Chapter Four

Edward sat on a wooden chair against the wall of the reception area and draped his jacket over his lap. Blinking to clear his eyes, he refused to think of the worst case. That would be too much to stand, and he had nearly fallen apart in Jack’s office. He already had a good idea what Chief of Police Jack Whittaker thought of him. Edward didn’t intend to give credence to the ‘emotional fag’ stereotype by crying. Beauregards were made of sterner stuff.

He’d never been separated from Winston, except on a few overnights, for almost six years. Now Winston’s life was on the line and Edward swore he’d do whatever it took to free his best friend.

Edward didn’t think Jack would hurt Winston, but if there was one thing he’d picked up from the chief of police in their too-brief time together, it was that Jack Whittaker upheld the law, no matter what the law decreed.

Even if it said a little dog had to die.

Jack’s secretary gave him a smile then went back to her work, whatever it was one did when one worked for a chief of police. The main office was large, nondescript and her desk sat like an ugly brown metal guard outside Jack’s office. At the other end was another hall that led to the back where he supposed the criminals were kept. The place smelled of cinder block, Lysol and the cloying gardenia scent Kristen wore.

“What’s down that hall?” he asked.

Kristen looked up. “That’s the muster room and the cells. If you need the bathroom, it’s the first door on the left.” She pointed and gave him another smile.

Edward smiled back at her and time ticked on.

“So,” she said. “I like your shirt. It’s pretty.”

Pretty? He paid one hundred and fifty dollars at a trendy Dallas shop, and all he got was ‘pretty’? Not fabulous. Not stunning. Not ‘it goes so well with your eyes’?

“Thanks. Not too much fringe?” Edward ran his finger along the chocolate brown strings, enjoying the way the suede felt on his skin. Satin sheets trimmed in this fringe would be just the thing. He could have them made back in Atlanta. It would be like swimming in chocolate. Delicious.

She checked it out, then shrugged. “Maybe for a man’s shirt. I’ve never seen a man’s shirt with that much fringe on it. Mother-of-pearl snap buttons, maybe, but not fringe.”

“Oh.” Maybe Jack hadn’t been joking. Maybe he looked like a fool in this shirt, instead of hot as sin, but it had seemed so good in the mirror at the store, setting off his dark hair and eyes. Even that cute young salesman had said so.

“Now I’ve seen women’s shirts with fringe. Lots of those, especially for parties and such. But men, no.” She shook her head. “Where’d you get it?”

“In Dallas.”

“Oh. Dallas.” She sniffed. “I suppose for Dallas it’s all right.”

“Have you ever been to Dallas?” Edward had no idea why he was extending the conversation—at least, no idea he wanted to confess to.

“Yep. Every year for the Texas State Fair. You?”

“Just a few days ago, on my way here.”

“Oh.” She went back to her typing.

“My grandmother is Olivia Rawlings.” Never hurts to name-drop.

“Miss Olivia?” Her eyes brightened and she gave him an even bigger smile. Seems the name worked. “Everybody knows her. I didn’t know she had any family.”

“My mother is her daughter,” Edward enlightened her.

“Funny, she never talks about any family.” She narrowed her eyes. “You sure you’re kin to her?”

“Yes.” Edward frowned. If his grandmother hadn’t mentioned him, that was her right. Still, it stung.

She lowered her head again and typed.

“How long has he been chief?” Edward tilted his head at Jack’s office door, no longer able to resist asking about the ruggedly handsome cop and the real reason he’d kept talking to the young woman.

“The last five years.” Her eyes never left the screen.

“He’s kind of young for such an important position, isn’t he?” He hadn’t missed the sprinkling of gray in the chief’s hair that made him appear distinguished. And sexy.

“Youngest chief we’ve ever had.” She nodded and the conversation came to a standstill.

What else could he ask without being obvious? He already knew the man wasn’t married and didn’t have a girlfriend, and asking if he had a boyfriend would be the height of indiscretion.

Just then, the outer door opened and a drop-dead gorgeous cop sauntered in. Edward had to keep his teeth together to keep his jaw from dropping.

“Hi, Kristen,” the officer greeted the secretary.

“Hi, Brian.” She jerked her head at Edward and he sat up straighter. “He’s the one.”

The cop turned to Edward, raised his eyebrows and gave him a nod of hello.

“You need a ride to the garage?”

Edward’s first thought was to say, Yes, I’m the one. Me. Me. Me, and throw himself into the man’s arms, but instead he stood and held out his hand. “Yes. Edward Beauregard.” Hell and damnation, if he’d known they grew them so big and good-looking here in Spring Lake, he would have come to visit his grandmother sooner.

But did they all have to be cops? And straight? What was a boy to do?

