Page 61 of Trouble Comes in Threes

The car erupted into chaos as all three of the people shut in with me protested.

“Look,” I said, holding up my hands to get their attention. “Joe will find a way to protect him.” This boy knew too much for him to do otherwise.

“So can I,” Dermot said, his jaw tight.

“Joe needs to know anyway,” I said insistently. “He has to find out who murdered that man and bring them to justice.”

Austin shook his head, and defiance filled his eyes. “I ain’t talkin’ to no sheriff. That’s why I came to you.” He reached for the door handle.

“Okay, wait,” I said in a rush. “I told you I’d help you, and lettin’ you run off isn’t helpin’ you.”

“I ain’t talkin’ to the sheriff,” he repeated, tears filling his eyes.

“How many warrants you got out for you, kid?” Dermot asked.

He blinked. “How’d you…” His shoulders sank. “Two.”

“What for?” Dermot asked.

“Domestic violence.”

“Was the domestic violence with your stepdad?” I asked.

“He’s not my stepdad!” he protested.

“Okay,” I said softly. “Your mom’s boyfriend.”

“He was hitting my little sister.” His eyes hardened. “So I made him stop.”

“Surely the sheriff’s deputy who responded to the call took that into account,” I said.

He released a bitter laugh. “Not when the guy you hit is King Major Comfort.”

“The mattress guy?” Neely Kate asked in disbelief. “The King of Comfort beats up little kids?”

Austin gestured to Neely Kate with a dry look. “See?”

“He lives in Pickle Junction?” Neely Kate asked. “His mattress store is in Magnolia.”

The boy shrugged. “Sure, but his family lives in Pickle Junction, and he won’t leave his precious mommy.”

Neely Kate’s mouth dropped open. “He lives with his mom?”

“No, he lives with my mom. But his mom doesn’t live very far away.” He made a face. “But he’s famous, so the sheriff won’t do anything to him.”

“Famous,” Dermot scoffed under his breath. “That’s not even his real name. It’s George Major White.”

I wondered how Dermot knew his legal name, and what that implied.

“It should be Major Asshole,” Austin said.

“Listen,” I said to the teen, “I’ll talk to Joe. I’m sure if he knows the circumstances, then?—”

“The kid’s got a point,” Dermot said. “The deputies are biased against pretty much anyone in Pickle Junction. And the kid shouldn’t need a special favor to get the sheriff’s department to treat him fairly.”

My cheeks burned because he had a point. “You’re right.”

“No sheriff,” Austin said to me, pleading with his eyes.

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