The Lover. BEVERLY BARTON

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СКАЧАТЬ trekked across the kitchen, opened a cupboard, and removed a bag of preground coffee. “Have you and Mom talked about things? Have you settled your differences?” Bernie removed the glass pot from the coffeemaker, walked over to the sink, and filled it with cool water.

      “You know how it is with Mom—she doesn’t talk with you, just to you. And no, we have not settled our differences and we probably never will. Good God, she was living in the fifties when she was a kid, not in the twenty-first century. Do you know what she said to me about having sex outside marriage?”

      Bernie clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Hmm … let me guess. Could it have been the old tried and true adage about a man not buying a cow if the milk is free?”

      Robyn chuckled. “You’d think she’d at least come up with some new material, wouldn’t you?”

      Bernie emptied the water into the coffeemaker, turned it on, and removed a cup from the cupboard. “Want some?”

      “Huh?”

      “Coffee. It’s decaf. Want some?”

      “No, thanks. I’m heading out any minute now. Paul Landon is taking me to Huntsville for dinner.”

      Paul Landon? Lord help us! Robyn could do a lot better than Paul. Good looks was about all the guy had going for him. That and a rich daddy. The man had been married and divorced twice, was rumored to have a drinking problem, and the general consensus was that he wasn’t worth shooting.

      But she supposed it wouldn’t hurt for Robyn to date the guy, as long as she didn’t get serious about him, and that wasn’t likely to happen. After all, it wasn’t as if Adams County was running over with eligible bachelors. Bernie’s last date had been four months ago with Steve Banyan, a widower with three kids, a receding hairline, and the beginnings of a beer belly. They’d had a total of four dates over a period of a month. She liked the guy well enough, but they had little in common. He was a pharmacist, fifteen years Bernie’s senior, and considering how much he talked about his deceased wife, Carol Anne, was probably still in love with her.

      “Look, if you two wind up spending the night here, then either the two of you be very, very quiet or just go rent a motel room,” Bernie said. “I’m dead on my feet and I’ve got to have a decent night’s sleep.”

      “This is our first date,” Robyn said. “It’s highly unlikely I’ll let him get in my pants so soon. Despite what Mom thinks, I do have my standards.”

      Bernie’s lips curved into a weak grin. God, she was tired. All she wanted was a cup of coffee and a sandwich, followed by a long, hot bath. Then about ten hours of sleep. She’d be lucky if she got six. She’d have to be at the office early tomorrow morning, ready to meet her new employee. Bill Palmer retired several months ago, after a heart attack and bypass surgery, leaving her without a chief deputy, someone qualified to head up the criminal investigative division. Originally, she’d thought about promoting from within the ranks, but that would have been a difficult call since she had two equally qualified deputies in that division, each with approximately the same seniority. She’d gone to her dad for advice, as she often did, and he had suggested looking outside the local force.

      “You never know when a highly qualified person might be looking for a change,” R.B. Granger had said. In her opinion, Robert Bernard Granger was the best darn law enforcement officer who’d ever lived. “I’ve still got contacts in Alabama, Tennessee and Georgia. Why don’t I make a few phone calls and see what I come up with? In the meantime, you do the same. Check around. Could be you can bring somebody in from Huntsville or even Chattanooga. One of those big-city guys might want to move to a place where the pace is a little slower.”

      “Or a gal.”

      “Huh?”

      “A guy or a gal, Dad. Or have you forgotten that the sheriff of Adams County is female?” she’d asked, only halfway joking. Since her little brother, Bobby, had drowned in the river on a Boy Scout picnic when he was twelve, Bernie had been the closest thing her dad had to a son. She’d been the one who had played high school basketball, soccer, and softball. And she’d played sports more for her dad’s sake than because she loved the games herself. She was the one who sat around and watched football games on TV with him, went fishing with him, and even went hunting with him once each year.

      Bob Granger had put his arm around Bernie’s shoulders and said, “You know how proud I am of you, don’t you? You’re carrying on a family tradition. You’re the third generation of Granger to be Sheriff of Adams County.”

      A car horn honked, bringing Bernie out of her thoughts and back to the present moment, here in her kitchen.

      “That’ll be Paul,” Robyn said.

      “Quite the gentleman, isn’t he, honking for you instead of coming to the front door.”

      Robyn groaned. “Now you sound like Mom.” She rushed over, gave Bernie a quick kiss on the cheek and flew out of the kitchen, calling loudly as she left, “I love you, sis. Don’t wait up for me.”

      Bernie heard her sister giggling just before she slammed the front door. The moment Bernie was alone, she sighed, leaned her head back and stretched her aching muscles. Just as she eyed the coffeepot, intending to pour herself a cup before she prepared a sandwich, the telephone rang. Her heart leaped into her throat. She had left several of her deputies, along with Adams Landing police officers and several volunteers from Jackson County, still scouring Craggy Point, the area where an eyewitness swore he saw a woman fitting Stephanie’s description arguing with a burly black man at the roadside park.

      “Sheriff Granger.” Her hand clutched the phone with white-knuckled pressure; then she glanced down at the caller ID and groaned.

      “Good, you’re home,” Brenda Granger said. “Have you eaten supper? Taken a bath? Do you need me to come over and fix you something to eat? Or I could bring some leftovers. Dad and I had pot roast for supper and—”

      “I’m fine, Mom. I was just fixing to make a sandwich.”

      “A sandwich? What kind?”

      “Peanut butter and jelly.” Bernie said the first thing that popped into her head.

      “You don’t eat right,” Brenda said. “That’s the reason you can’t ever get rid of those ten extra pounds around your hips.”

      “Mom, I’m really tired. Could we discuss my eating habits and my weight problems another time?”

      “Of course.” Brenda paused for half a minute. “I’d like for you and Robyn to come to dinner on Sunday.”

      “All right. I’ll be there, if I can. And I’ll mention it to Robyn when—”

      “Isn’t she there?”

      Thinking fast on her feet and telling a white lie to avoid further explanations, Bernie said, “She’s in the shower. I’ll tell her when she gets out, and I’m sure she’ll be able to make it for Sunday dinner.”

      “Good. I’ve invited the new preacher. He’s not married. And I’ve also invited Helen and her son Raymond. Raymond’s divorce is final, you know. Helen and I agree that it’s high time he started dating again.”

      “Good night, СКАЧАТЬ