Debra & Regan Webb & Black - The Hunk Next Door

Reporters shouted at her back.

“Should the citizens of Belclare be taking more defensive action?”

“Will you shut down the city?”

“Will the Christmas Village be canceled?”

She couldn’t let that one go. She turned, ready to answer when the mayor’s voice rang out through the crisp winter air.

“This small attempt to interrupt our annual traditions is hardly cause for alarm.”

Abby couldn’t believe he was taking her side. About time, she thought.

“Chief Jensen’s—” he hesitated for three seconds “—enthusiasm has obviously created a few unpleasant ripples, but Belclare is strong and united, and determined to make this the best holiday season ever. We look forward to seeing all of you this weekend.”

Abby found herself fighting a sudden urge to silence Mayor Scott. She banished the compulsion. He was better in the media spotlight and, whether or not he believed her or agreed with her methods, ultimately they were working toward the same goal: a safe community and a safe holiday event.

She let him ramble on giving the proper sound bites that likely included a subtle invitation for other criminal justice professionals to apply for her job.

“Do we have anything?” Abby ignored her chilled feet as she listened to her officers explain what they’d found. Or rather what they hadn’t found.

“One of the vendors coming in for the weekend reported it,” said Officer Gadsden.

“Did you get a statement?”

“We did, so it helps set a time frame for the vandals.”

She stepped closer, pressed her finger to a dripping streak of paint. “Still tacky. Someone had fun during their lunch hour.” She looked to the ground. “Any hope for shoe prints?”

“No.” Officer Gadsden knelt down and Abby followed suit. “The snow’s been trampled by more than one person. Right back to the road.”

“Great.” Abby wanted to clean this up herself, right this minute. “See what you can get off any traffic cameras between here and Baltimore. And ask around Sadie’s and other restaurants. Maybe the vandals came into town for lunch.”

“You got it.”

She covered her mouth with her hand, unwilling to risk anyone in the media reading her lips. “As you take pictures, get the bystanders.” It wasn’t unusual for vandals of this sort to hang around to watch the cops scramble for answers.

“Chief Jensen!”

She turned slowly, unable to ignore the mayor’s shout. “Yes?” It was a small measure of relief that he remained on the other side of the tape. For her, the shock was seeing him alone. Victor Scott loved his entourage, whether it was his hired staff or an impromptu gathering of media professionals.

He waved her closer and she did her best to hide her distaste at the arrogant summons. Mayor Scott enjoyed the political posturing, but playing along was her least favorite, necessary part of the job. She preferred a straightforward exchange. Less chance for mixed signals or missed goals that way.

“How long until you have this cleaned up?” he demanded with his practiced concerned frown in place.

“The sign or the crime?”

“You can’t manage both?”

“Repairing the sign isn’t exactly police responsibility,” she said, clinging to her last shred of composure. “As for the vandal—” she glanced back at the damage “—we believe there was more than one person involved. There are databases with graffiti signatures and tags—”

“This criminal signed his work?” the mayor exclaimed too loudly.

“We’re not sure yet. That’s part of the problem. Or the solution,” she added, just to give him something else to focus on. “As for the sign itself, once we have our pictures it can be repainted and repaired right away.”

“No! Nooo!”

Abby and the mayor swiveled toward the pitiful wail of Mr. Filmore. When Mayor Scott rolled his eyes, she realized they shared a mutual frustration with the historical society president. It was strangely affirming.

“What now, Filmore?” With a hand on Filmore’s shoulder, the mayor stopped him from barreling into the crime scene.

“You can’t just paint that sign.”

“We can’t just leave it,” the mayor shot back.

Abby glanced at her officers, grateful they were snapping pictures of everything and everyone as she’d asked and not laughing aloud at the ridiculous debate.

“This gateway to Belclare has been meticulously maintained for over one hundred and eighty years. It must be cleaned, not merely slapped at with another coat of paint.”

The mayor loomed over the skinny frame of Filmore. “I am not allowing those threats to remain visible any longer than necessary. Get a team out here if you must but get it handled immediately.”

For once, Abby was grateful for Filmore’s presence. The man’s shrill insistence about preservation diverted the mayor’s attention from her.

She used the time and space to take her own inventory of faces in the crowd. She recognized reporters and television station logos. More than a few people from town had followed the noise and commotion to come take a look. She felt the collective irritation from those business owners whose praise for her drug bust quickly turned to criticism after her speech garnered national attention.

She returned to her officers. “Keep the area secure. Do we have anything to cover it in the short term?”

“I have a tarp in my car.”

She nodded. “It’s a start.” Pointing to the camera Gadsden was using, she asked, “Is anyone standing out to you?”

He shook his head. “No one seems too proud of themselves. Except the mayor.”

She chuckled. “I’m sure he has photo evidence of his whereabouts for the entire morning.”

“Our chances of catching the vandals and making an arrest are pretty slim.”

“All we can do is our best.” She pulled her car keys from her pocket. “I’ll find someone to babysit the sign.” Her department was stretched too thin already, but she refused to allow a repeat performance.

“We could put up a couple of motion-activated cameras,” Gadsden offered.

“With this circus watching?” She shook her head. “I like the idea but the vandals would only come back and hit those first.” She scanned the faces on the other side of the road again. It was a valid idea, if they could find a window when no one else was around. Too late to contain the media, she knew Belclare residents would be upset with her all over again. “Let’s talk about it at the station when we have more than the nothing we have now.”

Gadsden agreed and Abby headed back to her car, giving appropriate sound bites to the media on the way. She wanted the quiet of her office and some heat for her freezing feet. Unfortunately, she was blocked in by a dark blue pickup truck she didn’t recognize.

It had to belong to one of the temporary workers or vendors. She stifled the urge to look back at the death threat on the sign. She would not let some silly stunt likely staged by a teenager with too much idle time and a bad sense of humor get under her skin. Paranoia was neither professional nor helpful.

“Excuse me, Chief Jensen.”

A car door slammed with a bang and, despite her best effort, her body jerked, braced for an attack.

“Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Abby surveyed the tall stranger who seemed determined to show up in her life today. And he had startled her. Denying it would be foolish. “No problem. Mr. O’Brien, isn’t it?”

“That would be my father,” he said with a softer smile that did strange things to her pulse. “I’m just Riley, remember?” He leaned against the pickup’s door. “I heard the breaking news on the way out.” His brown eyes were taking in the ugly scene behind her. “Any leads?”