Tempting The Sheriff. Kathy Altman
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help a swell of appreciation that he was there to back her up.
“Mr. Petroski,” Fulton called. “Do you have any weapons in there with you?”
No response. A bumblebee droned by and leather creaked when Fulton shifted beside her. Lily tamped down a sizzle of desire. What was wrong with her?
The summer sun was gathering its strength. That was it. It was the heat. She adjusted the brim of her hat and grimaced as sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades.
“How about you, Miss Petroski?” she yelled. “Want to tell me what’s going on in there?”
“My brother wants to sell the house to the old lady next door and I don’t.” Sadie was yelling down at them from an open upstairs window.
“What’s wrong with the old lady next door?” The woman in question popped up from behind the hydrangeas that divided the yards.
Fulton had already dropped into a crouch, hand at his holster. Lily had one hand on her radio and the other on the butt of her gun. The instant she registered Audrey as a nonthreat, her knees went weak.
* * *
VAUGHN SWORE AND straightened out of his crouch. Did no one in this town mind their own business?
Jesus. The old lady could have been shot.
“Ma’am,” he growled. “You need to step back.”
Instead, Audrey Tweedy stiffened her lumberjack shoulders and faced her neighbors’ house. “I made you a fair offer,” she called. “Why won’t you accept it?”
No answer. Meanwhile, Sheriff Tate was making shooing motions at Audrey. The elderly woman planted her bright white trainers wide, crossed her arms over her Go Army T-shirt and lifted her chin. She obviously wasn’t going anywhere without a sumo wrestle.
The sheriff rolled her eyes and turned back to the house. “Mrs. Tweedy here said she heard you two threatening each other with knives. Is that true?”
“We only said that because she was listening in.” Now John had his face pressed against the screen as he glowered at Audrey.
The sheriff sighed. “How about you two come out onto the porch? We can talk a lot easier face-to-face.”
“Ha!” Sadie shouted. “You mean it’ll be easier to shoot us.”
“Nobody’s getting shot here today,” the sheriff said calmly, though she did cast a considering glance in Audrey Tweedy’s direction. “I don’t intend to let anyone get knifed, either.”
“They need the money,” Audrey said. The sheriff tried to shush her, but the volume on that baby-doll voice was cranked up to wake-the-dead. “I heard them. John owes five grand to his dentist and Sadie wants bigger breasts.”
“Oh, my God,” Sadie cried. “See what I mean?”
A thundering sound, like someone storming down a set of hardwood steps. “That’s it! We’re not selling!” Sadie shrieked from the first floor. “Not to her, not to anyone.”
“Fine,” her brother hollered back. “So we’ll burn the goddamned place down to the ground!”
“Deputy Fulton,” Sheriff Tate said through clenched teeth. “Please see Mrs. Tweedy safely inside her home.”
Message received, loud and clear. Take the old woman away before someone does get hurt. He hoped to hell he wasn’t going to have to manhandle the lady. She reminded him too much of his aunt Brenda.
When he began to weave his way toward her, maneuvering through chest-high shrubs laden with fat, round blossoms the same blue as the Popsicles he used to enjoy as a kid, the old lady wagged a finger. “Now, listen, dear, I have no intention of moving an inch. I’m on my property. I’m not breaking any laws.”
Oh, yeah. Aunt Brenda all over again. Vaughn lifted his left arm in a futile attempt to back her up. “But you are, ma’am. You’re interfering with a police officer in the course of his duties. Now you can go sit inside your house—” he reached for the pouch at the back of the equipment belt the sheriff had set him up with, pulled out the cuffs and dangled them “—or you can sit inside the squad car.”
Audrey’s eyes widened. She hesitated, then gave a mighty sniff. “I had fully intended to offer you two refreshments when you were done here,” she said crossly. “But I believe I’ll keep my bacon-wrapped shrimp to myself.”
Vaughn watched her march across her yard to her front porch. She stomped up the stairs, but instead of slamming open the door, she turned and dropped onto the top step. Fighting a grin, Vaughn held up two fingers and pointed at his eyes, then at her, then back at himself. Up went her chin as she yanked at the hem of her T-shirt.
Too bad she was holding this against him, because that shrimp sounded good.
He pivoted back toward the Petroski house. Oh, shit. The sheriff was standing in front of the Petroskis’ open screen door, staring down a big-ass butcher knife.
Vaughn pulled his piece and ran.
The sheriff’s hand never even twitched toward her pepper spray or stun gun. Instead she kicked out, and Vaughn heard a muffled thud as boot connected with bone. Steel clattered onto tile and the simultaneous high-pitched screech of pain could have been male or female. Mystery solved when a tall, thin woman collapsed against the screen door, both hands wrapped around her left shin. Sheriff Tate bent down and picked up the knife, seemingly unmoved by Sadie Petroski’s wailing.
Or the fact that she could have easily taken a knife to the gut. Vaughn ground his teeth. He and the good sheriff were going to have to set some ground rules.
Scratch that. What the good sheriff needed was a refresher in defensive tactics.
“John Petroski,” the sheriff hollered at the open doorway. “Come out onto the porch where we can see you.”
“I was only showing it to you,” Sadie sobbed. “I only wanted you to see what my dipshit brother’s been waving at me.” She rubbed her denim-clad shin as she sagged against the screen door, which had banged against the side of the house. “You bitch, you broke my leg.”
“Your leg? What about my door?” Her brother stomped out onto the porch, wearing shorts but no shirt, a half-eaten peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich in his hand. “Who’s going to pay for that?”
With his free hand, Vaughn retrieved his cuffs. He climbed the porch steps and kicked several rolled-up newspapers out of the way. “Hands behind your back,” he said to the brother.
Petroski stuffed the remainder of his sandwich in his mouth and complied. Vaughn holstered his weapon and fit the cuffs on the guy’s jelly-smeared wrists.
Meanwhile the sheriff set down the knife, stepped on the handle and pulled her cuffs free of her belt.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Sadie cried. “You broke my leg. Don’t think I won’t sue.”
“Bruised it, maybe,” the sheriff said. “But I didn’t break it. Drop your leg and turn around.”
“You’re going to arrest me?” Sadie pushed upright, shoved her long red bangs out of her face and stomped her injured leg. “What the hell for?”
“Property damage,” said her brother, through the remains of his sandwich.
“Screw you!” shouted Sadie. “It’s my house, too.”
Sheriff Tate fit her cuffs on a fuming Sadie. “Mr. Petroski, I need you to go with Deputy Fulton. He’ll find someplace quiet where you can tell him your side of the story.”
Vaughn led John Petroski down the porch steps and around the side of the house. Petroski was much calmer away from his sister. He admitted he’d brandished the knife at Sadie, then set it on the counter. She’d grabbed it and run for the door, shouting that she was going to “tell