Page 80 of Save Me
The other cop is a stodgy, gray-haired mustache-man whom I’ve never seen before and, I’m guessing, I’m not going to like.
“What’s up, fellas?” I ask.
“Do you have a permit for that?” The stranger cop points to our fire.
“Well, no.” I steal a confused glance at Jackson, who sat around this fire more than once back in the day.
“County law requires a permit for all bonfires on the beach.”
“But we’ve never had an issue before.” I don’t know when the law changed, but no one’s ever bothered us about it in the years since it has.
“Now you do.” He pulls out a notepad. “I’m citing you for this infraction.”
“Are you kidding me?” Frank erupts from behind me.
The cop adjusts his stance and peers over his nose at Frank. “Sir, I’m going to ask you to take a step back and calm down.”
“Iamcalm,” Frank retorts.
The cop’s eyebrows arch in challenge. “Sir, I’m going to ask you one more time?—”
“Frank, just … go over there.” I step in between them, waving a hand toward the small, curious crowd. The last thing anyone wants is for Frank to get arrested for being himself.
With a grumble, he saunters away.
The dickhead returns to his ticket pad, his pen jotting quickly under the glow of the flashlight he tucked into his double chin.
“Idon’t understand. The Sea Witch family has been doing this every night during the season for, like, almost fifty years.” Well before my time, anyway. “Why is this suddenly an issue?”
“Got a complaint.”
A complaint?“From who?” I look from him to Jackson, who’s remained mute in all of this. “There’s nobody here except …” Wait a minute. Of course. “Someone from the hotel called you guys.” I glare up at the monstrosity in the near distance. It’s not even open to the public yet.
“You’re lucky I’m not writing you up for being too close to the grass.” The cop tears the ticket off his pad and thrusts it forward. “If you want to have a bonfire on the beach, you can apply for a permit like everyone else.”
“But we’d have to apply every day.” And pay. “And we’re barely on the beach!”
“I don’t know what to tell you. Move your pit to your property and call it a cook fire. Keep a pack of wieners nearby.”
I can’t read the ticket in the dark to see how much I’m on the hook for, but any amount is infuriating.
“See you around, Sloane.” Jackson salutes and mouths “I’m sorry” before trailing his partner away.
A swell of anger erupts inside me. “You’re supposed to be using red light bulbs for the turtles!” I holler after them.
Frank marches over. “How bad is it?
“I don’t know.” I dig my phone out of my pocket to use the light. And gasp. “Five hundreddollars!” I don’t have that kind of money to burn!
He curses. “Who do you think called?”
“It had to be Henry or that GM who hates me.” The only person I know it wouldn’t have been is Ronan. But maybe he’ll know who launched an arrow at the target on my back.
I dial his number and wait impatiently as it rings.
20.Ronan
“Born and raised in the Sunshine State, lived here all my life, save for a small stint in Washington. I’ve been a resident of Mermaid Beach forforty-two years, to be exact. Believe me, I’ve seen the place go through all kinds of evolution,” Gayle Anderson says, the twang in her voice indicative of a Floridian. I spotted her speaking to Henry, and I just knew she had to be local government because there was no way this woman, in her high-collared blouse and pleated calf-length skirt, was a high-powered executive. She looks like she spends her afternoons crocheting on the front porch while reporting her neighbors for putting the trash out too early.
