Page 28 of In a Word, Yes

“Sure thing.” I toss a pen into my bag and fish out my car keys.

“Oh, and Montgomery?” I turn to find Sam paused outside his office, filling the doorframe. He quirks a brow. “Rumblegumption.”

“Beg your pardon?” Could’ve sworn he said—

“Rumblegumption. Look it up. You’ve got it in spades.”

Moments later, Dot thumps a stack of folders onto the reception counter next to me, preparing to take over my spot.

“Look at me, Dot,” I say, gesturing to the exposed V of my T-shirt. “I’m a disaster. I don’t have time to go home and change.”

“Babe, I have got you covered.” Within moments, she reemerges from her office carrying her ten-key and a cream-colored hoodie. As if wearing a way-oversized sweatshirt to a professional interview is an improvement. Not to mention...

“Dot, this has Justin Timberlake on it!”

“Mm-hmm, so? Why are you flaring your nose at me?”

“Not happening.” I shove it back at her. Ugh, where are my manners? “But thank you.” I’ll just have to turn my T-shirt around and cut out the tag.

“I’ll have you know, this is authentic 1999 NSYNC tour swag.”

Never doubted it.

Minutes later, I’m almost out the door when she sings out “Bye bye bye!” and adds a quick side to side boy band shuffle thingy.

I don’t know how she does it, but Dot always knows how to break the tension. Also, the woman is surprisingly light on her feet.

In the parking lot, I let my car idle gently while I stare at theMerriam-Websterapp on my phone. Samuel PeabodyIII is a virtual fountain of weird vocab, but this might be the quirkiest noun the man has ever pulled out of his hat.

Good judgment?Me?

I draw a long breath through my nose. Let it fill my abdomen. Release it. My dad wasn’t the only male authority figure who affirmed me. I’ve been blessed with several. This isn’t lost on me, and it’s why I still struggle to reconcile my willingness to enter into a romantic relationship, not to mention amarriage commitment, with a guy who, even early in our relationship, treated me with condescension. And, later, ridicule. And eventually...

Well, praise the Lord for wiping the scales from my eyes. Real men—healthy ones—have no need to disguise their admiration for a woman’s strengths. The real men in my life have lifted me up.

Even if it meant they were about to throw me into the deep end, the way Sam likes to do.

I back out of my parking space, shift into drive.Onward.Merging onto Main Street, I send a plea heavenward.

I don’t see what Sam sees. This assignment’s got me feeling airborne and uncertain. The deep end looks bottomless and murky. All I ask is ... just please don’t let me sink.

Ten

anomalous(adj.): inconsistent with what is usual, normal, or expected

Never once did it occur to me to wonder what the Charity Falls sheriff’s substation looks like on the inside. The station occupies a small space in the town’s only strip mall, which is to say, three charmless units adjacent to the grocery store. There’s Master Yun’s tae kwon do studio, a used furniture store, and this, the end unit with a gold sheriff’s emblem on the window glass that exactly matches the one on Lieutenant Hayes’s business card.

A bell tone chimes when I enter. Unlike the stark white business card, the walls inside are more of a warm vanilla shade. Still, there’s a tragic lack of greenery, which probably explains why I’m drawn to a large image on the right wall bursting with the vibrant hues of nature. At the moment, I wouldn’t at all mind stepping into the photo and meandering that high mountain trail with its explosion of alpine wildflowers.

Except that I’ve yet to hike any of the peaks our area is famous for. But that’s okay. It’s enough just to be alive in the midst of this highly sought-after “recreational paradise here on the sunny side of the Cascade Mountains.”

At least this is what I tell myself.

Is no one here? With each tentative step, my right ballet flat squeaks. ExhibitA of a guilty conscience. Evidently there’s still moisture trapped somewhere under the insole, thanks to yesterday’s ridiculous attempt to avoid a confrontation with the very man I’m here to interview. An unoccupied metal desk floats in the middle of the space, and three doors line the back wall, presumably leading to offices. Before I can worry over my next move, a head pops out of the far-left door. Sans helmet, the lieutenant’s chestnut waves lean a bit to the unruly side. He approaches, today wearing long pants, which somehow makes my job feel easier.

It’s him, though. And yet, thankfully, there’s no police artist’s sketch tacked to the wall of the as yet unidentified delirious woman who came preciously close to inflicting bodily harm on the town’s highest-ranking lawman. No reason to believe he could pick me out of a lineup.

Although, now that I think of it, it’s a bit surprising that my own powers of observation exceed his, considering his profession demands he notice details. Huh. Well. Anyway. Time to cue theRockytheme song.