friend “—he is not my Ian.”
Roni pursed her lips. “Good, because you could do so much better. He reminds me of all the locusts claiming to be our long-lost baby brother lately. We got another one this week. Now that word is getting out that Luke didn’t die in the car crash, strange men are coming out of the woodwork. Don’t they know we will have them tested?”
“Right,” Ian said with a smirk, “because you can’t let a penny of your money go to a locust.”
“All right, that’s it.” Sylvie made a grab for Ian’s good arm and twisted it up his back. He didn’t fight her as she pushed him toward curtain three. “Get in there before I throw you out the front door and let whoever shot you have another go at it.” That part she whispered, but not softly enough because her son immediately spoke from behind the curtain.
“Shot?” Jaxon said.
Sylvie opened the curtain to shush him. Anxiety she’d held at bay since the accident lifted from her shoulders at the healthy sight of him. She shoved Ian inside and turned back to Roni to see if she’d heard, but her friend only said, “He’s cute, and a worthy opponent, but watch yourself.” Sylvie wanted to set the record straight. She was in no way interested in Ian Stone. In anyone for that matter. But she knew her friend would never stop hoping she would find someone someday, like Roni had found her handsome FBI agent, Ethan Rhodes.
Sylvie yanked the curtain closed with a rattle to the metal rings above. “Sit in that chair and fill this out.” She passed over the clipboard and went to her son’s bedside to hug him, relieved he let her embrace him. After a few moments of assurance that he was alive and well she pulled back and picked up his chart to read. “How you feeling? Anything broken? Has the doctor seen you yet?”
“Leg snapped. I’m getting a boot. Who is he?” Jaxon asked, peering around Sylvie.
“He’s someone I brought in for stitches.”
“Because he got shot?”
“Yes, but’s that’s between us. Don’t go repeating that. I’m keeping him with me until I know more details.” Sylvie turned to see Ian hadn’t even clicked the pen to write his name. “The doctor won’t be able to see you until that’s filled out, Mr. Stone.”
Ian barely looked at the forms. “I told you I didn’t need this. I shouldn’t have come here.”
“Just why did you come to Norcastle? Especially if you don’t follow racing.”
“Is it a crime to want to see a mountain town in New England at Christmastime?”
“No, but you don’t fit the profile of a tourist, most know how to dress appropriately for the harsh winters. It snows practically every night up here. Did you even pack a hat and gloves? A scarf? I’d say you’re a California man. Am I right?”
“I’m impressed.”
“I don’t care if you’re impressed.” She nodded at the clipboard. “Just write it.”
Ian stared at the information sheet and clicked the pen. He clicked it again and again. Five more times at a rapid rate before he sent the clipboard clattering to the floor and jumped to his feet. He was out the curtain in an instant.
But he wasn’t faster than Chief Sylvie.
She had an arm wrapped securely around his neck and had him back behind the curtain and in his chair before anyone saw the takedown.
“Man, you thought you were going to escape my mom?” Jaxon said with a wry smile. “I could have told you not to bother. She’s got some moves.”
Ian cleared his throat and mumbled aloud, “‘And though she be but little, she is fierce.’” He ran his fingers through his hair to right it back into its unkempt style. He straightened up in his chair. “How about a warning next time, Chief?”
“It wouldn’t change anything. She’d still win.” Jaxon smirked.
“Thanks a lot, kid,” Ian said, chagrined.
“Was that Shakespeare?” Jaxon asked. “That quote about my mom being little but fierce?”
“Yeah, Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
“I’ll have to read it.”
“Here.” Ian reached into his pocket and withdrew the MP3 player. “I have the audiobook on here. You can listen to it.”
Sylvie picked the clipboard up and held it out to Ian again. “If this is about money, I already told you not to worry. It’ll get worked out.”
Ian stared at the floor. “It’s not about the money. At least not all of it.”
“Then explain. What was that outburst for?”
He hesitated, but then blurted out, “I can’t read, okay?” His gaze lifted to her.
“Whoa,” Jaxon said, but Sylvie warned her son with a shake of her head before he could say more.
“You should have just said so,” she said to Ian.
“I try to avoid being ridiculed whenever possible.” He looked away. “I have dyslexia. Words and letters make no sense to me. They’re all one big wavy line, moving around the page.”
“We won’t ridicule, right, Jaxon?” Sylvie said.
“No, man. I get enough of that at school to know it stinks.” Jaxon reached for the clipboard. “I can help you fill it out.”
Sylvie’s heart swelled with pride to see her son jump in to help a complete stranger with no judgment. But she did wonder what her son meant by experiencing enough ridicule at school. He hadn’t mentioned anything to her before about it. And it couldn’t be for his academics. The boy excelled in every subject.
Sylvie’s cell beeped with one of her lieutenants calling her. “Excuse me for a second,” she told the boys, but they didn’t seem to notice she’d said anything. The two were laughing about something Ian said was a ridiculous question on the sheet. She walked behind the curtain. “Preston, I’m glad you’re calling. I have a nonresident who’s been shot today. I need to get a report going.”
“A GSW? Drug related?”
Sylvie glanced at the closed curtain. “Possibly. The victim hasn’t given me much to go on, other than blaming it on the Spencers. I’m thinking he’s hard up for money, maybe owes someone. They retaliated by pulling the trigger. Anyway, I have the bullet. I’m bringing it in. I’ll need you to run ballistics.”
“Got it.”
“So, you called me. What do you need?”
“Nothing so full of grandeur. Just that I think I’m right about Smitty and Reggie. I found a business card for an ecologist specializing in salt contamination in Smitty’s desk. You know I think Officer Smith has been instigating the picketers over at the salt shed. He wants Reggie back as chief.” A recent wave of protesters had sprouted up in town, vocalizing their disapproval about the state of the shed that stored the season’s road salt.
