Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“Well, I have to get into town for my hair appointment, don’t I? How else do you suggest I get there? Fly?”
“Maybe someone could drive you.”
“I’m perfectly capable of driving myself.”
Right. As we’ve established. She needs to be moved into town so she doesn’t have to drive on the highway at all anymore, but that’s none of my business.
“I need your driver’s license and registration, please.”
“This is ridiculous.”
Rather than giving me what I need, she rolls up the window and simply pulls back out into traffic. It’s not a high-speed chase. I hit my lights and siren, but she ignores me all the way into town, and when I pull in behind her in the parking lot of her beauty salon, she ignores me when I try to speak to her.
She just hobbles right inside, moving surprisingly fast for a woman with a walker.
“Mrs. Wilburn, you’re under arrest.”
Gasps sound through the place, and everything goes quiet. You could hear a pin drop.
“I am not.”
“Yes, ma’am.” My face is grim as I rest my hand on my weapon. “I do not want to cuff you, ma’am, but I need you to come with me.”
“I can’t. I have an appointment.”
“You left the scene, and you ignored me, so you’re absolutely being arrested today. You’ll be able to call one of your kids to come bail you out in a little while.”
“How exciting,” someone whispers as they hold up their phone, clearly videoing this whole thing. “Martha Wilburn is being arrested.”
“I’m staying right here.”
And with that, she simply sits on the floor. I’ve never seen an old woman, who has to walk with a walker, be suddenly so…limber.
“I need backup,” I say into the radio on my shoulder. “Resisting arrest.”
Mrs. Wilburn, the sweet old lady, leans over and bites my fucking leg.
“And assaulting an officer. Holy shit.”
It’s been a shitty day. One call after another, all petty crap, but it’s keeping me busy, and the time is going fast. I have just enough time carved out to deliver a sandwich to Summer, and I’m headed there now, when I get another call.
“Shoplifting,” I hear through the radio, “at Pocket Full of Polly. Three underage males are inside the business.”
“Copy,” I reply with a sigh. “ETA two minutes.”
It ends up being thirty seconds, since I’m almost to the flower shop, which is just a block down from Summer’s place. Polly owns a dress shop, full of frilly, girly things.
What are three boys doing shoplifting in there?
“Hello, Chase,” Polly says when I walk through the door. “Thanks for coming. I caught this young man shoving a bracelet into his pocket.”
“It’s a present for my mom. I was gonna pay,” the kid says with a scowl.
“Uh-huh,” Polly says, rolling her eyes.
I shift my gaze between the three boys. I’ve seen them all in town plenty, and they’ve been in trouble before. If Bitterroot Valley had a gang, this would be it.
“What the hell, guys?”
“She’s overreacting,” the middle one says with a sneer.
“Steal from my store, and I’ll have your ass,” Polly counters. “I want to press charges.”
“Shit,” the middle one whispers mournfully.
“That’s your right.” I nod, eyeing Jake Hunter, the one who isn’t saying anything. “What did you do?”
“He’s the only one who didn’t do anything,” Polly says. “I’m not pressing charges against him.”
“Great, I’ll just go,” Jake says and moves to make his escape, but I catch him by the shirt.
“Stop. You’ll stay, or I’ll find something to arrest you for.”
It takes me fifteen minutes to take Polly’s statement, and I call to have another officer come take the two boys to jail so I can give Jake my undivided attention.
“Thanks, Chase,” Polly says with a wave as I escort Jake outside.
“Come on, let’s have a seat.”
“She said I didn’t do anything,” he insists. “I just want to go home. Or away from here, anyway.”
“Humor me.” I point to the park bench, and Jake drops down onto it, looking at me with dark eyes full of attitude. “What the hell are you doing hanging out with those kids?”
“They’re my friends.”
“Your parents would smack you on the head if they saw you hanging out with them.”
“Yeah, well, they’re dead, so it don’t really matter.” His chin is firm and defiant, and I blow out a breath, nodding slowly.
“I see.” Jake’s parents died in a car accident last year, leaving him without any family. I know he’s been in a foster situation since then. “Let’s get you out of that crowd, man. I’m sure I could get you a job working with horses. You’re good with them.”
“Stupid,” he mutters, staring at the ground, but I see the way his eyes light up at the mention of the animals, and an idea begins to form in my head.
“It’s not stupid. You have talent, and you’re wasting it on shit that’s going to get you into big trouble. What if I could get you a job working for my brother?”