Melinda Curtis - Support Your Local Sheriff

“Next on the agenda...” Mayor Larry squinted at his notes through black rectangular reading glasses. “‘Sheriff elections?’”

Abruptly, everyone faced forward, perhaps as shocked by the agenda item as Nate was.

The little black rain cloud above Nate’s head thickened. Doris wasn’t here to talk about speed limits or public right-of-way or pet regulations. She was here to talk about him!

Nate leaned closer to Flynn, keeping his voice down. “We don’t have sheriff elections.” He’d come to Harmony Valley nearly three years ago because the town was plain and simple. He’d been hired, plain and simple. He’d renewed his contract, plain and simple. Less than two hundred residents lived in town, most of them pleasant, law-abiding, elderly. Plain and simple.

At least, until Doris had returned to the area, breathing fire.

Doris approached the speaker podium like she was going to bulldoze it. She was shaped like a fireplug—short, compact, the promise of energy behind every step. Her gray hair didn’t dare curl or frizz, not even in the fog. Barely an inch long, it stood on end. She was a fireplug, all right. Only instead of spouting water, Doris spouted words. That woman could outdebate a presidential candidate.

Nate sucked back a grin. She hadn’t been able to talk her way out of those citations.

Something bumped the back of Nate’s pew just as Doris began to speak. “Mr. Mayor—”

Nate’s grin slipped free by half, poking holes in his rain cloud.

Mr. Mayor? Everyone called him Mayor Larry, at the mayor’s request. The aging hippie and tie-dye business entrepreneur was unorthodox, from his long gray ponytail to his tie-dyed attire and his penchant for naked yoga down by the river.

Doris continued to address those on the dais. “Madames Councilwomen—”

Nate’s war to contain the grin became more challenging. The three councilwomen weren’t into formalities either.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Doris continued in her high-pitched, grating voice. “We should be proud of many things in our community. The wonderful festivals we have. The resurgence of new businesses. And the low crime rate. But that isn’t good enough.”

Not good enough? The little black rain cloud sucked the oxygen from the old church.

“In this age of police misconduct, the people need a voice.” Doris had a death grip on the podium.

Nate thought it might be his death she planned.

“Can’t see,” came a little voice from behind Nate.

That innocent voice. It broke through the cloud.

Clop-clump.

It sounded like the tyke stood on the next pew back.

“That better, Juju.”

Doris wasn’t only upsetting Nate. On the pulpit, the town council murmured and shifted in their seats. Those in pews in front of Nate exchanged significant glances and whispered commentary.

“The people have a voice, Doris.” Councilwoman Agnes Villanova drew the microphone she shared with the other councilwomen closer. “Residents vote for representatives of our town. Your representatives then vote on issues of health, well-being and safety. Why, just this last year your town council hired two firefighters and renewed the sheriff’s contract.”

Short, spunky Agnes ran the town from her seat to the mayor’s right. Next to her sat Rose Cascia. Rose looked like a retired ballerina with her thin frame and her crisp white chignon. She might have pulled off New York sophistication if she didn’t tap-dance her way into rooms. At the end of the table sat Mildred Parsons. Mildred could barely see, despite her thick lenses. She was made of soft angles, from the snow-white curls in her short hair to her plump frame.

Nate loved those old ladies. They’d chase away storm clouds on a rainy day.

“Beg pardon, Madame Councilwoman.” The smirk in Doris’s voice carried to the back of the church without her having to turn around. “But I was talking about removing a layer of politics from the process.”

“A layer of politics?” Spritely Agnes had the heart of a saint and silver hair as short as Doris’s, except Agnes’s hair relaxed on her head. “Are you questioning our dedication to this town? Are you questioning our...ethics?”

The crowd murmured in disapproval. The mayor and town council had been serving for decades. They were wise. They were beloved. They always ran unopposed.

Nate drew a calming breath. Whatever agenda Doris had, the town council would thwart it.

“What I’m saying is clear enough that everyone in this room understands,” Doris said with the pomp of the self-important. “Everyone but you!”

In the midst of horrified gasps, a small hand landed on Nate’s shoulder.

“Hi.” Hot breath gusted in Nate’s ear.

Nate glanced over his shoulder into a pair of large gray eyes framed by a dark mop of hair. He’d never seen the toddler before, but the boy was cute and most likely the reason for the curious stares a few minutes ago.

Across the aisle, Old Man Takata beamed at the tyke and tapped the shoulder of his neighbor Snarky Sam, who owned the antiques/used goods store on Main Street. Sam’s smiles were rare. And yet he gave the kid a toothy grin.

The little boy touched his forehead to Nate’s and repeated, “Hi.”

“Hey,” Nate said softly, unable to resist returning the boy’s impish smile. “Be careful.”

Feminine hands curled around the boy’s torso and drew him back. Nate began to twist around to see who the hands belonged to when Flynn spoke again, halting him. “Do you think Doris would be more respectful of you if you wore a uniform?” Even in a whisper, Flynn sounded like he was enjoying this more than Nate. Of course, Flynn wasn’t the sheriff. He was part owner of a winery.

“I don’t need a uniform,” Nate whispered back, not enjoying this at all. He’d rather be chasing chickens. “I have a star on my truck and a badge in my pocket.”

Doris wasn’t the whispering type. In fact, she was practically shouting now. “I’m saying that we the people and only we the people should decide who serves our community. Otherwise, we’ll be stuck with a sheriff—” without turning, Doris pointed behind her, toward Nate “—who badgers our residents, berates citizens for their lifestyle choices and bullies the elderly with citations and tickets they can’t afford to pay!”

“Freaky,” Flynn said louder, causing the baby to stir and loosen the blanket again. “It’s like you and Doris are psychically connected. She knew exactly where you were sitting.”

“She saw me come in.” Nate could solve that mystery more easily than the one involving what made Doris so bitter. “She can’t be this upset over tickets.”

Doris held up a sheaf of papers. “I have here twenty signed reports from residents about Sheriff Landry’s behavior.”

Nate didn’t think he’d given out twenty tickets in the past year.

“Twenty reports stating that Sheriff Landry gave them warnings rather than a citation with a fee attached. Whereas I...” Doris had worked into huff-and-puff mode. “Whereas I have received three citations in the past three months! I demand we let the people decide who protects us. I demand we fire the sheriff and hold an election!” She dropped the stack of papers on the podium like a rapper dropped a mic at the end of a show. Except she kept talking. “I demand—”

“In my defense—” Nate tucked Ian’s blue blanket more securely around his tiny shoulders “—the only way to handle Doris is to give her a ticket and drive away.”

“Now, Doris...” Mayor Larry made a rare appearance in an argument. Normally, he delegated trouble to the town council so he could remain as neutral as Switzerland. “These are serious allegations. Please approach with your notes so we may look them over.”