Page 5 of The Sweet Spot
“You can’t do this!” Ted yells as I walk away. “Give me back my keys! That’s my personal property! I know my rights, Sheriff!”
Ignoring Ted, I keep walking back to the administrative offices. My morning started off with a headache, and now it’s gotten worse.
As I return to the front of the station, Darlene catches me. “We just got a call from the diner. A customer is causing a disturbance and throwing things. Do you want me to have someone—”
“No, I’ll go.” I head straight for my office, strap on my duty belt, and shove my hat on. I’m out the door and in my SUV in less than a minute. Fortunately, the station is only four blocks away from the diner.
When I arrive at the restaurant, I double-park behind a Jeep and a pickup truck parked out front and run inside just in time to see Jennie standing her ground between an irate middle-aged woman and the baked goods display case.
Just like it does every other time, my chest tightens at the sight of Jennie Lopez, and my breath catches. She’s always beautiful, but right now she’s nothing sort of magnificent as she fends off what looks to be an irate, belligerent customer. Her soft brown skin is flushed from exertion, and her dark eyes are lit up.
The woman grabs Jennie’s arm and attempts to pull her away.
Well, there’s a charge—simple battery—which I can add todisorderly conductanddisturbing the peace. Already I can tell this one is going to be fun.
“That’s enough!” I yell, using what Jennie refers to as mycop voice.
As soon as she realizes I’m here, Jennie’s entire demeanor changes, going from fierce mama bear to interested bystander. Her gaze locks on mine, and she gives me a smile, complete with dimples in her soft, round cheeks.
Curious to find out what will happen next, everyone in the diner goes silent. Even the perpetrator stops what she’s doing and turns to face me.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” the indignant woman says with a huff.
I start mentally cataloging the suspect—white female, five-five, approximately 160 pounds, mid-fifties, white or blond hair (can’t tell), wearing a pair of navy trousers, white high heels, and a silky white blouse with an obscenely low neckline. And lots of gold jewelry.
As I approach the counter, I’m resting my left hand on the butt of my service piece. It’s a habit.
First things first. I glance at Jennie. “Are you okay?” If this woman hurt Jennie, I’ll throw the book at her.
Jennie nods as she nervously tucks her chin-length, straight black hair behind her perfect shell of an ear.
Before Jennie can reply, the woman says, “Why are you askingherif she’s okay?I’mthe victim here! You should be askingme!”
“I’ll get to you in a minute, ma’am. Right now, I’m talking to Ms. Lopez.”
“I’m fine, Sheriff,” Jennie says. “She—”
“Forget about her!” the woman screeches. “I’mthe wronged party here. I want to press charges.”
“She’s wrecking the place,” Jennie says to me, nodding behind her.
I step closer and peer over the counter at the mess of shattered glass and spilled food on the floor.
“She was unhappy with her meal,” Jennie says, as if that justifies disorderly conduct.
“Yes!” the woman yells. “I want a full refund right now!”
Cara comes around the corner, spitting like a cat who got her tail stepped on. “Don’t listen to her, Sheriff. She ate every single bite. If she didn’t like her food, then she shouldn’t have eaten all of it andthencomplained.”
Jennie sighs. “Cara, it’s okay. Let us handle this.”
“I told you, I had low blood sugar!” the woman yells. “You stupid—”
“She’s just trying to get free food!” Cara yells.
“Ma’am, calm down, please,” I say to the woman. She’s not a local, and I’d hate to arrest a tourist for being an ass, but if she keeps on being belligerent and wrecking the diner, I will.
And that’s when the woman grabs another customer’s coffee cup from a nearby table and lobs it over the counter. It hits the wall, shattering, and falls to the floor. Coffee drips down the wall.
