Slipping my phone back in my pocket, I remembered I had a bottle of water in my vehicle. It would probably be another five to ten minutes before anyone got here so I walked back to my SUV to get the water, when I saw Cole’s sheriff SUV pull in.
Crapola…
Yes, I should have assumed he would show up, but I was really hoping he would be off duty and I would get some deputy I didn’t know. Taking a big gulp of water, I swished it around my mouth and spit it out.
I reluctantly strode across the parking lot as Cole stepped out of his vehicle and another police car pulled up.
“Charlee?” Under the streetlights, I could see Cole squinting. “What are you—? Wait, no, don’t tell me—”
I shrugged my shoulders and gave him an exaggerated grin. “Hi, Cole.”
“What are you doing here?”
I blew out a defeated breath. “Oh, come on.” I left him standing there and marched off. His heavy-booted steps thumped the pavement as he quickly caught up.
He grabbed my arm. “Charlee, are you okay?” He looked me up and down, fearful for a moment.
“Yeah,” I nodded.
His relief was short-lived, as he became furious. “You want to tell me what the heck you’re doing down here?”
I shrugged off his grip and continued walking, stopping before I reached the dumpster. I had no desire to see Floyd again. Not in his present state. “He’s over there,” I pointed.
Cole moved forward.
“Oh,” I stuck out my hand. “Don’t step there,” I cringed. “I threw up.”
He looked over at me, still furious, but also a little worried. Clicking on a flashlight he crouched near the body.
“It’s Floyd, right?” I asked.
Another deputy I didn’t recognize brushed past me and stood next to Cole.
“Yeah, I think so,” Cole said.
The deputy leaned closer. “It’s him. I recognize the tattoo on his forearm.”
Cole stood and walked back to me. “You want to tell me what you were doing here?” He’d asked a question, but his tone said I’d better give an honest answer. And now.
“I found a note in Fern’s mailbox. Wait, I have it.” I rummaged through my purse and pulled it out. “Here.” I extended my hand, but he didn’t touch it. Fingerprints. Wonderful, mine were all over it. I unfolded the piece of paper so he could read it.
He scoffed. “And so, you came waltzing on down here? What did you think you were going to find?” He was livid.
“Well, not this,” I pointed in Floyd’s direction. “I’d spoken with Floyd several days ago, and I thought he had some new information. But it appears that someone got here first.”
Cole was not amused. “Seriously? Charlee, what is wrong with you?”
Nothing, I wanted to say, but didn’t think he would appreciate that. This wasn’t the caring, flirty guy who I’d shared my miserable past with last night.
All traces of that man, who I was finding myself more and more attracted to, were gone. This man, the sheriff, was royally ticked off. At me.
“What do I have to do to keep you out of trouble? Arrest you?” He crossed his arms over his chest.
I didn’t think he was joking with that semi-threat, so I turned my gaze to the ground. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” He nudged my chin up with his finger. “Because I don’t think you are. Do you realize that you could have been killed?”
I shrugged my shoulders lamely, refusing to give his question much thought. I’d been scared enough for one night.
“Why don’t you trust that I can do my job?” He sounded hurt… and angry.
“It’s not that,” I started, but he silenced me with a sharp glare.
“Then what is it? You have a death wish?” He raised one eyebrow.
“I care about Fern, and I’m worried—”
“So, you’ve said. But, Charlee, you’re not a cop. You know nothing about this, and—”
“Sheriff,” called out someone new to the scene. Cole looked over to several other people who had shown up with a stretcher and a body bag.
“He’s over there,” Cole gestured. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
He returned his focus to me. “I need to get your statement and we need to process the note. Would you please meet me at the station? I’ll be there in a while.” He was all business, firm and demanding. Then he left and went to talk to the coroner and other crime scene techs.
Without another alternative, I did what he asked and headed back to my car. I had a feeling this was going to be a long night.
Following Cole’s orders, I drove straight to the police station. I was tempted to go home and brush my teeth, but didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his wrath if he arrived and I wasn’t there. Thankfully I had some gum in my purse.
On the way over, Fern called me back. From the screeching voices in the background, it sounded as if she was still whooping it up eating dessert with her knitting friends back at the house.
I told her they were welcome to eat my macaroni and cheese, as I wasn’t going to be touching it (or even looking at it, if possible) anytime soon. My aunt had offered to keep me company at the station, but I turned her down, figuring she’d already spent enough time here.
After about ten minutes of sitting on the hard wooden bench in the station’s hallway, and yawning half a dozen times, I decided to lay down. The bench, however, was not designed to accommodate a six-foot-tall female or any person of similar height, for that matter, so I scooted my knees up and placed my feet on the end. I yawned again, hopeful that I might be able to catch a nap when I heard a man call my name.
“Charlee, are you all right?” My eyes blinked several times, adjusting to the awful
