Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
WEST
Don’t be late. We haven’t seen you in weeks.
I tried to ignore the twinge of annoyance at my father’s text.
It was so typical of him. First, the command performance.
Of course, he’d assume I’d be there just because he said so.
Also, on brand for my father: using my mother as the excuse, because God forbid, he takes full accountability for anything.
And no communication would be complete without the sprinkle of guilt at the end, the seasoning on the meat of his demand.
We haven’t seen you in weeks.
Bullshit. I’d seen my mother just a few days ago when she’d stopped in to drop off cookies at the station. Everyone loved my mother, the sweet, slightly dotty mayor’s wife. At least that’s what she wanted everyone to think.
She showed up with baked goods, smiled, batted her eyelashes, patted my head, and left, vacuuming up every bit of gossip she could along the way.
She’d always been the perfect partner for my father—genuinely beloved by the town, and sharp enough to use her information network to her—and his—advantage.
She and I would never see eye to eye when it came to my father’s role as mayor, but I could live with that. I loved my mom, and in her own way, she’d always been in my corner. To her, I wasn’t a tool to be used.
My father and I would have had a better relationship if I’d let him steer me through life the way he’d wanted to, but unlike my mother, my father had his own plans, and no one, especially not his wayward son, was going to get in his way.
I thought about turning down his summons. Tempting, but I had a feeling this dinner was less about filial duty and more about my father going after something he wanted. If I were right, I’d be better off if I knew what that was.
Now that Prentice Sawyer was dead, I had a chance to clean up Sawyers Bend once and for all.
At the moment, the main force standing in my way was my father.
As the mayor of Sawyers Bend, he was the most visible of the good ol’ boys’ club that ran the town.
His more powerful and wealthy compatriots came to him when they needed the rules bent, or town policy ‘adjusted.’ My father gave them what they needed, and in return, they cut him in on ‘investments’ profitable enough to ease any ethical dilemmas he might have had.
The police chief before me had been in on the game.
I could only assume that my father and Prentice thought I’d happily take his place.
They should have known when I’d refused to go to law school and follow my grandfather’s footsteps into a judgeship that I wasn’t going to play along.
I didn’t want to be a lawyer, a judge, or the mayor—the only three professions acceptable for Garfield men.
I wanted to be a cop—a respected profession to the rest of the world—but in my father’s eyes, I was a fuck-up.
My father’s perks from kissing Prentice’s ass had included tuition for Laurel Country Day, the same private school the Sawyer kids went to, but it hadn’t created the distance from my fellow citizens my father had hoped.
I’d grown up in the big brick house just off Main Street that they still lived in, and when I wasn’t in school, I was on my bike, riding around town to the playground or the baseball fields, to get an ice cream or a piece of pie at Maisie’s place.
By the time I was a teenager, I knew everyone in Sawyers Bend.
Not as the son of the mayor, but as me. And unlike my father, pretty much everyone liked me.
Not a huge surprise. I’m a likable guy, as long as you aren’t breaking the law.
I’d always wanted to be a cop. It was the first Halloween costume I’d chosen for myself, complete with a shiny badge and a plastic gun on my hip. It wasn’t until later that I understood that what I wanted was justice.
Just because Prentice Sawyer owned most of the town didn’t mean it was okay for him to talk the police chief into enforcing parking and loitering laws to target those they felt were undesirable, or to look the other way when one of their cronies broke the law.
Sawyers Bend was filled with mostly good people who were just trying to make a living and enjoy life with their families.
It was my job to make sure they could do that without bending to the wills of the men who wanted to run my town like their own personal fiefdom.
I still didn’t know why they didn’t get rid of me the first time we’d butted heads.
Prentice had demanded that I serve an eviction notice to a woman who was behind on her rent.
She had two young kids and had recently lost her husband, but that wasn’t of concern to Prentice.
He had plans for the house she was renting, and he wanted her out. Immediately.
I’ll never forget the look on his face when I’d informed him it was the County Sheriff, not Sawyers Bend Chief of Police, who executed evictions, and if he wanted his tenant out, he’d have to initiate the legal process of eviction, which would take time.
His face had turned scarlet with rage, and he’d thrown me out of his office at Heartstone Manor, swearing he’d have my badge.
