By five forty-five, Main Street had filled with groups of people all walking over to the meeting house. John locked up the sheriff’s office, flipped the sign to closed and led Pat out the backdoor instead. It was the wrong way out but he wanted to get a look at his “vehicle”. That was the one thing he didn’t like about moving here—having to leave his truck behind. There wasn’t anything special about it. But he’d had the Chevy for years and keeping it running had become a point of honor. Now it was in storage with his couch, his bed and all the other furniture he’d scrounged up after the divorce. If they decided to stay in Sanctuary it would be sold.
The air outside was chilled but not thin like he’d thought it would be considering they were up in the mountains. Maybe something about the circle of peaks surrounding them meant air got trapped in the valley.
Two vehicles were parked out back in the marked spaces, both nineties model Jeeps the same color as the uniform Grant had given him. The rear of the building had their two spaces, plus two more. Another road ran the length of the back of the stores and across from that was a row of houses.
With Main Street as the center of the town, someone had simply run the residential streets parallel to it on both the north and south sides. It wasn’t particularly imaginative, but it worked.
Pat tugged on his hand. “Is that your Sheriff’s car?”
“Looks like it.”
“Cool!”
“You think so?”
“Yeah.” Pat grinned. “You’re gonna be the sheriff!”
“That I am.” They went through the alley separating the sheriff’s office from the laundry next door and crossed to the bowling alley sized building with MEETING HOUSE in big letters across the siding above the double doors.
Inside, a crowd of people stood around a sea of circular tables all set for dinner. The far end was lit up like a stage, complete with a podium and microphone. To the side of the stage was a set of swinging doors with circular windows which looked to lead to a kitchen. Buffet tables were set up along one wall, stretching front to back of the room. They were covered with dishes of all shapes and sizes heaped with food.
Pat gripped John’s hand as people turned to get a look at the new sheriff. John gave them all a wave. Two-thirds of the people were over fifty. There were a couple of small children but not as many as John expected, given families were gathering.
“Sheriff!” The mayor strode over. “I’ll introduce you when everyone is here. For now let me show you to your seat.”
John only followed since it seemed to be what the mayor expected. Collins led them to a table on one side of the podium just as a rotund woman strode out with a giant pot that smelled like chili. She hefted it onto the table, her smile wide and her long earrings swinging. She wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist over her muumuu. “Well, is this our new sheriff?”
The mayor motioned to John. “Olympia, this is John Mason.”
She bent down in front of Pat and stuck her hand out. “It’s very nice to meet you, Sheriff.” Her accent had a Mediterranean lilt which made her sound elegant.
Pat giggled. “I’m not the sheriff! My dad is.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. You’re just so tall. My mistake.” She winked and straightened, turning to John. “Olympia Hernandez.”
“John Mason. This is my son, Pat.”
“As in, Patrick?”
Pat bounced, yanking on John’s hand. “As in Patrick Garrett, the marshal who killed Billy the Kid!”
“Well, now.” Olympia grinned at him. “Those are some pretty big boots to fill. You think you can do it?”
Pat nodded.
Olympia turned to the room. “Dinner’s ready!” Her voice boomed even in the large room. John flinched, while the mayor shot Olympia a scowl.
John and Pat joined the line grabbing paper plates and bowls. The room buzzed with noise, even though a portion of the town seemed not to have arrived yet.
A diesel engine roared outside and headlights flashed across the front of the room. The mayor huffed, his attention on the front door. The engine shut off and seconds later a group of men strode in. All dressed in jeans and work shirts, dirty boots and cowboy hats, the last man carried his black hat in his hand. He was a good six inches taller than the others, with dark features. Matthias was among the group. Pat ran with his plate to greet him. Matthias swung him up onto his hip, plate and all, while the tall man glared.
The man in front of John said, “That’s Bolton Farrera.”
John looked at the guy in line ahead of him. Early thirties but he was nearly bald, his glasses drooped on his nose and he gripped his plate of mostly bread and green beans. “I’m Terrence Evangeline.” He pointed at an older couple by the salads. “That’s my mom, Shelby and my dad, Aaron. They run the town’s community arts programs.”
