Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Wes
Home Sweet Home
Spending the day with Shelby in Atlanta started off fine.
They walked down to her favorite bistro for breakfast and browsed her favorite bookstore.
But by afternoon they were back at her place and it was clear she planned to spend the day writing.
He knew she was mapping out her new series that she’d started in Sandy Point.
He told her to do her thing and he planned to sit and read on the couch, but about fifteen minutes later his phone started blowing up.
First it was the station, then it was several of his deputies, and now it was his brother Dalton.
“I’m just going to step in your room to take this call,” he said to her back where she sat at her desk. She hadn’t typed anything, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he was the cause.
“Hey, man, what is so important that my phone won’t stop ringing on the first day off I’ve taken all year?” Wes said, after answering his brother’s second call.
“Someone set fire to the pier,” Dalton said.
“Our pier, the one with our name on the roof?” Wes said, gritting his teeth.
“The very one. Luckily some fisherman spotted it and called it in, but there’s enough damage to shut down part of the boardwalk and we need to do an insurance claim,” Dalton said.
“Damn. But I’m sure my deputies are working the scene. And I planned to be back tomorrow.”
“There was something else.”
“Okay, tell me.”
“Someone also torched Gran’s mailbox this morning.”
“What?” Now his blood was boiling. This arsonist thought they were going to intimidate him, but it wasn’t even clear what they wanted.
“I didn’t mention it to Gran yet, but this morning on my way to work I found it engulfed in flames. I reported it and asked them not to bother you with it. But now with the pier…” Dalton paused. “Whoever this is needs to be stopped, Wes.”
“I’ll drive back today, but it’s going to take me at least four hours. Maybe Gran should stay with you all until we get this person locked up?”
“Ya she should, but you know she won’t. At least we got that alarm on the house, so she should be safe. And we could take turns staying with her.”
“Alright, I’ll let you know once I’m back in town. I’ll stay with her tonight.”
He found Shelby in the doorway when he clicked off the call.
“Is everything okay?”
“There’s been a rash of fires being set lately, this time the pier and my grandmother’s mailbox.”
“That doesn’t sound like a coincidence.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
As much as he wanted to be with Shelby, he couldn’t help but wish he’d stayed in town.
“Obviously you need to go home and manage this. Can’t expect the sheriff’s department to replace you so fast. And I actually need to focus on this book. Maybe we can try again this weekend?”
“I’m sorry.” He pulled her close for a kiss. “It’s not that far of a drive, and once I set the tone in the office that I’m not always on call anymore, we won’t be disturbed.”
She nodded but looked skeptical.
He slid his hands down her arms and gripped both her hands. “We can make this work. I just need time to find a new job.”
She nodded with a smile. “There’s no rush. I wouldn’t want you to make any rash decisions you’ll regret.”
They said goodbye and he headed for home, but every mile he drove away from Shelby felt just as wrong as not being home when his family and community needed him.
After being gone for one day he realized how strong his ties to Sandy Point really were.
But Atlanta was only about four hours away and they’d both agreed there was something between them worth exploring.
He wasn’t willing to give her up, so he’d have to make it work.
*
The smell of the burnt wood, and smoldering ash hung in the air as Wes surveyed the damage to the Sandy Point pier.
The A-frame roof held the Hart name in bold navy blue letters at the front of the old fishing pier.
Tourists would come to walk the boardwalk where there was an ice-cream shop, souvenirs, beach chair and umbrella rentals in the summer, and live bait could be purchased during the fishing season.
Each vendor rented the space from the Hart brothers trust, which they’d inherited from their dad.
“It wasn’t an elegant fire. They just shoved two of those pretreated firepit logs up under the boardwalk slats, tossed some gasoline on it and lit it,” the Chief of the Fire Department said.
He’d agreed to meet Wesley at the site to discuss the now four recent fires in town, each started differently but he’d be a fool not to assume they were related.
“Amateur but effective,” Wes noted from the ten-by-ten section of the boardwalk that was now charcoal black, and a portion of the railing that matched.
“Indeed, just like that mailbox torch someone lit, probably one after the other. I’d say someone is trying to send you a message, Sheriff.”
“Maybe it’s the fact that I’m not actually the sheriff,” Wes said, feeling for the first time like he absolutely needed to run just to shut whoever this was up.
“You think they’re telling you not to bother? I’m at a bit of a loss. Obviously we’ll treat these all as linked, but there seems to be no rhyme or reason, which will make it difficult to solve, unless someone gets caught.”
“Now there’s an idea—if we can set a trap, we can draw them out.”
“But if you don’t have a clue who it is. How will you set a trap?”
“I have yet to commit to running for sheriff, but Samuel Shepherd has already made it clear he thinks he’s the man for the job.”
“Lord help us,” the chief said.
“If I say I’m not running we could see if the fires stop, but then we’ll never catch them. If I announce my campaign with a big event to mark the start of my bid for sheriff, we can see if they take the bait?”
“I don’t love the idea of enticing them, but you were going to be running for sheriff anyway weren’t you, Wes? You can’t leave this town in a Shepherd’s hands.”
“No, I guess I can’t.” He knew deep down this was where he belonged. Even if at some point he thought he would do something else with his life, being in law enforcement was his calling and he loved it.
“Alright, Sheriff, just let me know where and when. In the meantime I’ll keep the shifts fully staffed in case our fire starter strikes again before the main event.”
