Chapter 5 Cosi
Cosi
Somewhere beneath a scattered pile of deputy reports, a handful of manila folders and yellow carbon copies of traffic tickets, was my desk. Today, I needed to find it.
Mondays were reserved for putting my office to rights.
I hated Mondays.
If I’d known that becoming the sheriff would mean so much paperwork, I might have withdrawn my name from the election three years ago.
There were folks in Dalton County who thought I was too young for this job.
That I didn’t have enough experience. Most of those individuals had been good friends with my predecessor and former boss, so when I’d won the election in a landslide, their only recourse was complaining about me over coffee at the Grizzly Café.
Maybe those complaints would mean the outcome of the next election would be different, but for the most part, people seemed satisfied with the job I was doing. If I was lucky, I’d get reelected for another term and keep my job for a while longer.
If not, well . . . I wasn’t leaving Dalton. Mom and I had moved here when I was ten, after my dad had died, and other than the years when I’d left to go to the academy, this was home.
If another sheriff was elected in my place, maybe he’d take pity on me and let me stay on as a deputy or his undersheriff. Or maybe I’d have to find a new career. That was a worry for another Monday.
At the moment, I had plenty to occupy my mind.
I started with the traffic tickets, plucking the canary-yellow sheets from the mess, scanning them as I placed them in a stack for my assistant, Pamela, to process later.
As the county sheriff, my primary focus was overseeing my deputies and the other staff members in the department.
It meant I was behind this desk more often than I’d like, but it also meant I set the bar for standards.
Dalton County was a safe place to live, and I liked that I had a hand in keeping it that way.
“Cosi.” Pamela knocked on my door as she breezed into my office with another manila folder in her hand.
Her pumps clicked on the linoleum floor. Her thick, brownish-red wool skirt swished around her ankles, and her cream turtleneck sweater came all the way up to her chin. It was almost exactly the same shade as her pearl necklace and matching earrings.
“Here are the applications for the deputy position,” she said. “I reviewed and added a few notes. Let me know who you’d like to meet with and I’ll get them scheduled for an interview.”
“Thanks.” I took the folder, adding it to the pile on my desk. Then I gave her the speeding tickets. “These can get filed in pending payments.”
“Will do.” She tucked the stack under her arm. “Looks like you’ve got a mess here.”
I chuckled at the disapproval in her gaze. “I promise it’ll be clean before the end of the day.”
“Good. Can I get you another cup of coffee?”
“No, I’ll get it. But thank you.”
No matter how many times I told her I could walk my ass to the break room and refill my own mug from the pot, she always offered. And I always declined.
“Your hair looks nice, Pam.”
Her short gray curls were tighter than they had been on Friday.
“Thanks. Got a fresh perm this weekend.” She smiled, lifting a hand to touch a strand beneath her ear. Then she swept out of my office, leaving me to get back to work.
Pamela had been the department secretary for twenty years. Lately, she’d been making a few offhand comments about retirement. I wasn’t sure I could function without her, so I pretended like I didn’t hear those comments.
She was irreplaceable. Calm and steady. A regular voice of reason. Everyone, including me, feared her temper enough that when we were in the building, we were on our best behavior. She wasn’t afraid to smack a guy on the back of his head if he cursed in her presence.
I flipped open the folder of applications, scanning the names and Pamela’s notes.
She thought four of the seven would be worth an interview. I agreed.
I was just about to go refill my coffee and give her the applications, when she appeared in my doorway again.
“There’s someone here to see you.”
“Who?” I asked, shuffling the mess on my desk into a single pile to sort later.
“Ilsa Poe.”
My hands stilled.
I hadn’t seen Ilsa since last Monday when I’d stopped by the school to discuss Spencer’s test. Either she was here to talk about the person she’d thought was sneaking around her house.
Or my son had done something stupid. But if it was Spencer, wouldn’t she have called me into her office, not visited mine?
“Send her in, please.”
Pamela nodded, and as she left to get Ilsa, I ran a hand through my hair, combing it away from my face before I smoothed my mustache, making sure there weren’t any toast crumbs from breakfast left behind.
