cruiser pulled to a stop in front of a large two-story white house on the corner that resembled something from a Norman Rockwell painting. Tall columns braced the wide porch. Broad front steps were decorated with pumpkins and fall flowers. Maybe this was a bed and breakfast. He could handle that.
The officer got out of the car at the same moment a man emerged from the house. He stopped at the edge of the porch steps and waited. When the officer opened the rear door, Adam got out, making a quick scan of the neighborhood. The street was lined with giant trees, the stately homes positioned in manicured lawns. Maybe staying with this family wouldn’t be so bad after all. Still, he didn’t like the idea of being watched over by strangers like some errant teenager.
He glanced up at the man on the porch. His stern expression said it all. He’d tolerate no nonsense in his home. Adam hid the smirk that fought to emerge. Just like his dad. My way or the highway. It was beginning to look like a very long thirty days ahead.
“Don, how’s it going today?”
The officer kept a firm hold on Adam’s upper arm as he led him to the foot of the steps. At least he’d been spared the handcuffs. “Doing good. I brought your houseguest.” He turned to Adam, a disapproving scowl on his narrow face. “Mr. Holbrook, meet your jailer, Mr. Durrant. This here is Adam Holbrook.” Without waiting for either man to speak, the officer released Adam and placed his hands on his hips. “His ankle monitor is set for one mile. If LC needs more range, just have her call and we’ll adjust it. You need me to go over anything before I go?”
“No, Don. Hank and I worked it all out. Thanks. I have it from here.”
The officer offered a small salute and walked off. Adam squared his shoulders and faced the man. Whatever it was, he would endure. He’d jumped out of helicopters. Surviving a month in a small town should be a piece of cake.
The man came closer toward him, a warm smile on his face. Adam’s guard went up. What kind of people would welcome a prisoner into their home?
“I guess Don was in a hurry to get back to work. I’m Tom Durrant. Welcome to our home, Mr. Holbrook.” He held out his hand.
Adam grasped it, surprised to find the hand strong and calloused. It didn’t fit with the stately old home. Adam had always been good at knowing when someone was conning him. Something was going on here.
Durrant turned and went back up the steps, motioning for Adam to follow. Mr. Durrant looked to be late fifties, early sixties. Tall, broad-shouldered, with silver-gray hair, his quick movements spoke of a man in good shape physically. So what was the catch?
Inside the house, Mr. Durrant stopped in the foyer and waited for him to enter, that same pleasant smile on his face. “I know you’re anxious to get settled, but I think we need to have a little talk first. Are you hungry? Did you get breakfast this morning?”
“No, sir.” Adam followed him into a bright sunny kitchen at the back of the house. The room was large with a round table positioned in a cozy corner filled with windows.
“I thought not. Have a seat and I’ll get you fixed up. Coffee?”
He nodded, growing more confused by the moment. Was this where he’d stay? What was going on? Were they trying to kill him with kindness for damaging the little gazebo in the square? Cruel and unusual punishment for sure.
Adam sat down, realizing how out of place he looked in his bedraggled tuxedo. This kitchen was more suited to the jeans and polo shirt his jailer was wearing. Mr. Durrant returned to the table with a plate of cinnamon rolls and a steaming cup of coffee, which made Adam’s stomach growl. He’d barely touched his food since being arrested yesterday.
“Here ya go. Eat up. Those rolls were homemade this morning by my wife. She’s a great cook.”
Adam eyed the man suspiciously. “Thanks.” Mr. Durrant waited while Adam doctored his coffee with a little cream and sugar and took a roll from the plate.
“I imagine you have some questions. Let me go over the high points and then I’ll show you to your room. Number one, this will be your home for the duration of your sentence. You will be allowed to wander anywhere on our property, but nowhere else. Check-in is whenever you stop work for the day, and you’re required to call the police station within five minutes of your arrival here. You’ll be picked up for work each day and brought home each night. Oh, and only one phone call per day.”
He pulled a cell from his shirt pocket that Adam instantly recognized as his own. He started to reach for it. Mr. Durrant shook his head.
“Sorry. I know how you young people live and die by these things, but we’ll keep it down here on that table over there. You can make your calls in here.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, we’ll give you all the privacy you need.”
Adam swallowed a bite of cinnamon roll. It was the best he’d ever tasted, but he wasn’t in the mood to truly enjoy it. “Is that all?”
Clasping his hands on the table, Mr. Durrant leaned toward him. “Treat my wife and me with respect, behave yourself and everything should be fine. Any other questions?”
Adam set his coffee cup down with a firm thud. “Why are you doing this? It doesn’t make sense.”
Tom Durrant smiled again. “You’ll understand soon enough. But I will tell you that the judge is my brother-in-law. Apparently you’re something of a celebrity and he thought you’d be better off here with us than being locked up in the county jail. Because you’ll be working on the gazebo, this was a logical place to put you. And—” Mr. Durrant inhaled a deep breath “—I have a personal stake in the matter.”
Adam was beginning to wish they’d locked him up in a nice safe cell with ordinary criminals. He was used to dealing with people who wanted something from him. But this was different. He didn’t like being off balance, and this situation had him teetering like a tightrope walker over a canyon.
“Well, you’ll be going to work soon, so we’d better get you settled in.”
Adam followed Tom Durrant through the large home. And it was a home. A place where people lived. Signs of life were on display everywhere. Magnets held scribbled drawings on the refrigerator door. An open book lay upside down on an end table. A sweater draped over a chair. The furniture was traditional and tasteful, but comfortably used. A pile of magazines lay on the stairs as if waiting to be taken up. Family photos covered the wall along the stairway. Too many for him to process as they passed by. He’d never seen pictures displayed like this. The only picture in his home growing up was the portrait of his mother in her favorite ball gown which hung over the fireplace in the main salon.
Upstairs, Tom Durrant led him to a room at the far end of the hall. Adam stepped inside, his attention falling on the items on the bed. “My bags.” He walked to the bed, quickly sliding open the zipper on the small case. The sight of his personal items filled him with a rush of comfort.
“They sent your things over this morning. I knew you’d need some different clothes to work in. Carpentry is dirty work.” He walked across the room and opened another door, flipping on the switch to reveal a private bathroom. “I think you’ll find everything you need. If not, just ask and we’ll see what we can do.” He smiled again. “Within reason of course.”
A sudden lump of gratitude rose in Adam’s chest. While he still harbored serious doubts about this arrangement, at least he’d have a place to retreat to
