The Lover. BEVERLY BARTON
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I’d like to introduce you to Lieutenants Ron Hensley and John Downs.” With their gazes fixed on Jim, they both nodded. Downs smiled. Hensley did not. “Gentlemen, this is Captain James Norton.”
Downs came forward, shook Jim’s hand, and welcomed him cordially. Then reluctantly, after glancing at the sheriff as if to tell her he would do what he had to do, Hensley held out his hand to Jim, but he didn’t say anything.
Hensley had a strong, firm grip, but he didn’t use the handshake as a pissing contest to prove he was as strong or stronger than Jim. And Jim respected that type of reserve and control in any man. His estimation of Hensley improved because of that one simple gesture.
“Y’all will get a chance to become better acquainted later,” Sheriff Granger told the deputies. “I’m taking the morning to show Jim the layout of the department and to give him a tour of the town. Then we’re meeting Jerry Dale for lunch. If either of you would care to join us—”
“I’d love to,” John Downs said, “but this is Friday, and Cathy, my wife, and I have a standing lunch date every Friday.”
“Oh, that’s right,” the sheriff said. “I’d forgotten.” She looked at Hensley. “What about you, Ron?”
“Sure, I’ll tag along. Are you taking him to Methel’s?”
“Where else?” She turned to Jim. “Methel’s is practically an institution in Adams Landing. The current owner is the great-granddaughter of the lady, Methel, who opened the restaurant in the late thirties. It’s the best food in town. Down home country cooking like your grandma used to fix.”
“You make me wish it was lunchtime already.” Jim grinned.
“If you ever want great barbeque, the only place to go is The Pig Pen over on Second Street,” Downs told him.
“And if you’re ever in the mood for a stiff drink and some loud music, check out the Firecracker on Carney Road,” Hensley said.
Jim and Hensley shared a hard look. Not a hostile look, just an understanding that each would reserve judgment of the other until they were better acquainted. Fair enough. Jim’s gut told him that he and Hensley might have a few things in common.
“Meet us at Methel’s around twelve-thirty.” The sheriff headed toward the door, but paused halfway there and said, “Ed Mays called me a little while ago.”
Downs shook his head sadly.
Hensley glanced at Jim. “We’ve been working a missing person’s case for the past couple of weeks. The missing woman’s uncle is Ed Mays, the Sheriff of Jackson County.”
“Do y’all suspect foul play?” Jim asked.
“Possibly,” Hensley replied. “The problem is, we really don’t have a clue as to what happened to her. It’s as if she just disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“What about the husband?” Jim looked directly at Hensley.
Hensley shrugged. “Doubtful he had anything to do with it.”
“No clues, huh? I’d like to take a look at your files on that case this afternoon.”
The edges of Hensley’s mouth curved into a tentative smile. “I’ll be glad to show them to you. Maybe you can catch something we’ve missed.”
“Maybe.”
Sheriff Granger cleared her throat. “Captain Norton, are you ready to go?”
“Ready whenever you are, Sheriff.”
Ron closed himself off in the chief deputy’s office, the one he’d thought for sure would be his. Yeah, and that’s what he got for thinking. He should have known that Bernie wouldn’t choose him over John Downs, even if he was better suited for the job. John had seniority over him by only four years, but everybody liked John. Everybody didn’t like Ron, which really didn’t bother him in the least. He’d take respect and even a little intimidation over being liked any day of the week. But Bernie wasn’t about to upset the apple cart in any way, shape, form or fashion. She had her own issues, things she needed to prove. Hell, he didn’t envy her the position she was in, although he’d love to be sheriff. Only thing was, here in Adams County, if you ran for the office against anyone with the last name of Granger, you were bound to lose. Bernie’s old man, R.B., had held the position for almost thirty years, retiring only after a bout with cancer a few years ago. And from the early forties until his death nearly thirty years later, Bernard Granger Sr., Bernie’s grandfather, had been sheriff.
For the time being, Ron had no choice but to grin and bear it, to accept the Memphis detective who’d gotten the job that should have been his. But if Norton screwed up, just once, he’d be the first to shout it to the world. It wasn’t that he had anything personal against Norton. He might be a hell of a guy. And if it turned out that he was a great chief deputy, Ron might have to look elsewhere if he ever wanted to be more than a deputy.
Ron removed his cell phone from the belt clip, then eased down into the big, comfy swivel chair and propped his number tens up on Captain Norton’s desk. He went to his address book and hit the often-dialed number of his current girlfriend. Although he had dated several different women lately, he was sleeping with only one now. Abby Miller. However, since Abby was married, they had to keep their relationship a secret from the general public.
He didn’t make a habit of dating married women, but Abby was different. She had come after him, not the other way around. Usually, he did the pursuing and liked it that way, but with a gal like Abby, he’d made an exception for several reasons. First, the woman was a looker. Built like a brick shit-house, bosomy, vivacious, and flirty. And second, she was horny as hell since her husband’s National Guard unit had been sent to the Middle East. The lady was mighty talented in the sack and knew how to keep a man coming back for more.
“Kut and Kurl,” Abby said as she answered the phone at her beauty shop, located on West Jackson, two blocks from the courthouse.
“Hi, sugar.”
“Hi, yourself.”
“I’ve got to cancel our midday date,” he told her.
She whined.
“The new chief deputy’s in town, and Bernie invited me to join them and Jerry Dale for lunch today. I could hardly tell her that I couldn’t because I was meeting Abby Miller for a quickie in the backroom of her beauty shop.”
Abby giggled. “Yeah, that would have gone over like a fart in church. Bernie’s all right, but she’s a little uptight about her deputies’ moral values, if you ask me.”
“What Bernie doesn’t know about my personal life won’t hurt either me or her—or you, for that matter. You don’t want your mother-in-law finding out about us, do you? You know that old battle-ax would write Ricky Wayne and tell him you were cheating on him.”
Abby sighed loudly. “I don’t want that happening.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “If Ricky Wayne found out, he might kill us both when he comes home. You know what a temper he has.”
“No point in causing such a fuss over us just having a little fun. It’s not like we’re actually hurting anybody, right? After all, it’s not as if we love each other. And you’re sure not making any plans to divorce Ricky Wayne.”
“You’ve got that right. I’m crazy about my husband. I love him to pieces.”
“Of course you do. But why should you stay celibate just to prove it, right?”
Abby laughed.
“How about our getting away to Huntsville this weekend?” Ron asked.
“Sounds wonderful, but I can’t leave until after twelve