“Right this way.” Pamela stopped outside my doorway, arm extended as she waved Ilsa into my office.
“Thanks, Pam.” I stood as Ilsa walked inside and hell if my knees didn’t wobble.
She really was stunning. A flawless face with exactly the right amount of makeup to accentuate her pretty features—the delicate nose sprinkled with freckles and a pretty, heart-shaped mouth. A lean, lithe body that moved with a fluid grace, like she floated more than walked. And those eyes.
Damn, did she ever have beautiful eyes. Chocolate brown with striations of gold and cinnamon that made her irises sparkle.
In another life, I would have given Ilsa my best smile. Dusted off some of the charm I hadn’t used in ages and asked her out for a date. Taken her out to dinner, then dancing at the bar.
In another life, I would have followed this woman around like a lost puppy until she’d given me the time of day.
It had been a long, long time since a woman had intrigued me like Ilsa.
Except this wasn’t another life, this was reality. I was a single father, and Spencer was my priority. I couldn’t afford to be intrigued, especially by his teacher.
“Have a seat.” I nodded to the chair opposite my desk as I sank into my own.
Pamela closed the door before I could tell her to leave it open, and as Ilsa took the chair, crossing one long leg over the other, the room became too small.
She was dressed up today, probably for school. Her gray button-down shirt was tucked into a fitted tweed skirt that hugged her hips and thighs, the hem stopping just below her knees. She had on a pair of leather boots that covered her calves. Her coat was pressed wool, black with a wide collar.
This woman was too fancy for Dalton. Not that she was dressed much differently than the other female teachers, but the way she carried herself, the poise and elegance, was not something I saw often around this small town.
Ilsa glanced around the office, taking in the framed documents and photos hung on the wall to my left. The oversized map of the county to my right. The potted snake plant in the corner.
None of it was my doing. About a year after I’d started as sheriff and moved my things from a desk in the bullpen in here, I’d come to work and found the office decorated. Pamela had told me she was sick of staring at empty white walls.
“Not teaching today?” I asked.
“I am. This is my free period.”
“What can I do for you?”
She clasped her hands on her lap. “I’d like to know more about the investigation into my father’s death.”
Definitely not what I’d expected her to say. “Has no one told you about it?”
“The police officer in Phoenix who came to my house to tell me that Dad died shared the information he was given. It wasn’t much.”
“What do you know? I’ll fill in the gaps.”
“Dad went out fishing this fall and must have tripped and hit his head. He fell into the lake and drowned.”
“That’s right.”
We stared at each other for a long moment, the silence in the room getting heavy. Her perfume filled the space, vanilla and citrus. Sweet and fresh, like those orange ice cream bars I got from time to time in the summer.
“There have to be more details,” she said.
There were plenty. There were photographs of Ike’s waterlogged body.
Gray, wrinkled skin and blue lips. A gash along the side of his head that would have required at least ten stitches.
After his body had spent so many hours in the water, his skin had softened and the wound had split open, all the way to his skull.
Details I would not be sharing with his daughter.
“There’s not much more to report,” I said.
“Did anyone see him fishing? Was he alone? I’ll take the smallest of details. Please.”
Was this about closure? About curiosity? “Why?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Because.”
I frowned. “My mother does that. Why do women think because is a full-fledged explanation?”
A faint smile crossed her mouth.
A full version probably would have stopped my heart. Which meant it was time for Ilsa to leave.
“I’m sorry. But there’s really nothing—”
“I don’t think it was an accident,” she blurted.
My gaze locked with hers. “It was.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I drawled. “I oversaw the investigation myself.”
“But what if you missed something?”
I leaned forward, elbows on my desk. “Are you questioning my ability to do my job?”
“Did you not march into my classroom last week and do the same?”
Well, fuck. “Fair point,” I muttered.
“I just . . . I would appreciate any other information you can share about the day my father died.”
I leaned back in my chair and studied her for a long moment.
She pinned her shoulders and lifted her chin. She was a picture of steely determination. It only made her that much more attractive.
No matter how many times she asked, I wasn’t giving her the gory details. But maybe all she needed was to hear the report from someone who could answer questions.