Rachel Gibson: True Confessions

“What kind of questions?” He turned and watched Ms. Spencer walk right past him, eyes forward, as if she didn’t notice the attention she attracted. Through the thick odor of grease and the evening’s blue plate special, he could swear he almost smelled the scent of peaches on her skin. The hem of her dress flirted with the backs of her thighs as she moved to a booth in the back. She slid across the worn red vinyl to the corner and reached for a menu. A lock of her blond hair fell across her cheek, and she raised a hand and swept it behind her ear.

“She wanted to know if everything in her salad was fresh and she asked about available men.”

“Available men?” Hunger curled deep in the pit of Dylan’s belly, and he wasn’t positive it had anything to do with food this time.

“Yeah, available young men to clean out the Donnelly house. At least that’s what she says.”

He turned back to Iona. “And you don’t believe her?”

The waitress’s lips pursed with disapproval. “I called Ada over at the motel, and sure enough, the woman checked in there. I guess she made a long-distance call from the lobby. Ada says she made a big stink, yelling and cursing and carrying on about weeds and dirt, and I guess the place is full of bat- you know what, but she didn’t say ‘you know what.’ Ada says she has a foul mouth and a bad temper. Ada also said the woman started right away asking about available men, even before the ink was dry on her paperwork. She isn’t wearing a wedding ring. So she’s probably divorced, and she told us if we knew anyone interested in helping her that she’s staying at the Sandman Motel for a few days. Sounds to me like she’s lookin‘ to start things up out there again.”

Which Dylan figured was one of the dumbest things he’d heard in a while, but it didn’t surprise him. Even after five years, people in town stilled loved to talk about Sheriff Donnelly and the things he’d done in that old house. The unsavory details of the sheriff’s personal life had been the biggest shock to hit town since the earthquake of ‘83. “Sounds like she just needs help cleaning up bat droppings. Nothing wrong with that.”

Iona shoved the tub below the counter, then folded her arms across her ample bosom. “She’s from California,” the waitress said, as if no further explanation was needed. She gave one anyway. “Ada said that when the woman was in the motel, her jeans were real tight. She didn’t have a detectable panty line, so we figured she’s obviously wearing thong underwear, and the only reason a woman would ever wear something that uncomfortable is to show off for men. Everyone knows those California women play fast and loose.”

Dylan looked over his shoulder and watched Paris take the blond woman’s order. Ms. Spencer pointed to several different places on the menu, and by Paris’s pained expression, she was obviously one of those pain-in-the-ass “on the side” girls. Ms. Spencer looked like trouble, all right, but not the kind Iona meant. Dylan unhooked his bootheel and stood. “I guess I better go ask her about those panties,” he said. “Can’t have a woman walking around in a thong and me not knowing about it.”

“Sheriff, you’re bad.” Iona giggled like a teenager as he walked away, across the red-and-white linoleum, to the booth in the back.

When Ms. Spencer didn’t look up, he said, “Hello, there, heard you’ve had a real rough day.”

She gazed up at him then. Looked at him through the clearest blue eyes he’d ever seen. Blue the color of Sawtooth Lake. So clear he could see the bottom.

“You heard about my problem?”

“I heard about your bats.”

“I guess good news travels fast.”

She didn’t ask if he’d like to sit, and he didn’t wait for an invitation. He slid into the seat across from her.

“My son is one of the boys you paid to retrieve your purse.”

Her gaze moved over his face and she said, “Then Adam must belong to you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He settled back in the bench seat and folded his arms across his chest. Her expression gave nothing away. Purposely smooth, this woman was in control.

“I hope you don’t mind that I hired your son.”

“I don’t mind, but I think you overpaid those boys just to get your purse for you.” He made her nervous, which didn’t really tell him anything. His badge made most people nervous. Could mean she had unpaid parking tickets and nothing more. It could also mean she was hiding something, but as long as she stayed out of trouble, she could keep her secrets. Hell, he understood about secrets. He had a big one of his own. “I also hear you’re looking to hire young men to help you clean out that house.”

“I didn’t specify age. Frankly, I’d welcome your great-grandfather if he’d kill those damn bats for me.”

Dylan stretched his legs and his foot bumped hers. He’d crossed the boundary of her personal space, and as he suspected she would, she immediately drew her feet back and sat a bit straighter. He didn’t even try to hide his smile. “Bats won’t hurt you, Ms. Spencer.”

“I’ll just take your word for that, Sheriff,” she said, then glanced up as Paris set a glass of iced tea and a small plate of sliced lemons on the table.

“They don’t get any fresher than that.” Paris’s thick brows lowered over her brown eyes. “I just sliced them.”

The corners of Ms. Spencer’s lips turned up in a very insincere smile. “Thank you.”

Dylan had grown up with Paris. Played Red Rover and kickball with her in grade school, been in most of her classes in junior high, and listened to her valedictorian speech on graduation night. He’d have to say he knew her pretty well. She was usually pretty easygoing, but somehow, MZBHAVN had managed to irritate the hell of Paris.

“Ms. Spencer here is our newest citizen,” he said. “Appears she’s going to be staying out at the Donnelly place.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Growing up, he’d always felt a little sorry for Paris, and he’d always gone out of his way to treat her nice. She had beautiful long hair that she usually wore in a braid. Shy, she didn’t talk much, and while a man could appreciate that sometimes in a woman, she also had the misfortune of being built like her father, Jerome, tall, big-boned, with man-hands. A guy could overlook a lot of physical imperfections in a woman. A big nose and linebacker shoulders were one thing, but wide hands and beefy fingers were something a man really couldn’t overlook. They ranked up there with a mustache. A guy just couldn’t get himself excited about kissing a girl with facial hair, and there was absolutely no way he ever wanted to look down and see man-hands reaching for his Johnson.

“Can I get you something while you wait, Dylan?” she asked.

“Nothing, thanks, honey. I’m sure my burgers are just about up.” And it probably didn’t help that Paris’s mother was only slightly more feminine than her father.

Paris smiled and threaded her fingers in front of her stomach. “How did you like that raspberry cobbler I dropped off the other day?”

Dylan hated any sort of fruit with little seeds that got stuck in his teeth. Adam had taken one look at it, declared it looked “all bloody,” and they’d thrown it out. “Adam and I ate it with ice cream,” he lied to make her happy.

“Tomorrow’s my day off and I’m making up some Amish cakes. I’ll bring one by.”

“That’s real sweet of you, Paris.”

Her eyes lit. “I’m getting ready for the fair next month.”

“You planning on winning a few blue ribbons this year?”

“Of course.”

“Paris here,” he said, focusing his gaze on Ms. Spencer, “wins more blue ribbons than any other woman in the county.”