Page 8 of Mountain Freedom
“Been at it all night?”
“Pretty much.”
He came to stand beside me, crossing his arms as he eyed the kid in the room. “Doesn’t normally take you this long,” he said. “You off your game this week?”
He said it mildly, and I knew he was half joking, but I winced anyway. Truth was, I was a lot off my game, but I didn’t want to talk about that. “I’ll get him,” I said, reassuring myself as much as him.
“Are we sure he did it?”
I nodded. “I’m sure. Everything I’ve got is circumstantial so far, but he’s the guy. She broke up with him last week and he was pissed. He’s got an anger problem and two domestics on his record. Witnesses heard him threatening her less than twelve hours before her assault. His buddy gave him an alibi, said they were drinking together and rebuilding a car engine all night, but…he’s the guy.”
Greg nodded. “Then I have no doubt you’ll get him. Need anything from me?”
I started to tell him no, but my phone buzzed. I picked it up and answered, taking the message I’d been waiting for. By the time I hung up, I felt a fresh wave of energy. It was a stimulant that worked better than coffee—though I’d kill for another cup after the night I’d had.
“What is it?” Greg asked.
“My victim’s awake and talking. Said it was himandthe buddy who alibied him. They did it together.”
Greg clapped me on my shoulder. “There’s your leverage. Go get him.”
I was runningon mere fumes of adrenaline by the time the day was over. I’d picked up the friend, and both guys had caved pretty quickly, each throwing the other one under the bus as soon as they heard that their victim was talking. I was ready forsleep and to put this particular case behind me, at least for the night. But I had one more stop to make on my way home.
The bells jingled on the door of the coffee shop when I walked in. The strong smell of espresso hit, tempting me. After all, at this point, I could probably enjoy a couple of shots andstillsleep like the dead when I got home. But I wasn’t there to risk it. I just needed to check on Anna, the owner, who’d had a little trouble of her own recently.
“Well, hey there, Jackson.” Anna waved from behind the counter. “You didn’t make it in for your normal cup this morning. Want one now?”
“Make it tea. Something caffeine-free. I’ve been up for”—I checked my watch—“thirty-six hours straight now. I’m heading home to crash.”
She just shook her head. “You work too hard. You need to take a vacation.”
I grinned. “Hard to take a vacation when the bad guys never seem to.”
She sighed and gave me a look that said she saw right through me as she plucked a tea bag from a case and put it into a to-go cup. “Not a lot of bad guys here in Rosemary Mountain.”
She was right. There really weren’t. Violent crime was pretty rare here, though it had been steadily increasing as of late, a fact that had me and the sheriff both frustrated. Still, we had enough going on to keep me busy, which brought me to my real reason for being here.
“Are your new volunteers working out well?” I asked.
Some high school seniors had broken into her store after hours and had a bit of a party. No damage done, but they had helped themselves to all the espresso and syrup they could drink. I had tracked them down. Made them pay for all of it and agree to community service hours, which in this case meant volunteer work specifically to help Anna. Her husband hadbeen struggling with cancer, and I knew she was barely keeping them afloat with the increase in medical bills. She was also in desperate need of help with the yard work and maintenance that her husband used to do.
“Yes,” she said, laughing softly. “I think they’ve learned their lesson.”
“So no more trouble?”
“None at all.” She put sugar in my tea, just the way I liked it, and handed it to me. “It’s on the house,” she said as I pulled out my wallet.
“Don’t do that,” I said. “I’ve got it.”
She stubbornly shook her head. “It’s the least I can do after the way you helped me out.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” I said, pulling out some cash to stuff into the tip jar. “That’s my job.”
“Well, we all appreciate how well you do it.”
“How’s Aaron doing?” I asked, changing the subject. I always felt a little uncomfortable when someone thanked me for what I did, though I wasn’t sure why. My job gave me a lot of personal satisfaction. In a way, it felt like I was making up for all the trouble Russell had caused. Like I was putting some things right after everything he had done wrong. And I liked that. Liked that I had beaten the odds and taken a radically different path than his, despite having a bumpy start in my early years. But it still felt weird when someone else thanked me for it.
“He’s having a good day,” Anna said with that sweet, patient smile of hers. “Got a good report from the doctor. I think he’s getting better.”
