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“Yeah.”
I crack a smile. “Which was it?”
He shrugs. “If they come back, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
“You do that, but I’m assuming, since it’s been three days, they’re probably not coming back,” I inform him, realizing he’s probably out close to a hundred bucks in fuel.
“Sly might need his ID,” Jeb states, his blue eyes shining under the dim gas station lighting.
A wide grin spreads across my lips. “He might.”
“All right, boy, better get back out there and catch the criminals. Wanna coffee to go?”
I glance at the pot sitting along the back wall and the fact it looks like it hasn’t been cleaned since Nixon was in office. “No thanks, Jeb. It’s eighty-three out there. No coffee for me.”
The old man barely looks up from his newspaper. “How about a water then?” He turns and grabs one from the old cooler he keeps behind the counter. “It’s the least I can do, since you came all the way out here to help me.”
“That’s my job,” I tell him, reaching for the bottle. “Thank you for this. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome, boy. Just be careful out there. I heard Emogene Franklin was almost run over by one of those dune buggy things.”
My eyebrows pull together in question. “She was?”
“Yep. She was getting ready to cross the street at the Methodist church, when one of those flying machines came barreling at her at Mach 10. Almost killed her.”
I shake my head, wondering when this happened. We don’t allow ATVs or side-by-sides on the streets in town. There’s one path they’re allowed to take, which covers Jeb’s gas station, the diner, and Marcus’s mechanic shop not too far away. “Is she okay?”
“Huh?” he asks, looking up from his paper once more. “Oh, yeah. She’s fine. Swung her purse at him when he went by.”
A snort slips out as I picture sweet little Emogene Franklin swinging that big bag she calls a purse at someone. “I can stop by and take her statement, see if I can find out who it was.”
“Oh, they’re long gone, boy. Happened probably ten, twelve years ago?” It comes out a question as he contemplates how long ago it was when this incident happened.
“I see,” I reply, taking my bottle of water. “Well, I better get back out there. Thanks again for the water.”
“Of course, boy. Be safe. Those flying buggies are buzzin’ around something fierce right now. August brings ’em out in gangs.”
I nod before pushing through the door and returning to my squad car. I let dispatch know what’s happening with Jeb and decide to take a trip through Bluff Preserves. They have park rangers who patrol it regularly, but sometimes I want visitors to see my car too. Maybe I’ll get lucky and spot Sylvester Stallone there and be able to convince him to pay for his damn gas at the station.
Probably not. Most likely, Sly is long gone, like I suggested to Jeb. I wish the old man would take the advice I’ve given, as well as about every other resident of Pine Village, and install new pumps. I know it’s a big expense, but if a customer had to give a credit card to receive gas, he wouldn’t be out hundreds of dollars every month when someone drives off or promises to come back and pay but doesn’t.
I try not to let those kinds of calls get to me, but it pisses me off when out-of-towners take advantage of our residents. No, not all visitors are trouble, but there are plenty who are. And apparently, they could all use a reminder not to drive their ATVs and side-by-sides on undesignated routes.
I mean, poor Emogene was almost run over by one of their flying buggies.
Snickering and shaking my head, I drive toward the busy tourist park at the edge of our small town. Maybe after a pass through the area and chatting with a handful of visitors, I can stop by the diner for lunch and chat with my favorite server. Being greeted as I walk through the door with that familiar smile is the best part of my day.
There’s nothing better than an Ellie smile.
It’s what I live for.
Chapter Five
Ellie
My nerves are through the roof as I find my seat in the bleachers. There’s a buzz in the stands as everyone prepares for the first football game of the season. I greet fellow football parents and fans before looking out onto the field for my boy. A slight grin spreads across my lips when I find him, running to catch a pass from the quarterback. He easily snatches it from the air and runs to the next yard line before the whistle blows.
Brody tosses the ball back to the quarterback before jogging over to where TD stands. They talk a few moments, TD showing him something with his hands, before slapping him on the shoulder pads and sending him back to the line.
