Chapter 2
Chapter Two
“Wait a minute, sir,” I called after the overwrought father.
He turned around and looked at me with a desperate expression. He’d already unloaded his life story, how he’d only had his four boys under the age of seven every other weekend, and how his ex-wife would blow her top if he was late for the handoff.
“I’ve really got to go,” he insisted.
He’d been a good customer, spending over two hundred dollars on hardware supplies, but his kids had been a nightmare. They’d wrecked Dave Draper’s counter display racks and knocked over the spinner rack, sending LED flashlights, mini toolkits, keychains, and sunglasses scattering across the floor.
I crouched in front of the boys, looking each one in the eye, including the three-year-old. Then I held out my hand, palm up.
“What’s this about?” Fred, their dad, asked.
“The boys know,” I answered as I looked up at him and shook my head. I was eight inches taller than him and was wearing my henley with the sleeves rolled up so my tattoos were on display. I knew he was intimidated, so I kept my voice soft but firm and directed my glance at his boys.
“You’re going to call the powice?” the youngest boy asked, his green eyes huge.
“He won’t,” the oldest boy said, blond hair falling in his face.
I took my cell phone and scrolled through my contacts. “I’m friends with the sheriff. He can be here in ten minutes. Is that what you want?”
“Look, Mr. Wallace, I don’t want any trouble. I can pay for what they took.” Fred was finally catching onto the problem.
“That’s not how this works,” I said. “These boys need to learn a lesson.”
I turned back to them. “If you give me what you stole, I won’t call the sheriff.”
“You gots to give it back,” the middle kid—probably five—said anxiously, looking at his older brother. Then he turned to me. “Kenny don’t know no better. He’s a baby.” He wrapped an arm around his little brother. “Give him back the flashlight, Kenny.”
“Tattletale,” the oldest muttered.
The fourth boy continued to stare at the ground. A wrench was peeking out of his pocket.
I locked eyes with the ringleader. “How many times have you shoplifted?”
He frowned in confusion.
“How many times have you stolen things from a store?”
He clamped his mouth shut, lips turning white. I turned to the younger boys. “What about you? Are you thieves?”
The smallest boy looked confused. “Are you a robber?” I asked.
“No,” he said. He was close to tears.
“Give everything back, boys. Now,” their father ordered, his face red.
He stared at me belligerently with his mouth shut so tightly, his lips were almost as white as his oldest son’s.
I turned to the younger boys. “How about you? Are you robbers?”
The youngest boy still had that wide-eyed expression of horror on his face.
“I said give everything back, boys. Now.” Their father was almost yelling.
One by one, they emptied their pockets into my hand. It took a minute, but eventually, I had a handful of stolen goods.
“There, Mr. Wallace. You have everything. My boys have learned their lesson. Can we go now?”
One of the middle kids kept sneaking glances at his older brother, who looked smug.
Yeah, this wasn’t over.
I stood up and looked at Fred. “That’s not everything. Your oldest still has something.”
“Do not,” the kid snarled.
I crossed my arms. “I’m sorry, Fred. I’m going to call the sheriff.”
Fred groaned. “I need to get them to my ex-wife. It’s past time for the hand-off. If my son said he gave you everything, he gave you everything.”
Was this guy for real? His son just tried to walk out of our store with stolen goods, and he thinks he won’t lie?
My guess was that he’d been shoplifting for a while now.
I got out my phone and dialed Nash River’s personal mobile number, then put it on speaker.
Nash was the sheriff for Jasper Creek and a good guy.
If he picked up, I knew he would play along.
“Rivers here,” he answered.
“Nash? This is Graham Wallace. You’re on speaker. I’m over here at Draper’s Hardware. I’m handling things today because Alice has the flu, and Dave needed to meet with a vendor in Nashville. I have four shoplifters here, ages three to six.”
“I’m seven,” the ringleader said loudly.
“Pardon me, Sheriff. The oldest boy, who’s the ringleader, is seven. Can you explain what happens to shoplifters?”
“I can send a car with a deputy over there in about ten minutes. We can have them arrested and booked.”
“This has gone far enough,” Fred snapped. Now, he was royally pissed.
I agreed with him. He needed to get his oldest boy under control before he had a real problem on his hands.
“Who was that?” Nash asked.
“That was their father, Fred Lockley,” I answered.
“Mr. Lockley. This is serious.” Nash’s voice was all cop. “You need to get your son to cooperate. Graham is within his rights to have deputies come to the store. Is that what you want?”
Fred turned to his son and leaned in close. “Court, you give Mr. Wallace whatever you still have, or I’m going to tell your mother about this. Is that what you want?”
