balding head, and when he smiled, his whole face lit up. “Same here,” he said.
Mike “Icabod” Matthews took his turn, adding a pat to her shoulder. “If anyone can fill Frankie’s shoes, we figure it’ll be you.”
Cassie shook her head. “Either one of you could handle the job,” she said.
They exchanged looks and winked. “Neither one of us wants it,” Campanelli said. “Hell, I retire in five years. And Matthews, he’s got so many side projects going he wants to have himself cloned.”
“Town couldn’t take two of me,” the other man joked.
The third man stood off to one side, waiting his turn. His pale blue eyes were cold, his smile forced in his square-jawed face. He was built like a boxer—stocky and solid. Jax knew the type. Big chip on his shoulder and probably had issues working under a woman. It might have been different with Frankie, since she was the man’s aunt. But Jax was not only female, but a younger female at that. And stepping into the job he had coveted for himself. She read all of that with her first look at the guy, pegged him as an asshole, and didn’t doubt she’d be proved right, given time.
She extended a hand. “You must be Officer Parker,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” It was a lie, but what the hell.
“Lieutenant,” he said with a nod.
She almost told him to call her Jax, but decided against it. She’d need every edge she could get with this fellow, and establishing a pattern of respect would be a good start.
“I hear you stayed out at that old empty house last night. How do you like it?”
“Love it,” she said.
He lifted his brows, maybe a little surprised. “Really? I’d have thought being way out there like that might make a city girl a little uncomfortable.”
“I’m from Syracuse, Officer Parker, not Manhattan.”
He shrugged. “Still city, compared to here.”
“I like the country. It’s quiet.”
“Not a neighbor within a mile of you,” he said. “A lot of the locals claim to have seen things out there, since the fire.”
“What kinds of things?” she asked, looking him square in the eye.
“Just things. Things that spooked ’em.”
“Guess it’s a good thing I don’t spook easily. I didn’t have power or a phone last night. And even that didn’t spook me.”
“Those will be on by the time you get home,” Frankie told her, coming out of her office to join them. “Power company said by noon today, and the phone guy told me dinnertime at the latest.” She smiled. “So did you really like the place?”
“I’ve never spent a more interesting evening,” she said, and it was a perfectly honest answer.
“Well, now you’ve got me curious. Come on, you can tell me about it while I give you the grand tour.”
“Nothing to tell, Frankie. Honest, I love the house.”
Frankie led her through the station, showing her the files, the communal computer, the supply closet, which was packed full. Jax noted a holding cell in what looked like a new part of the station. “Just the one cell?” she asked.
“We didn’t have any until this past year,” Frankie told her. “It’s brand-new.”
“What did you do with the criminals before now?”
Overhearing her, Kurt Parker released a bark of laughter. “Hell, honey, this isn’t some city police department. We barely have any criminals.”
She shot him a look, but before she could say a thing, Frankie cut in. “I’m pretty sure I did introduce you, didn’t I, Kurt? The woman’s name is Lieutenant Jackson. Not ‘honey.’”
He looked as if he was about to say something belligerent, but by then the other two officers were chiming in. “You’d think some of us had been raised in a cave,” Matthews said.
“Hey, Parker, you want some more coffee? Honey?”
“Yeah, how about it, sweetie pie?”
Parker’s face reddened, and he turned to stomp off to his desk as if he had something pressing awaiting him there.
Rolling her eyes, Frankie led Jax into her office and closed the door. There was a smaller desk set up in the corner with a blotter, a cup full of pencils and pens, and a Blackberry Police Department coffee mug with a blue ribbon fastened to the handle.
“Aw, heck. Is that for me?”
“Sure is,” Frankie said. “That’s your desk. At least, until you move on over to this one.” She patted her own desk. “And to answer your earlier question, when we needed to make arrests, we’d call the county boys in. We’d get the paperwork, they’d get to hold the prisoners. It sounds complicated, but we had got it running like clockwork. Still, having a holding cell of our own is nice. And Kurt was right about one thing—we very rarely have to make any arrests.”
There was a tap on the door, then it opened and Rosie poked her head through. “Got a call, Chief.”
Frankie lifted her brows and waited, and Jax felt herself tense, just as she always did on the job when a call came her way.
“Purdy says someone just snatched some fruit from his produce section, and took off without paying.”
Jax blinked. Frankie nodded. “And what did this dangerous felon make off with?”
“An orange and a bunch of grapes, near as he could figure.”
Frankie nodded and smiled at Jax. “Welcome to high crime in Blackberry,” she said, her eyes twinkling. Then, to Rosie, “Description?”
“Male. Couldn’t see his face. He was wearing a blue hooded sweatshirt with some kind of bright orange logo on the front.”
Jax felt her own smile freeze in place and slowly die. Damn, she hoped the stranger went back by her place, so he would find the offerings she’d left and not feel compelled to steal. Apparently, he wasn’t very good at it. An orange and some grapes? Freaking pathetic.
“Suggestions, Lieutenant Jackson?” Frankie asked.
“Maybe the store’s security camera got him on tape?” she said.
“Nope. No security cams around here, except at the bank and post office.” She nodded to Rosie. “Why don’t you send Kurt over to take a report? He needs something to get his mind off his hurt feelings.”
“Sure thing, Chief.” Rosie backed out of the office.
Frankie sighed. “May as well get comfortable,” she told Jax. “We’ll take a look at the notices from the state police, and the county, and then we’ll head on over to the coffee shop.”
“But
