Sanctuary Lost WITSEC Town Series Book 1 (5 page)

The main room was a small living room/kitchen
area with a round table and two chairs. The TV was the size of
John’s old microwave. The curtains were mustard colored, the walls
were covered in wainscoting and the kitchen was yellow.

“It smells like old man in here.”

John smiled. “Guess we should crack a
window.”

The bedroom was small but the bed was big
enough Pat hopefully wouldn’t kick him in the middle of the night.
Still, they’d need new sheets and a new comforter. The bathroom was
decorated in puke green tile, complete with a green toilet.

“Eew, Dad.”

“You’re not wrong, kid.” They shared a smile.
“It’s only for a month. If we want to stay then we can look at
moving into one of the houses, okay?”

“I’m hungry.” Pat pulled open the fridge.
“There’s a ton of stuff in here. Can I have a PB and J?”

“Sure, bud. I’ll make us both one.”

“I can do it.”

“Yeah?” John wandered over and leaned against
the counter while Pat got out the stuff and a butter knife.

John pulled two plates from the cupboards and
found glasses. He got the milk from the fridge and broke the seal.
“We’ll have to find out who stocked the fridge and say thank
you.”

“Hello, hello…anybody up here?” Footsteps
ascended the stairs and a tall red-headed man in a tan sheriff’s
uniform emerged. “There you are.”

The man wasn’t more than thirty years old.
Red stubble on his chin clashed with his bright green eyes. He
stuck out his hand. “Deputy Arnold Palmer at your service.” He
shook with Pat. “Nice to meet you.”

John introduced them. “We just got in.”

“Yeah, sorry I wasn’t here. Had a call out
uptown and it took longer than I thought.”

“Anything interesting?”

“Nah.” He waved off John’s question. “Just
some kids being kids, messing up old lady Tanner’s garbage
cans.”

John leaned his hip on the counter, one eye
on the job Pat was doing with the sandwiches. “Have you been a
deputy long?”

“Born and raised in Sanctuary. It’s been
maybe eight years since Sheriff Chandler—the marshal who was here
before you—hired me. He’d been here since the town was founded. The
one and only Sheriff, for thirty-eight years.”

“Wow, cool.” Jam dripped from the knife Pat
held onto the counter.

John had read the file. Arnold Palmer applied
for the sheriff’s job but had been turned down in favor of a U.S.
marshal taking the position. It was essentially the job of a WITSEC
Inspector, not a regular citizen who’d never been a marshal. Just
the deputy sheriff of a town which didn’t exist.

John sized him up and saw Palmer doing the
same to him. He folded his arms. “Far as I’m concerned, respect is
earned. And it goes both ways. We don’t know each other but I hope
we can form a good working relationship. I might be the sheriff but
I’m also the new guy here. I’ll need help navigating my way
around.”

Something sparked in Palmer’s eyes. “I can do
that.”

“So run it down for me. What’s the job
like?”

Palmer shifted, scratching under the brim of
his tan hat. “Well, office is open nine-to-five weekdays unless
it’s a holiday. We have a dispatcher who mans the phones during
that time. Dotty. Her husband was a Fed and she was his assistant.
Outside of those hours we switch off who gets the phones forwarded
to them. It comes straight to your radio but mine isn’t a sat
phone. We don’t get calls too often. There isn’t a lot going on
around here, mostly it’s keeping an eye on things.”

John nodded.

“I can take this weekend, if you want. You
and Pat can get settled and we’ll work out the schedule starting
Monday.”

“Good idea.” John put the lid on the jam and
set it back in the fridge. “Anything else I should know?”

“I dunno.” Palmer shook his head. “I’ve never
lived anywhere else, so I don’t know if it’s not what you’re used
to. You’ll have to tell me.”

John laughed. “Okay.”

“I’ll let you boys eat your lunch.
Later.”

Deputy Palmer shut the door and John heard
him trot back down the stairs. He didn’t mind the fact his deputy
had essentially led a sheltered life, growing up in Sanctuary. A
lot of people lived in closed communities. John just needed to
learn the culture, the rules. This could to turn out to be a lot
like being undercover. The people he’d infiltrated had particular
ways of doing things and their own lingo.

