Shelley Galloway - A Small-Town Girl

Cary glanced at his watch. It was seven o’clock. Usually Melissa was either doing homework or talking on the phone at this time of night. “You okay?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m so glad you’re home. Dad’s working late and Brian’s still at practice.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, instantly concerned. Melissa looked to be on the verge of tears.

“Come see my car,” she said, her lip trembling. “Someone ruined all my tires! I don’t know how it could have happened.”

“Let’s go see.”

“It’s bad,” she said. “I don’t know how it could have happened.”

Grabbing a jacket and a cell phone, Cary followed her down his walkway and out to her trusty blue Civic, practically lying on the curb in front of her house, its tires completely flat. “Those tires are ruined all right.”

As if relieved that he finally believed her, her light-blue eyes filled with tears. “I was about to go out when I found it like this!”

Though his knee-jerk reaction was to ask where she’d been headed, he focused on the car. “Did you drive through a new neighborhood or something?” he asked, even though he knew a few stray nails wouldn’t cause this much damage.

“No, I drove straight home from school.”

After checking the tires for nails or other debris, he finally saw a jagged cut near the rim of one. “These have been slashed.”

“Dad’s going to be so mad.”

With his thumb, Cary wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “No, he won’t.”

She hiccuped. “You think?”

“I know. He’s my brother, remember? Have you called him yet?”

“Not yet.”

Pointing to the cement curb bordering her lawn, he said, “Let’s have a seat. Missy, I think we ought to call the police. Slashing tires is serious stuff, so we should report this. It could just be someone’s idea of a prank, but we should be careful in any case.”

Because she still looked worried she’d get in trouble, he added, “Your dad’s going to want to contact the insurance agency, and they’ll likely want the police to look at the damage, anyway.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “It’s okay. Your dad will know this wasn’t your fault.”

Her cell phone rang. “Brian! Oh my gosh!” she said as soon as she clicked on in that dramatic way of hers that Cary knew so well. Cary stretched his legs as Melissa quickly summarized to her boyfriend what was happening.

A much calmer Melissa turned to him after she clicked off. “Brian said you should call the police.”

“I guess we’d better then,” he said, his sarcasm completely wasted on his niece. Funny how teenagers never changed. Cary vividly remembered always putting his friends’ advice in the forefront years ago, too.

After dialing Information, he called the police station. Recognizing the voice, he said, “Hey, Amanda, this is Cary Hudson. Any chance you could send Gary or Sam out this way? Melissa has a slight problem here.” After telling her about the tires, he turned to his niece. “Someone will be here shortly.”

Next he called his brother and filled him in. Luckily Dean was already on his way home.

Within minutes, a stream of cars approached.

Out of the first vehicle flew Brian, who rushed toward Melissa. Next came half the basketball team, three girls from Missy’s cheer squad and assorted other seniors who were looking for a party.

Cary waved hello to everyone but stayed seated. He’d known most of the kids for years and had taught nearly every one of them. They were good kids and were doing their best to give Melissa emotional support. Already his petite niece was standing a little straighter now that her hand was firmly encased in Brian’s.

Finally a police cruiser appeared.

Cary stood motionless when he saw who’d come to help them out.

Officer Gen Slate.

THE SCENE THAT greeted Gen was oddly familiar. Here in Lane’s End—just as it had been in Beckley—everyone’s business was cause for discussion. A whole crowd of kids gathered in front of a row of fifties-style ranch houses. Cary, a diminutive blonde and a really tall kid in sweats were in the middle of it all. Everyone looked to be talking at once.

Just as she was about to approach them, yet another car pulled up. An attractive man in a button-down shirt, jeans and the same dark-brown eyes as Cary’s got out of his sedan. After hugging the girl, as well, he slapped the tall kid on the shoulder. Then, they all turned to Gen.

“Glad you’re here, Officer,” the man—likely Cary’s brother considering the resemblance—said after examining the Civic. “Someone really did a number on my daughter’s tires.”

“It definitely looks that way,” Gen said as she quickly jotted down a record of her first impressions. “Any idea why someone would deliberately do this?”

The girl glanced at her friends before turning to Gen. “No.”

Just as Gen was wondering how to send the kids home without alienating the lot of them, Cary stepped forward.

“Guys, if you don’t have information to contribute, you all better get on home.”

“I’m not leaving,” the tall kid—Brian—said.

“I can stay, too,” a freckle-faced boy added, casting an almost wistful look toward Melissa.

Gen watched Cary’s niece meet the boy’s gaze before turning her head away, pink staining her cheeks.

“Go on home, Jimmy,” Brian said. “Melissa’s fine with me.”

Jimmy shook his head. “Listen—”

Just as Gen was going to step in, Cary took control. “Brian, go ahead and stay. Melissa needs you. Everyone else, why don’t you let Melissa call you later?”

Miraculously most of the kids listened and, with a few parting words to Melissa, went on their way.

Gen tapped her pen again. “Let’s start from the top. I’ll take your statements and some pictures. If I need anything else, I’ll stop by tomorrow. It’s getting late and I’m sure everyone’s ready to go inside.”

As Gen had hoped, her calm, direct manner soothed the girl’s nerves. Melissa stepped away from Brian and answered Gen’s questions, only pausing once or twice for her dad to add information.

There wasn’t much to go on. Genevieve suspected Melissa’s Civic was just a victim of a random prank, but she would look into it.

Within the hour, Brian went home, Melissa and her dad headed inside and Gen and Cary were left alone.

“Thanks for coming out,” he said as she started toward her car. “Melissa was pretty upset.”

“Don’t thank me—it’s my job,” she quipped before she realized just how unfeeling she sounded.

His mouth tightened into a fine line. “Oh. Well. I guess it is.”

“Well, um, like I said, I’ll file this report and call back if I find out anything.” She opened her car door, feeling stupid for being so uptight.

“Call Dean. He’s her father.”

“I…I was planning on it.”

She was about to add more, anything to recreate the warmth in his gaze from the coffee shop. A howl directed her attention to Cary’s fence, where a tricolor beagle, almost the exact replica of Sadie, watched them both.

She stepped forward. “Is that Sludge?”

After a second, Cary grinned. “Yep.”

Sludge howled again.

Gen was charmed. Beagles, she could relate to. Approaching the fence, she held out her hand. “Hi, Sludge.” When Sludge tilted his head to one side and watched her, Gen knelt down, the edges of her long scarf grazing the grass below her.

Sludge eyed the wool with interest.

“I wouldn’t—” Cary called out.

But it was too late.

In a lightning-fast move, Sludge chomped down on the wool and pulled hard.

Gen landed on the grass just as a good three-inch square was ingested by Sludge. “Sludge! Cary, my scarf—”