6. You’re Welcome
SIX
You’re Welcome
Harry
H arry was about to drive by the parking spot, but since Polly, his assistant, was continuing to ignore his order to get rid of it, and the sign was still there, reserving it for him right at the front of the station, he swung into it.
He then scratched the takedown of that sign on top of his long list of shit to get done that morning.
He did this because he found it uncomfortable, having that privilege. And even though his office was situated at the front of the station, a short walk from the entry and reception bench, all his deputies and the staff parked in back.
Sure, this way he could go in and get to his office without having to traverse the back halls that included the locker rooms, an armory, equipment storage, the booking room, bathrooms, their interview room, interrogation rooms and dispatch.
However, parking in back was better than making such a public show of his position by sliding his cruiser in a reserved space out front.
Not to mention, he’d inherited that spot from Dern.
So that was enough to make Harry want it gone.
Considering his newly rearranged list of shit to do, he was pleased Polly did what Polly did every morning.
She met him at the front door.
As usual, she shoved an Aromacobana cup in his hand. He’d have no clue until he tasted it what was in it, though it was usually a latte, sometimes a chai. She mixed it up with flavorings because she said, “Someone has to put some excitement in your life, Harry. And until you figure it out, it’s gonna be me.” (It was safe to say the twins and Doc weren’t the only ones who wanted Harry to get his head out of his ass about the loss of his wife and return to the land of the living.)
She opened her mouth, but he got there before her.
“Polly, I want that sign out front down by the end of the week.”
She shut her mouth only to open it again and point out, “You sure parked your cruiser there.”
“Because no one else would park there if I didn’t,” Harry retorted. “And I’m not gonna let a prime space like that go wasting.”
She rolled her eyes on a big sigh.
He took a sip of his coffee.
It was Aromacobana’ s famed Mexican, that being almond, vanilla, rice milk and cinnamon.
He moved to the swinging half door that led to the bullpen and Polly called out to him.
“Woman named Lillian Rainier is in your office.”
Something in his chest tightened and he turned back to Polly.
Lillian hadn’t phoned to let him know she was coming.
That thought added a gut lurch, and the feeling wasn’t pleasant.
“She said she’s supposed to give a DNA sample,” Polly went on. “She said anyone could take it. I asked who requested it. She said you.”
Polly moved his way, got close and lowered her voice when she finished.
“I got eyes. I got a brain. And I read romance novels. You wanted a sample, you’d have taken a kit with you or come back to get one since her house is just a block away. You wanted to see her again, you’d ask her to come to the station. So I threw a wrench in her works of trying to avoid you. You’re welcome.”
It fucked him, but he felt like hugging her.
“Oh, and by the way, I knew Sonny and Avery,” she continued. “Leland kept me well out of that fiasco he had brewing. Not sure why you pulled that file and Lillian’s here to give DNA, but I’ll tell you something for nothing, they didn’t do it. No way. Three things Sonny Rainier needed in his life, his wife, his girl, and a roof over his head. Four things Avery needed, her man, her daughter, a kitchen to cook food in and a garden to grow. Sonny didn’t hunt. Didn’t own a gun. Can’t say he didn’t have a violent bone in his body, because if someone hurt one of his two girls, hell would be paid. Avery was sunshine and rainbows, sang like a dream, and the only time I ever saw her down was when she caught Leland’s eye, and he wouldn’t let it go. They’d no sooner rob anyone and go on the run then cut the noses off their faces.”
Normally, he had a rule.
Ask Polly first.
She knew all Leland was up to, and she hated it, just like he did. She knew more people in that county than he did, and she didn’t keep what she knew to herself. She might have had a more finely tuned sense of justice even than Harry had, and that was saying something. She was, and had been for a long time, the most valuable asset in that department.
Why he didn’t ask her about this, he didn’t know.
Maybe because he hadn’t met Lillian yet.
“You’re heard,” he said as he turned away again.
“Harry.”
He turned back.
“That girl looks like she’s been through the wringer. This about those bodies found in Idaho?” she asked.
“We can hope not,” he said quietly.
Her eyes brightened with tears, and she whispered, “Damn.”
Harry patted her shoulder, lifted his coffee and murmured, “Thanks,” and then he made his way to his office.
Lillian was standing in front of his desk. She was wearing brown jeans, a black shirt, and a denim jacket, a casual outfit that still was flattering, stylish and made her look put together.
And she was staring at the picture of Winnie that was on the credenza behind his desk.
He braced for that to sting.
And then he braced against what it meant that it didn’t.
What he didn’t brace for was when he called, “Lillian,” and she turned to him.
He’d left her in her pretty kitchen with her pretty flowers and a promise she’d phone a friend. She’d retreated to tetchiness in order to hold her shit together.
Obviously, after he left, it fell apart.
Polly wasn’t wrong. She looked put through the wringer. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. Her skin was sallow. And her posture said she held the weight of the world in the pockets of her jean jacket.
“Hey,” she greeted.
He stopped close to her, not as close as he’d like, but close enough to affect a kind of friendliness, even intimacy, in hopes of communicating support and empathy.
When he did, he smelled what he smelled yesterday, fresh green notes of jasmine and rose mixed with something musky and earthy, like a hint of patchouli.
In other words, she smelled like a garden, and he barely knew her, but he knew that was perfect for her.
“I take it you had a rough night,” he noted.
“I look that good?” she quipped, no humor in those green eyes.
He sidestepped that and queried, “You call a friend?”
“Four of them. Two spent the night. Janie and Kay.”
“Good,” he muttered.
She looked around, suddenly avoiding his eyes, saying, “You’re probably busy. Should we get this done?”
“We should. We will. Then I’m taking you to the Double D and feeding you.”
Her gaze whipped to his.
“Sorry?” she asked.
“You eaten this morning?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Did you eat last night?”
Her lips thinned.
That meant no.
“I’m taking you to breakfast,” he announced.
“Sheriff Moran?—”
“I thought we agreed I was Harry yesterday,” he pointed out.
She said nothing but at least what he said put some color in her cheeks.
“I told you I was going to get you through this,” he reminded her. “And I’m going to get you through it.”
“You’re being nice again,” she warned, tears shimmering in her eyes.
“Get used to it,” he warned in return.
And then, before she could resist further, he took her hand, led her out of his office, and called for his deputy, Wade, to assist when he led her to an interview room to take the swabs.