The couple wore stylish clothes that said they’d dressed up for this occasion in their Sunday best.
“Once a month they put on a show after dinner. You know, like a dinner theater. Anyway, the man with the truck is Bolton. He’s the boss over at the ranch. The only one that actually likes him is Matthias.”
That told John enough, given how Matthias had been with Pat since they arrived. Currently the twenty-something man held two plates and Pat rode on his shoulders while he weaved about like he was going to fall. Pat squealed with laughter and gripped Matthias’s hair like he was on a rollercoaster.
“Nice to meet you, Terrence.” John gave him a polite smile and grabbed the spoon for the mashed potatoes. “So what do you do in town?”
“I’m the trash guy.” His chest puffed up. “Trash gets sent with the outgoing transport. I take care of what’s left, supervise the recycling and all that. My compost is impressive, if I do say so myself.”
“I’ll have to come by and check it out.”
Terrence’s eyes glowed. “I’d like that. I’ll give you the tour all the way from lumber to paper goods.”
“Sounds exciting.” John let the grin open into a full smile and made his way to the table. Half the people were already seated and eating. By the time he was done the rest had filled up the remaining seats. Matthias bounced over, jiggling Pat on his shoulders. He set the plates down and bent so Pat slowly tipped until John caught him. Matthias held out his hand and got a high-five. “Later, little dude.”
He grabbed his plate and strode to the table occupied by ranch guys at the back. John’s table had two couples, the mayor and his wife and an older, refined gentleman who looked how John imagined all plastic surgeons did. Sixty, but with the skin of a forty-five year old, and silver streaks in his hair so precise they could have been dyed that way. His wife had blond curls, perfect nails, and her nose looked like it was out of a magazine.
John gave the guy a chin lift, evidently surprising him enough he had to clear his throat with a drink of water.
The mayor waved again. “Sheriff, this is our doctor, Stephen Fenton and his lovely wife, Harriet.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“They also serve as our emergency personnel, doing the job of paramedics when someone isn’t able to make it to the medical center.”
The doctor smiled like it was an Olympic sport. The wife quit her hushed conversation with the mayor’s wife to do the same.
The doctor squeezed his wife’s hand. “Harriet is my nurse.”
“That’s right.” She smiled. “We love working together. It’s been great for our relationship.”
John smiled. Perhaps that’s what he and Ellen had needed at the time their marriage was in crisis—for both of them to get put in WITSEC, thereby forcing them to co-exist civilly. Not that there weren’t couples in the program who’d gotten divorced under their new identities and been placed separately. Maybe they had a lawyer or a judge in Sanctuary, even if there was no court to uphold the law. But if neither party could leave town unless they left the program, did they simply move to opposite ends of the street? There had to be some discord, if people were forever running into their exes at community dinners.
“Well, I’m up.” The mayor pushed his chair back and approached the podium, leaning down to the microphone. “Check, check. Is this thing on?”
The microphone hummed to a screech and everyone in the room winced. Olympia emerged from the kitchen and stood with her hands in the pockets of her apron.
The mayor cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming. We’re here tonight to welcome our newest resident. Sheriff John Mason will be taking over from Sheriff Chandler. We should have an update on the latest on Chandler’s condition after he has surgery on Monday. John Mason has brought his son, Patrick, who goes by Pat.” He shot John’s son a smile and Pat swung his feet back and forth under the table. “Please join me in welcoming them.”
The room swelled with applause. John looked around, seeing tables of similar faces—families—alongside tables of co-workers like the ranch guys. There was even a table of what looked like aging bikers. A small amount of young people and kids were spread around the room. All of them seemed to co-exist in a place John felt for the first time maybe he could be at home in.
“Next up on our agenda—”
The door opened. A slender, dark haired woman in jeans and a brown jacket stepped inside. She looked around, saw everyone’s attention was on her and ducked to the side of the door.
