Page 19 of Love Over Easy

David

It’s nearing lunchtime and I have a semi going from thinking about that kiss. Pulling away had been near impossible. I don’t know how she has me feeling all high school boy crush. I don’t know her. She’s hiding something. She could have stolen all that money, but she makes me feel…lighter. Happier. And I want to kiss her again and not stop.

That’s crazy. Bode would rip up my man card if he heard me saying shit like this. Touchy feely shit is fuel for mocking.

Stopping before it went any further was the best thing to do. Kissing Shy wasn’t a mistake, but I don’t think I convinced her of that. I saw the hurt on her face, even though she tried to mask it.

I lean back in my office chair. It creaks as I prop my feet on the edge of my desk and cross my hands over my chest. Nothing much is going on today and Sadie has already finished the paperwork I’d planned to do, which leaves me with too much time to think about Shy.

The phone rings and, while Faire Island isn’t a Mecca for crime, I am hoping for a fender bender or even a cat in a tree. I lean forward, but I’m not able to make out what Sadie is saying.

“Boss, Mrs. Briggs called. She says Sheryl and Isaac are fighting so loud she can hear them from her house.”

Probably from her house with binoculars and a listening device. Mrs. Briggs is a lovely older woman who gets too much enjoyment out of knowing everything that’s going on in town. Even if she doesn’t, she’ll make it up just to have something to gab about at her sewing circle meetings.

Mrs. Briggs and her husband Roland used to own the Faire Island News. Roland died almost ten years ago and the paper closed when there was no one else left to run the business. Mrs. Briggs held on as long as she could by herself, but she finally closed up shop.

I pull up to the Peterson house and cut the engine. Mrs. Briggs is correct. I can hear their shouting and an occasional thump or explosion of glass breaking. Sheryl and Isaac have been known to get into a bit of a domestic dispute, but never anything I had to arrest them for. They’re both in their fifties and have been married since they graduated high school.

After three knocks, the front door flies open and a very disheveled couple stares at me with wide eyes. Their faces turn red with embarrassment when they realize it’s me, which makes me wonder at the reason for their argument.

“Afternoon, Sheryl, Isaac,” I say as if it’s only a cordial visit.

Sheryl blows a strand of flyaway hair from her face and looks away. “Afternoon, Sheriff,” Isaac replies pleasantly, which contradicts his wild hair, ripped button holes minus the buttons, and a red handprint on his left cheek.

Their stance is off and I glance down to find each has a death grip on one side of a laptop computer.

Sheryl pastes on a smile, but doesn’t relinquish her hold on the laptop. “Sheriff, would you like to come in for a glass of sweet tea?”

I grin; Sheryl’s good southern hospitality is ever present. Even in the middle of whatever is going on with her husband, she’s still minding her manners. It’s a southern-ism. No matter what you’re doing or how busy you are, if someone stops by your house, you offer them something to eat and drink. You never want to be the person not invited in.

Probably nine times out of ten, the person issuing the invitation is silently hoping their unexpected guest declines. Which I do. “No, thanks, I’m good. I just wondered if you two are all right. I heard raised voices and maybe a glass or two hitting the wall.”

Sheryl turns to Isaac and all pretense of politeness disappears. “It’s his fault, Sheriff.”

Isaac gives his wife an uncomfortable smile. “I told you, honey, I have no idea how that got on there.”

Sheryl goes off like a rocket and whips her head around with sparks of ire shooting out of her eyes. “Ever since we got that internet, he’s been spending more and more time on this sinful computer. Today I walked in on him glued to the screen watching…well…you know…things that should only happen in a bedroom between a committed couple. Adult things. That should never be filmed and offered up for public viewing. I think they’re called porno sites.”

One look at Isaac and I see his embarrassment from his downturned eyes to his rapidly reddening face. Now I’m the one feeling uncomfortable. My mom made me take piano lessons from Sheryl Peterson and Isaac used to coach my baseball team. I do not want to have a conversation about porn with them.

This also opens up another reason to be concerned about the sudden availability of the World Wide Web. “I see. There’s been noise complaints.”

“Mrs. Briggs, probably,” Sheryl says and jerks her head around to glower at her neighbor’s house.

I bite my lip when I see Mrs. Briggs at her open window watching and most likely listening to everything. I shuffle them inside the door and close it against prying eyes and ears. “Well, if you wouldn’t mind holding it down?”

Isaac turns to his wife. “I’m sorry, munchkins. I just thought you might like me to learn some spicy moves.”

Oh, my God. Kill me now.My eyes shift frantically, searching for a way out.

Sheryl leans in towards her husband. “Isaac Peterson, is that where you learned how to…”

Their gazes meet and an agreed understanding passes between them. “Yes. That’s where it came from. I find those…films very educational.”

“Oh.” Sheryl turns her end of the laptop loose and plays with her hair. “Well, then…”

I don’t wait around for this revelation to go any further within my hearing. I wish them a good day and wave to Mrs. Briggs as I sprint to my truck. I’m going to wipe this entire call from my brain.

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