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I take another deep, fortifying breath. “Calling 911 because your peacock is missing isn’t appropriate. It ties up the county dispatcher. Now, the non-emergency number to the office is—”
“She’s a peahen,” he corrects. “And I know the number, but that still doesn’t negate the fact that she’s missing.”
“I’m sure your peahen will be back soon,” I assure him. “In the meantime, why don’t you head down to Wooden It Be Nice and grab a roll of chicken wire? If you cover the top of her run, she wouldn’t be able to escape.”
“Don’t call me when you have an emergency.” He huffs before hanging up.
The man has to know I’d never do that. If it were a true emergency, I’d call the sheriff’s department.
Lindell hasn’t had a police force for very long, but as the town-designated chief, I field a lot of ridiculousness. I wish I could say the calls from Bobby John Prichard are few and far between, but Margie sneaking out is a regular occurrence.
I guess I should be glad that nothing more serious is happening in town, but I’m catching shit from the county about the 911 calls. Although there are days I wish they’d charge Mr. Prichard for misuse of the emergency system they have in place the way they’ve threatened to, I know I’d never hear the end of it if they did.
Because it’s easy to copy and paste the note I’m required to make about the phone call, I feel a little better about how far behind I am on paperwork. That is until I look at the spiral notebook sitting beside the phone. When I went to college and got a degree in criminal justice, before going through the police academy, I pictured myself fighting crime and putting half a dozen bad guys in jail every day. Maybe that would’ve been the case if I’d stayed in Houston where I did my internship, but here in Lindell, Texas, my day usually consists of calls just like the one that just ended. There are occasions when Mike Hodson, the sheriff, needs help out on the highway or there’s a call just right outside of my jurisdiction. It’s most definitely nothing like how I pictured my life when I was younger, but Lindell is the only place I’ve ever found that fully welcomed me.
As an orphaned child who wasn’t adopted until eight years old, I’ve learned to take the care and concern where I can get it. It’s very possible that I have lower expectations of everyone in my life, but that’s another story for a different day. Right now, I need to focus on getting the mounds of paperwork done before the town starts waking up.
I’m pressing rough fingers into my eyelids and yawning when the chime above the door jangles. It takes blinking several times before Chandler Jacobs, the only other full-time cop the city has, comes into view. We have another reserve officer, Hank West, but he usually only works when Chandler and I just can’t make a shift.
“Brought breakfast,” he says, holding up a familiar rectangular box. “Adalynn was looking good this morning.”
I clench my jaw. I’ve grown used to this routine, so it’s easier to keep my mouth shut.
“Weren’t you needing a little time off?” I ask, the taunt suddenly making me feel like a complete asshole.
Chandler’s dad is sick, and they have tests scheduled later this week. I know they’re fearful that the man’s cancer has returned, so even hinting that I’ll take away his time-off request is a shitty move on my part.
My tease doesn’t bother the man, mostly because he knows better. I’ve always been a very flexible guy. We depend on each other, and there may come a time when that dependence will be a life-or-death situation.
“I think she was disappointed that I’m the one who stopped in this morning.”
“I saw her last night,” I inform him. “Had dinner with her dad and stepmom.”
I lift my hand to hide my yawn.
“Yeah? You seem tired. Have a little something something for dessert?” Chandler is waggling his eyebrows up and down animatedly.
“Cherry cobbler. It was delicious.”
He frowns when I don’t contribute to the gossip he’s trying to get me to participate in.
He gives up when I narrow my eyes in challenge. I’ve had to tell the man more than once that Adalynn and I are great friends and nothing more. I’d never go so far as to say we’re like siblings, because that would make some of my late-night thoughts incredibly awkward.
“Will there ever be a time that you tell that woman you’re madly in love with her?” he asks, refusing to give up.
“Is there anything else you need, Officer Jacobs?”
He sighs, a frustrated sound and one I hear rather frequently around here. If I were to ever make any type of confession where Adalynn Tate was concerned, it most definitely wouldn’t be to someone in the office.
“From the look of that stack of papers,” he says, pointing to the bane of my existence, “it looks like I’m on patrol today?”
“If you don’t mind,” I tell him, knowing my position of authority means I could fully dictate what everyone does in the office, but I’m just not that type of boss. There are days when it’s just not a good idea for one of us to be out of the office. Off days, days where we’re distracted or have too much going on personally, don’t do the community any good. On the off chance that something crazy in town does happen, we need to be a hundred percent focused.
“Sounds good.”
“Keep an eye out for Margie,” I grumble as he turns around to leave.
He waves at me over his head.
