Page 16 of The Worst Possible Plan

One of the boys spotted my SUV.

His entire body language changed. His shoulders straightened, head lifted, and eyes widened.

Interesting.

Another kid quickly kicked something underneath the table.

Very interesting. People only made that kind of movement when they didn’t want you looking at something.

I already knew what that meant.

Beer. Maybe cigarettes. Maybe something stronger.

Whatever it was, nobody looked nearly relaxed enough for it to be legal. Innocent people generally didn’t react to seeing me like they’d just witnessed a shark fin in shallow water.

I pulled up alongside the curb and lowered my window.

Every head turned toward me.

The group suddenly became fascinated by absolutely everything—the grass, the trees, the baseball diamond, their shoes—except the sheriff. One kid became deeply invested in studying a squirrel. Another found the contents of his own hands absolutely riveting. Teenagers really believed they were subtle. It would’ve been impressive if it wasn’t so painfully obvious.

I recognized one of them immediately.

Tommy Baker.

Good kid. Terrible liar. His father owned the hardware store downtown. Tommy looked at me and tried to look somewhere else. Too late.

I pointed at him. “Tommy.”

His shoulders sagged. “Hey, Sheriff.”

“Storm’s coming.”

Six pairs of eyes lifted toward the dark clouds gathering over the ocean. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

“You boys should head home,” I told them.

Nobody moved.

Tommy swallowed. “We weren’t doing anything.”

I looked at the table. Then underneath the table. Then back at Tommy. “I didn’t ask.”

The silence stretched.

Tommy nodded once. “Yeah. Okay.”

Another rumble of thunder rolled across the bay.

I hooked an arm out the window. “Get home before the rain starts.”

The boys exchanged looks. Then, remarkably, they started gathering their things. One backpack. Two backpacks. Somebody grabbed a suspiciously heavy cooler. Nobody made eye contact with me, which pretty much confirmed everything.

I watched them scatter toward the parking lot.

Tommy paused long enough to give me an awkward wave. “Night, Sheriff.”

“Night, Tommy.”