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CHAPTER1
AIDEN
“Yep, he’s a goner.” Deputy Doug Hally straightens with a groan, holding the squashed cucumber out for my inspection.
I nod grimly, and Terra Belle throws up her arms in distress. “My entire pickle farm is destroyed! Who would do such a thing?”
We’re standing in the middle of the two-acre field now riddled with large, circular ruts and damaged fruit still on the vine. The pattern of the tire tracks reminds me of that movie about the aliens making crop circles, but this damage was definitely done by a vehicle of some sort.
“My money’s on them no-good Jones boys.” My sole deputy tosses the damaged fruit to the side, lowering his brow in a knowing way.
“You think it was Bull and Raif, Dad? Are you going to arrest them? Can I go?” My son Owen blinks up at me, his seven-year-old eyes wide, and I hesitate.
If he weren’t here, I’d say this looks more like asshole teenagers who watched that movie and wanted to play a prank. The Jones boys were probably too drunk or high last night to do something this precise, but it’s important to me to be a good role model, even when I’m tired.
Placing my hand on Owen’s shoulder, I summon my dad, the former sheriff of Eureka’s calm wisdom. I think about what he’d have said to me at Owen’s age.
“It’s not our job to decide who’s guilty, son. We have to collect the evidence and make our best determination, then we’ll get a judge to issue a warrant.”
“Oh, you know it was those Jones boys.” Terra drops to a squat, holding up a vine of crushed cuke after cuke–it looks like a sad party favor. “I’m tempted to gather up the rest of these and beat them to death with ‘em.”
“Now, Terra,” Deputy Doug cautions. “Two wrongs don’t make a right.”
“Yeah, don’t go there, Terra,” I add. “Then I’d have to arrest you, too.”
“So youaregoing to arrest them?” She stands quickly. Her dark hair is tied up in a red handkerchief, and she’s wearing faded overalls and from what I can tell, nothing else. “This kind of vandalism can’t go unpunished. It’s trespassing, destruction of property, murder…”
With every charge she shakes the pickle vine at me, and I stand straighter, rising to my full six-foot-two height and lowering my voice. “Take it easy, Terra.”
It’s my standard way to diffuse tense situations, and sure enough, Terra deflates.
“What am I going to do about my existing orders?”
“You’ve got insurance, don’t ya?” Doug squints as he walks to where we’re standing.
“Of course I do!” she snaps at him, but I let it pass.
She’s facing a pretty significant loss, which has her understandably emotional. I have no clue how long it takes to grow a crop of cucumbers, and Terra Belle’s Pickle Patch is regionally famous, which I guess might make her a target. Of what, I don’t know.
Exhaling slowly, I maintain my calm. “I’ll head back to the office and get you a police report to send to the insurance company. Hopefully, that’ll get you some money pretty quick.” She starts to argue it’s not enough, and I nod. “I know you want justice today, but I can't go arresting people without evidence. It’ll just get thrown out, and that’s not how we do things.”
“Well, maybe it should be,” she grouses.
I’m tired. I haven’t had my first cup of coffee. The call to come out here had me out of bed before the sun even broke the horizon. Now it’s climbing higher in the sky, and I’m ready to head to the office and possibly have breakfast.
“Doug, you finish up here, and I’ll get Terra’s report ready.” I’m not sure the correct way to phrase my next question. “Before I go, do you have any enemies or rival… picklers?”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty of rivals, but no one would stoop to this level.” She wipes a tear off her cheek. “Destroying mybabies.”
Pressing my lips together, I nod. I’m not good with tears, especially tears over “baby pickles,” which in reality are calledcucumbers.
“All the same, send me any names that come to mind, and take plenty of pictures. I’ll have that report to you by lunchtime.”
I whistle to my son, who’s holding a squashed fruit with a stick and examining it. He drops it at once and takes off running to my truck. I let Doug drive the cruiser. In this town, I’m fine with a black Silverado and a light on the dash when necessary.
Terra can work this out with her insurance company, and I’ll have Doug inspect every teenager in town’s vehicle for traces of cucumber vines. It won’t take long in Eureka, South Carolina. I’ll include the Jones boys to cover all the bases.
We’re halfway back to town, the radio playing some old country song. Owen’s beside me, buckled in and bouncing Zander, his tattered, stuffed zebra on his legs. “Why would anybody drive a car in Ms. Belle’s pickle patch?”
