Chapter 22 Avery
AVERY
“Sheriff Crowe,” I said. “I didn’t recognize you at first.”
She looked like a regular person enjoying the nice weather, and my brain struggled to connect her with the uniformed officer who’d taken my statement the day I’d arrived in Blackwell Hollow.
“It’s the hair,” she said. “I keep it in a braid when I work so it doesn’t get in the way.”
I could see the creases from her braid and wondered if she wore her hair that way when she hiked too, if she’d unfastened it when she finished. It was what I would have done. The only thing that felt better than taking your hair down was taking off your bra.
Well, that and Beck’s magic fingers in my pussy.
But Sheriff Crowe definitely didn’t need to know that.
“It looks nice both ways,” I said.
“Thanks.” She glanced at the empty chair across from me. “Mind if I join you?”
“Um… sure.” I hadn’t planned on company but I didn’t want to be rude, especially when it seemed like she was just being friendly.
She hung her backpack over the back of the empty chair and took a seat.
“Here we are,” Jared said, appearing next to the table with my sandwich. “Hey, Raina! Didn’t see you come in.”
She smiled at him. “I’m sneaky that way.”
He laughed. “How’d the trails look this morning?”
“Finally clear of snow.”
He nodded. “What can I get you?”
Sheriff Crowe — Raina — looked at my sandwich. “I’ll have whatever Ms. Hart is having.”
“You got it.” Jared looked at me. “Enjoy!”
“Thanks.” I waited for him to leave, then said, “He’s… super friendly.”
Sheriff Crowe surprised me by laughing. “Always. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him anything but happy.”
“Lucky guy.” I plucked a sweet potato fry off my plate and popped it in my mouth. It was perfect: crispy on the outside and warm and fluffy on the inside.
She nodded. “How’s it going? I assume the last few days in Blackwell Hollow have been better than your first?”
“No more dead bodies at least.”
“That’s an improvement.” Her tone was lighthearted but I wasn’t fooled. Her eyes were sharp, her posture almost tense, like she wasn’t as relaxed as she wanted to seem.
“Definitely.” I took a drink of my iced tea, then widened my eyes in surprise when I caught a hint of passion fruit. “Although I was involved in an iced-coffee incident at the Common Ground.”
She barked out a laugh. “Let me guess… it involved Cleopatra.”
“You must be psychic.”
She shook her head with a sigh. “Lyle and Rosie act like they’re enemies but the truth is they’d die of boredom without each other.”
I laughed. “It seems like they’re on the same side though.”
“Same side?”
“Of the Hearthstone development. Rosie was talking about a rally she put together, and Lyle came in with flyers for the same kind of rally on the same day.”
Jared reappeared with an iced tea and Sheriff Crowe’s sandwich and set both in front of her. “Balsamic sauce on the side.”
“You’re the best,” Sheriff Crowe said.
Jared beamed, his teeth so white he could have been in a toothpaste commercial. “Enjoy!”
“They like to needle each other.” Sheriff Crowe picked up her sandwich with one hand and her butter knife with the other, using the knife to transfer a small amount of balsamic sauce from its little silver dish onto the corner of her sandwich, then took a bite.
She closed her eyes briefly and nodded with satisfaction. “Rosie and Lyle, I mean.”
“I got that impression.” I hesitated, trying to decide how much to say. “Do you think Harold Pembroke’s death had something to do with it?”
Sheriff Crowe, still chewing, lifted her eyebrows in question.
“The Hearthstone development,” I said. “The guys told me Harold was advocating against it on the town council.”
“It’s occurred to me.” She took a drink of her iced tea. “Although I couldn’t comment on an ongoing investigation.”
“But the development is a big deal right?” I took a bite of my sandwich and realized it was good.
Really good.
She nodded slowly, like she was trying to decide how much to say. “Safe to say not everyone wants a gated community on the lake.”
“Why would anyone want that?” I’d been in town for less than a week and even I could see that a luxury community on the lake would forever change the dynamic in Blackwell Hollow.
Sheriff Crowe shrugged. “Big expensive houses in town raise everybody’s property values. They bring more customers to local businesses, more tax money into the town coffers.”
“But that stuff is… is…?”
“Is what?” she asked, carefully spreading balsamic sauce on another piece of her sandwich.
“That’s just money.”
“People need money,” she said. “It’s a fine balance.”
“I know. It’s what I do actually.”
The conversation was coming easier now, almost like we were just two friends eating and catching up.
“Yeah? And what’s that?” she asked.
I finished chewing before I answered. “I’m a project coordinator for an urban-planning nonprofit in the city.”
“Sounds fancy.”
I laughed. “It’s not. We’re just a liaison between developers and residents.”
“A liaison?”
“We work with both sides, try to get them to compromise so new development can move forward without negatively impacting the existing residents.”
“Sounds like we could use you here,” she said.
Not going to lie: I’d thought the same thing.
But organizations like the Livable Cities Initiative where I worked didn’t usually exist in small towns.
There wasn’t enough development to make them necessary, and negotiation with developers was usually left to smaller government bodies, like Blackwell Hollow’s town council, who were supposed to represent the interests of the constituents that elected them.
“It does seem like a hot-button issue, which is why I wondered if Harold’s murder might have something to do with it.” I hurried to continue. “I mean, I know you can’t comment on the investigation or anything, but do you think it’s possible?”
“Anything is possible, especially here.”
“Why especially here?” I asked. “It’s such a cute, unassuming town.”
She took a drink of her iced tea and I was surprised to realize she’d already eaten half her sandwich. I’d been so engrossed in our conversation that I’d hardly touched my food. Then again, this was probably all in a day’s work for Sheriff Crowe.
“You know what they say, don’t judge a book by its cover.”
“You’re the second person to say that to me here,” I said, remembering Beck’s lighthearted words in the bakery. “But I assume murder isn’t an everyday occurrence.”
“I’m just saying, anytime you put a bunch of people together in close proximity, you’re going to have friction. And Blackwell Hollow has a lot of different kinds of people, people who are invested in the town in their own ways, who have their own ideas about what’s best for it, for us.”
“Who would have a motive for killing Harold Pembroke?” I asked. “Although I guess if he was against the development, we should consider the people at Hearthstone.”
“We?” Sheriff Crowe did not look amused.
“I mean, I’m not saying we’d be partners or anything— ”
“We are not partners.”
“Right, like I said, we won’t be partners, but that doesn’t mean I can’t shake some bushes, see what falls out.”
“Shake some bushes?”
“Ask around,” I said. “See what I can find out. I’m good at talking to people. It’s what I do.”
Sheriff Crowe put down her sandwich, her expression stern. “Listen, Miss Hart— ”
“Avery.”
She sighed. “Listen Avery, this isn’t some murder mystery on TV. A man is dead. I think you need to leave the detective work to me.”
“I’m not going to do any detective work. I’ll just— ”
“Let me rephrase.” Okay, now she looked a little scary. “Leave the detective work to me. Tell me you get it.”
“I get it. But I’m new here. I need to get to know my neighbors.” I flashed her my friendliest urban-housing-development-liaison smile. “Nothing wrong with that right?”