“Suspects apprehended,” she said into her shoulder radio. “It’s Joey and Tyler.”
“Affirmative,” Roth responded.
“What were you thinking?” she asked the boys as they approached the patrol car.
“Aw, c’mon, June, it’s not like we were hurting anything.”
“Eggs damage paint. Get in the back, Joey.”
“But, June—”
“Save it.”
Sam circled to the opposite side of the cruiser and opened the door. That was when he noticed neither June nor her kid were covered in leaves, twigs and debris the way Sam and his prisoner were.
“Deputy Rivers, please remove the cuffs before putting Tyler in the back.”
The kids referred to her by name, and she knew theirs. Frequent fliers? She returned to the ditch, grabbed a basket, which she put in the trunk, then climbed back behind the wheel. She acted as calm as if they’d taken their guests on a picnic. His blood was pumping. This was probably routine for her. Not so for him.
“That’s Miss Letty’s basket, isn’t it? Isn’t it?” she repeated when they ducked their heads and didn’t answer. “You know she and her son live off what she grows. She’s poor, and Jim Bob isn’t like the rest of us. And you took their food. Shame on you.” The boys shrank into their seats.
“You’re not gonna call our parents, are you?” the one Sam had nailed wailed.
“Oh, I’ll talk to your parents, but first I have something else in mind.”
Sam glanced through the grate and saw worry and dread in the faces too young to shave. “Vandalism is a crime. Do you want a criminal record to ruin your futures?” He used his sternest voice, trying to scare the piss out of them. Their pale faces and wide eyes told him it had worked.
“Guys, this is Deputy Rivers. Sorry you had to meet this way.” June put the car in motion, heading away from the station instead of toward it. Was she going to torture her passengers with the same parade through town Sam had endured?
Two klicks down the road she turned up a dirt driveway flanked by overgrown grass and weeds. A small, old, formerly white clapboard house smaller than his rental came into view. She tooted the horn. A tiny woman as weathered as the peeling building came out the front door. The teens sunk even deeper into the seat with a chorus of Oh man’s.
June got out and released her passenger. Following her lead, Sam did the same. Then she retrieved the basket from the trunk. Sam kept an eye on the boys, expecting them to bolt.
“Miss Letty, this is Deputy Rivers. He helped me catch these rascals. They’ve been in your henhouse.”
June cut a razor-sharp glance at the boys, who shuffled their feet and tucked their chins, then mumbled, “Sorry, Miss Letty.”
“Ya stole my eggs?”
Heads bobbed. “Yes, ma’am.”
June passed her the basket. “There are a few left. After school tomorrow Tyler and Joey will each bring you two dollars.”
They boys eyed June, then each other in dismay.
“Well, I...” the old lady started to protest.
“It’s the least they can do, Miss Letty.”
The old woman nodded. “I’d appreciate that.”
June snapped her fingers. “Back in the car, boys.”
Sam was more than a little surprised when they docilely did as ordered. June crossed to the old woman and gave her a hug. “Have a nice afternoon, Miss Letty. Tell Jim Bob I said hello. I’ll be back on Thursday with banana bread. If these boys don’t show tomorrow, you let me know.”
“What was that about?” Sam asked her over the car’s roof after the boys were back in the car and before she opened her door.
“Around here we don’t steal, and we take care of our own.”
Take Care of Your Own was a motto Marines lived by and could be iffy if abused. Was June overstepping her authority by forcing the boys to pay the woman? Seemed like it.
Again June steered away from the station. Approximately ten klicks down the road she turned the cruiser into a church parking lot, and the boys groaned. “C’mon, June. We’re sorry.”
“You will be.”
The building was old enough to have a historic marker out front. Founded in 1898 by Ezekiel Jones, it proclaimed. Signs along the road and driveway advertised a barbecue fund-raiser being held this Saturday.
“Just call our parents, please,” Carrottop pleaded.
“I did that last time. It didn’t work, did it? ’Cause here you are, hitching a ride with me again,” June replied. “This is the second time I’ve picked you two up for malicious mischief.”
She stopped the cruiser in front of the stone house beside the church, exited the car and then released their prisoners. The boys exchanged panicked glances.
“Don’t even think about running,” June warned, and the boys’ shoulders sagged. “I’m faster than both of you and I know where you live.”
They obediently followed her up the walk with scuffing feet and bowed heads. No cuffs. No use of force. What in the hell? Each one outweighed her but they made no attempt to escape. Sam took rear guard just in case. June knocked on the arched wooden door and a few moments later it opened, revealing an older man in a suit.
“Hi, Daddy.”
The words floored Sam. June was a preacher’s daughter? Then he noticed the lack of welcome in the man’s eyes—the same green as June’s—and the absence of a hug. His father would have crushed him with one if he’d shown up on the doorstep. That thought drove a bayonet of guilt into Sam’s ribs. He wanted to talk to his father, to get his advice, and yet he didn’t want to admit failure. Being separated from the corps was definitely a failure. Unless he could fix it.
“Justice.”
“Joey and Tyler have come to volunteer their services to the church this Saturday. They’d like to wash cars during your barbecue. They won’t charge the church, but they’ll accept donations for the youth mission fund.”
The boys grumbled again until the preacher’s hard stare silenced them. “Is that so?”
He continued giving them the beady eye until they nodded and Yes, sir’d.
“They’ll be here at eleven and they’ll stay until the last car leaves. I’d appreciate it if you’d feed them and keep them hydrated.”
“Good to know some of our members know how to repent,” the preacher said, and June paled. “I’ll see that they get lunch.”
“See you Saturday, then, Daddy.” She turned on her heel and headed back to the cruiser. The teens fell in behind her like baby ducks following momma duck.
Sam took another look at the man’s harsh face, then at June. He couldn’t help wondering if the clichés about a preacher’s daughter being wild were true. From the man’s comment about repenting and his chilly attitude, it sounded like it, but that didn’t fit June’s image as Quincey’s sweetheart. As Roth had predicted, everybody they’d encountered this morning adored her.
One thing was certain. His fellow deputy had just become a whole lot more interesting if she’d done something her father couldn’t forgive.
*