“As I was saying,” the mayor continued. “Tonight’s movie will begin in one hour after cleanup. Those of you on the schedule will need to stay behind to help pull down the tables and set up chairs.”
John kept his eyes on the woman. Something about her made him want to stare. He couldn’t make out her features from this distance. The mayor’s reaction had been interesting—disapproving. But of the disruption or the woman herself?
The safe in the sheriff’s office contained the WITSEC file for every person in this room. It would take John forever to read through them all. But he supposed he needed to that if he was going to know these people, what they were capable of and what they’d endured. Several of the faces were familiar, in a general sort of way. There was a guy across the room with a table of men in military haircuts who John thought might be the former chief of staff of the army.
Given what the town was established for, he’d expected to see more household names. But maybe the government had them change their looks when they went into the program. He’d have to find out who still needed to testify and learn how that worked. Find out who had been here longest, so he could pick their brain for how to do this job in a way which made everyone in town’s lives as safe as they could be.
The previous sheriff might have upheld the law with a light touch, mostly leaving people to get on with their lives. On the other hand, he might not have tolerated even the slightest infraction. He’d have to ask Palmer. His deputy was sitting with a table of people who all had his red coloring—an older couple and two younger boys. John didn’t want to interrupt his family time.
“Battle Night will commence at eight p.m. on Saturday. If you’re not part of the proceedings you are advised to stay in your homes after dark in order to avoid becoming a casualty.”
The mayor was frowning at his paper. “Guns can be collected from the radio station after noon tomorrow and are to be returned after the operation is concluded. If you are under eighteen, you must have a signed permission slip on your person at all times and wear the appropriate colors.”
John leaned in the Betty’s direction. “What’s this?”
Her lip curled. “Paintball. But the Major General organizes everyone into teams and claims it’s all about strategy and mounting assault versus defense.” She shook her head. “It’s just an excuse to run around like hooligans if you ask me.”
Judging by the looks on the faces of more than a few people, “Battle Night” was something to look forward to. Being cooped up like this probably got old. The chance to blow off steam, even with paintball of all things, could be seriously fun.
The mayor continued, “Safe zones are the barn at the ranch and the marked area at the farm. But Dan says if you mess with the crops you’re disqualified and banned from participating for a whole year. Teams will meet at their respective zones at seventeen-thirty.” He moved the paper to the back of his stack, displaying precisely how he felt about “Battle Night.”
Pat pulled on John’s sleeve. “Can I go to that?”
“Let me find out more, first. Okay?”
Pat nodded but slumped lower in his seat. John looked around again. The woman was still there, leaning against the back wall with her hands in the pockets of her coat. Her hair was swept over one shoulder, covering the side of her face.
The mayor continued to make announcements about a raccoon getting into someone’s trash, and a church that met Sundays in the Meeting House. Probably that was a good way for John to meet people and be sociable outside of the times he was around town in uniform. People needed to get to know him as a man and a father as well as their new sheriff.
“Father Wilson, would you like to come and pray over us?”
A grizzled man stood. He had a minister’s collar on his black shirt and walked with soft steps to the podium, even though his craggy face said gangster. He held the sides of the podium with both hands. The ranch guys all removed their hats and all around the room people bowed their heads.
The minister bowed his head and spoke in a voice that sounded like he had laryngitis. He thanked the Good Lord for food and fellowship and asked Him to watch over the town and keep each one of them safe. He prayed for Sheriff Chandler’s health and that John and Pat would feel welcome. At the end he tacked on an addendum that the B team would be victorious.
The room erupted into cheers on one side and a chorus of “boo” on the other. Everyone laughed. The minister looked up a gap-toothed grin on his face. “Amen!”
Most of the people in the room yelled back, “Amen!” But there was a lot of, “No way!” and “Not gonna happen!”
People got up, dispersing with their plates to where Olympia stood beside a trash can and a cart of basins, one full of soapy water and one empty.
Matthias clapped him on the back. “Did you meet my Momma?”
“Olympia?”
