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“You’re going to handcuff me?”
Rusty leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “It’s just for the cameras.”
“There are no cameras!”
Car lights caught their attention. Allie turned to see a familiar black pick-up truck. Great. Just what she needed. Tom Donalan witnessing this latest humiliation of hers.
Tom parked his truck behind the police cruiser and calmly walked toward them. “Hey, Rusty, what’s going on?”
“Where did you come from?” Allie asked.
“Henry phoned and said you were in trouble. I was just a few blocks away.” He eyed the handcuffs. “Looks like he was right.”
“Hey, Tom,” Rusty said amiably like they were all on a picnic. “Allie’s giving me a hard time about these handcuffs.”
“Yeah, I don’t think Allie is a handcuffs kind of girl, Rusty. Of course, I wouldn’t know that first hand, if you know what I mean.”
Even under the dim streetlights she could see Rusty’s face turn the color of a splotched tomato. “Uh, the thing is, I don’t have a choice here, Tom. Caught her red handed breakin’ the law.”
“Wait a minute.” Tom glanced between her and Rusty in mock disbelief. “Don’t tell me Allie was driving.”
“That she was, Tom. And I have to tell you, she’s put me in an awful pickle here.”
“I can see that, Rusty.”
“Stop talking about me in the third person,” she said, waving her hands in the air. “I’m right here.”
Cameron and Henry got out of the minivan and joined them on the street. The relieved looks on their faces when they saw Tom made Allie feel like the world’s most irresponsible adult.
“Hey, boys,” Tom said, “would you mind getting back in the car? We’ll be done here in a few minutes.”
Both boys instantly obeyed him, for which Allie was grateful. She didn’t want her nephew (or Tom’s son, for that matter) witness her trying to argue her way out of being arrested. She’d already lost her cool aunt status (and frankly, she didn’t care anymore) but she’d really like to maintain some sort of credibility. At least with the eleven-year-old crowd.
“I’m curious,” Tom asked Rusty, “How did you happen to catch her in the act?”
“Got a call saying there was a car driving up and down the neighborhood. Been a few burglaries here in the past couple of months so I drove over to check it out.”
“I think you should check out the back of that van,” Neighborhood Guy said. Allie had almost forgotten about him. “Just to make sure there’s no stolen property stashed in there.”
Rusty’s jaw dropped. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was thinking. The minivan he was being pressured to “check out” was registered to none other than his boss, Ezequiel James Grant, Whispering Bay’s police chief. Rusty was in way more than just a pickle. More like an entire onion.
Allie almost felt sorry for Rusty, except he could have handled this whole thing a bit differently. Of course, she could have handled the whole thing a whole lot differently (as in, she could have adhered strictly to the rules).
Tom smiled at Neighborhood Guy. “Matt Connelly, is that you? Remember me? Reverend Donalan’s son?”
“Tommy? What are you doing back in Whispering Bay? Thought you lived in Atlanta.” His expression sombered. “Heard a rumor that your wife left you. Guess it’s true, huh?”
Allie cringed, but Tom shrugged good-naturedly. “True enough.”
Neighborhood Guy shook his head sympathetically. “Tough break, man.”
“Yeah.” Tom glanced at Rusty, then back at Neighborhood Guy. “Say, Matt, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. This young lady here is a personal friend of mine. As a matter of fact, she’s got my son Henry in the car. Giving him a ride home after soccer practice. I think she got confused by the neighborhood.” Tom slapped him on the back. “By the way, I haven’t see you in church lately.”
“Oh, yeah, well, been doing a lot of fishing and Sundays are usually the best day for that,” he mumbled.
“I bet Dad would love to see you back. You being such an upstanding member of the parish and all.”
Neighborhood Guy nodded slowly. “Yeah, I should go back to church,” he said as though the idea were his to begin with.
