When they were close enough to hear my whisper, I spoke. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to return these pies to Ms. Daisy. Then we’re going to ask her if she has any work that y’all can help with.”
“You mean you want us to do chores,” Kimmy supplied, her face scrunching up.
“In my line of work, it’s called reparations,” I said gently. “But yes. Y’all took property that didn’t belong to you, and so now you need to make that right.”
DJ stepped closer. “But Daisy has—”
“It doesn’t matter if Daisy Payton has a thousand pies. If you want one of those pies, you work for it or pay for it.”
Fire flashing in his eyes, DJ shook his head. “No. No way. I ain’t doing no chores.”
My eyebrow lifted at his defiance, and I had to tilt my head back to keep an avalanche of lemon and meringue from falling into my eyes. “If you have another idea on how to make things right, go ahead. Tell me.”
DJ glanced from side to side and then focused on the crowd gathered behind me. “You can’t touch us, cop. Not now, not here. We’re just kids, and that guy over there is filming everything. You’ll get in trouble. So how’s about you let us walk?”
I felt my mouth curve into a sad smile, my heart sunk, and my thoughts oscillated between This poor kid and You little shit.
“You stole those pies. That means I can touch you.” I kept my tone relaxed, still hoping—despite the crowd, despite the clown filming us, despite the distrust and insolence in DJ’s stare—that I could diffuse his temper. “Here’s the truth, DJ. I don’t want to put my hands on you. I don’t want to force you. I want you to do the right thing, and I think you want to do the right thing too.”
“Fuck off, cop.”
Ignoring that—likely something he’d heard his daddy say—I pulled in a deep breath. “So, the way I see it, y’all got two choices: either you come with me now, on your own, making it your decision, or you spend the rest of the day running while I chase you around town.”
DJ scoffed. “You’re gonna spend all day running after us?”
“As you can see, I’m in my running clothes. I was getting ready to go on a run when I got the call about these stolen pies.” I shrugged. “I need the exercise. Either it’s running on a treadmill or running after y’all. It doesn’t matter to me either way, and I need to get in thirteen miles. You wanna run thirteen miles?”
“Don’t you wanna go chase other bad guys?” DJ eyed me, like he hadn’t yet made up his mind whether I was serious.
“First, you’re not a bad guy. You’re making some real sketch decisions, DJ, but you’re not bad. Second, today is my day off. So, no. I got nowhere to be, nothing to do. I’m happy to spend my whole day chasing you.” The first part of what I’d said was true, but the second part was mostly a lie. I did have somewhere to be this evening, namely taking Charlotte Mitchell out on a date.
Rebelliousness and irritation glittered behind DJ’s eyes, his mouth forming an unhappy curve. He looked at me. I looked at him. I waited.
“Fine,” he bit out. But before I could feel relieved, he lifted the pie in his hand. I saw the intent in his eye and ducked to one side just in time for the pie to whiz by my head and miss my face by a scant few inches.
That. Little. Shit.
I bit my lip, doing my best not to glare at the kid. I understood why—in his mind—he’d done it. He didn’t want to spend all day running and he needed to save face in front of his friends. That said, the action, though it might’ve felt good in the moment, was only going to make both his life and mine harder.
Meanwhile, Kimmy Mitchell gasped. “That was the chocolate mousse with chocolate cookie crust, you dummy!”
Mac Hill made a sad grunting sound. “Why’d you have to do that? I still have the pumpkin pie right here. If you were going to—”
“Let’s just go.” DJ held out his arms, as though he expected me to cuff them.
I’d cuffed kids before, not many times, but I’d done it. It was always the last resort and always when the minor was in the process of physically hurting themselves or someone else. Neither of those scenarios were true at present.
“Come on.” I stood, ignoring his outstretched hands and gesturing in the direction of my parked truck. I hadn’t brought the cruiser, not wanting to be the one to give young DJ Stokes his first official ride in the back of a law enforcement vehicle. “Y’all can practice your groveling on the way.”
“What about my momma?” DJ asked, sullenly stuffing his now empty hands in the pockets of his dirty jeans.
“I already called your momma. She knows what’s up, and she said whatever Daisy decides is fine by her.”
His shoulders slumped as he walked in front of me, and I could guess why. His momma was a sweet lady who’d had a hard life, but she was also a screamer. I suspected he didn’t want to disappoint her, but I thought maybe the imminent screaming fit was the true reason for his bowed posture. In my experience, folks screamed and cussed when they felt powerless.
I nodded to JT MacIntyre, Genie Lee, and a few unfamiliar faces as we approached. “You’re in the passenger seat, at the front of the truck, DJ. Kimmy, I got a booster seat for you in the back.”
“You mean you don't have your cop car?” Mac sounded regretful.
“I didn’t think I would need it today.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the same stranger from before still recording. As soon as we were buckled up in the truck, I was going to wipe my face off.
“That’s too bad,” Mac said on a sigh.
I split my attention between the kids and the man with his phone as we walked closer to my truck. “If you want to do a ride-along, I’ll call your momma and get one scheduled.”
“Oh!” Mac sent me a quick grin.
“Can I come too?” Kimmy turned to walk backward. I took one of the pies from her grip.
“I’ll ask your momma next time I see her.” Charlotte hadn’t told her kids about us dating yet. I’d always been in Charlotte’s life—and their lives—as a friend. We were still just friends as far as they knew.
Charlotte and I had been together for a while, but we’d only managed three official dates so far, if you didn’t count grabbing a quick bite for lunch every so often. I understood her hesitation. She needed to be certain of a man before taking that kind of step, and I was determined to be someone she could be certain of.
My eating-pie-off-naked-ladies days were over. Unless, you know, Charlotte brought it up if we eventually got married.
“Y’all are traitors,” DJ grumbled. “He’s not cool, he’s a pig.”
“Hey, the only reason I got food on my face is ’cause y’all put it there,” I said, hoping to lighten the mood. “Once we get in the truck, I got a towel in the back to wipe it off.” Unable to stand it anymore, I used the back of my hand to push globs of pie from my forehead and chin.
Kimmy abruptly stepped closer to me, peering at the onlookers who hadn’t yet dispersed. “Why are so many people watching us?”
“They’re looking at me.” I patted her shoulder, making sure I sounded unconcerned. “Ignore them.”