controls on the dashboard. “Why did Sheriff McQuire put you in charge of it?”
Probably because Mack knew these kids inside out. He’d been one of them. Full of piss and vinegar, his grandmother used to say. But he wasn’t about to tell this to a stranger, a reporter, no less. “You’d have to ask the sheriff.”
He could feel her eyes on him, but he kept his own on the road. “Back to the kids,” she said, her tone level. Patient, even. When you didn’t look at her, she came off as mature. “Even with a realistic course for them, they still get in trouble?”
“They’re kids. Obviously you don’t have any.” Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw her stiffen.
“N-no.” Her hesitation seemed out of character. “I’ve never been married. Are you married?” She lobbed that question as she might something dangerous she wanted to get rid of. “For the record.”
“Married to the job. But this article’s not about me, remember.”
Did he hear an oh, yeah? in the silence?
“So what’s the game plan when we reach the high school?” she finally asked.
“By the time we get there, the principal should have assembled the parents—even the working parents. Getting them involved in school altercations should cut down on more serious…incidents in the future. I’m essentially going to run a conflict-resolution session with these kids, their parents and the school counselors.”
“And me?”
With relief he saw the cell-phone tower above the trees of the high-school campus. The school itself couldn’t appear fast enough for him. He needed to get back to his duties. Clear-cut action to solve a specific problem. And away from all this hopscotch questioning.
“And you? You’re going to sit in the corner,” he replied, suspecting he might later regret this decision. “Out of the way. Where you’ll observe and take notes.”
“Why should I take notes? I thought when we got back to your office, you were going to call the Sun and get them to replace me.”
As if it required all his attention, he hit the directional signal as they neared the school entrance. Made himself listen to it click three times before answering her. “Let’s say you’re quick,” he admitted. “You catch on to what’s happening without me hammering it home. If you stay out of my way and let me do my job, maybe we can work something out.”
“Maybe? Am I, like, on parole?”
Was she trying to tick him off? He pulled into the parking lot and stopped in front of the main entrance. With an irritated shove, he opened his door and got out.
CHLOE OBSERVED THE STUDENTS, their parents and school officials as they dispersed from the cafeteria. She’d been witness to Deputy Whittaker’s impressive display of self-control balanced by his uncanny understanding of human nature.
Surprise, surprise. The man had a non-prickly side to him.
It was good he’d been the focus of her story because, once inside the school, surrounded by teenagers, she’d remembered why she’d told her editor she’d never do the board of education beat. Claire would have been seventeen…
Fortunately the deputy interrupted her reverie as he walked across the big room to where she sat on a folding chair next to the emergency exit. He should be pleased he’d brought the intervention to such a positive end, yet he didn’t look it. His shoulders were stiff, his mouth was set in a severe line, and he carried himself with military bearing.
Automatically Chloe rose and retreated a step toward the emergency door. Why was it that in his presence she felt compelled to stand and salute?
“Ready to go?” His staccato words jolted her. Her backside hit the door’s push bar and the door opened. The alarm sounded. The other deputies, the principal, the school counselors, several remaining parents and their kids froze. The kids began to snicker.
Whittaker reached past her with a grimace that said she’d lost any Brownie points she’d scored during the meeting by staying out of the way. Wordlessly he disengaged the alarm, then closed the door.
“Reporter humor?” he asked.
When she chose to consider that a rhetorical question and remained silent, he grasped her by the elbow and propelled her out of the cafeteria.
“Tomorrow I think I’ll hand you over to Deputy Breckinridge,” he said as he marched her through the school corridors to the front door. “She’s on desk duty.”
Feeling like a truant on the way to the principal’s office, Chloe tried not to pant keeping up with his long-legged stride. “I don’t think desk duty was what Sheriff McQuire had in mind when he called in the press,” she declared, wresting control of her elbow from Whittaker. “Besides, you and I haven’t finished with today.”
In the parking lot he swiveled to face her. “I’m in charge while the sheriff’s away. Today’s interview is finished. I’ll drive you back to the B and B.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Now wait a minute. This isn’t going to work as a piecemeal deal. I’m supposed to walk in your shoes. Get a feel for your job. A couple hours a day won’t cut it. You haven’t even offered me a doughnut.”
Instantly she regretted her unprofessional dig.
He slid behind the wheel. Because she didn’t doubt he’d leave her in the parking lot, she scrambled into the passenger seat.
The cruiser’s radio crackled. Chloe didn’t understand the entire message, delivered in clipped jargon, but she caught the words cat, tree and Sarah Culpepper. When she turned to the deputy for explanation, he concentrated on his driving as if it were his first time behind the wheel. To Chloe’s surprise, the tips of his ears were a deep shade of pink.
He cut her a glance. “I have a stop to make before I drop you off. You can stay in the car.”
“Is it a dangerous situation?”
“No.”
“What is it, then?”
He remained silent.
Chloe suspected he had an amazing capacity to stonewall. Well, she had an amazing capacity to persist. “You don’t get to pick and choose what I see this week, Deputy. I’m here to record the good, the bad and the ugly.” She reached in her backpack for her Nikon.
“Put that thing away and I’ll explain.”
She did as he ordered, telling herself he hadn’t specified for how long.
“It all began,” he said, clearly exasperated, “when Bonita Culpepper bought her granny a cell phone after a talk given at the seniors’ center. On personal safety.”
“Cell phones for the elderly. That sounds like a good suggestion.” She heard a click in her pocket. “Wait! Wait!” Quickly she removed the finished tape from the tiny recorder, then rummaged in her other pocket for a spare.
“Sarah Culpepper makes good use of her phone,” he continued,
