Downhome Crazy (17 page)

We fall silent, mulling the possibilities. I don’t see Miz Waddy as cunning and conniving, but I didn’t see her as an embezzler either. Or is she just a plain old thief? I don’t know the legal definition for the crime when you’re cooking the books for someone who hasn’t employed you. Unless allowing her to handle their money for years was the same as the shopkeepers giving her consent. My brain begins to ache so I stop thinking and start listening.

“We’ll get the answers when you get her back,” Dwaine tells Carson. “I’d like to sit in on that interview if you don’t mind.”

“Me?” Carson sounds surprised. “You want me to take over this case?”

Dwaine folds his hands over his ample tummy and gives a big grin. “Now we both know I have a little department and while they’re fine boys, their detecting skills aren’t that great,” he says. “And since the Ohio Bureau of Investigation’s already in on this, I think jurisdiction should remain with you. We country boys can’t hold a candle to you, you know.”

Carson studies Dwaine before he answers. “Since the crime involves a considerable amount of money, and she apparently crossed state lines, I believe jurisdiction probably lies on the federal level. Why don’t you call the FBI and ask them to come in on this? I’ll be glad to turn over my files.”

Dwaine throws his head back and laughs, his tummy shaking like the proverbial bowl of jelly. I am perfectly aware that he’ll never call the FBI.

“Tell you what,” Dwaine says. “I’ll call a meeting for this afternoon with the folks she ‘helped’. If they want to press charges, we’ll talk about this again. If not, well…”

Carson nods and once again a backroom deal has been struck. I might consider it a miscarriage of justice if I didn’t know the folks of Fortuna so well. The shopkeepers will take the loss, which they don’t seem to have missed, in order to keep anyone from knowing Miz Waddy pulled one over on them. And without their cooperation, the case will fall apart. Her own solution, reimbursing people from the sale of what she left behind, sounds like what’s going to happen. And should, if the Peytona family’s good reputation is to live on.

The discussion is interrupted by Dwaine’s cell phone. It becomes quickly obvious the doctor’s returning his call. I listen to the story of the organic guild and homemade bread one more time. Dwaine ends the conversation by telling the doctor to call him in the morning with the results. My respect for the chief goes up a notch. He’s the only person I’ve ever met who can get a doctor to call him rather than the other way around.

I walk out of the police station with my own copy of Miz Waddy’s note and Dwaine’s assurance that he’ll call as soon as the doctor tells him anything. Carson and I split ways. He’s going to have that belt on the SUV checked out before he joins Dwaine and Luther for the business owners’ meeting. I feel a responsibility to do at least some of the work I’m being paid for.

I find a pink missed call slip in my box when I enter the station. Penelope Hayslinger needs me to call her. I count back the days and realize her father is probably coming home today.

He is, although that’s not why she called me. Being around Eugene has convinced her she has a talent for working with troubled youth, and she wants to know if I can help her form an after-school group to keep them on the straight and narrow. Considering that “troubled” in Fortuna means a kid who refuses to accompany his mother to the grocery store or work on the family car with his father, she may have a problem finding members for her group. But never one to discourage a doer of good deeds, I assure her I’ll announce it on the air when she gets everything ready to go.

I ask her one question before she hangs up. “Penelope,” I say, “does your father eat rye bread?”

“Only what Florine drops off,” she says. “She comes by once a week like clockwork with a loaf of rye for Daddy and sourdough for me.”

“Does he have any left?”

“Oh, no. Daddy gobbled it right up this time. Said it was best she’s ever made.”

One down. No, two. Florine bragged on her own rye bread last night. But why hadn’t Eugene been affected?

I am waiting outside the high school when it lets out. I wave when I spot Eugene. He lumbers over and says, “Hey, Miss McDonald.”

I hey him back and pose the big question. “Do you eat the bread your mother makes?”

He stares aghast at me. “No way. I buy that soft white bread. My mom’s bread is so hard you can break a tooth eating toast.”

I am a little surprised when he declines my offer of a ride home. But when he joins the line waiting for the bus to come back for the kids, I see why. A slightly chubby girl with straight black hair, black leather skirt, and a jacket with skull and crossbones on the back gives a little wave as he approaches. True love, I hope, is about to flourish. And no one deserves it more than Eugene.