I didn’t care. I wanted to stay in Sawyers Bend, but not at that price, and I could be a cop anywhere.
I’d never asked, but I suspected Ford had played a role in keeping me on the job.
Here and there, problems were sometimes quietly solved, actions taken to subvert Prentice’s goals that only someone on the inside could have pulled off.
Like the newly widowed mother behind on her rent.
The pastor at her church had helped her with childcare and a deposit on a new apartment, thanks to an anonymous grant.
I couldn’t prove it was Ford, but my gut was sure.
Trying to level the playing field in Sawyers Bend had been an uphill battle—if the hill was the size of Mt.
Everest. With Prentice gone, I had the chance to make real progress.
In the time since Prentice’s murder, my father had made it clear he didn’t see an opportunity for change, but a power vacuum he badly wanted to fill.
That he’d never have a fraction of Prentice’s resources wasn’t going to stop him.
As long as he could get more than what he had.
For men like my father, there was never enough more .
If I wanted to stay ahead of him, I had to know what he was up to.
I’ll see you at 6:30.
I hit send on my text and tried to push the upcoming dinner out of my mind. At the least, I’d get a good meal out of it. My mom was a great cook. I stayed at my desk and handled paperwork until 6 p.m., then swung by the florist for a bouquet of flowers for my mom.
My father met me at the door, a cut crystal glass in his hand, bourbon on his breath.
“Your mother’s back in the kitchen,” he said.
“Dinner’s almost ready.” He turned to follow me to the dining room, the table set with fine china and linen napkins, same as it would have been even if dinner had been only the two of them.
Once, when I’d asked why go to all the trouble, I’d been informed that standards were what set the Garfields apart.
As if eating on fine china somehow made us better than everyone else.
If my mother knew how many dinners I ate on the couch, she’d have an old-fashioned attack of the vapors.
“Quiet day around town,” he said, pausing in front of the crackling stone fireplace and raising his glass for a sip of bourbon.
“As quiet as it ever is,” I agreed.
“Any word on who broke into the brewery?” He looked casual, sipping his bourbon in front of the fire, his hair a little mussed and his tie loosened, but his eyes were sharp and his question had the hairs standing up at the nape of my neck.
I couldn’t think of a single reason my father should know about the break-in or be interested enough to ask. “It’s an open investigation, Dad. You know I can’t talk about it.”
My father shook his head. “Always a stickler, son. Things have changed. It’s time for you to loosen up for the good of the family.”
I rolled my eyes. I’d heard a version of this lecture for years. I’d been ignoring it just as long. “Dad, let it go,” I said, “Prentice is gone. Your whole southern gothic ‘we own this town’ bullshit has had its day. I’m sure as hell not going to support it.”
My father clenched his jaw, his eyes hard and cold. “You never did have any goddamn respect.”
“You haven’t done a hell of a lot to earn it,” I said with a shrug, keeping my tone easy and relaxed. I didn’t want my mother to hear us arguing.
He ignored me, turning to the bar in the corner of the dining room. “Bourbon?” he asked, already pouring. Clearly, whatever he was after was going to wait .
I shook my head. “I’m still on call.” I wouldn’t have a drink until 8 p.m., when my second deputy went on shift, and when I could have one, I didn’t want bourbon.
At that thought, I could almost taste Avery’s flagship crisp, hoppy IPA.
That was what I wanted. Maybe when I escaped our family dinner, I’d stop by Avery’s place and have that beer—a flare of anticipation followed that thought.
Sitting at her bar, listening to the hum of conversation as I sipped an IPA was exactly what I needed after a few hours dealing with my father.
It didn’t have anything to do with Avery herself.
I turned at the sound of footsteps, handing my mother the bouquet of flowers when she entered. Her eyes lit as she took them, her mouth curving into a genuine smile.
“West, they’re so lovely.” She leaned in to kiss my cheek, enveloping me in the light floral scent of her perfume. “You’re such a good boy, even if you haven’t come to dinner in weeks.”
This time, my eye roll was affectionate, and I hugged her. “Been busy, but it’s always nice to get a hot meal.” It’d be nicer , I added silently, if my dad hadn’t been here, but I couldn’t have everything.