The Accidental Sheriff (9 page)

The park brought back memories. It wasn’t far from the
Rim County Museum, and Carolina’s grandmother had often brought her and her sisters here on their visits to town.

“How’s this?” Neil indicated a vacant bench beneath an oak tree, its leaves deep in the throes of changing color.

“Can we sit over there in the sun?” She tugged on the sleeves of her sweater. “I forgot my coat.”

“Take mine.” He removed his leather jacket and, before she could protest, draped it over her shoulders.

Warmth from his body instantly engulfed her.

He took her elbow and led her to the bench.

“Won’t you be cold?” she asked, her voice ridiculously high-pitched.

“I’m from New York. Our summers are colder than this.”

“Did you grow up in the city?”

“No. Schenectady.”

Because the bench was small, they sat close together. Above them, birds flitted from branch to branch, occasionally swooping to the ground to peck for food.

If Carolina and Neil were dating or lovers, the setting would have been perfect. He’d probably slip an arm around her, and she’d rest her head in the crook of his neck. Their hands would reach across their laps, fingers entwining—

“I didn’t move to New York until I enrolled in police academy.”

The vision, which was sheer madness anyway, disappeared in a small poof.

“Is that where you met Lynne?”

“No. It was much later.”

“Were you on a case together?”

“I didn’t bring you here to discuss Lynne,” he said more gently than she would have expected.

“I know. I’m stalling.” She toyed with the hem of his jacket. “How bad is the backlash from the articles?”

“Bad.” He didn’t elaborate. “And it will only get worse.”

“Maybe not.”

“Trust me. I’ve done this before.”

“I didn’t leak the story to the newspaper. I swear it.”

“I believe you.”

“You do?” His revelation pleased her.

“You have no reason. If anything, you’d have done the story for the station.”

“Well…” She flashed him a guilty grimace. “I could have done it out of revenge when you refused to cooperate with me.”

“You’re not that type.”

This revelation also pleased her. Whatever differences they had, he trusted her. At least when it came to keeping her promises. “How’s Zoey taking it? Or haven’t you told her yet?”

“I haven’t, and I’m not going to.”

“Are you sure that’s wise? What if she hears about it from one of the kids at school?”

“Kindergarten kids aren’t interested in me.” He tapped the toe of one boot rhythmically on the concrete sidewalk.

“They might be, if the daughter of the sheriff is in their class. Their parents certainly are.”

“I’m
not
telling her.”

Common sense told Carolina to drop the subject, but she ignored it.

“You said the other night that you cared about me. Well, I care about you, too. So, I want you to listen to me.” She touched a hand to her heart. “Because what I say comes from here. Think seriously about telling Zoey.”

“I have.”

“Think harder. If you don’t tell her and she finds out from someone else, she may feel betrayed and angry.”

“She’ll feel that way and a lot more if I tell her.”

The misery in his voice tore at Carolina. “Maybe not. If you tell her first, you’ll have the chance to explain. Prepare her
for when she does hear it. There are professional counselors who can advise you if you’re not sure what to say.”

“She won’t understand.”

“Don’t underestimate her, Neil. She’s a pretty incredible kid. She gets it from her dad.”

He removed his sunglasses and stared straight ahead, seeing something Carolina couldn’t. “I can’t take the chance she’ll hate me.”

For the first time, she realized just how truly scared he was of losing his daughter’s affection. Reaching for his hand was an unconscious act. He didn’t withdraw when her fingers encountered his.

“Who do you love more than anybody else?” he asked, his voice low and empty of emotion.

“My family. My parents and sisters. And my cousin Jake. He’s the older brother I never had.”

“You said his sister died in a riding accident. What if you were the one responsible for that accident, and he had no idea. Would you want him to know?”

“He’d have the right.”

“What if him knowing would destroy your relationship?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to insist Jake would understand and forgive her. Then she remembered what it had been like four years ago, when he’d wrongly blamed his former brother-in-law for Hailey’s death. There had been no understanding and forgiveness in him then. Only later did he gain a new perspective.

