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“What’s going on?” Tony asked a moment or two later. I looked up from strapping on my holster.
“Possible domestic situation at a farm out on Old Pike Road.”
He handed me my jacket. “Will the staties come help you?” His concern was evident by the tight lines of stress around his eyes.
“Teddy is not in any shape to be out on a call. Besides, I know how to handle this type of situation. I’ve had training and have taken extra classes on how to respond to domestic, elder, and child abuse cases. I’ll be fine if they can’t, but I wager they’ll send someone out.”
Clinton Marley was a nasty son-of-a-bitch with a vile temper. I’d lost count of how many times I’d been to their rundown dairy farm to smooth things over.
“Yes, of course. With your past, I’m sure you’re the most suited for this kind of call just...” I looked up from checking my revolver. I doubted I would need to use it. The taser on the other hand—“Be careful because I’d like to woo you longer than one day.”
I wasn’t sure how to reply to that, so I reached out to stroke his stubbly cheek. “I’ll be careful.”
With that, I headed out with all haste, keeping the flashers and siren off as I wound my way down dark dirt roads, my head filling with memories from my childhood. I shook them off as I rounded the bend to the modest farmhouse flanked by a barn that had fallen into disrepair. All the lights were on in the house, although it was barely dusk. Clint’s beat-to-shit Dodge truck sat kitty-corner across the drive, and the man himself was sitting on the front porch nursing a cup of coffee, serene as a monk. The innocent act didn’t fool me one bit. He was a belligerent man who loved his whiskey more than he loved his wife, kids, or the once thriving farm that he’d inherited when his father died ten years ago. Knowing he was combative on a good day, I readied myself for some flack. Since my backup was sleeping off a six-pack of some fancy German beer Tony had purchased, it was just me, myself, and I out here until—or if the state police showed up.
Not that I needed help. I was well versed in how to handle men who abused people weaker than they were. Also, I had a gun, a taser, and a baton.
As soon as I stepped out of the cruiser, Clinton smiled at me and lifted his cup of coffee in greeting. He and I had danced this dance many times. I closed the car door gently and planted my feet wide in his overgrown driveway.
“Oh hey, looky here. It’s the pansy police officer!”
“How goes it, Clinton?” I called as I slowly walked toward the house. The living room window on the ground floor was filled with worried faces. Scared kids clinging to their mom as a monster played nice on the front porch. This was all so familiar, sadly so.
“Oh fine, fine. Had a nice meal with my lovely wife and children. Now I’m just smoking a fag and enjoying my after dinner apéritif.” I let the cigarette slur slide. Clinton thought he was a clever man, but he was just a crass, abusive bastard, just like my father. “Oops, pardon me, Sheriff. The wife has been watching that regency show and I must have picked up some British slang.”
“As one would,” I replied as I gave him a quick assessment. I could see no weapons, but I knew they were in the house. Clint, like most in this county, was a hunter. And while I had never seen any of his rifles, if he was four sheets to the wind...well, a lawman had to be careful.
“We got a call there was a scuffle out here, Clinton. Would you happen to know anything about that?” I asked, taking one step at a time until I was at the bottom of the four steps leading up to the front porch. Somewhere around back a hound dog brayed.
“Nothing that needed the law. Just me and the wife having a little dispute over the lumps in the gravy. Damn woman can’t make good gravy to save her life.”
Uh-huh. “Think I could go inside and have a few words with Louise?”
“Sure, go right ahead, just don’t eat the gravy. Stuff ain’t fit to slop hogs.”
I gave him a wiry smile and climbed the stairs. The man reeked of booze and cigarettes. A rusty coffee can at his feet held a pile of smoldering cigarette butts.
“Might want to consider getting a warmer coat on. It’s damn cold out here,” I mentioned as I opened the squeaky screen door and pushed through the battered storm.
“I got all I need in this here cup to keep me warm,” he replied, chuckling to himself.
“Make sure you don’t go driving over to hang out with Jeff Cramer in that condition,” I added and got a grunt followed by a smoker’s cough.
Entering the home, I could smell roasted turkey and Marlboros. The front foyer—or the mudroom as folks around here called it—was packed with coats, muddy boots, boxes of toys, several bikes, and a few political yard signs that someone had used for target practice.
“Louise,” I called out, closing the door softly in Clint’s face. “Sheriff King here. Got a call you needed some help out here?”
I glanced up at the staircase on the left, seeing nothing but toys and boys’ shoes tossed about. A lazy calico cat lounged at the top of the stairs, eyeing me with sleepy disregard.
“Sheriff,” a soft feminine voice called. I looked left and saw Louise standing in the doorway, her face puffy from crying but no outward signs of abuse, her three sons behind her, eyes wide and damp. They all had brown hair and expressive brown eyes like their mother. The front door creaked open behind me. I craned my head to glance behind me at Clint glowering around the storm door.
“Why don’t you go sit back down and finish your apéritif while I talk to your wife, Clint?” I asked politely but with firmness.
“It’s cold out there,” he replied.
“Then go tend to your cows. The barn will be nice and warm.”
He said nothing, but a vein in his temple stood out. He left, but it was with a severe attitude and a sound door slam that made Louise and the boys jerk.
