

Bree smiled back. Just as Josh was movie star handsome, Renee equaled him in looks. Her hair was as silver as her husband’s and brushed back in thick short waves. Fashionable glasses were perched on her small nose. Her dusty-blue silk pants and a print polo-style top coordinated with her husband’s navy slacks and navy-and-white-striped shirt.

“You have to excuse Josh. He likes to believe he’s still a stud,” Renee confided, tucking Bree’s arm in hers as they walked across the center’s spacious lobby to a side room. “The dear man can’t understand that he’s in his declining years.”

Bree chuckled. “I can’t imagine the man is even close to his declining years.”

The older woman leaned closer to say in a low voice, “He’s not. I just don’t want him to know that. Makes him too self-confident.”

People milled around the end of the room where a long table held a coffee urn and cups. Several turned and looked curiously at her and the dog walking next to her.

“It’s nice to know they’ve finally gotten smart and hired another woman over there,” Renee told Bree as she guided her toward the front of the room, where a podium and several chairs were set up. “Oh, I know the department has a female deputy, but they need more women in there. Roy Holloway can’t help being your typical male chauvinist. He was brought up to believe women belong in the home and so on. His wife is Suzie Homemaker with a capital H. As for his children…well, there’s no reason I should give you all the gory details at once.” Her brown eyes twinkled with amusement.

Bree was amazed at her frank speech. “So far, he’s been fine with me,” she confessed.

Renee chuckled. “That’s because he knows a good thing when he sees it.” She squeezed Bree’s hand. “Please don’t let my words scare you off. Something tells me you can handle the man.”

“I’ll do my best,” she promised, keeping in the lighthearted spirit.

“I think you will.” The woman looked around and gestured for people to be seated. “Would you like a glass of water or some coffee?”

“No, thank you.” Bree set the box of magnets on the floor by the podium.

“Will everyone be seated now?” Renee called out. She waited until the group did her bidding. “As you all know, Sheriff Holloway was going to speak to us today on personal safety. Unfortunately, he isn’t able to be with us, but he has sent his newest detective, Bree Fitzpatrick. Detective Fitzpatrick worked for the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department and is now with the Warm Springs Sheriff’s Department. Please give her a warm welcome.”

Bree looked around the room, noting the audience’s age bracket ran from late fifties to late eighties. She’d lost count of the number of talks she’d given to various groups over the years, so this was nothing new to her.

So why did she feel this talk could be the most important one she’d delivered to date?

“Thank you, Renee,” she said warmly. “Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Detective Bree Fitzpatrick. Before coming to Warm Springs, I was a homicide detective with the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department for twelve years, the last three in homicide. I am also a K-9 officer, which means my partner is a dog. Which I’m sure more than one officer has said about their human partners,” she said, to expected laughter. “Jinx here comes from a long line of K-9s. Right now, his three brothers are working for the Los Angeles Police Department and Sheriff’s Department. He is considered a bona fide member of the sheriff’s department. He even has his own specially fitted Kevlar vest. If anyone dares to shoot or, God forbid, kill him, the investigation and conviction would be treated the same as firing on any human police officer.”

“But he’s a dog,” a woman said, almost apologetically.

“A dog with very special training,” Bree replied. She went on to explain what his training entailed. “And now to the reason for my being here.” She looked from one face to another. “I wish I could say that there are places and communities where you don’t have to worry about crime. But, sad to say, those days are over. It’s lovely that the crime rate is low in this county, but everyone still needs to be cautious. To use your common sense and street smarts so you won’t become a victim. At night, park in a well-lit area, as close to your building as possible. When you leave a building and head for your car, make sure you already have your keys in your hand. Be aware of everything going on around you. Keep your head up, walk with a confident stride. Before you get in your car, take a few seconds to glance at the back seat to make sure no one is hiding there. The minute you’re inside your car, lock the doors.”

“What if you feel someone is following you?” a woman asked.

“Marian, we’ll have a question and answer period after the talk,” Renee chided.

“She did bring up a good point,” Bree said. “If you feel you are being followed, never go home. Drive directly to the police station or someplace that’s well lit and busy. If you have a cell phone, call the authorities and explain your situation. Once you reach the police station, and if you’re afraid to get out of your car, honk your horn repeatedly. Believe me, someone will come out to investigate.”

Bree felt herself relax as she gave a talk she knew she could give in her sleep.

Then the rear door opened and someone slipped inside, making his way toward one of the chairs in the back row.

Bree felt herself start to falter as she locked gazes with Cole Becker. He smiled and tipped his head in a silent greeting as he sat back in the chair. He pulled a notebook out of his briefcase and settled his ankle on the opposite knee. She purposely ignored him and continued speaking.

It wasn’t easy pretending he wasn’t there. Not when he was staring unflinchingly at her.

What is he doing here? He’s not old enough to be a member of this center, unless he’s better preserved than I thought. And if that’s the case, I want to know his secret.

One way or another, she was determined to finish her talk without stumbling over any words.

What was it about Cole Becker that affected her this way?

If it wouldn’t ruin her future with the sheriff’s department, she’d just shoot the man and get it over with.

She mentally heaved a sigh of relief when she finished her speech and waited for questions. She nodded at one woman sitting in the second row.

“But what about when someone tries to rob you?” the tiny, gray-haired lady asked in a trembling voice. “I know you’re not supposed to fight them, but I can’t just allow them to take my money, either.”

“Better to lose the money than lose your life. However, what we’ve seen is that many thieves preying on the elderly are actually cowards. They tend to choose people they don’t think will fight back,” Bree explained. “If you feel you have a chance, then show them you aren’t that easy. Especially if they’re not carrying a weapon. Things you can do are stomp down on their foot really hard, plant your knee between their legs, and if possible, poke at their eyes. And yell as loud as you can. Some people feel yelling ‘Fire!’ gets more action than yelling for the police. Do whatever you think will get you assistance.”

“That’s why we need to carry guns of our own,” one man grumbled. A low rumble moved through the audience. “That way the bastards will know who’s really in charge.”

“Not at all a good idea,” Bree said firmly. “I’ve had to work on too many crime scenes where the victim’s own gun was used on him or her.”