Thirty and a Half Excuses
Page 71
Fuming, I refused to answer him. Mostly because I didn’t have an answer. I couldn’t figure out why it ticked me off. The crummy weather and losing Bruce Wayne must have made me cranky. The best way to handle the situation was to change the subject. “So have you figured out where are we going?”
“The sheriff’s office.”
“I thought you were going to call.”
Mason led me to his sedan and opened the passenger door for me. “I was, but a visit seems more in order.”
“You’re bringing me with you?” I asked in surprise.
“If I let you out of my sight, Taylor might catch wind that Bruce Wayne is missing and decide you’re a flight risk and lock you up. That’s the best case scenario. Worst case, the guys who took Bruce Wayne could come for you. What do you want to do?”
“Stay with you.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
The sheriff’s office was in a little town about ten minutes outside of Henryetta. Everyone in Fenton County knew there was a rivalry of sorts between the two law enforcement departments. I was hoping that would work in Bruce Wayne’s favor.
As we walked inside, Mason straightened his tie. “I’ll show you where you can wait for me while I talk to the sheriff.”
“Okay.”
He sat me in a waiting area outside of a glass-enclosed box, like some gas station attendants sit behind when they work in a bad neighborhood. “Is that bulletproof glass?”
Mason cast a glance toward it. “I guess,” he answered absently.
“Do they have many shootings out here? Why does the receptionist need to be behind bulletproof glass?”
“Rose, you’re perfectly safe out here. Just wait for me.”
Easy for him to say. He was the one going behind the glass, but it wasn’t like I had any options. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The sheriff’s deputy led him into the back, and I took in my surroundings. A young guy sat two chairs down from me. He had headphones in his ears, and he tapped his fingers on his legs like he was playing the drums.
I picked up an old issue of Better Homes and Gardens, trying to find an article to read, but I really didn’t care about making a Valentine’s Day centerpiece. I tossed it back on the table next to me.
The outside door flew open, and a woman rushed the glass window. The woman behind the glass actually jumped in surprise.
The blond-haired woman beat on the glass with her fists. “I demand justice! I’m not leaving until I get what’s mine!”
The receptionist, who had recovered from her initial excitement, now looked bored. She yawned and pushed a clipboard through the opening at the bottom. “If you have a complaint, I’ll need you to fill out this paperwork.”
“Paperwork?” The woman shrieked. “I’m past paperwork!” She pulled a handgun out of her purse and held it up in the air.
I was going to beat Mason Deveraux senseless the next time I saw him. Perfectly safe out here, my eye.
The receptionist had already bent over her paperwork, not even noticing the gun. And here I’d been pinning my hopes on the sheriff.
The crazy woman spun around to see who was in the room, and her gaze stopped on me.
I blinked. “Christy?” Miss Dorothy’s niece was standing in the sheriff’s office holding a gun. She must have lost her ever-loving mind.
“Rose?” Christy lowered the gun to her side, out of sight of the receptionist, who got up from her desk and walked to the back, leaving the front window abandoned.
I pointed to the gun. “What are you doing here?”
She shrugged, starting to cry. “I just need someone to listen to me.” She looked like crap. Her hair was stringy, and her face was dripping with sweat.
“Waving a gun around the sheriff’s office doesn’t seem like the best way to go about it.”
“I wanted to get the sheriff’s attention.”
I decided it wasn’t a good idea to point out that I was the only person who had noticed. The little drummer boy was still beating on his leg, his eyes closed as he played through what looked to be a wicked drum solo.
“I heard about Jonah Pruitt getting your aunt’s house.”
She moved toward me, the gun still lowered. “It ain’t right. It just ain’t right.”
“No, it’s not.”
Her face hardened. “Hey. You work for the rat bastard.”
My heart nearly leapt from my chest. “No.” I shook my head. “I don’t really work for him. I’m more contract labor.”
Her face lit up. “Oh, I think it’s more than that. In fact, when I visited the church last week, you two looked downright friendly.” She lifted the gun again and pointed it at me. “I bet you know all about it. You’re coming with me. We’re going to go talk to Reverend Pruitt together.”
“I’m not sure that me talking to Jonah is going to help.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Jonah, huh? That’s a little personal, isn’t it?”
Crap.
“I think this might be a great idea.” She moved next to me, pointing the gun into my side. “Let’s go.” Her eyes were wild, and her pupils were dilated. Christy was high on something.
Shit.
