Guess whose head we're in today? NOT one of the main characters, surprise, surprise....
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It was the second week in December, and the first snowfall blanketed the hills around Lake Tashmore like a scene from a Currier & Ives print. Out on Lake Drive, a big brown Chrysler had pulled onto the shoulder near the driveway that led to Rainey's cabin. Its occupant sat there, looking through the skeletal, snow-laden trees toward the cabin, only visible from the road at this time of year.
Sheriff Dave Newsome sighed. He really didn't want to do this. He hadn't laid eyes on Mort Rainey since July, when he'd as good as called him a killer and banned him from town...that hadn't begun to satisfy him -- Dave had gone to school with Tom Greenleaf's older brother, and known Tom since he was a snot-nosed kid, and the idea that some summer homeowner who wasn't really one of them had murdered him and gotten away with it -- he shook his head and started the engine.
As the sheriff's car pulled up to the cabin, he saw the second vehicle there. Recognized it. Naturally, if this wasn't bad enough already -- it was that Georgia peach, Nadine Cooper, the one who'd threatened to sue him for bad-mouthing Rainey.
Smoke was curling out of the chimney. Walking up to the door, he could hear Bing Crosby singing about having a white Christmas. Newsome groaned. There was even a wreath on the front door. "Damn. Times like these, I could retire to Florida and not look back." He forced himself to knock on the door. There was a moment that seemed to last an eternity, then the door swung open and Mort Rainey looked back at him.
"Sheriff?" The writer had a wary expression on his face, undoubtedly remembering their most recent encounter.
"Can I come in?"
Rainey thought about it for a moment, then stepped back, holding the door open. "Sure. Come on in."
There was a roaring fire in the hearth, a modest tree awaited decoration in the corner, and a ladder propped up against the loft, where that Cooper woman was hanging a tinsel garland and lights.
"Look who's here," Rainey called up to her.
Newsome didn't miss the expression of distaste that crossed her features. She backed slowly down the ladder to the floor, and joined them near the entrance. "Good afternoon, Sheriff," she said politely. "Something we can do for you?" To Rainey, "Bring out some of those gingerbread cookies and some milk. Unless you'd rather have coffee?"
The sheriff squirmed. Count on a woman to make a sticky situation even stickier. "This is an official visit, ma'am. Maybe we could sit down?"
"Is this the kind of official visit I should be calling a lawyer about?" Rainey asked bluntly. Beside him, Nadine Cooper's face had frozen into a mask of polite fury.
"I don't believe that's going to be necessary just now," said Newsome, glancing toward the living room.
Rainey walked over to the couch and sat down on it like he had a stick up his butt. Newsome ambled over, settled into the armchair at right angles to it. The Cooper woman paced behind the sofa like a caged cat.
"Mr. Rainey, a few weeks ago, at the beginning of deer hunting season, some hunters found an SUV parked out on an isolated lane where it had apparently been for quite some time. There were human remains in the vehicle, and the state forensics lab has identified the body as Tom Greenleaf."
The other man was staring at him, and Cooper stopped in her tracks, also giving him her full attention. "What happened to him?" Rainey asked.
Newsome swallowed. "Tom had a heart condition. There was evidence that he'd had a spell -- he'd dropped his medication -- and the pathology report showed it was natural causes. I'm here to apologize, Mr. Rainey."
Mort Rainey sat there with his mouth hanging open, but Nadine Cooper showed no such inclination. "Natural causes?" she demanded. "Man's been hounded for months, treated like a leper -- what the hell made you suspect him in the first place?"
"We had an anonymous phone call," the sheriff mumbled, wishing he was anywhere but here. "Somebody who said Rainey only turned in a report of being stalked so we wouldn't suspect him of the killings."
"And on that basis you've spent the last six months telling everybody he's a murdering lunatic?"
Rainey had remained silent, looking at the fire. "What about my ex-wife?" he asked suddenly. "Have you tracked her down yet?"
Shaking his head, Newsome rose from the chair. "No, we haven't, but as far as I'm concerned, that's not my jurisdiction. If you should decide you need something from town, Mr. Rainey, you're more than welcome to stop by."
Mort nodded, not stirring from the couch. He looked like he was in shock. The sheriff walked over to the door. Nadine Cooper wrenched it open and stood there glaring at him. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said to her quietly. "I was wrong."
"You're telling the wrong person." He found himself on the other side of the door, and hurried back to his car. Florida was looking better and better.
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OMG ! ! ! -- Didn't expect THAT, did you?!
.
.
.
And although it didn't fit with the pov, I know what was said after the door closed behind the sheriff.
.
"Not his jurisdiction? You know what that means, Rainey?"
"No, what?"
"You can kill anybody you want, as long as they're not local. Kinda gives a whole new meaning to the expression 'tourist season', huh?"
.
.
A record number of reviews for Chapter 17; gee, maybe I should wait 2 days between all my posts. dodges shovel-wielding fans Had a VERY productive weekend, including some stuff I'm gonna have to post later as a separate-but-related story, 'cause it is SO not PG-13. (Doesn't really further the plot, either, so no big deal if it's not in here. Just me, hormonal and channeling Nadine.)
