Barbecue and Bad News (18 page)

Franklin trailed her. “There is one recipient that rather surprised me. I’d kind of forgotten about the case. It barely made the headlines. Did you look into the details of the people being honored tonight.”

Of course she had done her due diligence, but that was none of his business. He knew darn well she had; he was just trying to pull her into conversation. “Like I said, I’m just a guest tonight.” The one place he couldn’t follow her was the ladies’ room, and that was exactly where she was headed. Anything to shake him from her tail.

Franklin didn’t look convinced, and he wasn’t about to be shaken that easily, apparently. “I was talking about the Frank Gotorow case. The bigwigs are probably thankful it happened in that podunk town so no one would hear about it. The actual event barely made the wire. Normally, this would be the kind of crime that would set the nation on its side.”

Savannah knew why. Probably because Jack and his sister over at the
County Gazette
didn’t want bad news about Frank Gotorow and the Goto Hell Murderer being in their town to get around. Everyone in town knew, and they were having to live with it, but they sure didn’t need the whole world to know what was going on in their town. So there was no article to be picked up on the wire. A month ago she’d have been tweeting rants about them for keeping the truth from the people who had a right to know. Now, after meeting Jack and getting a different appreciation for the town of Adams Grove, she could kind of see their point of view.

“Word is, the governor had something to do with the paperwork letting that guy out of jail to begin with. That would look pretty damn bad on his résumé if it got too much press. Guess ol’ Barney Fife got lucky and stopped the right guy.”

“Don’t call him that.”

“Who?”

She averted her gaze, then turned back, her words short and terse. “Don’t call the sheriff Barney Fife. He’s not a bumbling hick.” She could feel her temperature rise, and the feeling inside her wasn’t the least bit ladylike.

“Come on. You and I both know those small-town gigs don’t need the skill of real cops.”

“You don’t know a thing about Sheriff Scott Calvin or Adams Grove.”

“And you’re suddenly an expert?” He eyed her in a way that made her regret opening her mouth, but she’d gone too far to shut up now.

“I’m no expert, but you’re just spouting off to hear yourself talk. Why don’t you try reserving judgment for things you know about?”

“What’s up your skirt tonight?”

He had a point. Why was she getting this spun up about a guy she barely knew? Was it really that Franklin just had a way of pushing her buttons, or had Scott wiggled his way into her soft spot somehow? “I’m just saying that you are not an expert on what skills cops or sheriffs have or don’t have, and it’s unfair for you to bash someone who is clearly deserving of the award they are presenting tonight. If not, why would all these people show up for it?”

“Come on. You know what I mean. Those sheriffs and deputies are just the ones who couldn’t get a real gig in a real town.”

“You have some nerve.” She slugged back her wine spritzer like it was a shot and put the glass on the bar. “I’m not talking to you about this.” She turned and started to leave but then spun back on her heel and got right into Franklin’s face. “You know what? I do have something to say. Don’t you go around passing judgment on people just because of where they’re from. You don’t know the half of what’s going on in those small towns, or anywhere for that matter. You’ve got that overinflated ego of yours blown up so big you can’t see straight.”

“Excuu—”

“And another thing. Just because a small-town cop or sheriff’s day isn’t filled with record numbers of homicides, assaults, and burglaries does not mean he isn’t making a difference in his community.”

Franklin looked like he’d had an aha moment. “I got it.” He pointed a finger toward her. “Are you here with him?”

“Him who?”

“The guest of honor. Why else would you take up for him like a starving pit bull? You’re here with the sheriff.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” But the way his eyes drifted above and to the left of her made her turn, and when she did, she nearly bumped her nose right into Sheriff Calvin’s huge bicep.

“Well said.” Scott clapped twice and then looked past Savannah.

Franklin hightailed it across the room, and Savannah looked like she was going to lose her lunch.

She looked up at him. “You heard that?” Her eyes danced in the light.

“I did. I think I may have even given a very similar dissertation one time.” He held a finger to his lips. “I was much less eloquent. I think I said something to the effect of ‘peepers, perps, and bad guys.’ You have a way with words. Maybe you should be a writer.” He winked and asked the bartender to make her another drink.

She blushed.

“Thank you,” Scott said.

“I was just speaking the truth. That guy is a piece of work. He was talking out of his—”

Scott tipped the bartender and handed her the drink. “Just what are you doing here? Someone send you to fight for my honor?”

Her laugh was light. “Hardly. I told Jack I’d cover the story for him.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? You could have ridden up with me.”

“I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it. I just—”

“It’s business.”

“Business. Yep.” She lifted her phone and thumbed through her messages.

He said, “We might be more alike than I thought.”

“Well, don’t say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

She looked doubtful. “Uh-huh.”

“You never really said what you do for a living up here in northern Virginia. I saw you were talking to quite a few people. Do you know them from work?” Suddenly he wanted to know a lot more about her beyond the fact that she liked to drive fast and had a thing for teapots.

“I told you, I’m a writer.”

“I googled you and I didn’t see anything published recently, so . . .”

“You googled me?”

He should have kept his mouth shut. “Sorry. Occupational hazard. I’m curious.”

“Or just nosy.”

“A plus for a detective.”

“But you’re a sheriff.”

“Sheriffs do it all.” Sounded like a bad bumper sticker. Firefighters do it in the heat, but sheriffs do it all.

She fiddled with her earring. “You’re the big badge guy—the head honcho. You’ve got people to do that stuff, right?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” If he had people to do everything he wouldn’t have spent half the day putting himself through the red tape to get into the prison to see Frank Gotorow’s cell mate in search of answers. Then again, even if he could task that out, this was something he planned to resolve on his own.

