Chief,” the sergeant said, marshaling his vocabulary and coming to her defense. “This is Amber Montgomery. She’s not a Reveler. She’s a caterer.”
Paul didn’t look convinced of her innocence. “You threatened me with a knife.”
Amber glared up at him, not letting the physical disparity of their heights dissuade her. “I am a caterer. If you’d done any kind of police work, you’d know that that was a carving knife. But how could you do any real police work—you were too busy shoving me around.”
Amber thrust her wrists in front of him. “Look.” Two bruises marred her pale skin.
Paul looked horrified. “What happened to you? Did somebody in the cage do that to you?”
“No, Chief Evans. You did. And you better believe that I’m filing a formal complaint.”
She whirled back toward Caleb. “Who hires the police chief?”
“Uh.” He looked from Amber to Paul. “Uh…”
“The mayor,” Paul supplied.
Just then a commotion in the hallway interrupted them. The main doors burst open. Wayside’s mayor strode in, followed by a reporter and a photographer from the Wayside Gazette and a frantic-looking Haley Brandon-Dumaine.
“Amber!”
“Paul,” the mayor bellowed. “What is going on in here?”
It took a good ten minutes to sort through what had happened.
“I’m pretty disappointed with you, Randall,” the mayor told the Revelers’ grand marshal. “I thought you all learned your lesson the last time.”
The Revelers’ last dinner-dance had resulted in a lifetime ban from the VFW hall.
“Some of us weren’t there then,” Silas called out.
It took a while, but on the mayor’s word and that of several longtime police officers, Amber was released from lockup. Haley stood with Amber as she signed the requisite forms.
“Ms. Montgomery, I’m truly sorry. It was an honest mistake,” Paul said, approaching them.
Amber’s derisive snort clearly said she wasn’t buying it.
“Will you let me formally apologize?”
Amber spun around. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, mister. First you yank me around like I’m some kind of rag doll. Now you think you can just make nice and I’ll forget about the way you treated me. Never again,” she said. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
Those were fine words coming from someone who didn’t even know a lawyer, let alone have one.
Amber’s dramatic exit from the police station sapped the rest of her energy. By the time they got to Haley’s car, Amber felt like a rag doll that had not only been yanked around and dragged across the ground but also run through a washing machine.
“Are you all right?” Haley asked.
Amber nodded, but she stared out the passenger-side window of Haley’s car. “I need to get my stuff. My van is still at the community center.”
Haley winced. “I don’t think you’ll be able to get it. At least not tonight. Chief Evans isn’t letting anyone near there until they get photos of all the damage. When I drove by, your van was inside the crime scene tape.”
“Great, just great. How am I supposed to make my deliveries tomorrow?”
“You can take my car if you need it. I’ll have Matt drop me off at school.” Haley stopped at a red light and reached a hand out to her cousin. “Amber, I’m worried about you.”
Amber didn’t meet her concerned gaze. “I’m fine,” she said, trying to convince herself. “And I’m not going to have a breakdown, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
The two women rode in silence for a moment. Then Amber, in a voice that was steady and strong, said, “The only thing on my mind is making that cop pay for what he did to me.”
Haley glanced at her. “Which cop, Amber? The one here, or the one who hurt you in L.A.?”
Chapter Two
Paul Evans pulled into his driveway after a long shift. In his three months in Wayside, this had been the first time he’d experienced any rowdiness in the small town.
And he’d take what amounted to a massive food fight over the rough and tumble of the place he’d come from. Wayside, Oregon, was a world and a culture away from Los Angeles.
He’d been given a heads-up about the Wayside Revelers, so he’d been expecting a need to cruise by their dinner-dance during his patrol shift.
The Revelers were all supposed to be retirees, or at least card-carrying members of the AARP. One in particular, however, didn’t fit that profile. Paul hadn’t been prepared for the fiery beauty who stood up to him brandishing a knife.
How was he supposed to have known she was the caterer? Her eyes flashed and she looked as if she were out for blood—his in particular. In the evidence room, he’d taken a look at that knife again. Carving knife or not, it could have done some damage had it truly been used as a weapon.
On the drive home, just one thing stuck with Paul, though, nicking his conscious, pestering his peace of mind, making him doubt what he’d seen with his own two eyes: How could he have grabbed her so hard that he’d left a bruise?
That ate at him like nothing else—even the fact that she kept saying “again.” He searched his memory, but couldn’t recall arresting her in L.A. Granted, he’d arrested a lot of people in his ten years as a cop on the street there. Maybe she’d been in the number. But surely he’d remember someone who looked like Amber Montgomery—like summer and cornfields and blue skies.
She’d caught his eye, all right.
Not remembering her as a suspect in L.A., however, didn’t bother him as much as that bruise on her arm.
The other Revelers tossed food around. Messy, yes. But not necessarily deadly. The knife wielded by Amber Montgomery, well, that piece of business was another story altogether. Despite her objection, the weapon had been bagged, tagged and put into an evidence locker at the police station.
He thought he’d let go of at least some of the wariness and care that had served him well on the LAPD. But apparently, he’d not yet gotten acclimated to Wayside and its considerably lower crime rate.
If a geriatric food fight ranked as serious crime here—serious enough to roust the mayor and get him to police headquarters—Paul had definitely settled in the right place. In a city the size of Los Angeles, only crimes like mass rioting, terrorism or a high-profile celebrity slaying ranked severe enough for top public officials to make an unscheduled appearance at police headquarters.
Yeah, he’d take a food fight any day over what he’d left behind.
Drawing a deep breath, Paul shed the cares of the job in exchange for the role that brought him the greatest sense of satisfaction.
“Hi, Eunice,” he said, walking in his front door. He un-buckled his gun belt, locked both the revolver and the belt in a closet, then tucked the key away on the chain he always wore around his neck.
“Well, howdy, Chief. Busy night, huh? I heard the Revelers got out of control again.”
He nodded. “You could say that. Thanks for staying with the kids.”
She wrapped up the knitting she’d been doing, placed yarn and needles in a large quilted bag at her side. “Not a problem. Sutton and Jonathan are fast asleep, bless their little hearts. You have two fine children there, Chief.”
Paul thought so, too. “I hope they didn’t wear you out too much.”
Eunice