“It might take a while, but he’d make peace with me eventually.”

“What if he didn’t? What if he couldn’t stop blaming you for robbing him of the person he loved most?”

That had almost happened. Jake changed only when his anger at his former brother-in-law hurt one of his oldest and dearest friends.

“I’d have to tell him,” Carolina said. “I don’t think I could live with the guilt.”

“You’d tell him just to make your life easier?”

“Not at all! It’s…it’s…” Would she? “No, I’d be taking responsibility for my actions.”

“Believe me. I take full responsibility for what happened to Lynne.” Neil’s features hardened. “And I can live with the guilt. For the rest of my life if I have to. So long as I don’t lose Zoey.”

Carolina could see there was no budging Neil, so she changed tactics. “I can do some digging if you want. Try and find out who leaked the story about you to the newspaper.”

“Forget it.”

“Don’t you want to know?”

“Yes, but I don’t want you involved.”

First the illegal mining and now this. He really was carrying the overprotective act too far. “What harm is there in asking a few questions?”

“More than you know.”

She suddenly got it. “You think the person who’s calling your home and cell phones is the same person who sicced the newspaper on you.”

“I doubt it’s a coincidence.”

He had a point. Maybe the situation was more serious than she’d realized. “Have you reported the phone calls to…?” Who did the sheriff call when he was the victim of a crime?

“I have.” His tone implied he expected few results. “And there’s nothing I can do about the articles unless something libelous is printed about me.”

Regardless of what he said, she was going to contact her sources at the newspaper, two men she’d dated briefly on different occasions, and see what they had to say.

“I’d better get back to the station.” She attempted to withdraw her hand from his.

He held fast. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Everything. Mostly for taking advantage of you that night in front of your house and then telling you we couldn’t be together.”

“You didn’t take advantage of me. I seem to recall it was the other way around.”

“I made the first move.” His thumb kneaded the inside of her palm. “You’re hard to resist, Carolina Sweetwater.”

“You appear to be managing well enough.”

He turned his gaze directly on her. “I’m not.”

Her heart fluttered.

The blue sky overhead, the birds in the tree, the soft breeze playing tag with her hair added to the moment. Kissing him would be a big mistake but she longed to do it anyway.

“Where do we go from here, Neil?” The question left her lips on a whisper.

“I’m not sure.”

Her cell phone rang, disrupting the moment. She removed it from her trousers pocket. “Hello.”

“Hi. Am I speaking to Carolina Sweetwater?”

“Yes.”

“This is Kyle Dunstan, the assistant curator at the Rim County Museum,” a cultured male voice said. “I have good news for you. We’ve located the map you were inquiring about.”

“That’s wonderful.” She felt Neil’s eyes on her. “From what you said, I didn’t think you would.”

“It’s in my office if you want to take a look.”

“Can I come now?” She glanced at the building across the street. “I’m in the area.”

He chuckled. “I’ll page the front desk. Give them a heads-up.”

“Thank you.” She disconnected. “The museum found the map,” she told Neil. “I’m heading over.”

“So am I.”

She couldn’t stop him, and if she tried, he might get an injunction or whatever it was called against her. Better to let him accompany her and “cultivate their connection” as Ward had put it. If she stuck close to Neil, she might learn something useful for her story, the first installment of which was due tomorrow.

“Okay, Sheriff Lovitt.” She jumped up from the bench. “Let’s go.”

While she phoned the station to let them know of her change in plans, he radioed the sheriff’s department.

“Don’t think this means we’re working together,” he said when they were both done.

“Of course not.”

But as they entered the museum and met with the assistant curator, it felt like just that to Carolina.

“Counting the gold strike twenty years ago up on Quail Butte,” Mr. Dunstan explained, “there have been a total of three significant mining operations in a three-mile radius.” He drew an invisible circle on the map with his finger.

