Starks' Reality (5 page)

“So?”

Jake glanced sideways. “What?”

“What do you think of the area so far?”

“It’s definitely quiet.”

“Yeah.” Tucker chuckled. “It’s spooky at first, but you get used to it. Is the house okay?”

“It’s great. Thanks for setting that up.”

“No problem. I’m just glad I could do something.”

The conversation hit an uncomfortable snag. One of them would have to say it.

“Look, Ace, I was really sorry to hear about what happened. If you need to talk—”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Jake sighed. “Shit happens.”

“Yeah, I know. If anyone can handle it, you can.” Tucker turned again so that he also faced the water. “I’m glad you decided to come down here. The town’s got a few headaches that need to be taken care of.”

Jake nodded. “I think one of them works for me.”

“Yep, Red Daily’s used to throwing his weight around and getting away with it.
The former chief, Buddy Boudreaux, created that monster. And it’s a good thing Boudreaux left when he did. The old bastard was either going to kill someone or get blown away. He was a whole lot worse than Red.” Tucker lowered his voice. “There’s also a little situation the sheriff’s department is working on.”

“Y
eah? What’s that?”

“They’ve been trying for two years to bust a dope ring that’s importing somewhere in the county. They’ll be calling on you soon, I’m sure. I told Sheriff Evans
and Deputy Sagin they were lucky to have you out here to help.”

Somehow, it didn’t seem like the time to tell Tucker that he didn’t plan to stay in Port Boyer
very long.

“Listen,” Tucker said, “I’m having a party Monday night. Make sure you come by.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Hell, it’s my birthday.”

“Damn, I’d forgotten.”

Tucker spun his wheelchair around and rolled inside. Jake rose and followed.

“Want a beer or something?” Tucker asked.

“No, thanks.”

“You’re not still on the wagon, are you?”

Jake
ambled into the living room. “More or less.” He studied the bookshelf, loaded with mysteries and cop stories. Once the thrill got in your blood, it was hard to shake.

Tucker sto
pped in the middle of the room and popped the top on a soft drink. “You’ll come out on Monday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Good. Party starts at seven.”

Jake glanced around the room. “I need to get to the office. I’ll see you Monday.”

“Come by whenever you can. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

“Yeah.” Jake slapped Tucker’s shoulder,
and then walked to the front door. “See you later.”

“Watch your ass,” Tucker said.

“Better than watching yours,” Jake answered. He glanced back from the doorway and found his friend grinning.

Maybe he’d return for a boat ride before Monday. Seeing Tucker wasn’t as tough as he’d thought it would be.

~~**~~**~~

“Hello?” The door to Coop’s Place stood open, but Jake found the main room empty. He made his way toward the back. “Hello? Anyone here?”

He reached for the kitchen door as it swung open and nearly hit him. Heather Cooper skidded to a stop, juggling a plastic pan filled with glasses.

“Jeez! You scared me half to death.” She glowered at him,
and then turned toward the bar.

Jake followed her and perched on the edge of a barstool. “Is Coop around?”

“No.” She emptied the pan without looking up, stacking the glasses under the bar. “Why?”

“I just called the hospital. Ed Taylor’s in a coma.”

CHAPTER 3

“A
coma
?” Her gaze met his for a moment, but she looked away as she continued. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“At least three other people in town besides the Taylors are sick,” he said. “They all ate here last night.”

That got her attention. She stared at him, her eyes wide. “Who?”

Jake withdrew the
small notebook from his shirt pocket and flipped it open. “Evelyn Lujan, and Bob and Rita Seers.”

She pushed the heel of her right hand to her forehead. “They all had the oysters.”

“And—”

Her
gaze jumped to his.

“—the Department of Health is sending
over an inspector today.”

“Shit.” She glanced at him and reddened, as if she hadn’t expected to speak the word aloud,
and turned slowly toward the empty room.

“Sounds like everything points to the oysters,” he said. “Once the inspector checks it out
, I’m sure—”

She spun around and scowled. “Don’t you understand? If word gets out that we
’ve poisoned people, business will drop off to nothing. That’s if the inspector doesn’t close us down first. All I need is a week or two without income and we won’t make the loan payment. And then—” She broke off suddenly and returned to stacking glasses. The way she threw things around, Jake was sure something would break.

She stopped and glared at him with her golden eyes. “Is there something else?”

“No. I…just thought there might be something I could do to help.”

Funny. How long
had it been since a woman had left him stumbling over words?

“I don’t need
your
help,” she said.