The cop shook his hand. “Officer Brian Russell. Well, come along and I’ll drop you off.” He headed for the door.

“See you later, alligator,” Edward quipped at Kristen.

“After a while, crocodile,” she shot back. They laughed and Edward trailed behind Brian out of the door, enjoying the way the cop’s ass filled out those black uniform pants. The officer led the way to a marked patrol car, opened the passenger door then headed around to the driver’s side. Edward got in, buckled up and sat back.

“Had some car trouble?”

“Your chief shot my tire.” I probably shouldn’t have said that.

The officer turned and stared at him. “How did that happen?”

“It was after my dog bit him,” Edward mumbled as he adjusted his bandanna.

“Your dog bit him?” He put the car in gear and pulled out of the lot.

“After he stopped me for speeding.” Edward rolled his eyes.

“So. You’re a dangerous criminal, huh?” Brian chuckled.

“That’s me.” Edward sighed and stared out of the window.

“What’s up?” The cop sounded concerned. It was probably something he’d learned in cop school, or wherever they taught that sort of stuff, but his soft voice drew Edward in.

He turned in his seat to look the guy in the eyes and it all came out in a rush. “I’ve had a horrible day. My dog bit Jack, and now he’s being held until I can prove he doesn’t have rabies, and Jack’s going to keep him for me because my grandmother is allergic, and Winston is claustrophobic and can’t stay in a cage or a cell or be tied outside to the fence like some wild animal—” Edward took a breath, but the cop interrupted by holding up his hand.

“Whoa! Slow down.”

Edward exhaled. This was just another fine mess he’d gotten himself into. No. He’d gotten Winston into this mess. Hell and damnation, maybe his father had been right about the trust fund after all. Right about what a self-absorbed—

“Look. I’m sure whatever happened, Chief Whittaker will handle it with fairness and respect. Your dog, that’s Winston?”

“Yes.”

“The chief stopped you for speeding and the dog bit him?”

“Right. I don’t know why Winston did it. He’s never bitten anyone before. Ever.”

“Okay. And the dog can’t go into the kennel, so the chief is going to hold on to him for you, right?” The officer spoke as he drove down a main street lined with businesses and stores.

“That’s right. Do you think he’ll treat Winston okay?”

“Of course. Chief Whittaker is one of the most decent men I know. If he says your dog is safe, then he’s safe.”

Edward let out his breath in a long exhale. “Thanks. I thought so—I just wanted to hear someone else say it.” He smiled at the cop.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No. How could you tell?”

“Well, other than knowing most of the people who live here, the shirt was a dead giveaway.” Brian, the hot cop, chuckled again. Besides his good looks, Brian had a way of putting Edward at ease. Edward couldn’t help but like him.

Edward winced. “I know. Too much fringe.”

He nodded. “And your accent. Georgia?”

“Atlanta.” Edward nodded.

“What brings you to Spring Lake?”

“I’m visiting my grandmother, Olivia Rawlings.”

“I didn’t know she had any family.”

“So I hear.” Edward frowned. “I’m a big secret.”

“Is it because you’re gay?”

Edward turned to the officer. “No. She had a falling out years ago with my father. How did you know I was gay?”

“You’re joking, right?”

Edward waved his hand down his chest. “The shirt?”

“That, and since I’m gay, it’s easy for me to spot another gay man. And you don’t exactly hide it, you know.”

“You’re gay? Get back, Loretta.” Edward slapped his thigh.

“Gay and taken.” The officer held up his left hand to show a band of solid platinum.

“Of course. Just my luck.” Edward sighed and sat back. “What about Jack?”

“What about him?” Russell asked warily.

“He wouldn’t by any chance be gay too?” Edward turned and looked out of the window, not positive if he wanted to know. It didn’t matter anyway—Jack was not his type. Repeat. Not his type.

“Here’s the garage, Mr. Beauregard.” The cop pulled up in front of the door and waited for Edward to get out.

“Thank you, Officer Russell.” Edward leaned down and smiled at him. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same here. See you around.” Russell gave him a salute and pulled away, leaving Edward’s question about Jack unanswered.

Edward slung his jacket over his shoulder and went inside the shop’s office.

Behind the counter, a young man in a blue work shirt with the name Phil embroidered above the pocket looked up. His eyes widened as his gaze traveled up and down Edward.

“Can I help you?” he asked, trying to keep a straight face.

Anger prickled Edward’s skin as he read the man’s expression. This guy was going to give him a hard time. He braced himself and walked to the counter.

“Yes. I came to pick up the red Miata. The tire was flat.”

“Oh, right. Hold on.” Phil stepped to a door that led to the service bays, opened it and leaned out. “Is the Miata ready?”

