Out of Eden. Beth Ciotta
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focused back on his paper-ridden desktop. Better than obsessing on his fractured relationship with his sister and nonexistent relationship with his niece. Better than obsessing on Kylie. According to Ziffel, Chief Curtis had had a filing system. Damned if Jack could figure it out, and he wasn’t about to ask Ms. Vine. Not today. The squad’s administrative assistant, a fifty-something woman with choppy silver hair, green cat-eye glasses and a fondness for polyester suits, had rolled in an hour late—eyes swollen from crying over the former chief, manner brusque. Ziffel was right. She didn’t like the coffee and she didn’t like Shy. She’d spent the next hour sweeping, dusting and dousing the air with pine-scented Glade.
Shy cowered under his desk. He didn’t blame the dog. She probably felt like Toto hiding out from the Wicked Witch of the West. He had to admit, Dorothy Vine was a little scary. Then again, grief caused people to act in strange ways.
Take the parents of the victim who’d instigated Jack’s breakdown. Instead of wanting revenge or, at the very least, demanding justice, they’d swallowed their misery and moved on. Their emotional lockdown had made Jack hyperaware of his own numb state.
“Chief.”
Jack looked up. His expression must’ve been fierce because Ziffel stepped back. “What is it, Deputy?”
“Got a call from dispatch. Disturbance at 1450 Main.”
McGraw’s Shoe Store. Given his previous dark thoughts, Jack tensed. “Define disturbance,” he said as he rose.
“Kylie’s making a scene.”
Shaking things up. He almost smiled. He definitely welcomed the distraction. Jack braced himself for another encounter with the woman—Just don’t touch her for Christ’s sake—and nabbed his jacket. “Let’s roll.”
Shy scrambled out from under the desk and followed them into the administrative office.
Jack tugged on his EPD cap, glanced at Dorothy who was tapping away at the computer. “Do you think—”
“Not a dog-sitter.”
Right.
Head down, Shy zipped ahead of the two men.
Dorothy spritzed the air.
“You,” Ziffel said to Shy as they left the building, “stay downwind.”
“YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS of me, J.J.”
“Maybe not, but you don’t call the shots either, missy.”
“Stop talking to me like I’m ten years old!”
“Then start acting like a responsible adult,” said Ray Keystone.
Arguing with her elders wasn’t Kylie’s style. Nor was airing her dirty laundry, especially in broad daylight directly in front of McGraw’s. But she’d already been knocked dizzy by Faye’s prickly mood and Jack’s unsettling touch. She’d be danged if she’d be bullied into ditching her home-spun adventure just because these fuddy-duddies were opposed to change! Insulted, Kylie smacked a hand to her racing heart. “I am responsible. My family owns this store and we’re renovating.”
“Anyone in your family know about that aside from you?” asked Max.
Kylie felt a small pang of guilt for not running the idea by her mom and grandma. Although they’d never taken an active interest in the business end of things, they did consider McGraw’s a family venture. As for Spenser, well, someone had to take a progressive role. Moving McGraw’s into the twenty-first century would shake things up in a good way. She hoped. Besides, it wasn’t as if she could easily contact her brother or her mom and grandma due to their current exotic locales. That thought only fueled her determination.
“Just as I thought,” Max said. “She’s acting solo.”
J.J. and Keystone chimed in, citing last night’s inebriated rant and a pre-midlife crisis.
Kylie fumed at being ganged up on. First the owner of the pharmacy, then the owner of the barbershop. The two businesses flanking hers. She’d never known these two men could be such curmudgeons. To make matters worse, Max, who still had shaving cream on his chin, had followed Mr. Keystone out of the barbershop to add fuel to the inferno.
“Since when do you fan flames instead of putting them out?” she blasted.
“Just doing my civic duty,” said Max. “Wouldn’t be right if I let you deface property.”
“Damn right,” said J.J.
“I’m not…I’m just…” Spitting mad. She was so dang mad she couldn’t think straight. She lost her train of thought as a crowd gathered.
“Is that pink?” someone asked.
“Prissy pink,” said Max.
J.J. tsked. “If Spenser was here—”
“Well, he’s not,” Kylie snapped.
Keystone shook his finger at Travis, who was perched on the top rung of the ladder, painting the trim of McGraw’s storefront. “I’m warning you, Travis. One more swipe and—”
“You’re not the boss of me, Keystone.” He didn’t look down. He didn’t stop painting.
Kylie refrained from sticking her tongue out at the barber, but couldn’t hold back the “Ha.”
“That’s mature,” said J.J.
“Listen, you…” She trailed off as the crowd parted and Jack showed up on the scene. Darn. She met his bluer-than-blue gaze and ignored the flutter in her heart. Just friends, she told herself, then focused back on her dilemma.
All business, Jack looked to the crotchety trio. “What’s the problem, gentlemen?”
“No problem,” Kylie said.
“Big problem,” said J.J.
“Huge problem,” said Max. “She’s ruining the integrity of the landscape.”
“Sissifying our block,” Keystone groused.
“Since when is jazzing up and adding color sissifying?” Kylie shouted. “If you’d get your heads out of your—”
“Play nice,” Jack warned.
J.J. tsked. “She used to be polite.”
“You mean passive.” Not that she didn’t appreciate the benefits of meditation, but she was sick of squashing her restlessness.
“She’s bored,” said Max.
“Aren’t you?” Kylie asked, blood burning. Of course he was. A career fireman forcibly retired due to his age. She knew he’d rather be at the firehouse, but he’d made a pest of himself and they’d restricted his visits. Now he hung out at Boone’s, Kerri’s and Keystone’s.
“If you’re bored,” said J.J., “get a hobby. Don’t mess with history.”
“She tried to get me to drop my trousers,” Max told the ten or so bystanders.
They snickered and whistled.
Kylie flushed head to toe. “No, I didn’t! I just…I…”
“Deputy,” said Jack.
“Sir?”
“Move the spectators along.”
“Will do,” he said, and he did.
That’s when she noticed the dog. A midsize pooch with big sad eyes—sort of like Travis’s. Instead of leaving with the gawkers, the dog leaned into Jack. “Who’s that?” she asked.
“Shy,” he said.
“Yours?”
“No.” He gestured to Travis. “Who’s that?”
“Travis