=====================
It was the second week in December, and the first snowfall blanketed the hills around Lake Tashmore like a scene from a Currier & Ives print. Out on Lake Drive, a big brown Chrysler had pulled onto the shoulder near the driveway that led to Rainey's cabin. Its occupant sat there, looking through the skeletal, snow-laden trees toward the cabin, only visible from the road at this time of year.
Sheriff Dave Newsome sighed. He really didn't want to do this. He hadn't laid eyes on Mort Rainey since July, when he'd as good as called him a killer and banned him from town...that hadn't begun to satisfy him -- Dave had gone to school with Tom Greenleaf's older brother, and known Tom since he was a snot-nosed kid, and the idea that some summer homeowner who wasn't really one of them had murdered him and gotten away with it -- he shook his head and started the engine.
As the sheriff's car pulled up to the cabin, he saw the second vehicle there. Recognized it. Naturally, if this wasn't bad enough already -- it was that Georgia peach, Nadine Cooper, the one who'd threatened to sue him for bad-mouthing Rainey.
Smoke was curling out of the chimney. Walking up to the door, he could hear Bing Crosby singing about having a white Christmas. Newsome groaned. There was even a wreath on the front door. "Damn. Times like these, I could retire to Florida and not look back." He forced himself to knock on the door. There was a moment that seemed to last an eternity, then the door swung open and Mort Rainey looked back at him.
"Sheriff?" The writer had a wary expression on his face, undoubtedly remembering their most recent encounter.
"Can I come in?"
Rainey thought about it for a moment, then stepped back, holding the door open. "Sure. Come on in."
There was a roaring fire in the hearth, a modest tree awaited decoration in the corner, and a ladder propped up against the loft, where that Cooper woman was hanging a tinsel garland and lights.
"Look who's here," Rainey called up to her.
Newsome didn't miss the expression of distaste that crossed her features. She backed slowly down the ladder to the floor, and joined them near the entrance. "Good afternoon, Sheriff," she said politely. "Something we can do for you?" To Rainey, "Bring out some of those gingerbread cookies and some milk. Unless you'd rather have coffee?"
The sheriff squirmed. Count on a woman to make a sticky situation even stickier. "This is an official visit, ma'am. Maybe we could sit down?"
"Is this the kind of official visit I should be calling a lawyer about?" Rainey asked bluntly. Beside him, Nadine Cooper's face had frozen into a mask of polite fury.
"I don't believe that's going to be necessary just now," said Newsome, glancing toward the living room.
Rainey walked over to the couch and sat down on it like he had a stick up his butt. Newsome ambled over, settled into the armchair at right angles to it. The Cooper woman paced behind the sofa like a caged cat.
"Mr. Rainey, a few weeks ago, at the beginning of deer hunting season, some hunters found an SUV parked out on an isolated lane where it had apparently been for quite some time. There were human remains in the vehicle, and the state forensics lab has identified the body as Tom Greenleaf."
The other man was staring at him, and Cooper stopped in her tracks, also giving him her full attention. "What happened to him?" Rainey asked.
Newsome swallowed. "Tom had a heart condition. There was evidence that he'd had a spell -- he'd dropped his medication -- and the pathology report showed it was natural causes. I'm here to apologize, Mr. Rainey."
Mort Rainey sat there with his mouth hanging open, but Nadine Cooper showed no such inclination. "Natural causes?" she demanded. "Man's been hounded for months, treated like a leper -- what the hell made you suspect him in the first place?"
"We had an anonymous phone call," the sheriff mumbled, wishing he was anywhere but here. "Somebody who said Rainey only turned in a report of being stalked so we wouldn't suspect him of the killings."
"And on that basis you've spent the last six months telling everybody he's a murdering lunatic?"
Rainey had remained silent, looking at the fire. "What about my ex-wife?" he asked suddenly. "Have you tracked her down yet?"
Shaking his head, Newsome rose from the chair. "No, we haven't, but as far as I'm concerned, that's not my jurisdiction. If you should decide you need something from town, Mr. Rainey, you're more than welcome to stop by."
Mort nodded, not stirring from the couch. He looked like he was in shock. The sheriff walked over to the door. Nadine Cooper wrenched it open and stood there glaring at him. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said to her quietly. "I was wrong."
"You're telling the wrong person." He found himself on the other side of the door, and hurried back to his car. Florida was looking better and better.
=========================
OMG ! ! ! -- Didn't expect THAT, did you?!
.
.
.
And although it didn't fit with the pov, I know what was said after the door closed behind the sheriff.
.
"Not his jurisdiction? You know what that means, Rainey?"
"No, what?"
"You can kill anybody you want, as long as they're not local. Kinda gives a whole new meaning to the expression 'tourist season', huh?"
.
.
A record number of reviews for Chapter 17; gee, maybe I should wait 2 days between all my posts. dodges shovel-wielding fans Had a VERY productive weekend, including some stuff I'm gonna have to post later as a separate-but-related story, 'cause it is SO not PG-13. (Doesn't really further the plot, either, so no big deal if it's not in here. Just me, hormonal and channeling Nadine.)