Page 42 of The Fall Back Plan
Law enforcement has taught me time and again that there is so much more going on behind closed doors than people would ever guess. It means that what Jolie has shared is likely the tip of the iceberg.
She’s got layers. I’d like to learn more about them. About her.
It’s a good time, given that things are settling back down with Brooklyn. Every morning this week, I’ve still expected her to appear at the last possible minute at breakfast, her face a blank, her body hunched, the corners of her mouth turned down. She’s been her usual self, but I sort of feel like I do when I pull over a vehicle for a traffic stop: they’re routine—until they aren’t. Until you get the wrong person at the wrong time, and they can suddenly become dangerous.
This is not so different from living with a tween.
I get no more time to stare after Jolie, mulling like a weirdo, because Becky pops out from the station. “Boss, Wayne Oakley is on the way over, and he’s demanding to speak to you.”
I nod and head in, settling in behind my desk and pulling up Harvest Hollow Happenings to see if there are any new updates that would tip me off as to why I’m about to get the dubious honor of his company.
The intercom beeps. “Mr. Oakley and his daughter are here to see you.”
Sloane? I know her in passing, mostly, because she’s often with her father at high-profile events. I don’t know why she’d be here too. “Send them back.”
I deliberately leave my office door shut, because Wayne Oakley is the kind of guy that needs strong signals and boundaries. Forcing him to knock and request entrance is one of them. I generally operate with an open-door policy for employees and citizens alike, but Wayne needs reminders.
The knock comes, and it even manages to sound irritated. I hide a smile and call, “Come on in.”
The door opens to admit Wayne and Sloane, and I stand to shake their hands before waving them into the chairs on their side of my desk and taking my seat again. “How can I help you today?”
Wayne starts. “You have got to get the Doll Bandit. It’s getting out of hand.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I can understand the mayor’s concern, but as far as I know, this hasn’t affected any local businesses. They’ve all shown up at private residences. Why would the Chamber be worried about this?”
“Because one of them showed up on my porch this morning, and it is unacceptable,” Sloane says.
Ah. Okay. I pull out my notepad to take down the pertinent information. “Let me call in Detective Slocum. She’s lead on this, and we’ll get the details.”
“You don’t need to investigate,” she says. “I know who’s doing this.”
I lay my pen down and lean forward. “Tell me.”
“Jolie McGraw.”
The name falls between us and lies there like an undetonated bomb. I don’t allow any change of expression. No one has better cop face than I do. “What leads you to believe that?”
“She’s back in town.”
“Sure. Bought Sullivan’s. That’s not exactly a smoking gun,” I say.
“She’s like one of those people who snaps and goes on a rampage,” Sloane says.
“You need to put a stop to this, Lucas,” Wayne says.
“That’s Sheriff to you,” I tell him, my voice calm and polite. He’ll start calling me “boy” or “son” if I don’t. “Can you elaborate on that, Sloane? I’ve spoken with her a few times since she opened the new place, and I don’t get that impression.” An axe to grind, yes. Never a “rampage” vibe.
“She hated me in high school. She was very resentful that my family had money, and she would do everything she could to undermine me. She disliked a lot of people, actually. I stopped by her bar the other night with some friends, and it was clear she still isn’t over her high school insecurities. She was very rude to me. And then a creepy doll that looks like my daughter shows up on our porch?”
She leans forward, fixing me with a hard stare that I think is supposed to intimidate me. “It’s no coincidence that those dolls started showing up right around the time Jolie McGraw came back to town.”
I resist the urge to rub my suddenly throbbing temples. To be honest, I’d probably rather deal with the leader of the local biker gang than Sloane Oakley-Whatever any day of the week. She’s got a major helping of her father’s entitlement, and she’s clearly ready to throw both their last name and his title around to make some noise.
“I understand why that would concern you, but correlation is not causation. I have one of my best investigators looking into this, and we’ll figure out what’s going on.”
Wayne snorts. “Best? How good can she be if you still haven’t cracked this? This isn’t exactly a mastermind operation. We should have answers by now.”
I stand and walk to my office door, an invitation to leave. “I hear you, Wayne. But if even the most dedicated Facebook detectives can’t solve it with all their theories and gossip, maybe you can cut my deputy a bit of slack while she sorts through the possibilities. Thank you for stopping by. I’ll keep you posted.”
