To Wear His Ring Again. Chantelle Shaw
Читать онлайн книгу.
don’t doubt that at all, ma’am. But I still can’t give out information about present or former members of this department.”
“Former? You mean he isn’t with Seattle P.D. after all? Why, those girls in Inish County, they’ve made me waste all this money in long-distance charges for nothing.”
“Ma’am, I didn’t mean—”
Miriam gave a theatrical sigh. “I guess I’m just going to have to reconcile my differences with that boy’s mama. Much as I hate to do it, since she was the one who started it all, but if it means not being able to see my favorite nephew after all these years in Africa, why…”
The girl on the other end of the phone was beginning to get flustered. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble, ma’am. It’s just that the OCTF…well, we try to help them keep a low profile, if you know what I mean.”
Who or what was the OCTF? “Oh, I do indeed, young lady. Well, thank you for your time. I’m going to call my sister and give her the shock of her life. Goodbye.”
Miriam hung up the phone with a mixture of anger and glee. So the child’s father had moved on from the police department, too. What kind of a fly-by-night was he, anyway?
Now she had to find out what in the world’s end the OCTF was.
Chapter Three
Julia McNeill crouched in the display window of the bookshop, draping blue muslin to form an artistic backdrop for a collection of children’s books—a display designed to catch the eye of a tired parent with a car full of antsy children.
She heard the throaty rumble of a big motorcycle coming down Main Street, and glanced out in time to see the biker ride past—the one who had been cuddling in such a disgraceful way with the nurse on the hospital lawn. Dark hair was almost completely covered by a helmet shaped like a chamber pot. His hands gripped brake and clutch with careless control, his boots riding at an insolent angle on the foot pegs. Everything about him shouted testosterone. The set of those broad shoulders and long legs proclaimed that he couldn’t care less what people thought of him.
Unlike herself. What people thought shaped her behavior, her choice of words, sometimes even her own thoughts. When you were one of the God’s own Elect, you had to be responsible for your example every minute of the day. You never knew who might be watching—and be saved because of it.
“Where are the police when you need them?” she complained, looking over her shoulder into the interior of the shop. Rebecca was checking inventory in her big ledger behind the till. Quill and Quinn was no dusty hole-in-the-wall bookshop. Bars of sunlight from the skylights picked out the creamy paint, and the green trim accented the living green of ficus trees and fat, healthy plants on every flat surface not piled with books.
“What’s that, dear?” Rebecca frowned at the ledger.
Julia’s admiration for her boss ran deep. Rebecca was a wizard at math, her pencil flying down the columns of figures. There was no doubt she could have taken a degree and been a teacher. But showing off her brains was neither womanly nor humble. Instead, Rebecca’s talent had found its outlet in taking over the bookshop after her brother Lawrence passed away, rest his soul. It was a good thing the Shepherds had decided computers were the tools of the Devil, along with radio and television. If she had a machine to do her figures for her, her talent would probably atrophy. God certainly knew best.
“It’s that biker,” Julia said. “I don’t know why they don’t arrest him for belonging to a gang. I saw him when I was at the hospital. It makes you wonder if Hamilton Falls is safe anymore.”
Rebecca looked up. “Maybe he was visiting someone,” she replied gently. “Even bikers have families.” She made a note in one of the columns. “Look at this, will you? They’ve shorted me again, by six copies. You’d think a distributor as big as they are could get an order right. If you’re done with that window, dear, you might try and make some sense of the back room. Aurelia Mills had her coffee group in here yesterday and the place is a shambles.”
Julia finished up her window display and stepped out the front door to have a look at it from the sidewalk. The cheerful, eye-catching covers of the books contrasted well with the blue backdrop. A few more copies on the right side to balance the whole thing, and she’d defy any passing parent not to break stride and have a look.
Main Street had been created to convince the traveler to stop driving and spend some money, and it looked its best in summer. White tables with umbrellas were scattered outside the door of the ice-cream shop next door, and across the street at the coffee bar, where Aurelia Mills’s women’s group got their lattes every Thursday, people lounged on benches and strolled past slowly. The air smelled of the petunias and moss in the baskets hanging from the lampposts above Julia’s head.
She gave a halfhearted wave to Dinah Traynell, who was across the street looking at some dresses hanging outside on a rack, although why she bothered was beyond Julia. Everyone knew Dinah made her own clothes because store-bought things weren’t good enough.
The poor girl. Despite the fact that she was from a family as high-ranking as the McNeills themselves, she was so standoffish she hadn’t a hope of attracting a husband.
“Hey, there,” a voice said behind her. “What are you up to?”
Julia turned and stretched her mouth wide in a smile. Speaking of husbands…Derrick Wilkinson smiled back. Looking neat and dependable in his white dress shirt, black trousers, and sober tie, he joined her in front of the window.
“I just finished a display.” She bumped shoulders with him in a companionable way. They might be a proposal away from getting engaged, but still, PDAs—public displays of affection—were out of the question. Julia rolled her neck, enjoying the warm weight of the sun. It seemed as though she hadn’t seen it in weeks. “I feel horrible for enjoying the sunshine,” she confessed. “Madeleine and Owen have been with Ryan from dawn till dark.”
“I’m sure you do your part, too,” Derrick said loyally.
“The Elect are wonderful. There’s a constant stream of casseroles on the front porch, and people must be cleaning out the fruit stands on their behalf. Everyone is looking after them, but still…Michael says it will be some time before Ryan can come home.”
“No wonder I haven’t seen you lately.”
Another prickle of guilt crept through her. Derrick was everything an Elect girl could want in a man. He was nice-looking, employed, responsible and drove a car that was neither too small to take elderly people to Gathering nor so big that it would be considered flashy. He was fifth-generation Elect. He was perfect husband material, and everyone in the congregation, including Derrick himself, expected that the next time he proposed, she would say “yes.” Their future would be secure—and because she was the daughter of an Elder, Derrick would be named Deacon automatically. He would be given spiritual responsibility and social privilege second only to Owen’s and her father’s, who themselves were one step down from Melchizedek, the Shepherd of their souls and the final authority in the district.
Derrick’s shoulder bumped hers again and she realized she hadn’t replied to his gentle hint. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I’ll call you, okay?”
“No hurry. You know where to find me. I’ve got to get back to work.” Dinah was still watching them from the store window, no doubt making sure they didn’t misbehave on the sidewalk. He gave her a cheery wave as he walked back up the street to the lawyer’s office where he worked.
Julia watched him go. So why hadn’t she said “yes” the last time? His proposals were starting to become a family joke. There was no reason to hesitate, and yet when he did something as innocent and expected as sitting with her family in Gathering, she got annoyed and put him off again. Was it that she wasn’t quite ready to give up her freedom for a life that focused on home and children? Every girl wanted that. She certainly didn’t want to end up like Dinah, pushing thirty and haunting the edges