My own true love is at my house when I get there. The sight of his small carry-on bag sitting by the door saddens me. And disappoints me, too. After all, he promised a night of bliss.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere yet.” He answers before I can ask. I look at the bag.

“Your cat has piss-poor manners,” he says. “Emphasis on the piss.”

“Not my cat,” I correct before adding, “you poor thing.”

“Luckily it was on the outside and only soaked in a little. I scrubbed and sprayed with that disinfectant stuff of yours so I hope I salvaged it.”

“You can put a claim against Miz Waddy’s holdings,” I suggest. “Just add your name to the list.”

Carson confirms what I believed. None of the shopkeepers want to find Miz Waddy, let alone press charges.

“They are some real free thinkers,” he says. “They voted to make her shop into a tourist center since it’s one of the oldest buildings in town. Turns out there are a number of quilters, too. They asked to take the fabric and make it into quilts. I guess it makes sense. Those quilts will be worth a whole lot more than a pile of cloth.”

“You know, I’ve become a free thinker since I moved here, too,” I say. “As in instead of breakfast in bed, I think dinner in bed would be delightful.”

“You do, huh?” Carson yanks off his tie and moves closer. He wraps his arms around my waist and says, “I must agree.”

“Great minds think alike,” I say.

“This great mind thought ahead. A pizza from Antonio’s should be here any minute.”

“I’ve never eaten pizza in bed.”

“Me either.” Carson kisses the tip of my nose. “I’m always up for new experiences, though.”

The doorbell rings before I can inquire as to what other new experiences he has in mind. He tips the delivery guy and shuts the door. True to his word, he carries the pizza straight into the bedroom. I don’t bother heating Miss Priss’s food tonight. She’ll eat it or she won’t, and I’ve got a pizza cooling in the bedroom. And a man heating up.

That pizza is stone cold by the time we finally get around to it. Decadent is the word that pops into my mind as I loll naked against the pillow, nibbling off the slice Carson offers to me. He’s found the partial bottle of wine in the fridge and brought it in to complete the feast. Pepperoni pizza and chardonnay in plastic cups might not be everyone’s extravaganza, but I consider it fabulous.

“You most definitely do not need Mrs. Meriweather’s remedy,” I say. “Quite the opposite, I’d say.”

“Aw shucks,” he says in fake humility, ducking his head, “you say the purtiest things.”

I laugh and he kisses me. And keeps kissing me. Food is forgotten as he demonstrates a few more of his considerable talents until I explode in a most delightful way, screaming out his name.

* * * *

There is no morning delight because Dwaine calls before we wake up. I struggle into consciousness at the sound of Carson’s voice, sleep-roughened yet very much his cop tone. I run my hand down his spine and smile at the way his naked body shivers. He reaches back to grab me and gets something besides the arm I think he was aiming for. I squeak in surprise; amusement colors his voice as he continues to talk to Dwaine. Oh, yes, he can be a very naughty boy.

The alarm rings before Carson hangs up. I lay across him to slam it off. Big mistake. His hand comes down on my butt in a gentle spanking. I bite my lip to keep from squealing again and wiggle free. Carson’s on his back, showing his full fine self, and I leave the room to keep from attacking him.

I let him shower first. Listening to the water run, I realize he’ll be heading back to Columbus soon. There’s still one workday left after all. And having spent most of the week here, I’m pretty sure he needs to tend to things back home over the weekend.

Tears moisten my eyes. I blink hard, hating that simply thinking of being separated can make me cry. We are two mature, independent adults who have something great. That should be enough. That is enough. I’d rather have scattered moments with Carson than everyday togetherness with someone like, say, Luther. I stop the tears long enough to greet him with a kiss and head into the bathroom for my own shower. I cry as the water runs over me. When I’m all cried out, I dress and go find Carson.

To my surprise, my darling is in jeans and a sweater. For the ride, I remind myself. He does have an agency car to turn in and reports to file. Besides, Friday may be casual days at the OBI, too.

“Your cupboard is bare,” he says.

I nod.

“Give me a list and I’ll get the shopping done while you’re at work.”

