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Harte’s Peak had turned out to be the perfect place to hide. He’d read that in the 1950s a small group of communists intent on overthrowing the government had holed up in a cabin in Harte’s Peak while on the run from the FBI. An interesting bit of trivia he’d found hidden in a small book about the history of the town. The small resort town prided itself on its reputation as being the gateway to the Sierras and the town’s lake was a majestic beauty. Only a fifteen-mile drive away in the nearby town of Pinecrest stood one of the top ranked ski resorts in the country.
Right or wrong, he’d wound up here after taking a leave from the U.S. Marshals service six months ago.
“‘A fool gives full vent to his spirit, but a wise man quietly holds it back.’ Proverbs 29:11. Have you ever heard that before, Jack?” Calhoun interrupted his thoughts.
Not again. Calhoun was a religious man who gave Jack a Bible his first week on the job. “I can’t say that I have, but then again, I’m no altar boy.”
Religion was fine for some people, but it was a crutch he didn’t need. So he lost his temper every now and then, but at home in Virginia, no one had ever faulted him for getting a bit hotheaded at times. If the sheriff had walked in his shoes for oneday, he would have bet money he’d now be using that Bible as a paperweight.
“You can say that again. Listen, this tough guy façade will only get you so far. I understand your frustration, but you need to let the system work.”
Oh, that was a rich one. Let the system work. Well, he’d tried that over the last ten years, and so far, he couldn’t see that the system did much but serve as a revolving door.
“And in the meantime what are we supposed to do? Should I have let him punch his wife right in front of us?”
Calhoun shook his head. “I’m not saying that, but maybe there was something you could have done between that and nearly strangling the man.”
He’d done no such thing, but recognized this was yet another battle he would not win. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re right. It won’t happen again.”
“No, it won’t.” Calhoun said. “I’ll make sure of that, son.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not. I’ve been praying for you. And I won’t stop until you’ve forgiven yourself.”
Jack tensed. He didn’t like when Calhoun brought up forgiveness. Calhoun was one of only two people in town who knew Jack’s past—all of it. And by now he should realize forgiveness wouldn’t happen anytime soon, so Calhoun might just wear out his knees.
“Son, if you don’t think I wanted to do the same to Whitman, then you don’t know me. It’s just that I’ve learned over the years how to hold my temper. I couldn’t have done it without the help of the good Lord.” He patted the Bible he kept on the dashboard of his cruiser.
Jack did not want to hear the religious stuff, but he also didn’t want to offend Calhoun. The man ran a youth group, and it didn’t hurt that he looked a little like Santa Claus with hishefty build and white beard. Everybody in town loved him. He probably couldn’t help the fact that he had a ridiculously sunny and rather unrealistic disposition.
But then again, Calhoun hadn’t seen the things Jack had. Calhoun didn’t have to live with the memories that made their way into Jack’s dreams every night.
“You’re not going to ask me to go to church again, are you?”
“Well, that’s a standing offer. Any time you’re ready, the Lord will be there.”
Jack sighed. In some ways, that’s what he was afraid of the most. He had a lot of good to do to make up for what he’d done, and today probably hadn’t helped his accounting in heaven.
Jack pulledinto the driveway of his rented home on Twain Harte Drive. The mature elm trees in desperate need of pruning lined the cul-de-sac, and an abundance of cars were parked on the street of Harte’s Peak’s oldest middle class neighborhood. It turned out that the modest cottage was the only place he could find that would accept a month to month lease.
After today’s incident, Calhoun had sent him home early and ordered him to get some rest.Rest. What a joke.He did need a nap, hopefully followed by a good night’s sleep, though he doubted he would get either.
What he definitely didn’t need was what he witnessed as he shut his truck off. A figure, pressed against the front window of his neighbor’s house two doors down, clearly pushing the window open from the outside.
Entering through the front window in broad daylight.
Great. Will this day never end?
From the brand name skateboarding shoes and the matching logo t-shirt, the intruder could be a kid, and that was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now. Kids were unpredictable, dangerous. But no way would an intruder get away with a B&E. Not in his neighborhood. The people on this street couldn’t have much, so what was this kid after? Probably a TV set or the latest PlayStation.
He approached the front of his neighbor’s house, hand resting on his weapon just in case the uniform wasn’t enough to send the kid running. He’d let this one go as long as the kid didn’t make it in the house, no harm done. Things were different in Harte’s Peak, not like back home in Virginia. This was a small community and even the kids were normally well behaved. Just his luck to run into a troublemaker.
It didn’t help that he wasn’t even sure who lived in the house or if they were at home, since he’d made it a point not to meet any of his neighbors.
A few words indicating that he lived next door should send the kid running and that would be the end of it. He’d go inside, grab a soda, and stare at the empty walls, maybe watch the game until it was time for his next shift. The work was what he lived for nowadays. It kept him grounded, rooted. As long as he had work, he had a reason to stay alive.
He approached the house with slow, sure steps and watched the kid hang one leg over the windowsill, oblivious to his approach. Not exactly a professional. This might be the kid’s first foray into stealing.
