Sheriff Dern had nothing to say.
“Again, for obvious reasons, but also for personal reasons, this needs to be anonymous. Although you undoubtedly need to discuss this with the Pulaskis, but even with them I’ll ask you not to mention me. And overall, I would really appreciate your assurance that I will be kept completely out of it.”
He found it in him to speak.
“No one will know.”
I nodded.
His gaze fell to the purse in my lap then came back to my face.
“You got your checkbook with you?”
Lord.
I couldn’t fight it.
Though he was who he was, so I didn’t much try.
I hated this man.
Nine
Terrifying
I was not born yesterday.
I also did not carry my checkbook with me.
But those weren’t the only reasons I declined to proffer my offer before Dern had even discussed that line of strategy with the family whose daughter had been taken, not to mention his team, or the man he’d called in to help handle this.
Nevertheless, I was surprised, that in the three days since I’d left the sheriff’s department, I hadn’t heard anything from him.
I had heard from Polly, who called the very next day and told me her nephew was, “real good around the house, he knows how to do everything.”
Indication that those lengthy NDAs did nothing to keep the local contractors from talking.
I made a mental note to share this with Hawk as I listened when Polly spoke on.
When she did, she told me her nephew also had a newly pregnant wife and needed some handyman work because, “we’ll take care of them, we do good baby showers in Misted Pines,” but, “diapers don’t come cheap, and you only get one shower, but you got a kid for a lifetime.”
I explained I’d have to look into her nephew, but I would, as, at the very least, the new light fixture had been delivered and I could get that unsightly smoked-glass contraption out of my great room.
I did not ask how a woman who seemed pretty together (pleated skirt at a fashion-disaster length for someone of her stature notwithstanding) worked with that pompous, incompetent piece of garbage.
But apropos of that, nothing, except perhaps in working with him, her innate understanding that anyone who met with him for any reason would experience some form of disaster, her voice dropped when she told me anyway.
“Someone’s gotta be around to see to things, you know?”
In history, there were innumerable unsung heroes like Polly who “saw to things” when some asshole conned his way into a position he had no business occupying.
Thus, my answer was, “I know.”
There had been silence since the call.
Hawk had shared that Polly’s nephew was all good to meet. He also shared the fact that he’d communicated to all four contractors that I already had the money to relocate should my current situation become unsafe. However, they still would be paying for that effort after I took their businesses, homes and children’s college funds if one of them breathed another fucking word about Delphine Larue being in Misted Pines.
He assured me that this message had been received.
And when Delgado assured you of something, you were assured.
As the days went by, though, I began to understand why Sheriff Dern hadn’t jumped on my offer.
This was because he was being eviscerated by the Tri-Lake Chronicle, as well as the very local paper that came out once a week, the Misted Pines Herald.
Letters to the editor had gone from cranky to outraged, and no one had anything to say about anything else but Sheriff Dern, and that wasn’t only because of Alice Pulaski.
But bottom line, people wanted Alice found.
Of course, this would lead me straight to a press conference where I offered substantial rewards for information.
But what did I know about finding missing girls?
I had my own situation happening, this being my eldest, Fenn, who was also getting impatient.
I knew this when she’d called that morning, and upon my greeting of, “Hello, love of my life,” I received, “What the fuck, Mom?”
Allow me a moment to offer a lesson in why you shouldn’t stereotype:
My eldest, who had dreamed of flying, my guess, since she tore down her teddy bear mobile and the very next day stole a plane toy from a friend in her toddler group and refused to give it up, no matter how much he bawled or how much I tried to tug it out of her strong baby hands, entered college on an ROTC scholarship she did not need. Four years later, she did not wash out of UPT (Undergraduate Pilot Training). She was currently stationed in Korea, and she would wear false eyelashes behind the visor of her helmet in her cockpit, if she could.
I had nursed honesty and openness between us since they were little girls.
So I also knew she was enjoying the smorgasbord of male delicacies offered to her, because, “You gotta find the right dick to commit to, and it’s good to get a look at a lot of them so you know you got it right. You hear what I’m saying?”
I heard, and understood, as getting it right was a lesson I’d inadvertently taught her by getting it so very wrong in marrying her father…and then her stepfather.
On the other hand, my youngest, Camille was just as outwardly girlie as Fenn (when Fenn was allowed to be).
And she was still with her high school girlfriend, who was even more girlie, Joan.
There was one box we all fit in to.
We were humans.
Any other box was just plain bullshit.
“I mean, this is the FBI,” Fenn ranted on. “They’ve got nothing on those poor women and you’re in Bumfuck?”
“The FBI is not keeping me informed of the intricacies of their investigation, but I feel sure they’re diligently investigating.”
“The intricacies are, when that dime-a-dozen, crazy piece of shit didn’t get what he wanted from you, your hand in marriage after he asked you every week for three years, he kidnapped two women, roped Michael, Russ and Alicia in on his bullshit, and now you all are living under the control of one serious sick fuck.”
I gave it a moment, and then said, “I love how much you love me.”
My daughter gave it a moment and replied, “Obviously the United States Air Force doesn’t care much you’re dealing with this, not because they’re assholes, just because our remit is a whole lot broader. But I told my squadron commander that shit is real at home, and if some miracle occurs, even if it’s a random TDY that brought me closer to you for a while, I want it.”
“Don’t tell your sister, but you’ve always been my perfect daughter.”
“You say that shit to her too, don’t you?”
“I don’t recall,” I lied. “But in my old age, my memory is slipping.”
“You’re using that way too soon.”
“Hmm…”
“I met someone,” she announced, and I perked up. “His name is James. He flies F-16s. He’s a total ass. And I think I’m falling in love with him.”
For reasons I was not about to reflect on, visions of taciturn Cade Bohannan standing in my reading room, arms crossed on his chest filled my head.
Particularly around the “total ass” part.
But the last part too.