Page 14 of Jacob Michaels Is Not Jacob Michaels

“Walking?” Lucas frowned at Sheriff Dennard.

“It’s a way to get exercise, Wesley.” Oma snorted. “Maybe try it.”

My grandmother gave the Sheriff’s waistline a long stare.

“Oma.” I scolded her. “Be nice. You’re like a toddler.”

She shrugged at me.

Sheriff Dennard pointed his finger at me. “I like you, Robert.” Then his finger went to Oma. “But you are walkin’ on thin ice, Esther Jean.”

“Callin’ a cop tubbly in your own home ain’t a crime.” She laughed. “You gonna haul me in and tell ‘em to book me for hurtin’ your feelin’s?”

Lucas snorted again.

Sheriff Dennard glared at him.

Great.

Two of us were now on The Shit List.

For what seemed like forever, Sheriff Dennard glared at Oma and Lucas, as though he were trying to figure out some misdemeanor—or even felony—with which he could charge them. Oma glared back, and Lucas averted his eyes. The whole time, all I could think about was that this was all so unnecessary. Even if I confessed to what I thought happened, it would do no good, and the woman would still be dead. Oma and Sheriff Dennard having a pissing contest wasn’t fixing anything, either. Finally, I cleared my throat to break their concentration on each other.

“Sheriff Dennard?” I asked. “Do you think you can figure out who she is? Was?”

He finally looked over at me. “Eventually we will, Robert.”

“Good.”

“Esther Jean.” He snapped at her. “Don’t you put a toe out of line.”

She flipped him off.

“No wonder everyone hates you.” He snarled, then looked at me. “Robert, take a walk with me.”

Sheriff Dennard turned on his heels and headed towards the backdoor. I glanced at Oma and Lucas, both of them looking concerned, but I rose from my seat and followed Sheriff Dennard to the backdoor. He opened the door and eased down the steps—Oma wasn’t wrong, he was a larger man, though that was no reason to be mean to him—and I followed after, a little more athletic in my descent. Together, we watched the rest of the Sheriff’s office employees disperse, giving half-hearted waves and salutes at us as they vacated Oma’s backyard. Finally, once we were alone—but not walking, obviously—Sheriff Dennard turned to me.

“Look,” He said, “this lady that died in your grandma’ yard had obviously been burned all to hell.”

I swallowed hard, my eye twitching slightly as I looked at the Sheriff in his very scary uniform and scarier handcuffs and absolutely terrifying weapons belt. Was he about to arrest me?

“I wouldn’t be surprised if this wasn’t drug related.” He continued, making the knot in my stomach loosen slightly. “These damn meth labs are blowing up all the damn time.”

“Oma said something about that.” I gave a neutral response.

“Well, she was right about something. Imagine that.” He rolled his eyes. “Now, I ain’t seen or heard nothin’ around here about a meth lab. We don’t have much of a problem in Point Worth. Yet. But it’s always inevitable, isn’t it? Those types of things tend to find their way into every small town eventually. Even idyllic ones like Point Worth.”

Idyllic? I was going to keep my opinions to myself as to avoid getting pretty new bracelets put on me.

“But, regardless of the hate I have for your grandmother,” He continued, “I’m glad she has you and Lucas around. When something like this happens, it just keeps on happening. If the wrong sort is movin’ into Point Worth, we need to start watching out for each other. You make sure to watch for any strange people around your grandma’s property, Robert.”

“Of course.” I nodded.

I wanted to tell the Sheriff that only a crazy person would attempt to cross Oma. She did shoot a shotgun at teenagers, after all. Of course, bringing that up to the Sheriff was probably a poor choice, so I just kept my answers short when needed and my mouth shut otherwise.

“You see anything else odd and you call me right away.” He gave me a stern look, his fingers hooking into the belt below his pudge. “If we got the druggies movin’ in, I want to get on top of it and get ‘em out of here just as quick as they came. They can go be Toledo’s or Cincinnati’s problem. Or, add to their problem, I guess.”

“Yessir.”