Page 4 of Serve and Protect
When Robert sees me coming, he rolls his eyes at me. “I’ll let you handle this,” he says as he heads back to the kitchen.
I finally reach the woman’s side. “What seems to be the problem, ma’am?” I ask in my most professional voice.
She glares at me. “I’ll tell you what the problem is! I orderedwhitetoast, not wheat! And what did I get? Wheat! I’m allergic to wheat!”
I have to bite my tongue to refrain from telling her that white toast is made from wheat, too. Somehow I don’t think she’d appreciate the clarification.
“And my eggs are overcooked!” she continues. “I said I wantedsoftscrambled, and instead I gothardscrambled. I want a full refund!”
“But she ate itall!” Cara yells indignantly, her hands propped on her hips. “Every last bite. She’s a freeloader!”
Unfortunately, this happens a lot in the hospitality business. Some people feel entitled to free meals.
The woman’s face turns bright red. “I ate it all because I have hypoglycemia, and I was starving! Do you want me to pass out from low blood sugar?”
“No, of course not, ma’am,” I say with a smile pasted on my face. Anything to de-escalate the situation. “I—”
“Don’t listen to her, Jennie,” Cara says, obviously still infuriated. “She’s a scammer!”
The customer attempts to lunge past me to get to Cara. “You little bitch! How dare you speak to me like that?”
When I jump between them, my arms outstretched to prevent the woman from touching Cara, the customer screeches in frustration. She sweeps her arm over the counter, sending several place settings—plates with food, coffee mugs, silverware, and salt and pepper shakers—crashing to the floor. Everything made of glass or porcelain shatters.
My patience is wearing thin. “That’s enough! Cara, call the sheriff’s office.”
“With pleasure,” Cara says, gloating as she reaches for the phone.
My day is off to a bad start, but at least I’ll get to see my best friend this morning. It pays to have the sheriff on speed dial. I have no doubt Chris will be the one responding to our call for help.
Chapter 2 – Sheriff Chris Nelson
I’m sitting at my desk at the police station, checking my e-mail, when our office administrative assistant, Darlene, pops her head through my open office door. “Hey, boss. Sorry to bother you, but Ricky just brought in Ted Monroe for DUI. He ran his pickup into the ditch.”
“Again? It’s the second time this week.” I shake my head. “That old fool is going to kill himself one of these days.” I check the time. “It’s not even eight-thirty yet.”
“They’re in booking right now. Thought you’d want to know.”
“Yeah, all right.” I sigh. “Tell Ricky I’ll be right there.”
When I walk into the booking room, Deputy Ricky Stephens has Ted Monroe handcuffed to a bench as he takes the scowling man’s photo for the booking report.
“He’s too drunk to stand,” Ricky says with a shrug. “And he wouldn’t sit still, so I had to cuff him to the bench.”
“Ted, I told you if we caught you driving drunk again, I’d take away your keys.”
“You can’t do that, Sheriff!” Ted yells. He’s slurring his words so badly I can barely understand him. “I know my rights!”
“Watch me.” I hold out my hand, and Ricky places Ted’s car key on my palm. “This is mine now until you can prove to me you can stay sober.”
“You’re an asshole!” Ted sneers. “I’ll never understand how you got elected to sheriff in this county.”
“Well, Ted, it’s a small county, off the beaten path, and apparently competition was thin. Looks like you’re stuck with me.”
The old man scowls. “It’s cause you went away to that fancy university in Phoenix and came back puttin’ on airs. You’re no better than your whore of a mother.”
Any time someone mentions my mother, I feel an inevitable sharp, stabbing pain in my chest. She’s been gone almost a decade now—victim of a drug overdose when I was away at college—but folks around here still remember her. Hell, half the men in this town probably slept with her at some point, including old Ted Monroe. I ignore the possibility that Ted could be my father. It’s certainly not out of the question. Of course, just about any Tom, Dick, or Harry in this town could be my daddy as well. I’ll never know.
“Finish booking him and lock him up,” I tell Ricky. “We’ll let him sleep it off today. He’ll get his chance in front of a judge tomorrow down at the courthouse.”
