Page 12 of Four Steps to the Perfect Fake Date

She dragged herself to her feet with a snort. “Right.”

“You need a ride home?”

“I’ll manage. One police escort was enough for my first week back on the island.”

“See you tomorrow, Davis.”

“Unfortunately,” she mumbled, and walked out of his office. He glanced out the window to see her shuffle outside, that jar of pink jam still clutched in her hand, the other busy holding the ice pack to her face.

Shaking his head, Calvin tore his gaze away and resigned himself to a few hours of work on his only day off.

Chapter 4

Daphne was not emotionally prepared for the state of her face in the morning, no matter what Flint had said to warn her. Her nose was still swollen, and she had two puffy black eyes that morphed to purple and green around the edges. Makeup wasn’t even an option. Her face was too tender and swollen, and she doubted she had any products that could actually cover this level of damage.

Being a vigilante wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. She’d be happy to be locked in a room with old financial records for the foreseeable future.

Her grandmother had updated the family about the goings-on at the farmers’ market, so Daphne had had a visit from the whole gang for dinner. Her mother had fussed, her father had congratulated her, and Ellie had given her a high five. Grandma Mabel had gone to get her a new loaf of bread from Adelaide Gable, who had thrown in a half dozen cookies as well. Daphne was a hero, apparently.

Now, Daphne shuffled to the kitchen in her tiny one-bedroom apartment and made herself a slice of multigrain toast with a thick layer of rhubarb jam. She sipped her coffee and tried not to wince every time she moved her face. Getting punched in the nose was not in her top ten most favorite activities. Neither was getting chastised by an acting sheriff with an overinflated sense of importance.

Seriously—not a single thank-you. Not one! The man was unbelievable.

However, when she walked into the sheriff’s department, she was greeted with a round of applause and a few hoots. Shirley Newbury hustled toward her and wrapped her in a big hug.

“Well done, you,” Shirley said, squeezing Daphne’s shoulders. “Way to make an entrance.”

“Now we know not to mess with the accountant,” one of the deputies called out, and laughter echoed around the room.

“And here I thought you were the quiet sister,” an older deputy said, grinning at her. His name was Hank Packer, and he’d been with the Fernley force for three and a half decades. He’d survived the corruption storm with his staunch I’m-just-here-to-do-my-job attitude, which had served him well ever since he’d started working at the sheriff’s department.

“I am the quiet sister,” Daphne protested. “I just don’t like to see good people get robbed.”

“Hear, hear!” Shirley said, and hooked her arm through Daphne’s elbow. “Now, let me show you around. We’ve set you up in one of the interview rooms. I wasn’t sure what you’d need—” The phone rang, and Shirley glared at it. “Hold on.” She walked over to it and answered. “Sheriff’s department. Uh-huh. Okay. No problem. We’ll send deputies out.” She hung up and glanced at Hank. “Chuck Rutgers’s alpacas have jumped the neighbor’s fence again. Apparently, Iris is threatening to shoot them all if Chuck doesn’t get them under control. She’s got her shotgun out and is waving it around.”

Hank grabbed his jacket with a sigh. “I’ll handle it.”

“Now,” Shirley said, smiling at Daphne. “The interview room. We weren’t sure what you’d need, but you just have to let us know, and—Sheriff Flint! Good morning.”

Daphne turned to see the sheriff standing by the front door. Sunlight carved the shape of him against the glass door, limning those broad shoulders in gold.

“Shirley,” Flint said with a nod; then his gaze slid to Daphne. “Davis,” he greeted, gaze lingering on her bruises. His jaw seemed totighten slightly before he looked at Shirley again. “What’s this I hear about a shotgun?”

“Just Iris Whittaker getting carried away about Chuck Rutgers’s alpacas again. Chances of any shots being fired are low, but Chuck and Iris do tend to get worked up when they butt heads. Hank’s on it.”

The sheriff met Hank’s gaze as he ambled toward the door where he stood. “Mind if I ride along?”

“Suit yourself,” Hank replied with a genial nod. “You might as well meet Iris and Chuck sooner rather than later.”

“Regular callers,” Shirley mumbled to Daphne in explanation, then ushered her toward one of the interview rooms at the back of the main room. “Here we are! It’s not much, but we’re a bit strapped for space. The extension the department was supposed to build is, well ...” She glanced down the hall at a plastic-covered doorway. “Let’s just say it hasn’t been finished, and now with all the money being frittered away ...”

Daphne nodded. “That’s why I’m here.”

“And aren’t we lucky to have you! Kitchen’s just down that hall. Wash your own dishes. If you finish the coffee, you put on a fresh pot. Fridge gets cleared out every Friday afternoon, so unless your things are labeled and dated, they’re gettin’ tossed. Other than that, holler if you need anything!”

“Will do. Thanks, Shirley.” When she was alone in the tiny box of a room, fluorescent light flickering overhead, Daphne set her shoulder bag down on the table and planted her hands on her hips.

The job shouldn’t be too difficult. She’d been hired to figure out what had happened to the department’s money while Bill Jackson had been in charge. After the upheaval that had happened, no one had any idea what leaks needed to be plugged, and whether there were any other less-than-savory people who needed to be rooted out and exposed.

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