Lisa Dyson - Prince Charming Wears A Badge

Callie hadn’t called ahead to let her dad know she’d be coming. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him to know, it was more that she didn’t want to give her stepmother a heads-up. This visit would be difficult enough without giving the woman prep time.

Callie stayed in her car for quite a while, gathering her courage to face her past. There were only a few other houses down this quiet road. Not even one car passed by as she sat there.

Her stomach was in knots. She should have eaten lunch, but she’d figured an empty stomach was better than a full one that could reverse direction if her anxiety got out of control.

Which it was definitely threatening.

She uncapped the water bottle in the center console drink holder and took a long swig. The cool liquid somewhat soothed her dry mouth but offered no relief to her stomach. She replaced the cap and turned her attention back to her father’s house.

A car was visible in the detached garage, the door having been left open. She hoped that meant her father was home, but she’d been gone too long to know if it was her father’s car or her stepmother’s.

It was now or never. She would prefer never, but that wouldn’t make her therapist happy. Callie needed to get this over with and move on.

The engine turned over when she pressed the start button. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the gearshift and froze.

She reminded herself that she was an adult now. Not the eighteen-year-old who’d left home for college eleven years ago. She could stand up for herself, could leave whenever she wanted. No one could force her to do something against her will.

She wasn’t that scared little girl, so easily intimidated.

She put the car in gear and slowly pulled back onto the two-lane road riddled with potholes that still hadn’t been patched from last year’s harsh winter.

She carefully turned right into the long driveway leading to her childhood home and stopped abruptly.

Her head throbbed.

Before she could change her mind, she threw the car into reverse and backed out onto the street to face the direction from which she’d come.

A single bead of sweat ran down her temple. Not from the heat but from anxiety.

Without another glance at the house, she gunned the engine and headed back through the downtown area.

She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she let it out as she passed the sign saying Thanks for Visiting Whittler’s Creek, Come Again.

She knew of a small hotel in a neighboring town that she could check in to for the night. After breakfast tomorrow, she’d look for a more semi-permanent housing solution, rather than pay daily hotel rates.

She’d also work on reinforcing her courage.

* * *

MONDAY MORNING TYLER GARRETT rubbed his face with both hands, barely able to control the urge to bang his head on his desk as he surveyed his crowded office.

He was Whittler’s Creek’s Chief of Police, not a financial guru. He had no way of deciphering the mountain of binders and documents that had been packed into boxes and were now taking up much of the walking space in his already cramped office.

He’d received an anonymous email late last week about discrepancies in the town’s financial records. With no ability to track down where the email had originated, he had immediately requested a court order before the records could be doctored. After Judge Parsons had signed off on it, Tyler had requested the records be brought to his office from a building down the street. He’d never imagined there would be so much paper involved.

What happened to going digital like the rest of the country?

Then he considered where he was living. A small town in western Maryland. Even though a few residents commuted to DC or Baltimore, the majority had lived here most of their lives and rarely ventured more than an hour or so away. They preferred to keep their lives simple.

His phone rang. “Chief Garrett.”

“Good morning, Chief Garrett. This is Dr. Jeffrey Hammond. I’m a psychologist in Bethesda and I have a court-ordered patient who will be coming to Whittler’s Creek to do her community service. I sent you an email over the weekend with the details.”

Great. Just what he needed. Another criminal coming to town. “I haven’t gotten to email yet this morning.” He glanced at the banker’s boxes surrounding his desk and shook his head.

“I understand.” Dr. Hammond went on to give Tyler a few details. “I’m not at liberty to explain too much about Ms. James’s current situation, but she grew up there and still has family in town. I trust that you will provide adequate supervision for her court-ordered community service?”

“Absolutely.” Ms. James? As in Callie James? If that’s who it was, he hadn’t seen her in years. Not since he’d witnessed her explosive temper the night he’d walked her home from a party. He’d had a huge crush on her, asking her out several times but getting the same negative response from her each time. The night of the party he thought he’d been the luckiest guy in Whittler’s Cove until her true personality revealed itself.

He fired up his dated desktop computer while Dr. Hammond continued talking.

“Thank you for understanding and for your discretion.” By the time Dr. Hammond disconnected, Tyler’s computer was finally opening the email program.

He needed to take a look at the town’s budget and see about new computers. How was he expected to do his job if he couldn’t even check email in a timely fashion?

He wiped sweat from the back of his neck. The air-conditioning was on the fritz again, too, and the outside temperature on this July morning was already in the low eighties.

The program finally opened and he found Dr. Hammond’s email. There it was. Callie James. Grew up in Whittler’s Creek and has family issues to deal with.

No kidding. Callie’s stepsister used to hang out with Tyler’s sister back in high school, and the stepsister had been a terrible influence on Isabelle. Thankfully, the two young women had gone their separate ways after high school.

Had Callie changed since high school? Obviously not, if she had community service hours to fulfill. According to his sister and what he’d witnessed, Callie could be as mean and nasty as an angry wasp.

What about physically? Had she let herself go as much as others he’d seen around town? She’d always kept her light blond hair long, allowing it to swing to and fro or weaving it into a thick braid. Was it still long? Did she still twist it around her fingers when she became nervous?

He remembered her cupid’s-bow lips, shiny with lip gloss. How he’d always wanted to taste her mouth, wondering if she used fruit-flavored gloss like some of the other girls their age. But he’d kept his distance because his sister had always insisted that Callie had an explosive temper. He hadn’t believed it until he’d seen it firsthand.

Was that what had forced her return to Whittler’s Creek? Had her temper done her in?

A loud knock on the frame of his office door had him opening his eyes. He hadn’t even realized he’d closed them. “Yes?” he said to the youngest of his three patrolmen on the Whittler’s Creek Police Force.

“You have a visitor, Chief.” Pete Meyers ran a hand over his bald head. He was only a few years older than Tyler’s thirty, but between losing his hair and being overweight by a good forty pounds, Pete looked older than his years. “Callie something.”

“Callie James.” She’d come up to the doorway behind Pete.

Tyler would have recognized her voice without even seeing her.

Physically, she was everything he remembered and more. She wore a navy suit jacket and matching pencil skirt that stopped a few inches above her knees. Her filmy white blouse had several of the top buttons open to reveal multiple strands of large gold chains around her neck. Her neutral-tan pumps added about four inches to her average height.