Small-Town Secrets. Linda Wisdom Randall
lay down next to her desk and rested his chin on his paws. She idly scratched the top of his head.
“It’s only the first day, boy,” she murmured.
“Tell me, oh powerful one, do you plan to do anything useful today or just sit there and look cute?”
Tipped back in his chair, his feet propped up on the desk, Cole Becker looked up at his assistant. This was his favorite position when he needed to proofread the advertisements for that week.
When his uncle died, leaving him the newspaper, Cole took it over. He became not only the owner of the Warm Springs Bulletin, but reporter and staff photographer. He wore many hats in the office.
“I am doing something useful.” He gestured to the sheaf of papers he held in one hand. “I’m making sure Whitman’s name is spelled correctly. I don’t think he’d be so amiable if it happened again.”
Mamie Eichorn chuckled. “I don’t know. Substituting an S for the W told everyone what the mean old coot is really like.”
“Maybe so, but that mean old coot pays his bills on time,” Cole reminded her.
“And each time acts as if we’re bleeding him dry.” She rolled her eyes.
“I hear there’s a new cop in town,” he commented. “A story about her would make a good human interest piece. Nothing better than a mom with kids. And there’s even a dog. Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, doesn’t it?”
“I heard the dog is her partner,” Mamie noted.
“Even better on the human interest angle.” Cole picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. He believed in doing his homework ahead of time. By talking to a couple of contacts in L.A., he’d been able to pick up a lot of information about the former Los Angeles Sheriff’s Detective, Bree Fitzpatrick. He’d even had a photograph faxed to him—of the widow standing tall at her husband’s funeral. Cole had heard an impressive listing of the woman’s accomplishments.
Unlike the proper widow, Cole was a complete contradiction. He looked like one of those guys who didn’t move a muscle unless it was absolutely necessary. Only those who knew him well understood that his body and mind could move swift as lightning when he needed to.
“I called over to the station, but the new detective is in with Roy.” He spoke in a low rumble that slid like warm lotion over a woman’s skin. “Think you could find out the new detective’s home telephone number for me?”
Even Mamie, who’d been happily married for the past fifty-six years, wasn’t immune to Cole’s lethal charm.
“The woman hasn’t even settled in and you’re already calling her up for a date? She has children, Cole. I thought you drew the line at women with families.”
He agreed. “I do. Too much trouble. This is business, Mamie.”
“Like I’ll believe that,” she retorted. “You’re not getting any younger, Cole. Finding someone with a ready-made family is a good way for you to go. Saves a lot of time.”
“You make it sound like my sperm’s in some retirement home. Herb Dickinson became a father last year, and he’s in his late seventies,” Cole pointed out in his defense.
Mamie shook her head. “Herb needs new glasses. That baby looks more like their pool man than he looks like Herb, even if the kid’s as bald as his alleged daddy.”
“There you go.” He grinned. “Herb doesn’t care who the baby looks like. He’s just happy everyone’s calling him a stud.”
“Some stud,” she snorted with disdain. “Herb has an artificial hip, a glass eye and high blood pressure.”
“And a twenty-eight-year-old wife. I’d say the man did something right.”
Mamie blithely ignored him as she continued. “If you don’t do something about your social life, you’ll be worse off than him.”
“That’s why I go out of town.”
Mamie shook her head. “So what’s next on your agenda?”
Cole flashed her a warm smile. “I guess I’ll just have to call over to the sheriff’s station again. See about setting up an interview with our new sheriff’s detective.”
His assistant shot him a knowing look. “And you say it’s business only.”
Cole played it cool. “You got it.”
Mamie started to leave the room, then paused. She stared at him for several moments. “What’s really going on, Cole?”
He gave her a bland look. “Working on next week’s edition.”
She shook her head again. “I don’t know what’s going on in that mind of yours, but I have a feeling it might not be good.”
Cole flashed a smile that had warmed many a woman’s heart. “Just doin’ my job.”
This time she wasn’t fooled.
Bree hated first days. Cody’s first day of first grade. Sara’s first day as a high school sophomore. David’s first day as a high school senior. Her own first day with the Warm Springs Sheriff’s Department.
While Sheriff Roy Holloway was helpful, her peers weren’t. They didn’t make it difficult for her, but they didn’t make it easy, either.
She arrived home to find Cody almost in tears. He looked at her and declared he hated school.
“We only have a dumb parakeet,” he muttered, with a slight whine to his voice.
“I’ve heard of some smart parakeets,” she offered.
“Not this one.” His eyes plaintively beseeched her. “I want to go back to my old school, Mom.”
“Sweetie, it’s only your first day,” she murmured. “You have to give it time.”
He shook his head.
Bree looked at her stepson and stepdaughter. They didn’t look all that happy, either.
“Don’t tell me you only have parakeets in your class, too,” she said lightly. Her joke fell flat.
David was tight-lipped about his day. Sara announced she was going to her room.
“And how was your day, Bree?” she asked herself as she checked the casserole she’d popped in the oven as soon as she got home. “Just fine. Thank you for asking. The sheriff is an okay guy, but I can’t say much for everyone else. The deputies treat me as if I carry the dreaded plague, and the dispatcher informed me she’s allergic to dogs.” Bree pulled out makings for a salad and began tearing a head of lettuce into pieces. “Now I learn that Cody’s convinced everyone hates him. David hates his school and Sara is positive she won’t make any new friends. How do I know that’s how they’re feeling, when they haven’t said a word to me? Easy. I’m a detective. I read minds.” Her movements were almost violent as she tossed a variety of vegetables into the bowl.
When the phone rang, she snagged it before the first ring faded away.
She glanced at her caller ID and noticed it listed Warm Springs Bulletin as the caller.
“Fitzpatrick.”
“Detective Fitzpatrick? I’m Cole Becker with the Warm Springs Bulletin.” A man’s lazy drawl drifted across her mind the way a soft comforter covered her body. “Welcome to our fair town.”
Bree felt a tingle begin deep inside her body and move upward. She wasn’t sure if it was warm in the kitchen or just her. She feared it was all her.
“Thank you,” she said warily.
“I was wondering if there was any possibility we could get together?”
“Why?” she asked.
“I’d