She hated drunk drivers.
Why someone would get behind the wheel of a car intoxicated was beyond her. There were no guarantees in life and operating a vehicle while plastered simply upped the stakes for a chance meeting with the Grim Reaper.
Worst: she had no closure. That boy had been able to grow into a man. He was out there somewhere in the state of Indiana. Hopefully, he never picked up a drink again, but she doubted it. The majority of her cases were repeat offenders.
Every OWI case that landed on her desk received her full attention. If she could ensure they received the maximum penalty, she could honor her parents even in death. They wouldn’t be forgotten. Even if she could no long remember the way her mother laughed. Even if the memory of her dad’s smile was relegated to a picture. They could no longer be restored to her. They were gone.
Dead.
Killed in less time than it took the boy to consume the number of beers that pushed him over the legal limit.
She heaved a sigh and cleared her throat at the sound of the voice-mail prompt.
“Mrs. Flake, this is Michelle. I have some good news for you. Please return my call at your earliest convenience.”
She hit end and started her car.
Driving used to be her stress reliever. Then Guy Pierre had moved back to Freedom Lake, taking up the mantle of Sheriff. Now, she found herself glancing in her rearview mirror searching for his vehicle.
Guy Pierre.
Why did he have to move back to town? She swore up and down she’d never see him again. She didn’t want to remember what happened. And by his abrupt departure, he didn’t either. Then again, she couldn’t really blame him for moving back. Her roommate, Jo, said he needed someone to help watch his twin girls. Jo’s grandmother, affectionately known as Nana Baker, was enjoying babysitting the twins. It was a miracle the woman had the stamina to do so after suffering a heart attack.
Michelle had to admit, the little girls were beautiful. She gave a mental shake of her head. Guy Pierre with kids. Twin girls at that. That’s what he got. He needed to experience the impending horror of his teenage daughters dating.
Her mouth dried as her conscience tugged at her. What he did to her shouldn’t be the reason he’d have to go through life alone. She did kind of feel bad that his wife was dead.
Who are you kidding? Your heart is breaking for him.
“Well not for him. More like I’m empathetic.”
You’re talking to yourself again.
She shrugged. “No one to hear me.”
You hear you.
She frowned and turned the radio on. Music was nothing but background noise to her. She never knew who was singing and frankly couldn’t care less. But if it would drown out the voice in her head, then she was all for it.
Michelle remembered the suspense audio book she downloaded to her iPhone. Even better. She switched to the mp3 player input and selected the novel. She knew the killer would be revealed soon, and she was pretty sure it was the town sheriff. The irony did not escape her.
GUY PIERRE CRACKED his neck and looked at the clock.
9 o’clock in the morning.
He bit back a word he tried to hide from his girls. It was going to be a long day. He’d only been in the office for an hour. How would he make it to the end of his shift? He was so tired he could barely think straight.
Rachel had been up all night with the stomach flu. Thankfully, Rebekah had managed to avoid. The thought of both twins having the bug made him want to run. He shuddered. How he wished Charlene was still here. He would have liked having her help.
He stared at the picture of his late wife on the corner of his desk. Charlene was gorgeous. Her smile could light a room and often drew the attention of strangers. He had always teased her that she was an angel, sent to Earth to be with him.
His eyelid twitched. Now, she was an angel in heaven.
Guy stood up swiftly, his chair slamming into the wall as it rolled back from the force in which he shoved upward. Why did she have to die? The question haunted him. At night. During the day. When his girls were sick. When they were happy and full of life. When he slipped into bed and felt the cold from the sheets.
Once upon a time, his days had been full of life. Loving Charlene, living with her, had been like a Van Gogh painting. Full of purpose and vibrancy. Her favorite painting, “Blossoming Almond Tree,” used to hang in their living room. It spoke to her personality and the simplicity in which she lived life.
Now, it lay in storage. He couldn’t look at it without feelings of rage and the unfairness of it all threatening to choke him. But he couldn’t let the anger show. His girls depended on him. They needed him. To be their father. To fill the absence left by their mother.
When would he have a chance to rest? To close his eyes from the weariness that threatened to weigh him down every morning when his alarm clock went off?
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
“Leave me alone!” His slight Haitian accent thickened with annoyance. Although he hadn’t grown up in Haiti his parents’ influence had left an imprint on his speech.
“Sorry, Sheriff. I didn’t mean to disturb you, but Mrs. Baker is on the line.” His secretary stared at him, caution reflected in her wide eyes.
Had he said that aloud? When had she even come into his office? He sighed, running a hand down his face. “I’m sorry, Holly. My mind was somewhere else. I’ll take the call.”
She nodded and backed out slowly, closing the door without a sound.
He grabbed his chair and brought it forward. The
