Without missing a beat, Jo handed him a bottle of water. “Details, Honey, like you’re writing a report.”
Hank sighed in relief and snatched the bottle out of Jo’s hand. He didn’t answer her till he had tossed three aspirin into his mouth and chugged down half the bottle of water. “She’s cute, yes. But she’s also a member of this town. Details you will not get, cause there are none to be told.” Hank took a few steps and muttered, “I need the number she called from, for my log.” He was hoping Jo would just do her job for once, but who was he kidding.
Jo turned in her chair, clapped her hands like she was trying to kill a fly, and hollered, “No details my ass!” She stood, cocked her hip and curled one hand to rest on that hip. “You want her number?” she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Can’t remember the last time you needed a number for your log,” Jo drawled, then added almost under her breath, “Maybe I need to call her too, have a little chinwag.” Her laugh was loud and long. She scribbled down the number, holding out the paper to him. Before he could take it, she pulled it back. Their eyes connected. “We aren’t done with this conversation.”
She held out the paper again and Hank took it, grumbling as he did, “How many aspirin are too many?” He didn’t wait for an answer and started for his office, but stopped when he noticed Mike wasn’t at his desk. He turned to Jo, who had a shit-eating grin on her face. “Where’s Mike?” From what he could recall, there was no reason for him not to be behind his desk.
Jo sat back down, lifted her sweet tea. “There was an altercation between Hyacinth and Terry. Poor boy was just making deliveries. The cane was involved. Potato salad is spread out all over Sunflower Street causing a traffic jam.” She took a long sip. “He’s got it under control, but in this heat, it’s not going to smell too good down there.” Jo chuckled and added, “Yep, it sure ain’t gonna smell too good.”
Hank wanted to stop Jo at Hyacinth’s name, but being the sheriff, he needed to know what was going on. Only in Summerville would potato salad spread across a street cause a traffic jam. Hank stood there, looking at the beauty of Josephine. Her flawless skin, makeup done up like she just climbed off a runaway in Paris. Nails too long for any breathing human or animal, painted the color of the bright sun. He wasn’t really taking in all that was Jo. No. Hank was contemplating his life in the few beats he stood stock-still. He thought of Phoebe. He didn’t let himself harp on it; he had work to do.
“Okay,” Hank grumbled and continued to his office. What else was he going to say? Reaching his office, he shut the door, flopped down into his padded leather chair and took a deep breath. He looked at the bright pink sticky note in his hand. Stretching forward, he retrieved his cell from his back pocket. His eyes bounced from the phone number to his cell. Jesus. He wasn’t a fucking boy anymore. He tapped on the screen, went to contacts and added her.
* * *
Arissa turned down Main Street on her way to the station. Next to her was a plate of brownies she’d made in her water soaked kitchen. It wasn’t much, but she wanted to thank the sheriff and the dispatcher for their help. She was an adult; she could be honest and admit there was more to her sudden urge to make brownies. Sure, the sheriff was sexy, but there had been something between them, at least she thought there had been. It could have just been the drama of the moment, so she made brownies as an excuse to see if that spark ignited again.
She was yanked from thoughts on the sheriff when she was almost clipped by a huge white convertible. A horn blared, the woman behind the wheel glared at her, one hand lifted over her head in a fist. “Watch where you’re going!”
The woman’s car was on Arissa’s side of the street, but since her car could steamroll over Arissa’s convertible bug, she smiled apologetically and hit the gas. A few seconds later, she heard the horn again, another shout and couldn’t help but chuckle. The woman was a menace.
Finding a spot, she parallel parked and climbed from the car. The door hadn’t even closed when she heard, “Hey there, little lady. You wanna come on over and sit on my lap?”
Her head jerked around to see two older men sitting at a table outside the cafe, both looking at her with salacious smiles. “Ah, I’m heading in there,” she said, and pointed to the station house. “But maybe next time?” That was said in almost a question because how the hell did you answer a question like that and not be rude?
“Anytime, Sweet Cheeks,” the one hollered.
“My lap is softer,” the other said.
Chuckling to herself at the colorful characters across the street, Arissa reached for the plate of brownies, shut her car door and waved a hand over her head before she started for the station. “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.”
She heard, “She blows us off just like the sheriff, with a wave of a damn hand.”
Arissa stopped, turned back. “Rain check?” she called back, and bit her lip to keep from laughing when they sat up a bit straighter.
“You bet!”
Turning back to the station, she pulled open the door. The blast of cold air felt great. Her eyes hadn’t even adjusted and she was almost knocked over.
“How’s the lake?” Arissa took a second to take in the one who
