Page 107 of Ice Darling
“Everything’s fine, Sheriff.”
“Son, have you been drinking?”
“No, sir.”
Gunner’s dad peers at me through weathered eyes. “Is it Gordie? Did something happen?”
“No, sir.” My heart slams against my ribs. I’ve never been the type to break the rules, and being pulled over by a cop is my worst nightmare.
“Then I’ll need to write you a ticket. It’s not legal to be driving this slow in town. You’re impeding traffic.”
“I’m sorry, Sheriff.”
He flicks the yellow pad and scribbles something. As he writes, he gives me a strange look. “You know…I heard Gordie’s ‘cool lady’ was seen around town with that new sponsor from the stadium.”
I spring forward, making the Sheriff jump. “Have you seen Cordelia, Sheriff?”
The Sheriff gives me a long, knowing look, and then he tears the ticket out of the booklet and crumples it into a ball.
He says conversationally, “Back in the day, when a lady wanted a man’s attention, she’d drop her handkerchief.”
My eyebrows crinkle. I have no idea why Sheriff Kinsey is talking to me about old-timey flirting. However, he’s the man standing between me and a ticket, so I nod along and act interested.
“And my wife”—he slips the ticket into his pocket—“had a habit of fighting back when I made the mistake of not paying her enough attention early on in our marriage.”
“How?” I ask, genuinely eager to hear this time.
“Uh”—he chuckles sheepishly—“well, she had her ways.”
I deflate. “Sheriff?—”
“What I’m trying to say is,” Sheriff Kinsey continues, “human beings are creative. Now, I don’t know why you were driving thisslow tonight, but I suggest…that whatever it was for…you think up better ideas, ones that don’t impede traffic.”
“Understood, Officer.”
The Sheriff taps my car window twice and tips his hat. “You have a good night, Viking.”
“Yes, sir.”
I drive off at a proper speed this time and consider the Sheriff’s advice. At first, I’m slightly offended at the Sheriff telling me to be like a woman dropping her handkerchief, but the more I think about it, the more I wonder if there’s some credence to the suggestion.
Rather than drive through Lucky Falls looking for Cordelia, what’s something I could do to getherto come to me?
My eyes drop to the dashboard of my car and the “check engine” sign that’s been off since Cordelia fixed it.
Bingo.
I park on the side of the road and call The Pink Garage.
Rebel picks up. “Hey, this is The Pink Garage. How can I?—”
“Rebel, this is Renthrow.”
“Renthrow, hey!”
“I’m in front of the Kinsey’s hardware store. For some reason, my car’s been…driving slow.” I grimace. Maybe I should have come up with a better story before I called. “And I’m not sure what to do.”
“Did you hear any weird sounds? Is the ‘check engine’ light on?”