With an odd note of disappointment she said, “No. I mean—”

“This conversation was about you, not me. You know what I do. I’m the sheriff. Apparently you think you’ve cornered the market on knowledge of a sheriff’s duties, although clearly you’re mistaken.”

She lifted her hands to respond, and then let them fall to her sides. “Then educate me.”

“I’d be happy to.” Darn if she hadn’t done it again. She was good at steering a conversation. “But first you owe me some information.”

“I don’t really
owe
you anything.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He let out a sigh. “Can we call a truce?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t even write you the ticket, and by the way I hardly ever do that. So why are you still holding a grudge?”

“I don’t know. You just spin me up for some reason.”

He knew exactly what she meant. He felt the same frustration. The only thing was that he didn’t really know what
that
meant.

“So what exactly do you write?”

“Exactly? I write a lot of different things. It’s hard to explain. What’s it matter? I mean, really, could you say exactly what you do?”

“I’m responsible for enforcing the law in Holland County.”

“So maybe you can, but if you put it like that, I guess I could say I string together words to make a story that has an emotional impact on the reader.”

“That doesn’t even mean anything.”

“It does so. Just as much as enforcing the law does. But you’re not like a cop. Someone can’t just hire you. The sheriff is an elected position, so that means you have to campaign and all that. There’s a lot more to that position than meets the eye, I guess.”

“I know.”

“Of course you do. Sorry for stating the obvious.”

“Probably an occupational hazard.”

“Like you being nosy?”

“Touché.”

“It’s an election year. How does that work?”

“The last couple of terms I’ve run unopposed, but this year I’ve got competition.”

“Really? It’s kind of ballsy for a local to take on the sheriff, isn’t it?”

“Some guy from up in the Philly area wants to take a shot at it.”

“Think anyone in Adams Grove would ever vote for a Northerner? Just because he’s lived here long enough to claim residency doesn’t make him a local.”

“You never know.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine. You could always go somewhere else and be a cop or run for sheriff there, couldn’t you? I mean, you’re getting this award and a senator and the governor are here. You have to be pretty good at what you do.”

“Thanks, but I don’t want to leave Adams Grove. I love my job there. I like helping the people I know and easing change into the day-to-day. It’s rewarding.”

“Wouldn’t it be just as rewarding to put bad guys away in a big city?”

“It’s different. And cops don’t handle budgets and manage a team like a sheriff does. It’s a higher-ranking position than a police officer. I don’t mean to sound big headed, but it’s important.”

“I’m sorry. I just assumed that the cops did the criminal stuff and the sheriff’s office did more paperwork and court stuff. I remember court bailiffs came from the sheriff’s office.”

“Okay, so we’re getting nowhere talking about our jobs.”

Savannah lifted a brow. “True. New subject?”

“Have you ever been married?”

“That’s kind of personal, but fine. Once. High school sweetheart. It ended quickly. You?”

“No. Almost once. City girl. Long relationship until she moved in with me. She hated living in Adams Grove. Ended quickly after that . . . and rather badly.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. I have a knack for picking the wrong girl.”

“You must, because after hearing how fabulous you are from your momma, I honestly can’t figure out why you’d still be single unless you were gay or something, and that apparently is not the case.”

Gay? Or something? He wasn’t sure which was worse, but at least she didn’t think he was either. The senator’s daughter appeared out of nowhere. “Time for dinner,” she said. “Would your friend like to join you at your table?”

“Oh, no. That’s fine,” Savannah said.

“That would be nice. Won’t you join me?” asked Scott.

She looked undecided.

“It’s okay, isn’t it?” he said to the senator’s daughter.

“Of course.”

He put his arm out to Savannah. “Join me.”

She looped her arm through his and followed him to the table.

He leaned down and whispered into her ear. “It’s the least I can do, since you fought for my honor tonight.”

“It wasn’t like I had to climb a water tower and spray paint over a rumor,” she said.

She certainly had a quick wit. He liked that.

He held out her chair and she slipped into the seat with the quiet elegance of the morning mist over the Nottoway River. He took the seat next to her just as the waitstaff began placing plates in front of them.

“Chicken. Who’d have guessed?” he whispered.

“Grilled chicken. Says so right here.” She lifted a small rectangular card from next to the plate.

Scott poked at the pale chicken on his plate.

Savannah scooched hers to the side of the plate and concentrated on the vegetable medley and rice.

“This is not grilled chicken. I can show you what real grilled chicken is like.” He could show her a lot of things.

“I don’t eat a whole lot of meat anyway.”

“You one of those save-the-animal vegetarian types?”

“No. I figure I can get most of what I need from veggies. Besides, it seems like half the meat doesn’t even have any flavor anymore. Trust me, doesn’t stop me from chomping on a juicy burger now and again.”

“Good to know.” He took a bite of the chicken and had to agree that there wasn’t much use in eating anything that tasteless.

Savannah giggled.

“What?”

“Your face when you bit into that. Priceless. Hey, at least you didn’t have to cook it.”

“I don’t mind cooking. In fact, I’m a good cook. I darn sure could have done better than this. Jacob’s Diner might have the best fried chicken for miles, but I grill the best steaks around. Not a bad chicken either. I’ll have you over sometime before you leave town.” He watched intently for that wall to go up. He’d grown accustomed to it, but this time instead of tensing up, she relaxed a little. Maybe it was just being on her stomping grounds, but whatever the reason it was nice to see this side of her.

“Thanks. I think I’d like that,” she said, clearly surprised that he’d asked her.