The kid paled, then pulled out a mini tool kit and a tape measure from the back pocket of his jeans. “That’s all, Dad, I promise. Don’t tell Mom, okay?”
I rolled my eyes.
Really?
Fred shoved the items at me. “Now can we go?”
I looked each of the boys in the eye. The two youngest looked properly scared. The oldest was just pissed. The middle one, though—he looked genuinely sorry.
Fred was going to have his hands full, but maybe their mother had more sense. I hoped so.
“Yeah, Fred. You can go,” I sighed. I watched them leave the store.
“Is that it?” Nash asked.
“Yeah. They left.”
“What a clusterfuck. Something tells me if the mom doesn’t get them under control, I’ll be seeing them in a few years.”
“Yeah, that’s my bet. Thanks for the backup, Nash.”
“Anytime.”
He hung up.
I turned to look at the disaster they had left.
Dave Draper, third-generation owner of Draper’s Hardware, was almost done reloading the spinner display. I smiled. Handling whatever was necessary. It was one of the many reasons the town loved him.
I leaned against the counter, watching him set the last pair of sunglasses in place.
“That was quite the show,” Dave said, nodding toward the door.
“Yeah, wasn’t it? I’ve dealt with shoplifters before but can’t say I’ve dealt with three-year-old thieves before.”
“I’ve got a favor to ask,” Dave said with a half-smile.
“Name it.”
“If I ever behave like Fred with my kids, shoot me.”
I chuckled. “I won’t have to. Ruth will take care of it,” I said, referring to his wife.
“True,” Dave nodded, his half-smile turning into a full grin.
“So, is there anything I can do for you?” I asked. “Do you need me to unload what you picked up from Nashville?”
“I’ve got that handled. I’m just here to shoot the shit.”
Hmm. Gossip was more like it. They might say that women gossiped a lot, but they had nothing on the men in this town.
“Whatcha been hearing?” I asked.
“I’ve been hearing you’ve been having a lot of lunches over at Miss Laverne’s. Do I have that right?” He looked down at my stomach. “Have you gained a little weight? Could be you’re indulging in too many baked goods.”
I patted my hard abs. “I might have had to do a few more workouts than normal, but it’s been worth it. Miss Laverne’s new tenant sure knows her way around an oven.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard about her. Joy, right?”
“Are you going to pretend you haven’t met her?” I raised my eyebrow.
Dave chuckled. “Pretty blue eyes. Blonde hair down to her waist. I might have met her. Mom and Ruth had her over for lunch last week. She was still there when I got home.”
“I hope you didn’t look too closely. Ruth might have you sleeping on the couch,” I teased.
“Nope, my wife knows that she’s always number one in my book.”
I gave him an assessing look. “So, what do you know about Joy Magill?” I asked. “Besides the blonde hair and blue eyes, that is.”
“Ruth really likes her. She talked to Roxie Laramie, apparently she’s a hard worker. Better yet, all the animals love her. That’s Roxie’s real yardstick.”
I chuckled. I could totally see that.
“So, how serious are you about her?” Dave asked.
“She’s the first woman who’s really turned my head in years,” I admitted. “But I shouldn’t let her. She’s too nice.”
“What’s wrong with nice? Ruth’s nice. My mom’s nice. Nice is good.”
I squeezed the bridge of my nose. Then opened my eyes and looked directly at the man I respected and trusted more than any other. “You know my story. Do you really think I deserve a Ruth? A Joy?”
“Yes. Yes, I really do.” Dave sighed. “A lot of the men at Onyx have been where you’ve been. If you need to talk to them, talk to them. Hell, Graham, I might never have done time in the service, but I’m always willing to listen.”
“That means a lot, Dave.” And it did. But he was right, he’d never been in the service, and he wouldn’t understand what it meant to lose men under your command. He continued to look at me. I scratched my beard. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe talking to Simon or Roan might help, but I’m okay right now.”
Dave gave me a small smile. “In the meantime, you can keep having lunches over at Miss Laverne’s house. How many times has it been now?”
“Not too often,” I lied.
“Uh-huh,” Dave grinned knowingly. “You’ve been struck down by nice. Don’t feel bad, it’s happened to all of us. Join the club, Graham. Joy reminds me of Ruth. I think you’re going to need all the help you can get.”
“I’m worried about her, though,” I said slowly. “There’s something about her that’s a little off. Most of the time, she’s sunny and cheerful. But Dave, occasionally, she jumps at the smallest sound. They trigger her. It has me worried.”
“What are you saying? Like some of our guys who came back from the service… like you were?”
I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck. “Yeah.”
Dave clapped my shoulder. “Then she couldn’t be in better hands, my friend.”