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For what felt like an eternity, Di stood there, paralyzed. Had there been a backdoor to the shop, he would have gone tearing out of it—although what he would have done after that, he had no idea. Barreling into this showdown would only have been a thousand times more dangerous for the woman he loved.
Unfortunately, none of the shops on this street had a back entry. While this was a serious fire hazard, given that the shops’ backrooms were right on the edge of the mountainside, it wouldn’t have been much safer if they did.
Still, this wasn’t important at the moment. Focusing on what was, he could not get his brain to settle down.
Mac’s in there all alone with that man. What’s she gonna do if he attacks her? Or, worse, uses his gun?
Granted, it would have been difficult for Pommelroy to explain why he’d shot her, but the sheriff wasn’t exactly a big thinker. Di rather suspected that he’d do what he felt he had to and worry about the consequences later—with the usual white-man-in-authority’s carte blanche for everything up to and including murder.
As he heard—and saw on the monitors—Mac stare at the man lazily and say, “Close the door, will you? You don’t want others to hear what I’m about to say,” Di would have sworn his heart was about to beat out of his chest. When the sheriff followed her instructions, looking extremely suspicious, it only made Di a thousand times more terrified.
Now, they’re in there alone! No one will even be able to see if he makes a move on her!
Granted, the shop had a huge window, but, with so much else going on at the fête, who was going to notice it?
As Pommelroy took a step or two closer to her, his eyes narrowing, Di pretty much wanted to break down the door and gallop into the room.
But, a second later, Stefan waved a hand at him urgently. When he looked at the man—who was attractive and African-American with close-cropped, natural hair and dressed like he was ready to play tennis at one of the resort’s courts—Stefan pointed commandingly at the chair beside him and punched a couple of buttons.
Although his whole body felt like a live wire, Di reluctantly sat and watched the growing confrontation on the screen.
“Whatchu want, girlie?” Pommelroy repeated, his suspicions obvious. “What’s this about?”
“Oh, just a little matter of murder,” Mac smiled. She was perched on the counter next to the cash register, swinging her legs casually.
When the sheriff flinched and seemed ready to go for his gun, Mac brought out a stun gun from behind the counter and pointed it at him.
“This is a conversation, not a battle, sheriff. And you are not the fastest gun in the west.”
For a moment, Pommelroy froze but then relaxed just a bit, hand dropping from his weapon, and Mac too put down the gun on the counter, although it was still in her grip.
As this happened, Di felt for his own stun gun and wanted to curse. Somehow, Mac had gotten it off him without him noticing.
Oh, yeah, Romeo. Like THAT was hard to do.
Although he was careful not to even sigh out loud, Di’s brain went on without him.
Man, I suck!
He couldn’t even keep the woman he loved safe.
Meanwhile, Pommelroy had decided to bluff this out, grinning.
“Don’t know what you mean. There ain’t been no murders ‘round here.”
Di’s brain vaguely noted the man’s traditional double negative but was too focused on what was happening to even blink.
“Now, if you don’t mind . . .” the sheriff said, starting to turn.
“There’ve been two murders in the last two days,” Mac stopped him. “The mayor and Nora.”
When the sheriff stopped, eyes narrowing, she added, “She died last night. But I talked to her first.”
Actually, Di knew that Nora had been sent down to a hospital in Asheville early this morning and seemed to be likely to recover—but no one had told the sheriff that.
“The labs came back from Asheville,” Mac went on. “Datura poisoning.”
The sheriff’s amazement was honest this time.
“What labs?”
There was suddenly a bit of fear in his eyes.
“I didn’t hear anything about any lab tests.”
“But they happened, anyway,” Mac nodded. “The state police are on their way over to us, as we speak.”
Although it took him a second, the sheriff pulled back together his bluster, his arms windmilling.
“So what’s this got to do with me?”
“Mayor Pocket wanted to remove you from office. Nora knew you got the idea for the datura poisoning from the book she lent you.”
Mac’s eyes narrowed further, and Di could see the rage coming off her.
“And my daddy didn’t do anything except have a job you happened to want.”
Now, Pommelroy’s gaze was wide, which sort of matched Di’s own.
Pommelroy killed Mac’s father?
True, the man had seemed the picture of health before he’d died of that heart attack, but there’d never been any reason to think . . .
Mind still reeling, Di thought back. Pommelroy had also been running for sheriff, but had come in a distant second to Sheriff Welles. It was only after Welles’ death that the second-place candidate had suddenly found himself the winner.
Granted, whatever Pommelroy might have done to Mac’s father probably wasn’t datura, as he’d only seemed to have gotten that idea recently, but Pommelroy’s pharmacist nephew had been visiting him around that time. That the boy didn’t seem to like him very much and had left town almost immediately when his uncle got the job did rather suggest that Pommelroy had gotten something from him which he hadn’t been able to replicate—or, knowing the man, probably even remember. Thus, Nora and her book.
While he wondered if the nephew knew any of this, Di couldn’t see how the boy could have stopped him, especially once his uncle was actually the sheriff. It might explain why he had left so quickly and not returned, though.