Carolina and Neil stood beside the assistant curator, one on each side. The overhead light illuminated even the smallest detail on the map. It also burned into the top of her head and the back of her neck. Another minute of the intense heat and she’d break out in a sweat. Holding Neil’s heavy jacket didn’t help. She shifted it to her other arm, afraid to lay anything down in the cluttered office in case she damaged an artifact.

“Here’s the illegal mining operation.” She tapped the map near the center of the area Mr. Dunstan had indicated.

“More like here.” Neil’s finger lighted a few inches from hers.

“Perhaps they’ve located the mother lode.” Mr. Dunstan’s brows lifted. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Mother lode?” Carolina sputtered the question a scant second ahead of Neil.

“All three mines played out relatively quickly. According to the assayer’s records, old newspaper stories and the journal of a particularly colorful young man from Iowa, there were
rumors of a mother lode running through the ridge. No one’s ever found it.” Mr. Dunstan paused for effect. “Not yet.”

Carolina immediately conjured up a dozen what-ifs. The most significant one: what if Jake’s experts from the Arizona Geological Society reported they’d found gold?

In the meantime, she had a great kicking-off point for her story.

“Do you think whoever’s behind the illegal mining operation knows about the mother lode?” Mr. Dunstan asked.

The firm set of Neil’s mouth led her to believe he was already considering the possibility.

“Wow” was all Carolina could say.

“Would you like to read the journal?” Mr. Dunstan asked. “It’s very interesting and gives an insightful account of life in our budding metropolis during the late 1800s.”

“I’ll have one of my investigators contact you and make arrangements to pick up the journal and the map,” Neil said.

“I’d like to read the journal, too,” Carolina said.

“It may be evidence.” He glared at her over the assistant curator’s head. “Along with the map.”

“Not a problem.” Mr. Dunstan appeared unaware of any friction between his guests. “I can’t release the originals, of course. But I have copies of each. Excuse me a moment, and I’ll instruct my secretary to get them for you.” He left the room, his rubber-soled shoes falling softly on the hardwood floors.

Neil’s boots thumped as he walked to the window then back again to stand beside her.

“I told you, I don’t want you involved,” he said in a harsh whisper.

“I already am.”

“You don’t have to do the story on the mining.” He inched closer.

She used his jacket as a shield. “Yes, I do.”

“No job is important enough to put your safety on the line.”

“This isn’t just about my job. Someone has stolen from my family and vandalized our property.”

“
Attempted
to steal.”

“The distinction is a tiny one.”

“I understand wanting to help your family.”

“I should think so. It’s what dictates your entire life. Your every decision. Your relationship with every person you know.”

He retreated a step and drew himself up.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “That was uncalled-for.”

“Have you considered what might happen if word spreads about a potential gold strike on your family’s ranch?”

“A boom in reservations?” Her tone was more flippant than necessary, but then his had been annoyingly condescending.

“It’s possible. But you might also get trespassers, either curiosity seekers or undesirables itching to help themselves to some of your gold. Unless the mine shaft is secured 24/7, trust me, there will be break-ins.”

“He’s right.” Mr. Dunstan returned, carrying a pair of large manila envelopes and two maps rolled into tubes and fastened with rubber bands. “Especially if there is a mother lode. You’ll notice there are quite a few instances in the journal of fights over claims. If you haven’t already, you might want to check with your attorney.”

“I will.” Carolina hadn’t thought of that.

“He or she can also verify who owns the mineral rights on your land. According to some of the old deeds we have here, the rights didn’t always transfer.”

Carolina’s knees went a little weak.

She needed to call Jake right away. Their grandparents had purchased the ranch over fifty years ago. Who even knew
anymore what the original deed said and what rights Grandpa Walter and Grandma Ida had kept or given up?

N
EIL SAT
at his desk and studied the copy of the map the assistant curator had given him. If it held any secrets or clues, they were hidden to him.

