Maybe they were reacting to the novelty of the “lady chief” being in an altercation, but the small bakery was soon filled to bursting with county deputies and other official types, as well as the town’s other four police officers, two of whom were off-duty. For God’s sake, even the coroner showed up; it must have been a slow day for bodies. Several of the town council members arrived, as well as Mayor Buddy. Kyle Gooding was hauled to his feet, his head examined where Brandwyn had clobbered him with the chair, and taken away to the hospital in the next town over for checking out. He wanted to have whoever hit him arrested, but that didn’t fly considering he’d been in the process of attacking two law officers when Brandwyn brained him. After he was checked out, assuming he wasn’t admitted, he’d be taken to the county jail because the town didn’t have a jail and all their arrestees were put in the county facility. Even after Kyle was gone, people still stood around, laughing and retelling the fracas.
Bo instinctively retreated behind her mental walls, where she always went when she was in protective mode. She’d learned to do that at an early age as a means of coping with her mother’s parade of boyfriends and husbands, constant relocating, and a father who appeared to forget about her for years at a time. What had worked for the kid still worked for the adult. She didn’t like being the center of attention, and if the attention wouldn’t go away, then she would, at least inside her head.
Mayor Buddy came and patted her hand. “Quite a bit of excitement,” he said kindly as he pulled a chair around and sat down beside her, his pleasantly homely face caught in an expression halfway between concern and laughter.
Bo roused herself to reconnect. “I want to apologize for my language,” she said because she’d heard the phrase “tear your fucking head off” several times during the past half hour or so. The deputies had gotten a kick out of it, but she didn’t know how the town elders would feel. No one would care if she cussed like a sailor in private, but public perception was a different animal.
He chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. It makes such a good story most everyone in town will likely tell it themselves. The few that get puckered up about it will be outnumbered. I swear to you, I never thought this kind of thing would be in your job description.”
“I didn’t either.” She’d thought it was administrative, all the way. And it would have been; jumping in had been her choice, no one had told her to do it.
“Kyle’s daddy will likely kick up a fuss.”
“I know.” Warren Gooding owned a couple of prosperous sawmills in the area, which meant he employed some of the townspeople, and he liked to throw his weight around because of it. He’d always stepped in whenever his kids did anything wrong, blaming everything on someone else, so she expected him to follow pattern. Still, he didn’t live within the town limits, so he couldn’t even vote in elections, and considering the circumstances, she thought he’d concentrate his efforts on finding Kyle a good lawyer and maybe trying to get the prosecutor not to press charges.
If it were left up to her, she’d let bygones be bygones; she wasn’t really hurt and neither was Jesse. Hitting Emily, to her, was the big deal, but whether or not Emily pressed charges was up to her. But there would be charges because no one wanted people to get the idea they could get away with resisting arrest and assaulting officers of the law. This whole thing was going to get very messy before it was over; Miss Doris was beloved in the town and the Goodings weren’t, but the Goodings were influential, strident, and persistent.
She caught a glimpse of the big school clock on the wall behind the counter, and saw that almost an hour had elapsed. Aghast at her own negligence she said, “Tricks!” and surged to her feet. As cold as the day was, she knew overheating wasn’t a problem, but it was definitely time to get her out of the Jeep.
“Where is she?” That was one of the county deputies; she thought his name was Mayhew, or Mayfield, something like that. It didn’t surprise her that he knew who Tricks was.
“In the Jeep,” she said as she started to the door.
“You stay here, maybe drink some tea and get settled. I’ll get her.”
“Tea!” said Miss Doris, her eyes lighting. “That’s a good idea. All three of you need something to drink.” She dashed behind the counter and went to work.
Bo watched as the deputy crossed the street and opened the passenger door of the Jeep, then released Tricks from her harness. He wasn’t fast enough to catch her leash, though. Tricks jumped down and immediately trotted to the curb, her expression a little anxious as she searched for Bo. As always, she stopped at the curb and looked both right and left, a trick that delighted all the kids in town whenever they saw her do it, then she dashed across the street, leash trailing, and came straight to the door of the bakery, with the deputy in hot pursuit as he made repeated grabs for her leash.
Ignoring any health department regulations about animals in a food establishment, another deputy opened the door and let Tricks in. She darted to Bo, her whole body wagging with joy at being reunited. Bo received a thorough sniffing from her feet up, then a lick on the hand, then she was abandoned because the smells of food captured Tricks’s interest. Tricks made a beeline for the display cases and stood in front of them, her tail swishing back and forth as she seemed to peruse the baked goods.
“I’m going to take her out back,” Bo said to no one in particular and took Tricks out the door and around the side of the bakery to the patch of grass behind the building.