Someone called back something and Phil stepped out where Edward couldn’t hear him, then came back in.

“It’s done.” He stole several glances at Edward as he worked with the papers.

Edward leaned against the counter and tried to see what the man was doing.

“That’s one hundred and seventy-one dollars and fifty-seven cents.”

“Is that for a new tire?” Edward asked.

“Yep. And the tow. Couldn’t fix the old tire. You can’t fix two holes in the sidewalls. How’d you manage to do that?”

Edward just shrugged. He definitely wasn’t telling this jerk.

Just then another man, older and covered in grease stains, came through the bay door. “This the guy?” He had Jimmy embroidered over his pocket. With the grease on his clothes and his hands, Edward figured him for the mechanic. As the man stared at him, Edward’s stomach started a slow slide down to the bottom, where fear waited.

“Yep. That’s him.” The younger man stepped back.

“Un-fucking-be-liev-able. Well, aren’t you pretty?” He gave a low whistle as he shook his head. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it.”

Edward glared at Phil. “Is my car ready or not?” The office felt too small and the urge to bolt washed over him, but he locked his knees and stood firm.

“It’s ready. What’s your hurry?” Jimmy asked.

Edward hadn’t been in a hurry—he just wanted to avoid any more trouble. He’d certainly met his quota for today. Okay, for the next year. Besides, the next time he saw the police chief, he didn’t want to be wearing a set of shiny new handcuffs. Or sporting a lovely black plastic body bag.

He placed his credit card on the counter and pushed it at the young man, but the older man snatched it up. “Edward P. Beauregard I-I-I. What’s that mean?”

“May I speak with the manager?” Edward kept his lips tight—he’d dealt with people like this ever since he’d come out.

The guy from the front desk stepped up. “Let me have that, Jimmy.” He took the card from the man, wiped it clean and ran it through the machine. “Better get back to work.”

Jimmy returned to the garage but stopped in the doorway and turned back. “I swear. Ever since those two faggots took up residence here, the place is swarming with them. Spring Lake is going to be the next San Fran-fucking-cisco, if you ask me.”

How do three gay men make a swarm? Is that like a herd of elephants or a school of fish? Shouldn’t it be something like a quorum of queers or a gaggle of gays?

The young man rolled his eyes and held out the receipt and the credit card. Edward signed them, handed him the yellow copy and held out his hand, palm up. “My keys?”

“In the car. Jimmy’ll bring it out for you.”

Edward nodded and left the office. Jimmy gunned the motor and backed out of the closest bay, cut the wheel hard and nearly hit Edward as he came to a brake-squealing stop.

Curbing his anger, Edward set his face to neutral and walked around to the driver’s side, doing his best ‘manly’ walk. He could do butch if he had to.

Jimmy got out and held the door open, as if being polite, but Edward knew better. People like this man wore thin veils of civility over the senseless hatred that boiled underneath and when that hatred erupted, someone usually got hurt. Or killed.

Edward got in and Jimmy shut it. Still holding on to the frame, he leaned over, his cigarette-laced breath puffing against the side of Edward’s face as he growled, “I hope you don’t plan on hanging around here for long, Mr. I-I-I. This is a God-fearing town and we don’t need any more of you faggots settling here, for damn sure.”

Edward knew arguing or even trying to reason with people like Jimmy was a waste of time and energy. Despite the fear and anger warring inside him, he remained silent, which seemed to piss off the asshole even more.

“Just keep your hands to yourself, faggot. We catch you with any of our boys, we’ll hang you by your dick from the nearest tree.”

Looking straight ahead, Edward put the car into gear and hit the gas. The mechanic jumped back, cursed at him and gave him the finger. Heart pounding, Edward pulled out of the drive and into the street without a clue as to where he was going. All he could think about was to get as far away from the garage as possible.

Once free, Edward slowed down, and the tension in his shoulders eased. He could see the billboard… Spring Lake: The next San Francisco. He laughed. Not without the hills, the marina and the Castro District.

How paranoid could some God-fearing people be? Did they really think he was going to start trolling outside the junior high school, enticing young boys into wickedness, sin, and manis and pedis with candy and video games?

Hell and damnation. He was a homosexual, not a pedophile. They were not synonymous. The thought of touching a child was as abhorrent to him as it would be to anyone else.

He drove a few more blocks, spotted a coffee shop and pulled in to their drive-through. After he ordered a latte, he got out the map and studied it as he waited. He was on the main street and from there he traced the route to his grandmother’s house.

He paid, got his drink and pulled out.

“Over the river and through the snow, to grandmother’s house we go,” he sang, off-key, then sighed and looked at the empty seat beside him.

It wasn’t the same without Winston.