Tempting The Sheriff. Kathy AltmanЧитать онлайн книгу.
What, then? Move out of Castle Creek?
Her eyes began to sting. She could never do that.
“Fine.” Rubbing her temples, she followed the mayor outside and blinked in the sunlight. “Fulton’s nephew it is,” she said resignedly. “But I’ll continue to take applications for when his leave is up.”
The mayor gave her the side eye as he aimed his key fob at his Prius.
Lily scowled. “Let me guess. You hope to talk him into staying.”
“I’m going to give it a try. You should think about doing the same.”
“Staying in Castle Creek?” Her voice was so dry, the words practically scuffed her throat.
“Giving him a try.” He rummaged in his suit coat pocket and pulled out two lollipops. He pulled the bright red wrapper from the first, popped it into his mouth and pressed the second into her hand. She waited until he’d left the parking lot before opening her fingers.
Root beer.
Her favorite.
Damn him.
* * *
LILY HAD ALREADY switched to decaf by the time her dispatcher came in to start her shift on Monday. Metal clanked as Clarissa deposited her purse in the bottom left drawer of her desk, then came her usual Monday morning sigh, then the click of high heels and the distant clatter of ceramic as she moved into the small break room beside Lily’s office and poured herself a cup of coffee.
When the dispatcher appeared in Lily’s doorway, she had both hands wrapped around a fading Hello Kitty mug. She looked like a 1950s’ starlet with her black-rimmed cat-eye glasses, her I Love Lucy hair pulled back in a high ponytail and her plush body showcased in lime capris, a pink-and-lime-striped top and a sheer silk scarf.
While Lily resisted glancing down at her own tan uniform shirt and mud-colored tie, Clarissa checked out the crumpled sub wrappers in the trash can. “Have you been here all weekend again?” she demanded.
“No.”
“Are you lying to me?”
Lily shrugged.
Clarissa narrowed her eyes and sipped her coffee. “The only reason I let you off the hook about girls’ night out is because you promised you’d do something fun this weekend.”
“I remember.”
“So what’d you do?”
Lily dropped her pen, tugged off her reading glasses and leaned back in her chair. “Drove up to Erie for the day. Wandered around Presque Isle, treated myself to lunch and did a little antiquing.”
“I forget. If someone who’s right-handed looks up and to the right when they’re talking, does that mean they’re lying, or telling the truth?”
Lily shot her dispatcher a wry glance. “If you suspect I’m lying, why would you think I’d answer that question with anything but another lie?”
“Good point.” Clarissa tugged at the hem of her top. “Did you find anything? When you were antiquing?”
“I did. I found a vintage set of salt and pepper shakers that’ll make a great gift for my mom’s birthday. They’re cloisonné. She’ll go wild.”
With a growling sigh, Clarissa plopped down into the chair opposite Lily. “Now I know you’re lying. You hate your mom’s collections.”
“Busted.”
“You do realize that being a workaholic is a pathetic cliché?”
“Maybe that fact will sink in the day you realize that what I do when I’m off shift is my own business.”
“That’s the trouble,” Clarissa said. “You’re never off shift.” She caught Lily’s look. “And yes, you’re right, it’s way past time for me to start mine.” In the doorway, she pivoted. “I get why you’re grumpy. When is the mayor’s ‘personal favor’ supposed to get here?”
Lily tossed her glasses on the desk. “I don’t know when he’ll be here, but I do know JD’s about to earn his vacation all over again. He can take Fulton for the week, get him acclimated to the area before we let him handle calls on his own.”
“Sounds like a plan.” With a wink Clarissa disappeared into the outer office. Two minutes later, she was back. “You should come listen to this voice mail.”
Lily did, and wished she hadn’t. “Fudge,” she said flatly. Poor JD. Felled by a bad batch of macaroni salad.
She crossed her arms and stared out the windows at the tree-rimmed parking lot behind the sheriff’s office. More specifically, she stared at the space where JD’s cruiser would not be parked for the next few days.
Double fudge.
“Looks like you just lost your rookie wrangler.” Clarissa made a sympathetic face and set down her mug. “Tell you what. As soon as this guy shows up, I’ll check him out. If I like what I see, I’ll gladly play tour guide for you. How’s that?”
“If you don’t like what you see, I can always use GPS.”
The deep, unfamiliar voice rumbled along Lily’s spine. She curbed an irritated shudder. Time to make nice. She had no choice. If she didn’t honor the mayor’s request he’d only saddle her with a seventy-year-old retiree once this Fulton guy was gone. Or he’d veto every candidate she put forth. When Rick Whitby was coming off a sugar high, that was just the way he rolled.
So suck it up, Lily Anne.
She swiveled toward the counter that separated the office space from the reception area.
A man wearing jeans and a short-sleeved navy T-shirt that barely concealed a hip holster stood in the doorway, shoulder propped against the jamb, posture as cocky as his voice. Midtwenties, six-one or so, trimmed dark hair and troublemaker eyes. One look and it was as clear-cut as the muscles stretching his shirt. If the man were in motion, he’d be swaggering.
Beside her, Clarissa hummed her approval. Lily could practically hear the drool hitting the floor.
He moved into the office. Yeah. Swagger. He planted his palms on the countertop, locked his arms and leaned in. “Vaughn Fulton reporting for duty, ma’am.” One eyebrow raised, he made a show of glancing around the area behind the counter then turned a grin on Clarissa. “Looks like I’m first in line for the tour. Guess that means I’ll get a good seat.”
Clarissa giggled and Lily heaved an inward groan.
Thanks a whole hell of a lot, Whitby. The seventy-year-old retiree would have been a better bet. She’d wanted someone with intelligence, but this guy seemed to carry all his smarts in his ass.
“THIS IS ONE good deed I’ll gladly take the punishment for,” Clarissa murmured.
Lily kept an eye roll to herself, but her mind was made up. Whoever ran against Whitby next term—even if ninety-year-old Larry Katz threw his fedora in the ring—Lily’s vote was a sure thing.
Kind of like Clarissa, when it came to their new deputy.
Lily snapped out of her inertia and strode over to the counter. After lifting up the section that allowed access to the back, she waved Fulton through. “I expected you an hour ago, Deputy Fulton.”
He hesitated. No doubt he was used to hearing Officer Fulton. Too bad. He was hers now. So to speak.
“My apologies for being late, Sheriff,” he said. “And it’s Vaughn.”
“Deputy Fulton will do.” She gestured at Clarissa, who stepped forward with a wide smile. “Clarissa Dodd, our dispatcher.”
He