This job might be more suited to him than
he’d realized. So long as he could get past the separation he’d
always kept between him and the people he was trying to get close
to. Should he and Pat decide to stay here long term—and it was
partly Pat’s decision too—they would have to become part of the
community and not live separate lives.

This trial would only work if they made
friends, lived in town, had fun and joined in with what was going
on. Their quality time together was going to be spent navigating
this new culture, this WITSEC town.

“I hope they do fun stuff here.”

John smiled around his bite of sandwich.

“And Uncle Nate’s game is tomorrow. I don’t
want to miss it. You think that thing gets ESPN?” He motioned to
the TV.

John swallowed a mouthful of milk. “I’d like
to see him play.”

“He’s awesome.” Pat launched into a story of
Nate winning a game for the Chargers John had actually seen. Nate’s
one-in-a-million catch during a blizzard in Chicago, slipping on
the field, spraining his ankle and still scoring the touchdown. The
way Pat told it was like hearing the story for the first time.

John laughed. “We’ll have to Skype him soon.
I’ll give him a call and find out when he’s going to be free.”

“Maybe he can come visit us in the off
season.”

“Maybe.” John took his plate to the sink.
“We’ll find out from Uncle Grant how we can work that out. But I’d
like it.” He sat back down across from his son. “Do you want to try
calling your mom again?”

Pat looked to the side. “I dunno. Maybe
later. Can we walk around town and see what all there is?”

“Sure bud. Whatever you wanna do. I don’t
have to work until Monday so we’ve got the whole weekend to meet
everyone and explore the town.”

“I wonder what movie they’re going to play
after dinner.” Pat trailed to the sink and set his plate inside. “I
hope it’s a good one.”

The kid was acting like this was summer
camp.

“You know, if we decide to stay in Sanctuary
then we’ll be living here until you’re an adult. So we’ve got to
think really long and hard about this decision. Can you do that for
me, Pat?”

“Yeah, I know, Dad.” He wrapped his little
boy arms around John’s middle and gave him a hug, then went his
bag. “If I find my football, can we play catch in the street?”

John smiled. “Sure, bud.”

“When do you think Uncle Grant will have my
bike delivered?”

“I don’t know.” John’s smile broke into
laughter. Did the kid ever get nervous about anything? He was
taking this whole move in stride, like he was on some grand
adventure. John should be feeling the same, shouldn’t he? New
beginnings and all that.

But there was a note of caution somewhere
inside him that wouldn’t let the newness of it penetrate. He
chalked it up to being an adult, a parent and on a new assignment.
There weren’t many people in town. The ones who’d been criminals
previously were supposed to be turning over a new life. Crime was
low.

What could go wrong?

By five forty-five, Main Street had filled
with groups of people all walking over to the meeting house. John
locked up the sheriff’s office, flipped the sign to closed and led
Pat out the backdoor instead. It was the wrong way out but he
wanted to get a look at his “vehicle”. That was the one thing he
didn’t like about moving here—having to leave his truck behind.
There wasn’t anything special about it. But he’d had the Chevy for
years and keeping it running had become a point of honor. Now it
was in storage with his couch, his bed and all the other furniture
he’d scrounged up after the divorce. If they decided to stay in
Sanctuary it would be sold.

The air outside was chilled but not thin like
he’d thought it would be considering they were up in the mountains.
Maybe something about the circle of peaks surrounding them meant
air got trapped in the valley.

Two vehicles were parked out back in the
marked spaces, both nineties model Jeeps the same color as the
uniform Grant had given him. The rear of the building had their two
spaces, plus two more. Another road ran the length of the back of
the stores and across from that was a row of houses.

With Main Street as the center of the town,
someone had simply run the residential streets parallel to it on
both the north and south sides. It wasn’t particularly imaginative,
but it worked.

Pat tugged on his hand. “Is that your
Sheriff’s car?”

“Looks like it.”

“Cool!”

“You think so?”

“Yeah.” Pat grinned. “You’re gonna be the
sheriff!”

“That I am.” They went through the alley
separating the sheriff’s office from the laundry next door and
crossed to the bowling alley sized building with MEETING HOUSE in
big letters across the siding above the double doors.