Apparently, Mac’s accusation had struck a chord, as well, Pommelroy taking another step toward Mac, as his eyes narrowed.
“Your daddy never did know what was good for him. All those years he got voted in, and you know he never took a dime from Pocket, other than his salary?”
In the face of Mac’s total silence, Pommelroy flailed slightly.
“What kind of sense does that make? The only reason to be a sheriff in a dead-end town like this is to make a few bucks!”
Still glaring in deadly stillness, Mac didn’t interrupt his tirade.
“But noooo. Mr. High-and-Mighty wants to do everything by the book, even keep an eye on some rumors about the VanRowe kid. He even supported the protestors who were trying to keep the billionaires from building their homes.”
He rolled his eyes.
“It’s like he didn’t even care about money or something!”
“Which is why you killed him,” Mac inquisitioned him in deadly tones.
“Well, Christ on a crutch, Welles! I was doing him a favor! He wasn’t cut out to be the sheriff of this town.”
He waved his hand at her.
“And I gave you a job, didn’t I?”
Now, Di was seething, and he could see that Mac was, too. But, as always, she was utterly calm.
Now back to his usual, toxically avuncular self, Pommelroy waved his arms.
“So, what do you want from me, anyway? You want a payout, too?”
Pointing at her and coming a step closer, he growled.
“‘Cause let me tell you. Ain’t nobody gonna believe it, if you tell them.”
There was another step.
“And I’ve got some datura left for you and that damn dog, if you try to go spreading rumors on me, too.”
Through it all, Mac sat there, glaring.
“So no one will believe me, huh?”
Clearly ready to start punching, the sheriff shook his head.
“Wanna bet?” Mac smiled finally and pointed toward the door and window.
When the sheriff turned, he saw what Di only then noticed.
Every, single face outside was staring at the sheriff in shock. Apparently, Stefan had succeeded in hooking up the speakers into the stage’s sound system, after all.
Although the sheriff was definitely beaten, and knew it, he was never one to go quietly.
It had already been too much for Di, who was trying not to scream. But, when he saw Pommelroy reaching back for his gun, he’d had all he could take.
Standing up, he got as far back as he could, and then plowed through the locked door—thankful for the couple of days of mandated state police training he’d been given. Then, just as the sheriff had his hand on his gun hilt, Di punched him, hard.
For a moment after that, everything went into slow motion. The sheriff’s eyes started to roll back in his head, as the gun took off across the room. When it hit the floor, it let out a shot which took out three Hummel-like figurines and two “Daddy’s Little Girl Loves Her Granny” t-shirts.
A very small part of Di’s brain noted, Nora’s gonna be pissed.
But this barely registered for long.
By the time things went back to normal speed, Di found himself sitting on top of the sheriff, who was face down on the pink carpet. The handcuffs were already on.
When the front door opened, Alex Martinez was standing there, grinning.
“Dang. I’ve been wanting to do that for years, but you beat me to it. Still . . .”
Coming over, he and Di physically hauled the sheriff to his feet.
“I can at least be the one to turn him over to the state police, right?”
A bit in shock at everything, Di nodded and watched the sheriff hauled away to the loud cheers of the crowd.
“Got it!” Stefan called from the backroom. “I’ll email a copy to the mayor and the state police.”
But, as Di turned and Mac walked up to him, he didn’t have room for anything in his brain besides her—not even a spare thought left to be amazed that he hadn’t hurt his shoulder or hand with those moves. And, when she smiled and put his stun gun carefully back into place, he lost it, hugging her tightly and giving up on keeping his feelings to himself.
“Don’t ever put yourself in harm’s way again, you hear?”
Mac laughed and kissed him on the jaw, returning the bear hug in full.
“You’re not exactly giving me an incentive not to,” she purred.
Still too overwhelmed, Di’s brain could barely take this in.
Wait. Did she say . . .?
Pulling back, she stared at him, smiling.
“I nearly had to get myself shot to finally get you to hold me.”
While his brain spent a few more seconds stuck on duuuuuhhh, what she was saying finally broke through. As his eyes widened, a bit of an internal war started.
Really, really, ready to give in, Di still felt like he had to say it.
“I love you, Mac. I always have. But I’m a bad bet.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t even like football.”
One eyebrow raised, she murmured, “Tell me something I don’t already know, Obadiah Goode.”
“Um . . .”
Realizing they still had a very active audience, although thankfully the speakers seemed to be off now, Di leaned down to whisper to her.
“Um, I craft. Macramé, embroidery, crochet . . . I do it all.”
Leaning back, he stared in her eyes sheepishly.
“And I do it a lot.”
Smiling, she kissed him lightly and then stared into his eyes.
“Oh, really? I’ll have you know that I’ve bought an entire army of your stuffed animals, and I snuggle under one of your quilts every night.”
Di could feel himself blushing fiercely, even as she gave him a come-hither smile.
“But I’d rather snuggle under it with you.”
Dang.
That was it. He gave up.
Pulling her up to him, he drew her into a kiss which came out of his soul. And it wasn’t even accompanied by little blue doggies.
And, as the kiss went joyfully on, the cheering of the crowd became only a mild, background roar.