He stood. “Ms. Cooper, this tough guy routine doesn’t suit you. Is there some reason for it, or do you just like insulting
me?”

They locked eyes as if meeting in the middle of a wrestling ring. Then her voice and gaze both softened. “No, I don’t like insulting anyone.”

He nodded. “Good. Then maybe we can be friends.” Picking up his hat from the neighboring barstool, Jake headed toward the door. “I’ll be back when the inspector gets here.”

~~**~~**~~

The inspector arrived shortly after three in the afternoon. Heather had served four ham and cheese sandwiches and a BLT to tourists for lunch. The only two locals who had shown up—Coop’s fishing buddies—had stayed just long enough to verify the rumors already making the rounds.

The inspector was clean-shaven and average looking. As Starks walked in behind him, a good four inches taller, the contrast between the two men made the chief’s blue eyes and broad shoulders look even more incredible.

Friends.
Right
. She reminded herself that she wouldn’t be
friends
with him if he were the last man alive. He was the chief of police for Port Boyer, for heaven’s sake. That was one step short of Lucifer himself, no matter how many cups of coffee he paid for.

“Ms. Cooper, this is Dennis Yarro from the Texas Department of Health,” Starks said. “This is Heather Cooper. Her father owns the place.”

She shook hands with the inspector.

“Is your father here?” he asked.

“No, he’s out. But I’m the manager.”

“
I understand you kept the shells from the oysters served last night.”

“Yes.”

“Good. My assistant will get those. We’ll start the inspection immediately and be out of here as soon as possible.”

Heather
took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Her heart raced and fear tightened her stomach. She walked to the front window and flipped the sign to
closed
. Then she returned to the edge of the bar and motioned toward the kitchen. “It’s all yours.” The best thing she could do was stay out of the way.

She jumped when Starks touched her shoulder as he passed her.

Two hours later, the oyster shells had been loaded into a huge cooler in Yarro’s truck, and Yarro stood in front of her, signing an inspection form. He tore off a copy and gave it to her, and had her sign the bottom of another form.

“This is a chain of custody for the shells,” he explained.

Heather returned his clipboard. She glanced at the copy of the inspection.

“I only found minor infractions,” Yarro said. “A couple of cracked plates
, and bearings starting to go bad on a cooler motor.” He looked at her apologetically. “But because of the illnesses, you’ll have to stop serving food until we get test results.”

Heather worked to steel herself against a wave of dizziness. “Do we have to shut down the kitchen? Can’t we just stop serving oysters?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Cooper, but I have to follow the law. We don’t know for sure that the oysters are the problem, and with eight reports of illness—”

“Eight?” She glanced at Starks.

He nodded. “Three more called in this afternoon.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Yarro said. He signed another piece of paper and handed it to her. “This is just for food service. You can keep the bar open.”

Heather nodded as she folded the closure order in half, trying not to appear ungrateful as fear churned into nausea.

“I’m sorry,” Yarro said. He turned and left with Starks behind him.

Heather took long, deep breaths as she watched Starks, Yarro, and the assistant inspector talk in the parking lot. After a few minutes, they shook hands. Yarro and the other man climbed into the government truck and drove away.

Starks returned and stood across the bar from her. “You okay?”

She nodded, embarrassed by welling tears.

The chief either didn’t notice, or pretended
not to. “They promised to rush the tests through. You should hear something soon.”

She nodded again.

As soon as he left, Heather hurried to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. It wouldn’t help to give into despair; she’d only feel worse. After patting her face dry, she returned to the bar and set to work sweeping the floor, trying to stay focused on mindless tasks in order not to think about the future.

Skeet showed up a little early. The screen door slammed behind him and he nodded in her direction as he headed for the kitchen.

“Skeet, wait.”

He
stopped.

“We’ve been shut down by the Health Department.”

“How come?”

“Eight people got sick off the oysters last night.”

Skeet put his hands on his hips and muttered things under his breath that she was sure she didn’t want to hear.

The front door opened and Tran Dinh Duc walked in, followed by Huey, his oldest son.

The older man smiled at her. “I have four sacks for you,” he said.

“Didn’t Coop talk to you?”

“I have not spoken to your father,” he said, carefully pronouncing each word. “What did he wish to say?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Duc, but we can’t buy any more oysters for a while.”

The man’s smile vanished. “Why not?”

“The Health Department closed the kitchen. Eight people got sick last night, and all of them had oysters.”

Panic widened his eyes. “I give you good oysters. Not bad, only good. No one ever gets sick on my oysters. No one!”