I looked desperately at the window, but the receptionist hadn’t returned yet. The man with the beats was working up to a crescendo. I considered shouting or screaming, but Christy seemed agitated and strung out enough to actually shoot me.
“The sheriff’s office.”
“I thought you were going to call.”
Mason led me to his sedan and opened the passenger door for me. “I was, but a visit seems more in order.”
“You’re bringing me with you?” I asked in surprise.
“If I let you out of my sight, Taylor might catch wind that Bruce Wayne is missing and decide you’re a flight risk and lock you up. That’s the best case scenario. Worst case, the guys who took Bruce Wayne could come for you. What do you want to do?”
“Stay with you.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
The sheriff’s office was in a little town about ten minutes outside of Henryetta. Everyone in Fenton County knew there was a rivalry of sorts between the two law enforcement departments. I was hoping that would work in Bruce Wayne’s favor.
As we walked inside, Mason straightened his tie. “I’ll show you where you can wait for me while I talk to the sheriff.”
“Okay.”
He sat me in a waiting area outside of a glass-enclosed box, like some gas station attendants sit behind when they work in a bad neighborhood. “Is that bulletproof glass?”
Mason cast a glance toward it. “I guess,” he answered absently.
“Do they have many shootings out here? Why does the receptionist need to be behind bulletproof glass?”
“Rose, you’re perfectly safe out here. Just wait for me.”
Easy for him to say. He was the one going behind the glass, but it wasn’t like I had any options. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The sheriff’s deputy led him into the back, and I took in my surroundings. A young guy sat two chairs down from me. He had headphones in his ears, and he tapped his fingers on his legs like he was playing the drums.
I picked up an old issue of Better Homes and Gardens, trying to find an article to read, but I really didn’t care about making a Valentine’s Day centerpiece. I tossed it back on the table next to me.
The outside door flew open, and a woman rushed the glass window. The woman behind the glass actually jumped in surprise.
The blond-haired woman beat on the glass with her fists. “I demand justice! I’m not leaving until I get what’s mine!”
The receptionist, who had recovered from her initial excitement, now looked bored. She yawned and pushed a clipboard through the opening at the bottom. “If you have a complaint, I’ll need you to fill out this paperwork.”
“Paperwork?” The woman shrieked. “I’m past paperwork!” She pulled a handgun out of her purse and held it up in the air.
I was going to beat Mason Deveraux senseless the next time I saw him. Perfectly safe out here, my eye.
The receptionist had already bent over her paperwork, not even noticing the gun. And here I’d been pinning my hopes on the sheriff.
The crazy woman spun around to see who was in the room, and her gaze stopped on me.
I blinked. “Christy?” Miss Dorothy’s niece was standing in the sheriff’s office holding a gun. She must have lost her ever-loving mind.
“Rose?” Christy lowered the gun to her side, out of sight of the receptionist, who got up from her desk and walked to the back, leaving the front window abandoned.
I pointed to the gun. “What are you doing here?”
She shrugged, starting to cry. “I just need someone to listen to me.” She looked like crap. Her hair was stringy, and her face was dripping with sweat.
“Waving a gun around the sheriff’s office doesn’t seem like the best way to go about it.”
“I wanted to get the sheriff’s attention.”
I decided it wasn’t a good idea to point out that I was the only person who had noticed. The little drummer boy was still beating on his leg, his eyes closed as he played through what looked to be a wicked drum solo.
“I heard about Jonah Pruitt getting your aunt’s house.”
She moved toward me, the gun still lowered. “It ain’t right. It just ain’t right.”
“No, it’s not.”
Her face hardened. “Hey. You work for the rat bastard.”
My heart nearly leapt from my chest. “No.” I shook my head. “I don’t really work for him. I’m more contract labor.”
Her face lit up. “Oh, I think it’s more than that. In fact, when I visited the church last week, you two looked downright friendly.” She lifted the gun again and pointed it at me. “I bet you know all about it. You’re coming with me. We’re going to go talk to Reverend Pruitt together.”
“I’m not sure that me talking to Jonah is going to help.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Jonah, huh? That’s a little personal, isn’t it?”
Crap.
“I think this might be a great idea.” She moved next to me, pointing the gun into my side. “Let’s go.” Her eyes were wild, and her pupils were dilated. Christy was high on something.
Shit.
I looked desperately at the window, but the receptionist hadn’t returned yet. The man with the beats was working up to a crescendo. I considered shouting or screaming, but Christy seemed agitated and strung out enough to actually shoot me.
