Support Your Local Sheriff

CHAPTER ONE (#u93cfa53e-af90-59b1-9de3-bf5d9987b2bd)

“WHAT’S THE EMERGENCY?” Sheriff Nate Landry, fresh from chasing chickens at Clara Barra’s house, took a seat on a creaky wooden pew in the back of the church. “Spring Festival meltdown?”

“The emergency is next,” Flynn Harris said in a hushed voice so as not to wake baby Ian in his arms.

Nate’s entrance met with turned heads, warm smiles and nods of recognition. The Harmony Valley Town Council was in session, better attended than some small-town basketball games. The meetings were held in the historic, steepled church downtown, being led from folding tables and chairs set up on the pulpit. That was the way of life in the remote northeastern corner of Sonoma County—casual, a bit of making do and a bit impromptu.

Flynn managed to brush reddish-brown hair from his eyes with his shoulder without disrupting his newborn’s sleep. “The emergency is Doris Schlotski.”

A little black rain cloud formed above Nate. As the only lawman in town, he prided himself on figuring out what made each resident tick. Doris Schlotski. She’d moved here four months ago and was a conundrum.

About three months ago, Nate had issued Doris citations for violating both the noise and pet ordinances. She bred Chihuahuas and her ten adult dogs barked 24/7. She’d argued that they were only small dogs and quieter than a neighbor’s Saint Bernard. A few weeks after that he’d issued her a citation for permanently parking her never-used fishing boat on the street. She’d argued that her driveway wasn’t wide enough for both her car and the boat. Just last week, he’d pulled Doris over for speeding. She’d argued that the speed limit hadn’t been updated in fifty years and was therefore invalid.

Nate was still trying to determine what made Doris tick, but he was done arguing. He bet Doris wasn’t. He bet she was here to argue about speed limits or public right-of-way or pet regulations.

Ian squirmed, rolling his head until the blue puppy blanket dropped unnoticed from his head and over Flynn’s arm.

The door behind them opened, bringing a nip of evening air. Harmony Valley was near enough to the Pacific Ocean to be cooled nightly by ocean breezes and thick fog.

Nate tucked the baby blanket snugly around the tufts of red-brown hair on Ian’s head.

Footsteps and whispers from the newcomers were covered by Mayor Larry recording a quorum on a request to rezone some property in the south part of town. The pew behind them groaned as someone sat down. At the front of the church, heads turned to see who’d entered. Inquisitive stares and nudges of neighbors followed.

Nate began to turn to see who had come in when Flynn nudged him and said, “Here we go.”

“Next on the agenda...” Mayor Larry squinted at his notes through black rectangular reading glasses. “‘Sheriff elections?’”

Abruptly, everyone faced forward, perhaps as shocked by the agenda item as Nate was.

The little black rain cloud above Nate’s head thickened. Doris wasn’t here to talk about speed limits or public right-of-way or pet regulations. She was here to talk about him!

Nate leaned closer to Flynn, keeping his voice down. “We don’t have sheriff elections.” He’d come to Harmony Valley nearly three years ago because the town was plain and simple. He’d been hired, plain and simple. He’d renewed his contract, plain and simple. Less than two hundred residents lived in town, most of them pleasant, law-abiding, elderly. Plain and simple.

At least, until Doris had returned to the area, breathing fire.

Doris approached the speaker podium like she was going to bulldoze it. She was shaped like a fireplug—short, compact, the promise of energy behind every step. Her gray hair didn’t dare curl or frizz, not even in the fog. Barely an inch long, it stood on end. She was a fireplug, all right. Only instead of spouting water, Doris spouted words. That woman could outdebate a presidential candidate.

Nate sucked back a grin. She hadn’t been able to talk her way out of those citations.

Something bumped the back of Nate’s pew just as Doris began to speak. “Mr. Mayor—”

Nate’s grin slipped free by half, poking holes in his rain cloud.

Mr. Mayor? Everyone called him Mayor Larry, at the mayor’s request. The aging hippie and tie-dye business entrepreneur was unorthodox, from his long gray ponytail to his tie-dyed attire and his penchant for naked yoga down by the river.

Doris continued to address those on the dais. “Madames Councilwomen—”

Nate’s war to contain the grin became more challenging. The three councilwomen weren’t into formalities either.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Doris continued in her high-pitched, grating voice. “We should be proud of many things in our community. The wonderful festivals we have. The resurgence of new businesses. And the low crime rate. But that isn’t good enough.”

Not good enough? The little black rain cloud sucked the oxygen from the old church.

“In this age of police misconduct, the people need a voice.” Doris had a death grip on the podium.

Nate thought it might be his death she planned.

“Can’t see,” came a little voice from behind Nate.

That innocent voice. It broke through the cloud.

Clop-clump.

It sounded like the tyke stood on the next pew back.

“That better, Juju.”

Doris wasn’t only upsetting Nate. On the pulpit, the town council murmured and shifted in their seats. Those in pews in front of Nate exchanged significant glances and whispered commentary.

“The people have a voice, Doris.” Councilwoman Agnes Villanova drew the microphone she shared with the other councilwomen closer. “Residents vote for representatives of our town. Your representatives then vote on issues of health, well-being and safety. Why, just this last year your town council hired two firefighters and renewed the sheriff’s contract.”

Short, spunky Agnes ran the town from her seat to the mayor’s right. Next to her sat Rose Cascia. Rose looked like a retired ballerina with her thin frame and her crisp white chignon. She might have pulled off New York sophistication if she didn’t tap-dance her way into rooms. At the end of the table sat Mildred Parsons. Mildred could barely see, despite her thick lenses. She was made of soft angles, from the snow-white curls in her short hair to her plump frame.

Nate loved those old ladies. They’d chase away storm clouds on a rainy day.

“Beg pardon, Madame Councilwoman.” The smirk in Doris’s voice carried to the back of the church without her having to turn around. “But I was talking about removing a layer of politics from the process.”

“A layer of politics?” Spritely Agnes had the heart of a saint and silver hair as short as Doris’s, except Agnes’s hair relaxed on her head. “Are you questioning our dedication to this town? Are you questioning our...ethics?”

The crowd murmured in disapproval. The mayor and town council had been serving for decades. They were wise. They were beloved. They always ran unopposed.

Nate drew a calming breath. Whatever agenda Doris had, the town council would thwart it.

“What I’m saying is clear enough that everyone in this room understands,” Doris said with the pomp of the self-important. “Everyone but you!”

In the midst of horrified gasps, a small hand landed on Nate’s shoulder.

“Hi.” Hot breath gusted in Nate’s ear.

Nate glanced over his shoulder into a pair of large gray eyes framed by a dark mop of hair. He’d never seen the toddler before, but the boy was cute and most likely the reason for the curious stares a few minutes ago.

Across the aisle, Old Man Takata beamed at the tyke and tapped the shoulder of his neighbor Snarky Sam, who owned the antiques/used goods store on Main Street. Sam’s smiles were rare. And yet he gave the kid a toothy grin.

The little boy touched his forehead to Nate’s and repeated, “Hi.”

“Hey,” Nate said softly, unable to resist returning the boy’s impish smile. “Be careful.”

Feminine hands curled around the boy’s torso and drew him back. Nate began to twist around to see who the hands belonged to when Flynn spoke again, halting him. “Do you think Doris would be more respectful of you if you wore a uniform?” Even in a whisper, Flynn sounded like he was enjoying this more than Nate. Of course, Flynn wasn’t the sheriff. He was part owner of a winery.