4. Garrett
CHAPTER 4
Garrett
The scent of something sweet caught my attention. It was nearly lunchtime and I’d skipped breakfast, so no wonder my stomach growled at the smell. I glanced up from the desk I used when I was in the office to see Deputy Spangler walking by with a pink box from Angel Cakes bakery. Whatever was inside, it smelled delicious.
My phone buzzed with a text, vibrating against the surface of my desk. I ignored it. Again. I didn’t want to know why I was getting so many texts in the middle of the day. I wanted to get this report finished. Paperwork wasn’t my favorite thing, but in this job, it was never ending. We had to document everything.
Which also meant I was going to ignore the treats in that pink box.
The sheriff’s office could be abuzz with frenetic activity, a ghost town, or anything in between. It just depended on the day, and who was on duty. Mornings were busy, with deputies on day shift checking in for roll call before heading out on patrol. Mid-day was usually quieter—and a good time to get admin work done when I wasn’t on a patrol shift—but there were still people coming and going, uniformed and civilian alike.
A man in a suit jacket, no tie, walked past with a large cookie on a napkin. Phillip Lancaster, one of the attorneys in the county prosecuting attorney’s office, tipped his chin and veered my direction. He and his fellow prosecutors worked closely with our agency. As my field training officer had told me, we catch `em, they put `em away. It wasn’t unusual to see him in the office, usually meeting with one of us about cases he was prosecuting.
“Got anything new for me?” he asked, pausing next to my desk.
That cookie smelled damn good. I clearly needed to get some lunch. I wasn’t usually so distracted by food.
“Yeah, actually. Trent Jones. Frequent flier. Caught up with him at the scene of a stolen vehicle, likely with contraband inside. He ran and resisted.”
“Name sounds familiar.”
“I’m finishing up the arrest report.”
“Sounds good. I’ll be out of town for a few days, maybe out of cell range. But it’s just a quick trip.”
“Hunting?”
He smiled. “Fishing this time.”
“Have a good one.”
“I will. Thanks, Haven.”
For a lawyer, Phillip wasn’t a bad guy. I’d worked with him on quite a few cases over the years. Marie, one of our admin assistants, eyed him appreciatively as he walked out. Ever since he’d gotten divorced a while back, the women in the agency had taken extra notice of him.
I didn’t worry about that. Wasn’t my circus.
My phone buzzed again, demanding my attention. Reluctantly, I picked it up and swiped to see my messages.
Mom: Give me a call when you get a chance. Not an emergency. But did you stand up Doris Tilburn’s niece ?
Annika: Not trying to pry, but what’s the deal with blowing off a date? I heard she’s nice.
Marigold: Sorry to bug you, but I just want to make sure everything is okay. There’s some gossip going around, and of course I don’t believe it, but I also want to know if you’re all right.
Zachary: Dude, why would you blow off a date Aunt Louise set up? That was dumb.
Luke: Heard you blew off a date Aunt Louise set up. Probably a good call. What happened?
Aunt Louise: You better explain yourself, mister.
I shook my head. I’d wonder how they all knew, but this was Tilikum. You couldn’t sneeze without someone across town showing up to bring you tissues.
To be fair, I hadn’t blown her off or stood her up. I’d texted her to let her know I couldn’t make it. And it wasn’t my fault crime didn’t stop when my shift ended. Tell that to the bad guys.
Hey, could you stop the crime you’re about to commit? I have a date.
Yeah, no.
I’d have to answer everyone at some point, but for now, I wanted lunch.
Usually I either packed a lunch or stopped at one of the restaurants downtown. But since we had leftovers at home, and Owen and I lived less than ten minutes from the sheriff’s office, I decided to run home and grab something. That was a benefit of small-town living, unlike the rampant gossip and nosy family members.
I finished the last part of my report and hit save.
“What’s up, slacker?” Kade Sheehan, one of my fellow deputies, paused next to the desk. Like me, he was in uniform—an army-green shirt and tan pants with his badge on the left side of his chest.
“Paperwork. What are you doing here? I thought you went home already. ”
“Overtime.” He shrugged. “Got a call about ten minutes before my shift ended. Figured it wouldn’t take long. I was wrong about that.”
“I know what that’s like. I missed a date last night.”
“Oh, poor baby.” The sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable. “Had to work past dinner on a day shift.”
My brow furrowed. I wasn’t sure where the snark was coming from. “Overtime on graveyard sucks, man. You should go home and get some rest.”
“Yeah, not everyone gets the luxury of a desk job.” He turned and walked off.
I watched him go, not quite sure what to make of him. He and I had started our careers at the same time, and, for a while, we’d been good friends. Years ago, I’d set him up with my sister Annika, but they hadn’t hit it off. She’d gone on to marry Levi Bailey, and Kade was married to a woman named Erin. There hadn’t been any hard feelings and he and I had stayed friends.
But lately, something was off. It was subtle, and if I hadn’t been in law enforcement for as long as I had, I probably wouldn’t have noticed. Kade had an edge to his voice, and he often seemed irritated—even angry.
Although maybe he was just cranky because he’d been on graveyard a lot lately. That could put anyone in a crappy mood.
I got up and left, nodding to a few people as I walked out. The early May weather was clear and warm. Nice time of year in the mountains. The snow had melted, the ensuing mud mostly dried, and the heat of summer hadn’t set in yet. Maybe I’d take Owen hiking this weekend. It had been a while since we’d done something fun together.
Since I wasn’t on patrol, I got in my personal car—a dark gray SUV I’d had for a few years—and headed home.
