Her Small-Town Sheriff. Lissa Manley

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      Chapter Two

      After work, Carson headed home, dreading the upcoming conversation with Heidi. Given everything else she was dealing with, he hated having to call her on her behavior. But he couldn’t let what she’d done slide. Shoplifting was a serious offense, and he had to impress on her that stealing was wrong.

       He pulled up to his rented midcentury three-bedroom, two-bath saltbox-style house and parked in the driveway; the garage was still full of moving boxes and extra furniture he hadn’t been able to part with when they’d moved. Someday he’d get to sorting through all of it, but right now, just the thought of the chore overwhelmed him and brought forth too many difficult memories.

       Turning off the ignition, he sat in his SUV cruiser for a moment, relishing the calm before the inevitable storm. Then he climbed out of his vehicle, locked it and headed toward the front door, figuratively putting his “Dad” hat on.

       He let himself in and went directly to the bedroom at the front of the house he used as an office and secured his service weapon in his home lockbox in the closet. He put his sheriff’s hat on his oak desk, and then walked through the small, sparsely furnished living room and went looking for Mrs. Philpot.

       As expected, she was in the eat-in kitchen standing at the stove making what smelled like Salisbury steak. Carson noted that the chipped tile counters were sparkling clean, and the scuffed hardwood floors looked freshly mopped. Carson didn’t require her to do housework, but Mrs. Philpot seemed compelled to keep the place spotless, which he was thankful for. With his schedule, he didn’t have much time for housework, and he hadn’t had the chance to hire someone to come in and clean.

       Today Mrs. Philpot was dressed in a hot-pink tracksuit and white tennis shoes. Her short, bright, unnaturally red hair—colored, he was sure, but, hey, whatever—was, as always, perfectly styled, and her tortoiseshell glasses sat atop her head. Though she was almost seventy, she was as sharp as a tack, and he suspected that today’s events were an anomaly; according to her references, not much usually got past her.

       Except one determined twelve-year-old bent on misbehaving—his daughter, the escape artist/shoplifter. Wonderful. What a distinction.

       “Hello, Mrs. Philpot,” he said. “Smells delicious.” She usually started dinner so Carson and Heidi didn’t end up eating at eight-thirty. That gave Heidi more time to do homework before lights-out at nine. Unless Heidi argued about having to go to bed so early, and then bedtime was more like ten.

       “Hello, Sheriff Winters,” she said, raising a wooden spoon in the air. “Dinner is almost ready.”

       “Great.” He retrieved a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water.

       Mrs. Philpot turned toward him, her hands knotted together, her brow furrowed. “I am so sorry about what happened with Heidi today. She told me she was going upstairs to do her homework, and I was busy vacuuming. She must have slipped out the front door when I was down the hall and couldn’t hear or see her.” She shook her head. “I heard her music coming from her room, and, silly me, assumed she was still up there.”

       He put his glass down on the counter. “Please don’t worry about this. Apparently Heidi has developed a very sneaky streak, and I’m sure she waited for the opportunity to slip by you and left her music on to throw you off the scent.”

       “I was just on my way upstairs to check on her when you called…”

       “As I said when we talked on the phone, this isn’t your fault, Mrs. P. It’s Heidi’s, and she and I will definitely be talking about her consequence at dinner.”

       “All right, then. Please let me know how you want me to handle keeping track of her from now on. And remember, Sheriff, this isn’t my first rodeo.” She winked at him.

       Carson blinked, but he was left without an answer; it wasn’t as if they could put handcuffs on Heidi.

       He walked Mrs. Philpot to the door and she left.

       Sighing, Carson stood in the middle of the kitchen, hating that he had to wreck the evening with a lecture.

       But there was no help for the serious conversation he and Heidi needed to have.

       He called Heidi down to dinner, then went back in the kitchen and got out plates and silverware. Despite the massive ice cream cone he’d eaten earlier today, compliments of the charming Phoebe Sellers, he was СКАЧАТЬ