Inside, a crowd of people stood around a sea
of circular tables all set for dinner. The far end was lit up like
a stage, complete with a podium and microphone. To the side of the
stage was a set of swinging doors with circular windows which
looked to lead to a kitchen. Buffet tables were set up along one
wall, stretching front to back of the room. They were covered with
dishes of all shapes and sizes heaped with food.

Pat gripped John’s hand as people turned to
get a look at the new sheriff. John gave them all a wave.
Two-thirds of the people were over fifty. There were a couple of
small children but not as many as John expected, given families
were gathering.

“Sheriff!” The mayor strode over. “I’ll
introduce you when everyone is here. For now let me show you to
your seat.”

John only followed since it seemed to be what
the mayor expected. Collins led them to a table on one side of the
podium just as a rotund woman strode out with a giant pot that
smelled like chili. She hefted it onto the table, her smile wide
and her long earrings swinging. She wiped her hands on the apron
tied around her waist over her muumuu. “Well, is this our new
sheriff?”

The mayor motioned to John. “Olympia, this is
John Mason.”

She bent down in front of Pat and stuck her
hand out. “It’s very nice to meet you, Sheriff.” Her accent had a
Mediterranean lilt which made her sound elegant.

Pat giggled. “I’m not the sheriff! My dad
is.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You’re just so tall
.
My mistake.” She winked and straightened, turning to John. “Olympia
Hernandez.”

“John Mason. This is my son, Pat.”

“As in, Patrick?”

Pat bounced, yanking on John’s hand. “As in
Patrick Garrett, the marshal who killed Billy the Kid!”

“Well, now.” Olympia grinned at him. “Those
are some pretty big boots to fill. You think you can do it?”

Pat nodded.

Olympia turned to the room. “Dinner’s ready!”
Her voice boomed even in the large room. John flinched, while the
mayor shot Olympia a scowl.

John and Pat joined the line grabbing paper
plates and bowls. The room buzzed with noise, even though a portion
of the town seemed not to have arrived yet.

A diesel engine roared outside and headlights
flashed across the front of the room. The mayor huffed, his
attention on the front door. The engine shut off and seconds later
a group of men strode in. All dressed in jeans and work shirts,
dirty boots and cowboy hats, the last man carried his black hat in
his hand. He was a good six inches taller than the others, with
dark features. Matthias was among the group. Pat ran with his plate
to greet him. Matthias swung him up onto his hip, plate and all,
while the tall man glared.

The man in front of John said, “That’s Bolton
Farrera.”

John looked at the guy in line ahead of him.
Early thirties but he was nearly bald, his glasses drooped on his
nose and he gripped his plate of mostly bread and green beans. “I’m
Terrence Evangeline.” He pointed at an older couple by the salads.
“That’s my mom, Shelby and my dad, Aaron. They run the town’s
community arts programs.”

The couple wore stylish clothes that said
they’d dressed up for this occasion in their Sunday best.

“Once a month they put on a show after
dinner. You know, like a dinner theater. Anyway, the man with the
truck is Bolton. He’s the boss over at the ranch. The only one that
actually likes him is Matthias.”

That told John enough, given how Matthias had
been with Pat since they arrived. Currently the twenty-something
man held two plates and Pat rode on his shoulders while he weaved
about like he was going to fall. Pat squealed with laughter and
gripped Matthias’s hair like he was on a rollercoaster.

“Nice to meet you, Terrence.” John gave him a
polite smile and grabbed the spoon for the mashed potatoes. “So
what do you do in town?”

“I’m the trash guy.” His chest puffed up.
“Trash gets sent with the outgoing transport. I take care of what’s
left, supervise the recycling and all that. My compost is
impressive, if I do say so myself.”

“I’ll have to come by and check it out.”

Terrence’s eyes glowed. “I’d like that. I’ll
give you the tour all the way from lumber to paper goods.”

“Sounds exciting.” John let the grin open
into a full smile and made his way to the table. Half the people
were already seated and eating. By the time he was done the rest
had filled up the remaining seats. Matthias bounced over, jiggling
Pat on his shoulders. He set the plates down and bent so Pat slowly
tipped until John caught him. Matthias held out his hand and got a
high-five. “Later, little dude.”