Kiss Me, Sheriff!

“I’m sure there are ways to help Gilberto that don’t involve the law, exactly. His school—”

“‘The law’ is a set of boundaries designed to establish and maintain order. That’s exactly what Gilberto needs and exactly what he’s not going to get if bleeding hearts make excuses for him.”

“Bleeding hearts! I can’t believe you said that.” Willa shook her head as if to dislodge his words from her brain. “Life does not respect rules and regulations. Life just happens, and it doesn’t ask your permission before it gets messy, although that might be hard for you to accept, Sheriff. I’ve seen the way you run around town, trying to convince people we’re all characters in a nineteen fifties TV sitcom.”

“What are you talking about?” The words emerged muffled as Derek’s jaw and lips barely moved.

“I’m talking about your town meetings and visits to the chamber of commerce and all the other places you go to tell people that as long as they do the right thing, they’ll stay safe and happy and the world will be a better place, now let’s all go have donuts. The end.”

“I’m sorry you dislike the message that playing by the rules does make the world safer and better. I’ve found it to be true.”

“Lucky you.”

Derek’s entire manner was different from anything she had seen before. His body looked stiff enough to break, and Willa sensed she should stop talking, just let it go, but he was so sure of himself, so smug about the world and how it worked, and she couldn’t stay quiet. Especially since he’d called her a bleeding heart. “If you think Gilberto is going to have a better life because I rat him out to his bully of a cousin, then you’re the one who’s naïve, not me.”

There were no lights in the alley, save for porch lights above the back doors of the businesses along Warm Springs Road, but Willa could see Derek’s expression—closed and distant—and knew he could see hers.

In the chilly night, her breath came in small, visible puffs. She didn’t feel cold, though. Her face and hands felt hot enough to fry eggs.

It wasn’t like her to confront and criticize. She wished he’d say something back. Something stubborn and intractable, so she could walk away thinking, See, I knew it. He’s just another lucky-so-far chump who thinks he’s in charge of his fate. Boy, is he in for a shock someday.

Derek’s granite features changed not one whit as he tipped his head. “Thank you for coming tonight, Ms. Holmes. It’s dark out. Do you need a ride to your house, or are you alright?”

Willa’s emotions slammed to a roadrunner-like halt. He was the sheriff again, just the sheriff. A lump filled her throat, making it hard to swallow. “I’m fine.”

“Good night.” With another professionally polite nod, he turned. Willa watched him walk to the end of the alley and round the corner without a backward glance.

* * *

Usually, Willa awoke a good half hour before her alarm. Taking a shower before bed, all she had to do prior to heading to work was brush her teeth, comb her hair, pull on jeans, a Something Sweet T-shirt and her work clogs and head out the door. Once again, she’d barely slept at all, however, after the scene with Derek, and on this dark winter morning, she drank black tea and watched the digital clock until it read 2:45 a.m.

Instantly speed-dialing Daisy Dunnigan, Willa waited for the grumpy, caffeine-deprived “I can’t believe it’s morning already” that was her best friend’s characteristic greeting. A renowned New York chef, Daisy owned and operated two unpretentious but fabulous restaurants—Goodness in Soho and More Goodness in Jackson Heights—and was one of the judges on a top-rated cable cooking show. Basically, she was a star, but Willa had known her since they’d attended culinary arts school together, and they were, above all, each other’s support system.

This morning, Daisy answered on the fourth ring. “Damn, what time is it?” She sounded sleepier than usual.

“Five forty-five in your neck of the woods,” Willa informed. “Didn’t your alarm go off?”

“It must have been about to.” There was a rustling of sheets. “What’s up, tootsie? How’s life in Mayberry R.F.D.?”

A smile rose to Willa’s face, and she was grateful already that she’d phoned. Padding to her kitchen, she pulled several carrot-raisin muffins out of a plastic container, drizzled them with water and popped them into the microwave so they would steam.

“I pissed off the sheriff,” she said baldly, placing a challah bread she’d brought home from the bakery into a picnic basket.

“Sheriff McYummy?” Visiting Thunder Ridge for a weekend the previous spring, Daisy had noticed Derek immediately. “Is he still stalking you?”

“He doesn’t stalk me.”

“With his eyes, he does. I would love to be stalked by eyes the color of a Mississippi mud pie. So how’d you piss him off?”

Ignoring the comment about Derek’s eyes (which, yes, were almost impossibly dark and chocolaty and, well, deep) Willa said as casually as she could, “We had a disagreement about how to handle a petty theft at the bakery. A child took a few bucks. Sheriff Neel wanted to do something about it, and I didn’t. Should have been the end of the story, but we got into a... I don’t know, I said some things I shouldn’t have, I suppose. Now I feel guilty. I mean, the whole thing—it’s no big deal, right? You can’t please everyone.” She shoved a can of cat food and a small plastic bowl into the basket. “You’re so good at saying what you think and damn the torpedoes. That’s how I want to be.” She forced a laugh. “That’s how I am going to be! I’m so glad you picked up the phone. I always feel better after we talk.”

The silence on the other end was deafening. There weren’t even sounds of coffee preparation. Finally, Daisy commented with uncommon gentleness. “You’re starting to feel again.”