Page 44 of Open Season

“Want to dance?”

The question came from a man leaning over from her left. He was wearing a “Party Hearty” T-shirt, so she would have refused anyway, but she didn’t get the chance. Jack set the ginger ale on the table in front of her and said, “She’s with me.”

“Okay.” The guy immediately turned to another woman. “Want to dance?”

Jack settled into the chair beside her and tilted the beer to his mouth. She watched his strong throat work as he swallowed, and began to feel too warm again. Gratefully she seized the cold ginger ale.

After a moment she noticed how his gaze constantly moved over the crowd, occasionally pausing briefly while he studied someone, then moving on. She felt another little shock of awareness, of a completely different type. “You’re working, aren’t you?”

He shot her a quick glance, the gray-green of his eyes glittering. “I don’t have any jurisdiction outside of Hillsboro.”

“I know, but you’re still watching the crowd.”

He shrugged. “It’s a habit.”

“Don’t you ever just relax?” Abruptly her whole outlook on law enforcement officers changed. Were they all always on guard, watchful, wary? Was constant vigilance, even when they were off duty, part of the price they paid for their jobs?

“Sure,” he said, leaning back and hitching his right ankle onto his left knee. “When I’m at home.”

She didn’t know where he lived, couldn’t picture his home. Hillsboro, though a small town, was still large enough that it was impossible to know everyone or be familiar with all the neighborhoods. “Where do you live?”

Again that quick glance. “Not all that far from your mother’s house. Elmwood.”

Elmwood was just four streets over. It was a section of Victorians, some in good repair and some not. She certainly hadn’t pictured him in a Victorian, and said as much.

“I inherited the house, from my great-aunt. Aunt Bessie, the one I told you about.”

She sat upright. She had known a Bessie on Elmwood. “Miss Bessie Childress?”

“That was her.” He lifted his beer in salute to his dead great-aunt.

“You’re Miss Bessie’s nephew?”

“Great-nephew. I spent the best summers of my life with her when I was a kid.”

“She brought over a coconut cake when Daddy died.” Daisy was stunned; this was almost like going to Europe and running into your next-door neighbor. She had thought Jack a complete outsider, but instead when he was a boy he’d been spending summers just four streets away from her.

“Aunt Bessie made the best coconut cake in the world.” He smiled, reminiscing about coconut cakes he had known.

“Why didn’t I ever meet you?”

“For one, I only came during the summer, when school was out. For another, I’m older than you; we wouldn’t have hung out with the same crowd. You would have been playing Barbie while I played baseball. And Aunt Bessie went to a different church.”

That was true. Miss Bessie Childress had been solidly Methodist, while the Minors were Presbyterian. So it was logical they hadn’t met when they were children, but it still gave her a jolt to realize he was . . . why, he was almost home-folk.

There was a sudden disruption in the flow on the dance floor. A man sprawled on the floor, making couples scatter. A woman screamed, “Danny, no!” Her shrill voice cut through the loud music, which crashed to a discordant stop. The man who had fallen—or been knocked down—jumped up, lowered his head, and plunged toward another man, who swiftly side-stepped and bumped into a woman, sending her sprawling. Her partner took immediate exception, and the dance floor erupted.

“Aw, shit.” Jack heaved a sigh and grabbed her wrist, hauling her to her feet. “Here we go again. C’mon, we’ll go out the back.”

They joined the pack of bodies that was doing the same thing, but again Jack used his size and strength to bull his way through, and in just a moment they were in the humid night air, listening to the sound of shouts and breaking glass coming from inside.

“You’re a catalyst,” he said, shaking his head.

“This wasn’t my fault,” she said indignantly. “I wasn’t anywhere near those people. I was sitting with you.”

“Yeah, but it’s just something about you being here, like the universe is out of whack. Believe it or not, most nights there isn’t any trouble at all. Where’s your car?”

She led the way around the building to her car. People were pouring out of the front entrance, too. It was like an instant replay of the week before.

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