Now there’s a forty percent dropout rate between middle grade and high school. Half the kids who do go on never graduate.”
“Well, shame on them. And shame on all of you. People in positions of authority who shirk responsibility for whatever reason feed problems like the ones that exist here. If no one fights back, soon it won’t be safe to live anywhere.”
“Oh, right,” he said, springing up. “I guess you’ve swept in from California and diagnosed all our problems.”
“I don’t know what you have against California or Californians, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that one major problem here is apathy. On the part of residents, business owners and public servants like you and your lieutenant. You’re like rats jumping off a sinking ship—you’ve written off this town. So has your city manager, who gave me the same song and dance the other day when I stopped in to ask if it was okay to hold a public meeting.”
Sky set his now-empty glass down on the section of map that outlined the park. “Those of us who work in the trenches aren’t apathetic, we’re realistic. That’s what we are.”
“You’re insinuating I’m not?”
“Look, all I know is that I’m doing my best to keep ahead of crime with a force that’s been slashed twice this past year.”
Annie got up, too, moved his glass and folded the map. “Fair enough. I understand that much of the bad stuff happening here is directed by criminals living outside Briar Run.”
“At least we agree on that.”
“Sort of.” She opened a small leather notebook. “I informally surveyed a few residents. I believe their spirits can be improved by something as simple as home facelifts, like the one I’ve begun. Fresh paint. Maybe new drapes. Some rosebushes and weeded yards. Those things take sweat equity.”
“And money. Paint isn’t free. That kind of cosmetic change won’t break the stranglehold gangs have on local teens. If you want to do something meaningful, get me the names of the gang leaders.”
Annie refilled their glasses as they faced off across the table. “Maybe the gang leaders will give up and move on if we create the kind of community where families want to live. Pleasant surroundings restore hope. Hope creates far-reaching results.”
“Perhaps that’s true in prosperous neighborhoods.” Sky drained his second glass. “Did any of the residents you talked to tell you how many hours a day they spend riding buses to Louisville and back to work minimum-wage jobs that barely put food on their tables? And those are the privileged few who actually found new jobs.”
“I haven’t totally gained their trust yet,” Annie admitted. “But I plan to. I’ll book a room at the library, and after setting a time and date, I’ll distribute flyers inviting everyone to a meeting. Then I’ll lay out my ideas in greater detail.”
“Good luck.” Sky handed her his glass. “Thanks for the drink. I need to get back to the job I’m being paid to do.”
“I’d hoped I could enlist your support.”
He clattered down the steps and strode along the walkway without so much as a backward glance.
Annie was fairly sure he’d heard her. She sighed as she collected the pitcher, glasses and her notebook, and carried them into the house. What if Skylar Cordova was right? What if she and Gran Ida were wrong about her ability to help revitalize this neighborhood?
* * *
SKY WENT BACK to the office. He called the pawnbroker to let him know he’d found the owner of the silverware. Afterward, he made up the work schedule for the following week. Aaron Loomis, the city manager, wouldn’t let him authorize any overtime for his staff, which meant Sky had to take up the slack if any of his men needed a day off. When he posted the shifts to his calendar, he saw he had a dinner at Koot and Sadie’s tonight. That was good. His pantry was bare, plus Sadie was a great cook. With nice weather, maybe they’d have a barbecue. And if the Talmage sons were there, the four guys could shoot hoops for a while. Sky could use a workout.
He’d just shut down his computer when the dispatcher notified him that a call had come in from a drugstore—a possible domestic dispute in their parking lot. Those had the potential of being especially difficult—and dangerous. Heading out, Sky called Teddy Saunders, his youngest officer, as backup. At six-three, two hundred and eighty pounds, Saunders often just had to show up and perpetrators got scared enough to beg for mercy.
Sky arrived at the altercation first and encountered a couple he’d been called out on before. Roger McBride reportedly had a problem with alcohol, and his wife, Loretta, had a problem with the amount of money Roger wasted on liquor. In the past there hadn’t been any violence, so Sky canceled his call for backup.
Parking his cruiser a safe distance away from the arguing pair, Sky walked toward them and deduced that their spat was the same old thing. Loretta was outside Roger’s car shouting at her husband, who sat behind the wheel.
“Loretta,” Sky said evenly. “Roger.” Sky nodded at the man. “Is Roger too drunk to drive?” That question he aimed at the woman.
“Not yet, but I just went to the bank with my pay and checked to see that his unemployment funds had come into our account. Who did I pass as I left the bank but this lazy bum on his way to spend money we don’t have on Irish whiskey.”
Roger glanced away, but not before Sky saw his unshaven jaw tense. “I only bought a pint,” the man said. “Chief, don’t I have the right to some of the money from my unemployment? This week I filled out four new job applications. I quit going to the tavern. Since Loretta got on me, for not doing anything around the house, I’ve taken over all the chores. No matter what I do, she wants more. It’s humiliating enough for a guy like me to let my wife be the family breadwinner.”
Sky pinched the bridge of his nose. Man, where was the curb-appeal fairy who thought she could set local folks’ world right with curtains and paint? He’d love to hear Annie Emerson’s solution for this.
“Loretta, is Roger doing better?”
“I suppose.” She plucked at the collar of her blouse with a work-roughened hand. Sky knew the couple was in their late fifties. Loretta worked at a fast-food restaurant. Roger used to be a production manager at the glove factory. Sky had heard the same kind of hard-luck story from a host of others in town.
“You’re the one I’d have to charge with disorderly conduct today,” he told Loretta.
“Don’t do that,” Roger broke in. “All she’s guilty of is trying to pound some sense into my stubborn head. I’ll return the pint.” He grabbed the sack and got out of the car.
Sky and Loretta watched him jog back into the store. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have made a scene, but my boss said today they may have to cut everybody’s hours. I saw Rog headed for the store to get booze, and something snapped.”
“It’s okay. No harm done. I’m sorry life’s so rough. If I hear of any work I think Roger can do, I’ll call.”
“Come by the house,” she said meekly. “We had to let them shut our phone off.”
“I’m sorry.” Sky caught himself saying that a lot lately. The more trouble that was