Mary Twohorses entered his office. The distraction wasn’t a welcome one.

“Here’s the latest report of your phone records,” she said.

He didn’t ask if she’d read it already. She had. Nothing much at the station slipped past her.

“Anything of value?”

“No. The numbers, there’s two of them, are from pirated cell phones.”

Neil raised his eyebrows. The person behind the prank calls was going to a lot of trouble to hide his identity.

“And the duration of the calls is too short for the phone company to pinpoint the location.”

“It wouldn’t do any good anyway. You can bet the user is busy right now obtaining another pirated one.”

The question was why? Since taking over as acting sheriff, Neil had done nothing that wasn’t routine.

Mary sat down in the chair across from his desk, automatically swinging her long braid over her shoulder to lie in her lap. From old pictures hanging in the break room, she’d been wearing her hair in the same style since the day she started with the department. The only difference was the amount of gray interspersed in the braid.

“What’s up?” Neil asked. Mary rarely sat down and only if she had something important to say.

“I know you have to leave soon to pick up Zoey from day care, but I thought you should see this first.”

She laid the evening edition of the paper on the desk in front of him, open to the editorial page. There were six letters
to the editor, all of them about Neil. He picked up the paper and sat back in his chair. His blood pressure rose with each letter he read.

Neil was the first to admit he had plenty of faults. Being a bad cop, however, wasn’t one of them, and having the authors of the letters imply as much angered him to no end. Two of the letters even suggested Neil’s appointment be reversed. Not that he’d wanted to be acting sheriff. But there was a huge difference between voluntarily stepping down and being forced to step down.

His gut screamed that there was more going on here. His head, however, cautioned him to proceed slowly. The media onslaught and prank calls were not unlike what he’d gone through during his Internal Affairs investigation after Lynne’s death, and he might be overreacting.

Why hadn’t this come out when he was first hired on as deputy sheriff?

Because whoever was behind the smear campaign hadn’t considered him a threat until now.

He tossed the paper onto his desk.

As much as he hated involving Carolina, maybe he should take her up on her offer and have her check with her sources at the paper. It would also give him a reason to talk to her again. Not that he wanted to start anything, he just wanted to hear her voice. If anyone had asked him last month what part of a woman he found the sexiest, a dozen other attributes would have popped into his head. Since the day he’d responded to the fender bender involving Carolina’s niece, a slightly husky, sultrily sexy voice had jumped to the top of the list.

Hearing her on the radio every morning no longer satisfied his craving.

“The last letter isn’t so bad,” Mary said.

Neil skimmed it. “The person doesn’t defend me as much as sympathize with me for losing my wife.”

“Sheriff Herberger’s contacted the editor and requested they cease publishing letters about you. The paper has a history of supporting him and the department.”

“I wish he hadn’t. People are entitled to express their opinions.” Even if they were ill informed and their opinions half-baked. “It’s one of the rights we, as law enforcement officers, protect and defend.”

“The editor offered to interview you and run the article on the front page.”

“Forget it.” No more interviews. The first one with KPKD had caused him enough trouble.

“You might think it through a little more before turning them down.”

“It doesn’t matter what I say. They’ll slant the article the way they choose in order to sell papers.” He’d been down this road before. The one interview he’d given after Lynne died had been a fiasco. The reporter took everything he’d said and either quoted it out of context or twisted it to make Neil sound like he’d cared more about the glory of bringing down a notorious serial killer than the lives of his wife and child.

“Your decision.” Mary folded her hands neatly in her lap. “It’s just that I’ve worked for this department a long time, under three different sheriffs, including you. In my experience, ignoring problems has never solved them.”

“I’m the acting sheriff. This is a temporary job.”

“It could be permanent. Otis will retire eventually.”

Neil laughed. “I won’t run for the position.”

“Why not? You’d be good at it.”

Because being sheriff would put him and Zoey in the spotlight and elevate the risk to their safety.

“What else?” he asked when Mary still didn’t leave.