My spirits lift. Does this mean…?

“I told the boss I’d see him Monday. He said fine. So how do you feel about steak tonight?”

“Sounds great.”

“Baked potato, salad, sex on the side?”

“Or the couch. Can you believe we haven’t done it there?”

“Haven’t done it in your truck either.” He takes my hands and pulls me to him. “Or on the washing machine. Or the bathroom at the police station.”

I giggle. Imagining the logistics of hot monkey love in the tiny unisex bathroom with its corner sink and paneled walls is too much for so early in the day.

“Make a list,” I suggest as I kiss him and pull away. “We’ll see if we can get through it before Sunday night. Now I have to get to work, or I really will be in trouble.”

I have keys in hand and my purse over my shoulder when he hits me with the big news.

“You were right,” he said. “The chief says everything’s under control now, Luther’s gathered all the bad bread, and things should be back to normal. As normal as they get here, anyway.”

I do a little happy dance. A call of my own to confirm things, and I’ve got that exclusive Marc is always pushing for. I am, I decide, as happy as a girl can be at this moment.

And then Carson makes me just a little bit happier. “By the way,” he adds, “the chief said something else. The Rev. Hayslinger has been persuaded by the folks in his support group that his girl needs something to focus on besides just him. So he’d like to know if you’d be willing to let Penelope adopt Miss Priss.”

“Oh, Carson,” I sigh, “I do love you. Make sure you pick up a pre-cooked turkey breast while you’re out so we can send it along to the Hayslingers. We’re not taking any chances that friggin’ cat comes back.”

His laughter rolled out the door behind me. Ah, yes, sometimes life is absolutely perfect.

Even in beautiful Fortuna.

About the Author

Cammie Eicher is a native Buckeye, transplanted from northwestern Ohio to northeastern Kentucky theoretically because of a job change, but actually because she couldn’t take one more Lake Erie winter. A graduate of Ohio’s Bowling Green State University, she edits a weekly newspaper and is a columnist for its sister daily.

Raised in a household with a teacher grandmother, poet father, and teacher/historian mother, Cammie grew up on tales of local and family lore, including learning her ancestors had once been serfs in Transylvania, and that a tombstone in the town cemetery was a drop-off point for local booze during prohibition.

Cammie now lives with a large Sheltie who herds everything, a tabby/Siamese cat who doesn’t take orders from anyone (especially not a dog). She also frequently visits her two grown children in order to leave the lights on and the refrigerator door open, all the time sighing, “Ah, revenge. ”

Cammie loves to talk to her readers and can be found at www.cammieeicher.com.

Also Available from Resplendence Publishing

Dead Man Stalking
by Cammie Eicher

Life is good for Tessa McDonald, news reporter for WFRT in the tiny southern Ohio town of Fortuna, until she inherits an aged, three-legged, flatulent dog named Precious – which brings the ghost of her first lover along – and a dismembered body is discovered in an old warehouse.

When his assignment sends Agent Carson Hayes of the Ohio Bureau of Investigation to Fortuna, he expects to solve the crime and go home. When he joins forces with Tessa to find the murderer, his orderly life rapidly becomes one of semi-organized chaos.

As their instant attraction flames into something more, they find themselves confronted by an angry ex-boyfriend, shot at in the dark, and facing a pistol-wielding serial killer in a sleazy motel, which leads them to one big question – will they survive long enough to decide whether what they feel is love or simply a wonderful case of lust?

Holding Out for a Hero
by Jennifer Johnson

My name is Abigail Benton, and this is what my life has come to: babysitting after school hoodlums during the day and serving up artery-clogging breakfast food at night.

Are my parents getting their money’s worth for my college education? Doubtful.

Still, I’m determined to make the best of doing community service in inner-city Clavania. I’ve struck up a friendship with an intriguing, homeless man named Eli, who smells like melted caramel and spends most of his time sweeping the community center parking lot.

He's the first homeless person I had ever met who smelled so good. Come to think of it, Eli was the first homeless person I had ever met, period.

When tension between rival gangs heats up and I get caught in the middle, Eli is the one who comes to my rescue. I want to help him get off the streets; he just wants me to stay out of trouble and leave him alone.