his hand.
Dylan looked down at him. “What is it, Brandon?”
“Is a Swiss Army knife okay? I got one for my birthday. It’s so cool, I wanted to show all my friends.” The kid held out his hand. A shiny red utility knife rested in his small upturned palm.
“That is a very cool present. However, it’s not appropriate to bring it to school.” Dylan remembered having one just like it when he was the kid’s age. However, times had changed. “I don’t want you to get into trouble, so how about you give it to me for now. I’ll give it to your dad later, and he’ll return it to you.”
Dylan pocketed the small knife and stole a glance at the clock on the back wall. Although this was one of his rare days off, he had a meeting this afternoon at city hall about the upcoming mayoral election.
“Well, kids, from my early-morning drive around town to check out everything to my night rounds and beyond, that’s a typical day in the life of a small-town police chief,” he concluded.
“Sounds boring to me, Chief. Just like this hick town,” the boy who’d caught Big Moe yelled. “I can’t wait until I’m old enough to move away and live someplace fun.”
Another boy chimed in. “Me, too. When I grow up, I’m going to be a real cop like the ones on my mom’s favorite show, Law & Order, not hanging around here helping old ladies cross the street.”
Dylan took in stride the comments and ridiculing snickers that followed. After all, he’d felt the exact same way when he was their age. He’d also done exactly what they intended to do. The moment he graduated high school, he’d fled the town named for his ancestors, with big plans and his high school sweetheart on his arm.
He’d never planned to return to Cooper’s Place, but he was back in his hometown doing a job that most days held all the excitement of watching grass grow. Slowly. One blade at a time.
Still, dull was good, he reminded himself.
His stint as a beat cop and then two years as a homicide detective on Chicago’s south side had given him an appreciation for living in a place where the children he heard outside could play without fears of gunshots ringing out. Sure, he went on routine calls concerning shoplifters, noise disturbances, family and neighbor disputes, and the occasional burglary. However, there were no calls in the middle of the night to investigate homicides. No street gangs or armed robberies.
The biggest thing a person was likely to become a victim of here was local gossip.
Cooper’s Place, Ohio, was still a town where the residents were all on a first-name basis and could go to bed at night without double-checking to see if the doors were locked. Peace and quiet reigned here, and Dylan would do everything in his power to keep it that way.
After answering a few more questions, he eyed the exit sign above the classroom door. “It’s been a pleasure speaking with you today,” he said.
His former teacher gave the students a reading assignment and followed him into the corridor. “I’d like to have a word with you, Chief Cooper,” she said, closing the classroom door behind her.
Dylan groaned inwardly at the use of his title, hoping she wasn’t about to give him an update on her ongoing dispute with her next-door neighbor. He’d issued them both citations last month when they’d insisted on pursuing charges against one another over minor transgressions that should have been settled without police involvement.
“How can I help?” he asked.
“It’s that uncle of yours.” She frowned. “My case was heard in Mayor’s Court last week...”
He held up a hand to stop her. Cooper’s Place was one of the small Ohio municipalities that had established Mayor’s Court to hear small cases that would be decided by arbitration. Since the mayor held a law degree, he was qualified to oversee the proceedings. Unfortunately, residents unhappy with the decisions made there often voiced their displeasure to Dylan.
“I’m law enforcement, Mrs. Bartlett. I have no control over Mayor’s Court or the mayor’s rulings. If you don’t agree with his decision you can always appeal to the county court.”
“But he’s your family,” she said.
“Regardless, any problems you have with the way he does his job should be taken up with him or at the ballot box during the upcoming election.”
“Humph,” she muttered. “How can I vote against him if he always runs unopposed?”
Moments later, Dylan stood outside the elementary school building and pulled his mobile phone from his shirt pocket. He briefly debated whether to check in with Dispatch.
The two-man department’s second officer was on duty today, and although Dylan couldn’t have asked for a more dedicated employee, Todd Wilson still had less than a year of experience under his belt.
Also, the rookie could be a bit of a zealot in making sure the town’s citizens adhered to the exact letter of the law, handing out citations to jaywalkers and litterbugs. Wilson sometimes carried a ruler to measure how far drivers had parked from the curb, and then slapped a ticket on their windshields if a quarter of an inch put them in violation.
The young man’s fanatical devotion to the job combined with his clumsy nature often made him the butt of jokes, and the good folks of Cooper’s Place teased the guy mercilessly. Some even compared him to the bumbling deputy from a classic black-and-white television show.
Holding the phone to his ear, Dylan listened as it rang twice before the dispatcher answered.
“Quiet as usual, Chief,” Marjorie Jackson said robotically, as if she’d been expecting his call. After all, he always checked in on the two days off he allowed himself each month. Dylan guessed he’d torn her away from one of the celebrity magazines she read constantly.
“And Wilson?” Dylan inquired.
“He drove the cruiser out to Old Mill Road to monitor for speeders.”
Dylan briefly considered driving out there to tell the officer to stick closer to town, since the area around Old Mill Road had both spotty radio coverage and cell phone dead spots, but he decided against it. The dispatcher had already confirmed nothing was going on.
Traffic was practically nonexistent on Old Mill Road now that the new bypass had opened. Surrounded by cornfields, there was little chance of the young cop finding a speeder or getting into a situation he couldn’t handle.
Exhaling, Dylan stared up at the sky and squinted against the beaming sun. He caught sight of a small dark cloud in the distance as he donned his wire-rimmed aviator shades, and despite the otherwise placid skies, he couldn’t shake the feeling a storm was about to blow into town.
Lola squirmed behind the wheel of her red Mustang.
After hours on the road, driving to New York City no longer seemed like the brilliant idea it had back in Nashville. Her shoulders ached and her butt had gone numb fifty miles ago.
She should have stopped