Huey took his father’s arm and pulled him gently backwards.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Duc,” Heather said. “I’m really sorry.”

Even though it was probably his fault her father’s business would suffer, her heart went out to Tran. His entire livelihood was the fish and oysters he provided to restaurants along the coast.
How would he care for his children if that livelihood vanished?

Tears fell from the man’s eyes as he allowed his son to guide him from the bar. Heather glanced back at Skeet, who shook his head in apparent disgust.

“You need me?” he asked.

Skeet refused to serve liquor or work the register. Heather had never questioned it, assuming his reluctanc
e stemmed from his time in prison.

“
I guess not,” she said. “I’ll call you when we’re ready to open the kitchen again.”

Without further conversation, he left.

Alone in the room, sorrow fell on her like a curtain on a tragic play. No matter how hard she tried, the future she’d dreamed of slid farther and farther away. She couldn’t just sit around and act like nothing was wrong.

After bolting the front door, Heather rushed out the back, locked the door, and ran down the stairs
. She needed to escape, even if just for a few minutes.

E
asily finding the path hidden in waist-high grass, she ran. Wind rushed past her ears, and her tennis shoes thumped on hardened mud. She raised her face to the sun’s soothing warmth.

A
familiar dog appeared on the trail—the mutt with half a tail that Heather sometimes snuck treats out to. She slowed to a walk.

“Hey there, boy, I haven’t seen you in a few days.” The dog turned
and trotted at her side. “I thought you’d run away.”

Grass abruptly gave way to sand and ramped down several feet to the
silty slice of empty beach where Heather often found comfort when things weren’t going right.

But it wasn’t empty.
She skidded to a halt halfway down the slope.

Starks stood
at the edge of the water facing the Gulf, his feet wide and his arms at his sides. The white cotton shirt he wore fluttered behind him in the breeze like a slack sail.

Before she could decide what to do, he spun around and caught her in a stern gaze.
Then he smiled and started toward her.

Heather continued
forward, wishing she hadn’t stopped. She didn’t like the idea that he could affect her decision about anything, even something as simple as where to walk.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I guess.”

“Good.” He turned toward the water
and sat, resting his arms on his raised knees. “This is nice.”

“Yes,” she said, remaining on her feet.

“What is it that looks like land out there?”

“Barrier islands.”

“How far out are they?”

“
Four or five miles.”

“Kind of keeps this area sheltered, huh?”

Not wanting to appear uneasy because of him, Heather sat and crossed her legs. The dog dropped down between them and pushed its head into Starks’ arm. He scratched the dog’s ears.

“Have you
lived here long?” he asked.

It was none of his business and she started to tell him so, but something about sitting on the secluded beach in the
soft breeze and Texas sunshine suspended all the rules. She didn’t have to dislike him for the moment. “Most of my life,” she said.

“It must have been nice growing up here.”

She swallowed hard. “Sometimes.”

They sat quietly as a gull flew over, screeching and checking for food. Disappointed, the bird moved inland.

“I looked up your file,” he said.

Heather glanced at him. “Why?”

Starks shrugged as he continued to study the horizon. “I guess I just had to know why you don’t like cops.”

Great
. No telling what Red and Boudreaux had written.

“What happened?”

“You saw the file.”

“Yes,” he said, “but it’
s obviously bullshit.”

“Oh? Don’t you think that, because I’m just a lowly, desperate female, I’d want to have sex with a couple of fat, redneck cops?”

He grinned at her. “I just don’t see it.”

Something about his comment sent
heat rushing through her cheeks and neck. Heather looked away so maybe he wouldn’t notice.

“A little over a year ago,” she said, “just before I left for the fall semester, Coop got drunk while he was out fishing. He managed to get his boat to the dock, but something went wrong.

“Huey, Tran’s oldest son, ran up to the bar to get me. When I got to the dock, Tran had a bloody nose and a black eye, Coop was on the ground, handcuffed and unconscious, and Red and Chief Boudreaux were laughing about the whole thing.”

She remembered the horror of finding her father lying on the dock
as if it had just happened.

“Coop was hurt. I begged Boudreaux to let him loose so I could help him, but he just laughed. I got so mad, I yelled at him. He grabbed me and said I better shut up or I’d have to wait in the squad car with him. When he started groping me, I kicked him. He slapped me hard enough to knock me down. I swear, if I could have—”

Heather stopped, surprised that she shook with renewed rage. She took a deep breath and started again.

“When the ambulance got there, they took Coop to the hospital. He had two broken ribs, and Tran had a broken nose.