“Back off, fucker!”
“Keep your fuckin’ hands off of me!”
A scuffle broke out between two of the men on the sidewalk, but before Carter could reach them, Tara shoved her body in between the two men, pressing against both of them with her palms on their chests.
“Stop this minute!” she shouted. “You’re here to receive help, not start a fight. For goodness’ sakes, there are children around!”
Carter pushed through the crowd, his heart pounding as he saw the size of the men compared to the woman standing in the middle. Tara was not petite, but both men were a head taller, with quite a few pounds over her. As he made it to the trio, he pulled his jacket back, exposing his badge, two seconds away from calling a unit to haul them away.
“Shit, man,” one of the men said, staring into Carter’s tight-jawed, angry face.
“We was jus’ playing,” the other one mumbled.
Carter opened his mouth, but Tara got there first. “Thank you, Detective. I’ve got this.”
His hands landed on his hips and his eyes bugged. It took all of his self-discipline, but he kept his mouth shut while still maintaining his presence in the middle of the group.
Tara’s gaze left him and moved to both men, lowering her hands from their chests. “You know the rules of the shelter. Those rules apply whether you are staying in the shelter or getting a bag meal. This is your one warning. Come back at eleven, around the back, and you’ll receive a lunch.”
Both men dipped their chins and said, “Yes, Ma’am,” in unison before they continued down the sidewalk side-by-side.
Tara shifted her purse back up on her shoulder, clasping her hands in front of her, avoiding looking directly at Carter. His feet apart, he crossed his arms over his chest and continued staring silently. She appeared to take a moment to compose her face and lifted her gaze.
“Good morning, Detective Fiske. I didn’t expect to see you here so early.”
Eyes wide again, he shook his head in disbelief. “That’s it? You put yourself at risk, sticking your neck out by stepping in the middle of two men getting ready to throw punches, and all you can say is good morning?”
“I’m perfectly capable of determining what situations I can handle and when I need help. I knew those two men. They’re actually friends who sometimes like to act as though they’re teenagers, even though they’re about twenty years beyond adolescence. I assure you that if I had not known them or felt as though there was a threat to others around them, I would have no problem letting you step in. In fact, I probably would’ve dialed 9-1-1 myself.”
He tilted his head slightly, his chin tucked so that he could peer down at her. Once again, her dark hair was pulled back from her face. She was wearing slacks and low-heeled pumps but was wrapped up in a red wool coat that came to her knees. Most heavy coats made a woman appear shapeless, but this one was tied at the waist, accentuating the curves he’d noticed the other day. Silently counting to ten to get his mind back on the matter at hand and not on her curves, he jolted when he realized she had spoken again. Blinking, he said, “Come again?”
Her lips curved into a delicate smile, and she repeated, “I wondered what you were doing here this morning. Did you need to see me again?”
“Yes. Actually, I did.” His words were a lie, but now that he was standing on the sidewalk with her, he wanted to find out what she was talking about when she mentioned a bag lunch. “I was just at the clinic, but I now have a few more questions for you.”
She inclined her head toward the door and said, “We can speak inside.”
He searched his mind quickly for a reason why he would need to talk to her but was distracted as she greeted the other shelter employees, several of the families, and some of the other shelter residents. Once in her office, she slipped off her coat and hung it on the back of the door.
They sat and she turned her attention to him. “Is this about Rocky?”
“Yes. You mentioned bag lunches outside. What did you mean by that?”
Her brow lowered, surprise settling on her face. “Bag lunches?” Gaining his nod, she said, “We’re unable to provide everyone with a hot meal three times a day or even once a day unless they’re staying with us. But there are groups of churches that have volunteers who make sandwiches. Hundreds of sandwiches. They put them in a paper sack along with anything else that their members have donated. Chips, an apple, maybe a cookie. Three days a week, the bags are brought to several distribution places around the city, and we’re one of them. On those days, at 11 o’clock, we offer a bag lunch to the homeless that come by. Occasionally, we’ve run out, but for the most part, we’re pretty good about estimating what the need is.”
He scribbled in his notebook, and when he looked up at her again, her head was tilted to the side.
“If you’re wondering if Rocky participated in the bag lunch program, then I can tell you that he did. He felt bad about taking a bed at the shelter when there were others that he said needed it more. But three times a week, he was always here to get lunch. Considering that he was also here for some of our counseling programs, I saw him quite a bit.”
“Are the bag lunch days set?”
“Yes. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. We have to be careful because the city doesn’t want a large gathering of homeless persons on the sidewalk or standing in front of our center. I understand that, and even though many of them know that we don’t open the door until 11 o’clock, they’ll gather early.” She offered a little shrug. “Sometimes, I