“Hank’s in the break room.”

“Okay.” The deputy sheriff’s shift was due to start soon.

“He’s talking to the men about you.”

“I take it he’s not singing my praises.”

“You might want to hear for yourself.” Mary’s message was clear enough.

Whether he wanted the job of acting sheriff or not, he had it. Neil didn’t shirk his responsibilities, and he sure as hell wouldn’t let any of his men get away with talking trash about him.

“See you in the morning.”

“Have a nice evening.” Taking the hint, she stood, a smile on her lips. Mary showing any emotion was a rare sight. He found his own smile lingering after she left.

The break room resembled an efficiency apartment, minus the bed. A kitchenette and dining set occupied one half of the room, a couch, recliner, bookcase and TV the other. Lockers lined the wide hall leading to the room, large enough for each man to stow his personal belongings.

The setup was a far cry from the station where Neil had served back in New York. But as a place to gripe and air disputes, there was no difference. Hank wasn’t happy with Neil and anyone within earshot was hearing about it.

“I figured he was hiding something from the start. Now we know.”

“Bull crap. You figured squat.”

Neil waited by the lockers, listening to Hank bellyache and R.J. jump to his defense.

“Ask Willie if you don’t believe me.”

“You don’t like Neil because he beat your scores.”

It was true. Until Neil came to Payson, Hank had held the marksmanship record for the department.

“He got lucky is all,” Hank argued.

“Three times? That ain’t luck, pal.”

“Yeah? Well, I didn’t kill my wife.”

Neil almost doubled over. Four years, countless accusations, and he still reacted as if slugged in the gut.

“Neither did he.” R.J.’s voice took on an edge. “And I’d stop spouting my head off if I were you. Like it or not, he’s our boss.”

“Not for long,” Hank grumbled.

“Is there a problem in here?” Neil stepped out around the lockers.

“Not at all, Sheriff. Me and R.J. was just shooting the breeze before shift starts.”

Neil sent Hank a look that the other man would have to be dense not to understand. “Well, if you have anything important to discuss, why don’t you do it with me later? Away from the station.”

“I’ll do that,” Hank said evenly.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Neil replied.

“Hey, did someone call a meeting or what?” Willie entered the break room. Like Neil, he was heading off duty.

“Waiting on you,” Neil said. He briefed R.J. and Hank, letting Willie provide input, then left to pick up Zoey from day care.

As usual, the line of vehicles outside the school stretched to the end of the parking lot. The encounter with Hank had put Neil a few minutes behind schedule, and he had to wait longer than usual. Zoey, never patient to begin with, would be giving the monitor in charge a run for her money.

Instead, his daughter was sitting on the low cement wall surrounding the flagpole and got up only when he pulled alongside the curb. Her backpack dragging on the sidewalk, she trudged toward him, eyes glued to the ground in front of her.

A knot of concern formed in the pit of Neil’s stomach. Something had happened. Another fight with her best friend? An unsatisfactory mark on her progress report? Tomorrow’s riding lesson canceled?

Her problems might pale in comparison to the ones Neil
had dealt with all day at work, but to her, they were important and therefore to him, too. By the time she opened the cruiser door and crawled in, he was more than ready to listen.

“What’s wrong, pumpkin pie? You seem sad.”

“Nothing,” she mumbled unconvincingly.

He pulled ahead to the exit and turned right. “You sure?”

No reply.

In fact, she said nothing until they were a few blocks from home. He was just beginning to think she might be sick and that he should take her temperature as soon as they got inside when she said, “Some of the kids at school were talking today.”

Neil’s foot hit the brake and the cruiser came to a stop.

Zoey turned her small face to him and asked in a tiny voice, “Did you shoot my mommy?”

His heart stopped, then started again with a painful thud.

“No, sweetie, I didn’t.” When had the talk gone from him being responsible for Lynne’s death to actually pulling the trigger? “I told you, your mommy died in an accident. A terrible accident.”