Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Family. The word packed a punch. I didn’t know Pete, but he was my family. These past couple of years, when I felt so alone after my parents’ deaths, I had an uncle I never knew about. I wish I could have met him, even once.
“Have you met Laura yet?” Barb asked.
“Laura?”
Her smile faded. “Oh, I shouldn’t have mentioned her. It’s not my place.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m only in town for a few days, and I’d love to meet anyone here who knew my parents. Did Laura know them?”
Barb tapped a pen against the counter, her brows pulled together. “She’s your mom’s sister.”
My stomach dropped with disbelief. “And she’s alive? I have an aunt who’s alive?”
“Alive and well. Her son is away at college, but her daughter lives here, too.”
Tears sprung to my eyes. I had an aunt and cousins. A knot of resentment tightened my chest. Why had my parents hidden their families from me? Were they terrible people? No matter the reason, it stung to know they’d kept their families from me because they were my family, too.
“I’m sorry,” Barb said, looking guilty. “I overstepped.”
“No, it’s okay.” I forced a smile. “I’m here to pick up a City Hall roundup and a police roundup for Bess.”
Her smile returned as she reached for a paper on top of a neat stack on her desk. “The mayor left the roundup for you and he asked me to remind you that we need maps of the snowplow routes printed soon.”
I glanced down at the paper and then back at her. “Do we have a copy of that?”
“I think our public works director emailed it to Pete a couple years back, and it hasn’t changed.”
“Okay, great. And is the police roundup here, too?”
Barb shook her head. “Oh no.” Oooh no. “The chief always gave that to Pete himself. I’ll buzz him and let him know you’re here.”
I nodded, hoping there was somehow another chief besides the bearded brute I’d met earlier today.
There wasn’t. Less than a minute later, another woman, this one named Terrie, met me in the lobby and led me down a hallway and then into an office, where Chief Grady glanced up from his computer screen at us.
“You’re Avon Douglas?” he said, sounding both puzzled and disappointed.
Such a charming man. Arresting little old ladies for jaywalking was probably his idea of a good time.
“Anything else, Chief?” Terrie asked.
She was clearly older than him, her hair mostly gray and crow’s-feet visible by her eyes, but she still spoke with a reverential tone, like fetching the boss a cup of coffee would be the highlight of her day.
“No thanks,” he said, giving me a skeptical look as she left the room, closing the door behind her.
“I’m just here for the police roundup,” I said. “You wouldn’t have had to see me if you’d left it at the front desk.”
He took off his dark-rimmed glasses and set them on his desk, opening his mouth like he was about to say something. Instead, though, he put the glasses back on and clicked his computer mouse.
“Pete always picked it up in person,” he said, his gaze on the computer screen. “I’ll print it out for you.”
He looked out of place behind the desk. Broad-shouldered lumberjacks belonged in the woods, swinging axes and avoiding people. Probably so he didn’t have to hunch due to his height, he had his computer monitor sitting on top of two thick hardbacks. I snuck a look at the titles on the spines. Criminal Procedure: Law Enforcement and the Constitution and The Fundamentals of Asset Forfeiture.
“Are you serious?” he mumbled. “I just put paper in it.”
He lowered his brows, clicking the mouse again. The printer, sitting on top of a counter-height cabinet that spanned almost the entire length of one wall of the office, started beeping.
“Piece of shit,” the chief said under his breath.
I didn’t even try to suppress my smile as I scanned his office. There was a beautiful framed photo of a spectacular sunset over a frozen lake, a buttery glow swirling with pale blue and fiery orange in the sky. A lone fisherman was silhouetted on the ice, looking like he was bundled up and sitting on a bucket.
A bookcase was half filled with more police books, a couple of photos of men in camo clothing in the woods perched on an otherwise empty shelf. A brown, shriveled plant practically begged for water from the corner. His framed college diploma gave away his first name: Ryan Grady, Bachelor of Science in Criminal Justice. He didn’t look like a Ryan. More like a Paul. As in Bunyan.
“I have to send this to another printer,” he said, clicking something and then taking off his glasses to look at me.
He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “I’m sorry for your loss. Pete was a really good guy.”