Wes still was still hesitant to commit to being Sheriff of Sandy Point for the next five years, but he did know he couldn’t abandon the town now.
Not with an arsonist taking shots at his family and no other viable front-runners for the job.
He needed to speak to Miles about his plan though, because if someone was trying to run him out of town, he needed to make sure no one else got caught in the crossfires.
And he needed to figure out how much to tell Shelby.
He didn’t want to discourage her from getting more involved with him after he’d just talked to her about not staying in Sandy Point.
He was walking a very fine line between doing what was right and what he wanted.
*
“Well of course you’re running for sheriff. Since when was that up for debate?” Gran said, slapping her hand down on the dinner table.
Dalton grinned and looked at Max, who also had a big smile on his face. Only Brooke had the decency to pretend not to be amused by Gran’s outburst.
“Uncle Wes, you gotta run for sheriff because I’ve been telling all my friends, all year my uncle is the law in this town. If you aren’t sheriff then what do I got?” Max said.
Now it was Wes’s turn to try not to laugh. “Well your stepdad was a Navy SEAL, and now he’s the town doctor, and we all know your mom is basically running the hospital.”
Max sighed. “Ya but you catch the bad guys.”
Dalton patted Max back. “And don’t forget Levi is an All Star Baseball player.”
“It’s just not the same. Kids are really into cops this year.”
Everyone laughed.
“What about great-grandmas giving out hugs and ice cream?” Gran said, holding her arms open wide.
Max smirked and got up to give gran a big hug. “Obviously, Gran. You’re the coolest.” Then he winked at Wes over Gran’s shoulder.
“Your boy is getting too smooth. He may need to run for sheriff—he’d make a better politician than me.”
“You just gotta give the people what they want, Uncle Wes. Law, order, and kiss some babies.”
“Who are you?” Brooke said.
“Sheriff Max Garcia Hart, running for office,” Max said over his shoulder as he pulled out several tubs of ice cream.
“That does have a nice ring to it, son,” Dalton said, beaming with his arms crossed as he sat back like a proud father. No one would even suspect he wasn’t Max’s biological dad. And once Dalton and Brooke got married this summer it’d be official.
“Well until the next generation of Harts can take that job from you, Wesley Hart, Sheriff of Sandy Point, is who we need,” Gran said. “But tell me why I’m just finding out you don’t sound like you want the job.”
“It’s not that I don’t want the job, Gran. It just comes with different political, budgetary, and schmoozing responsibilities. I’ve been content to avoid those.” He was hesitant to admit he’d been considering leaving town for the last year, and he didn’t want to hurt his grandmother’s feelings.
“I see. Would this change of heart have anything to do with a young woman who has yet to move back to Sandy Point permanently?”
“It’s been on my mind the last few years. I just thought there might be someone else, more qualified, who would step in. Then after Dalton moved back, the idea of not needing to stay in Sandy Point crossed my mind more than once.”
“And?” Gran had a knack for knowing how to lead a person through the entire story.”
“And now I just know I can’t let Sam Shepherd be the law of the land here. He’s a corrupt bully who’s never worked a real day in his life.”
“And?”
Dalton told Max he could take his ice cream into the living room and start a movie, and Wes waited until he left the kitchen to finish his thought. “And I think the recent fires might be someone’s attempt to intimidate or discredit me from winning.”
Gran gasped but then reached her hand out to him.
“So you can’t let Sam Shepherd think he can run you out of this town, and you can’t let him win, Sheriff, so now you have to run?” Dalton said.
“Pretty much,” Wes agreed.
“That’s BS. You took on a lot after Mom and Dad died; I can manage the estate with Gran, and Brooke’s help. Besides, Atlanta isn’t that far away.”
“I agree. As much as I would love to have all three of my favorite grandsons back in Sandy Point raising families and giving me great-grandbabies, you have to follow your own path. You only have this one life,” Gran said.
“We either need to find someone else well known, well liked, and well funded to run for sheriff or I have to. All official candidates need to file their intent to run this Friday.”
“Do you think there will be more incidents after you make your announcement?” Brooke asked.
“If these fires are linked to the sheriff’s race, there are likely to be even bigger attempts to dissuade me, and we need to be ready for anything.”
Brooke looked at Dalton. “We already talked it over and we’re going to stay with Gran until things settle down,” Dalton said.
“Alright, I was hoping to spend the weekend in Atlanta, but it looks like I’ll be here until we can figure out who is behind the recent problems.
“I just hope this doesn’t get out of control, and no one gets hurt. But maybe it would be best if someone else in the community did decide to run,” Gran said.
“If anyone could convince someone else to run for sheriff, it would be you,” Wes said.
The more they talked about the idea of someone else running for sheriff and winning, the more aggravated Wes was with the situation.
All this time he thought he didn’t want the job, that he didn’t need to stay in Sandy Point.
He had set all his plans aside when his parents died.
He’d been mourning, trying to look after his brothers, and needed a job.
Working for the sheriff’s department was an easy solution back then, but the truth was he did love his job.
He liked helping people, protecting his town.
There was honor in his work. Now he couldn’t remember why he thought he’d want to be anywhere else, which meant he had a real election to run, an arsonist to find, and he needed to figure out how to tell Shelby he didn’t want to leave Sandy Point.