My house was on a quiet street, about a mile from my sister and brother-in-law, Annika and Levi, and my newly married brother Zachary and his wife, Marigold. Owen and I had lived there for several years and sometimes I wondered why I’d bought a house that was so big. It was a newer two-story, with four bedrooms and two-and-a-half baths, plus a three-car garage. We didn’t need that much space, but I’d gotten a good deal and it was a nice place to live.
I pulled into the driveway and parked, the sight of Owen’s bike leaning against the garage door making me furrow my brow. Hadn’t he ridden to school today? And if he’d walked, why was his bike outside?
I checked my phone, but the doorbell cam hadn’t registered anything. If Owen was home, he must have gone around to the back.
But he couldn’t have been home. He was supposed to be in school.
Maybe it was my instincts taking over, but I quietly stepped out of my car, as I would if approaching a crime in progress. I made my way to the front door—nothing out of the ordinary. Just the welcome sign my sister had given me as a housewarming gift when we’d moved in.
I unlocked the door and opened it—slowly. Stepped inside and shut it behind me without making a sound.
The house seemed empty. No noise.
I glanced toward the back of the house. From where I was standing, I could see the door to the backyard. Owen’s shoes were there, as if he’d kicked them off and left them where they lay.
Busted.
I crept forward from the entry toward the great room at the back of the house.
Owen sat on the couch, dressed in a blue hoodie and jeans, absently chewing something. He had a mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table, and it bothered me both that he wasn’t using a coaster—he always left drips—and that I’d come to a place in my life where I worried about things like using a coaster.
He’d always looked more like me than his mom. Same brown hair and blue eyes. Same nose and sharp jaw. As much as he’d grown in the last couple of years, all he needed was some more muscle and a bit of facial hair and he’d be my mini-me.
His phone was turned horizontally, and the way his eyes were glued to it probably meant he was playing that racing game he was so obsessed with.
I walked around to the front of the couch. He didn’t look up. Crossing my arms, I cleared my throat. Loudly.
His eyes met mine, widening in shock, and he spit crumbs all over the place.
“Why aren’t you in school?”
He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and his eyes were wide. “Uh…”
I didn’t say anything else. Just raised my eyebrows and waited for him to talk. Sometimes silence was plenty intimidating.
It dawned on me that I was thinking in terms of interrogation techniques with my son. Was that a good or a bad thing?
He drew his eyebrows together. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m asking the questions. Why aren’t you in school?”
His mouth twisted and his eyes narrowed. His angry face wasn’t nearly as cute as it had been when he was two.
When he finally answered, his tone was dripping with defiance. “I just felt like coming home, okay?”
“No. That’s not okay. Get your stuff. I’m taking you back.”
Rolling his eyes, he groaned. “I don’t wanna go back.”
I laughed, which was clearly the wrong move. It just pissed him off more. But what the hell was he thinking? I was going to just let him ditch school?
He didn’t get up. Just glared at me .
I was about to lay down the law—this kid was not going to defy me—when a voice in the back of my head told me to slow down.
The voice that sounded suspiciously like my mom.
What was going on that he was so determined to stay away from school? Was I missing something?
I took a deep breath and softened my voice. “What’s really going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Seriously, Owen.” I stepped closer to the couch. “Did something happen at school? You can tell me stuff, man. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
His eyes widened again, like I was doing something alarming. What was going on with him? I was just walking toward him, not even that fast. He’d never acted afraid of me before. Why was he—
Then I saw it. His backpack was on the floor next to the couch, the compartment wide open. It was full of plastic bags, some of them open.
Cookies from Angel Cakes Bakery.
“Where’d you get those?” My voice was back to stern.
“I had money.”
He was lying. Right to my face. Damn it.
“Owen, I know you’re lying.”
He crossed his arms. “I’m not lying. I bought them.”
Great. Not only had he ditched school, he’d stolen something. It was the worst cliché. The deputy’s kid decides to rebel and becomes a criminal.
My first instinct was to blow up at him. But I didn’t. Somehow, I stayed calm.
“You don’t have any money. You spent the last of it two weeks ago at the Quick Stop. I remember because you didn’t have enough for the slushie and the giant bag of chips you wanted, so I spotted you two dollars. You’re fourteen and you don’t have a job, so unless you have another source of cash I need to know about, you wouldn’t have had enough for all that.” I gestured to the sugary contraband in his backpack.
“Fine. I stole them. What are you going to do? Arrest me?”
I thought about it. I really did. I wouldn’t actually arrest him for stealing cookies. But toss him in the back of my car and take him to the station? Make him sit in an interrogation room for a while? Scare the shit out of him so he wouldn’t dream of pulling a stunt like that again?
Seemed legit.
For a second, I felt the weight of being a single parent like a concrete block on my chest. A good mom could have helped in this moment. Soothed my temper, provided some balance. Instead, I had to play both roles. Which meant I had to stop, think, and consider the situation from more than one angle.
Was shock and awe the way to go? Scare the kid straight? He’d never done anything like this before. His grades were good, he never got in trouble at school, most of the time he was polite and respectful. He was great with all of his cousins. Overall, a good kid.
This was an aberration. Not that I was na?ve enough to think now that he’d been caught once he’d never do it again, or that it might not be the start of a new pattern of behavior. But I could bring down the hammer, or I could get creative.
An idea occurred to me. I’d save the hammer for next time, if it became necessary.
“Grab your stuff.”
A spasm of fear crossed his features. “Where are we going? Can you actually arrest your own son? They won’t let you do that, will they?”
I let out a breath. “I’m not arresting you. This time. Put the rest of those cookies in your backpack and get your shoes.”
“Where are we going?”
“Angel Cakes Bakery. You, my friend, are going to apologize.”