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“Can they do this?”
I read through the Cease and Desist order. It’s on official letterhead from the sheriff’s department.
“It’s a courtesy letter, Mr. Prichard.”
“It was handed over by a uniformed officer this morning. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was? Deena Mayfield was on her front porch and watched the entire thing.”
Deena Mayfield is the principal at the elementary school. If memory serves me correctly, she isn’t all that big on town gossip. She’s lived here all her life, but she never really fell in with those who always whisper behind others’ backs. She’s more of an ask questions to your face kind of person, and if she doesn’t, then it means she doesn’t care.
“What would you like me to do about it, Mr. Prichard?”
“I want to sue Mike Hodson.” He nods his head as if he’s been wanting to say those words for years.
“I’m not an attorney, so you may want to make an appointment with Barret Hyde. I don’t think you can sue the sheriff, Bobby John.”
“He’s saying I can’t call 911 any longer. What am I supposed to do in an emergency?”
I press my finger to the letter before speaking. “He’s asking that you don’t call emergency services when your peacock runs away.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Peahenand Margie is like family to me.”
His voice is low, carrying a certain warning against me, arguing his words.
“I understand that,” I say, wanting to make peace rather than getting him more riled up. “Have you considered increasing security?”
I should ask him why she keeps running away from him, but I’m certain it’s because, much like he’s doing to me, he annoys the shit out of her.
“Do I look like I’m healthy enough to get out there in the heat and put up a taller fence?”
I take a deep breath, a little annoyed with myself that I didn’t even consider his ability when I’ve suggested he do this many times before.
He’s a prideful man, one who isn’t going to ask for help when he needs it. Aside from calling about Margie missing, he’s always been the type of man to get things done on his own or go without. I know what it must take for him to make his confession.
“How about you head to the hardware store and grab a roll of fencing? When Chandler gets here, we’ll track Margie down and put the fence up for you.”
“I don’t want an ugly fence,” he says, but the ire in his tone is fading.
“We won’t make your fence ugly,” I promise. “Sheriff Hodson was being nice with the official warning, Mr. Prichard. He’ll have you arrested if you call 911 for another non-emergency.”
I stand from my desk, keeping my eyes on him until he finally nods his understanding. The entire town would be in an uproar if the man was arrested.
“See you in a couple hours,” I tell him, my way of dismissing him.
He’s still grumbling under his breath, but thankfully he leaves my office, nodding at Eastyn on his way out the front door.
“That was intense,” she says, watching him as he climbs into his beat-up old Ford.
“I’m surprised you haven’t met him yet.”
“I met him at the Brew and Chew last week. That man today wasn’t the same man from last week.”
“He’s alone since his wife passed away,” I mutter. “He just doesn’t have anything else to do with his time. I think he’s lonely, but I also think he has a touch of dementia.”
“That’s so sad,” she says, her nose scrunching up.
“That’s life,” I tell her, incapable of feeling too sorry for the man.
Maybe it’s the way to go, forgetting things that once mattered.