He nodded and motioned to the three Hispanic women behind him. Two were tall and slender and one was younger and plump. But all of them were beautiful. “These are my sisters, Maria who is married to Tom. They have two kids. And this is Antonia and Sofia. They run the nursery and organize all the landscaping in town.”
John shook their hands.
“That’s my brother, Diego.”
The young man Matthias pointed to stood with the table of ranch guys but waved at him. Diego’s features differed from Matthias, his coloring darker whereas Matthias seemed to favor his mother.
Matthias must have seen John’s frown since he added, “Takes after the Puerto Rican side of the family. Mama is Greek.”
Olympia wandered over.
John included her in his smile. “You have a beautiful family.”
“They’re a handful, every one of them.”
“Mama!” Plump Sofia’s hands shot to her hips.
John laughed at the gleam in Olympia’s eyes. They might drive her crazy but she loved each one. He looked around, searching for Pat. He was at the back of the room in conversation with the lone woman who’d entered late. She’d crouched to Pat’s level and nodded at something he said.
“Excuse me.” John made his way over and put his hand on Pat’s shoulder. “Hello.”
The woman looked up and his breath caught. Her eyes were dark almost black and the same shade as her long, straight hair. “Sheriff. I’m Andra.”
“Andra?”
“Yeah, Dad. Like Alexandra, but without the Alex part.”
She shot Pat a smile. “I should be going.”
“Somewhere to be?”
Her smile dimmed. “Yeah, home. And it’s a decent walk so I should head out before it gets too dark.”
John nodded. He didn’t make a point to argue with a woman if he could help it and she seemed pretty determined to leave. Though, run away was probably a more accurate description.
“It was nice to meet you.” She kept her eyes on Pat and then turned to the door.
John looked at his son. “How’d you get all the way over here?”
Pat shrugged. “She didn’t have anyone to talk to, so I came over to say hi.”
“That was nice of you.” John squeezed his shoulder. “What’s she like?”
“I think she’s lonely. Don’t you think so?”
“Could be. We’ll have to find out.”
“There’s no need to worry about Ms. Caleri, Sheriff.”
He turned back and saw the doctor, one arm around his wife.
“Caleri?”
Harriet swallowed like there was a bad taste in her mouth. “Andra Caleri. She keeps to herself and in return no one bothers her. Except when she shows up at the medical center and yells at me for no reason whatsoever.”
“Is there something about her I should know?” John could look it up in Andra’s file but it was better to get people’s opinions. That said more about someone than a report did.
“Just give her a wide berth as much as you can. That’s what we do.”
The doctor nodded. “It’s best that way. I’ve heard she’s not very sociable. People who show up at her house on accident don’t have anything good to say about the experience.”
How did you show up at someone’s house by accident?
The question must have shown up on John’s face because the doctor said, “She lives outside of town, up in the mountains some but no one knows precisely where.”
Harriet nodded. “Some people think she’s lived by herself for so long it’s affected her mental state. If you know what I mean.”
Right. She seemed sane enough to John, but how did you tell? “Well, I appreciate the heads-up.”
“Goodnight, Sheriff.” They swept out the door as a single unit.
“Why were they mean about Andra? She’s nice.”
John looked down at Pat. “I’m not really sure. Maybe Andra doesn’t get on well with some of the people in town. Or maybe she just likes her privacy.”
“Like when you go in a stall because you don’t want to stand by everyone else at the urinal?”
John laughed. “That is exactly what privacy means.”
“But Andra’s a girl.”
“Girl privacy is probably different, but she could still want that.” John ruffled Pat’s hair until the kid shifted his head from under his hand. “Let’s go see about the sleeping arrangements, yeah? It’s been a long day.”
“Can’t we stay for the movie?”
“Not tonight. It’s late and we still need to unpack.”
They stepped outside, waving to those who called goodnight to them. John took Pat’s hand and they walked across the street. To the right of the Meeting House the doctor and his wife stood together, both looking up the street. A quarter mile up where the street ended, Andra walked along with a flashlight in one hand lighting her way as she stepped off the road toward the trees.
A second later, she was gone.