Page 9

Chapter 9

Tobias

Knocking on the door of Tim and Dianna's house, I can already smell the chili, and despite the large lunch I had, my stomach growls appreciatively. Their brick bungalow sits on a quiet street lined with mature oaks, the kind of neighborhood where people still bring pies over when someone moves in and casseroles when someone's sick.

"Come on in, Dad, the door's open!" Tim yells from somewhere inside.

Tim and I are as different as night and day. He has his mother's sense of adventure and endless romantic attitude—the genes I apparently lack. Growing up, he wanted to travel the world, go backpacking through different countries before settling into a career. I wanted him to join the armed forces, earn money while seeing the world, all under the watchful eye of Uncle Sam. Structure, discipline, purpose. Those fights were just the first in a long line of father-son standoffs that defined his teenage and twenties.

I'm thankful that as we've gotten older, we've learned how to communicate better. We still see the world very differently, but we've reached an unspoken agreement to respect our differences rather than trying to change each other. With an understanding that we both just want the other to be happy.

"Hey, Dad." Dianna greets me as I enter, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel decorated with—what else—ducks. "Come on in. Can I get you a beer?"

"Hello. Sure, that would be great." I follow her into the kitchen, breathing in the rich aroma of spices. "Smells delicious. I could smell it from outside."

"Really?" Dianna held her arms out. "You look like you need a hug." As she steps forward she engulfs me, bear hugging me against her plus size frame. Her short bob haircut smells like strawberries. The hugs aren't annoying, actually they're very comforting.

"You always give the best hugs."

"Aww, thanks Dad. What can I say, I'm a hugger."

"Where's your friend?" I asked scanning the room.

"Oh," Dianna placed her finger to her lips and stepped closer to me. "I canceled her. I figured you could use a night off to just relax. But, as far as my husband knows, she cancelled." She winked and smiled as she went back to the stove.

"Thank you."

"You bet pops, I got your back. There's a time and place for everything. And now isn't it, you've got enough on your plate."

Her kitchen makes me feel like I'm in the middle of the country in a farmhouse kitchen. White, blue and yellow with duck figurines everywhere. Dianna's obsession with ducks borders on clinical—duck salt and pepper shakers, magnets, towels, curtains, and potholders. She even has duck plateware and painted her wooden table white so the ducks would stand out more. She calls it the shabby coop style. I used to find it odd; now I find it endearing.

"Hi, Dad." Tim comes into the room, and we hug. Another thing he got from his mother. I was raised in a house where men shook hands. I don't remember my dad ever hugging me. Now, I'd miss it if I didn't get one when I visited. "Have a seat." Tim gestures toward the table, and Dianna hands us both a beer once we've settled in.

"You guys hungry now or do you want to wait a bit?" Dianna asks. She's lovely, a perfect match for Tim. A spitfire—organized, scheduled, well-spoken, and beautiful. It was obvious early on that my son inherited my appreciation for curvy women.

"I like the cut," I gesture to her hair, trying to be present despite the day's events still churning in my mind.

"Oh thank you." She tries to pinch Tim, who slides away with practiced ease. "Your dad noticed."

"I said, I was sorry," Tim says defensively, already anticipating her reaction. "It looks great, baby."

She rolls her eyes dramatically before walking to the cabinet for bowls.

"How are you, Dad? These break-ins have to be stressful," Tim says, leaning forward with genuine concern.

"And no clues, all we've got to go on are vague descriptions of men in masks," I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. "The Hendersons got hurt pretty badly this morning at their antique shop."

"I heard. Sue at the bakery is still in the hospital too, right?" Dianna asks, returning with steaming bowls of chili.

"Yeah, broken jaw and ribs. She'll be there a while. These aren't just property crimes anymore—they're violent. That's what worries me."

"Must be a crew, then," Tim jumps up to help Dianna distribute the food. "Hard to catch those. Someone's always got their eyes out."

Tim has his mother's demeanor and a much more laid-back approach to life, but there's no denying he's my son in the looks department. Same height, wavy hair, broad shoulders, and permanently tan skin.

"Thank you," I say, taking the bowl from him, grateful for the momentary distraction from my worries. "What's strange is they're not taking much. At the antique shop, they left Rolexes and took a sapphire jewelry set worth a fraction of the value. It's not making sense."

"Maybe it's not about the money," Dianna suggests, sprinkling cheese on her chili. "When I was in college, my roommate's car got broken into. They took her sociology textbook and left her stereo. Turned out it was her ex-boyfriend being petty."

"Huh, personal," Tim asks. "That's an interesting angle."

"Yeah," I admit. "That's what's bothering me, there are so many angles. The only thing that makes sense is that it doesn't add up."

"So, what else is going on with you?" Tim asks, clearly changing the subject. I know that look—it's the same one I get when I'm about to interview a reluctant witness.

"What he's trying to not say is that he wants to know romantically if anything is going on, and before he beats around the subject, he has a new lady in his office that he wants to set you up with," Dianna interjects, reaching for the sour cream as she smiles at Tim. "Isn't that right dear? What? I figured I'd rip the bandaid off, you would have maybe gotten around to mentioning it around the third bowl." she says to Tim's annoyed look. "Now, it's out there," She smiles an over exaggerated smile.

"Ah, umm, thanks, but no thanks." I quickly answer, trying to cut off the conversation before it starts. The last thing I need right now is a blind date when I can't stop thinking about Ruth.

"Come on, Dad, you should meet someone. Go out, have dates, do things." Tim's concern is genuine, which makes it harder to dismiss. "You'd have someone to come home to. Someone you could leave work at the jail for."

"I'm not wanting to meet someone new right now. I'm..." Before I answer, I take a bite of chili and take my time chewing it. "I'm fine, I'm, say, this tastes as good as it smells."

"You're what?" Tim asks, not letting it go.

"Huh?" I look at him, making the most innocent face I can manage.

"I'm what? You said 'I'm' but you didn't finish."

"Oh, let's see. Huh, I guess it slipped my memory." Taking another bite, I study my bowl intently. Reaching for the crackers I catch Dianna's eye and she smiles a small smile.

If I can't have the woman I want, then I don't want anyone. No other woman excites me like Ruth. I'd rather be on my own than settle.

"Wait a minute, wait just a minute." Dianna puts her spoon down on the table and leans over to look at me closer. "I know what's going on. You can't fool me." She points at me. "You don't want to meet anyone else because you already have someone." She narrows her eyes, "I'm right, aren't I?"

Tim is on this line of thinking faster than the blink of an eye. "Is that true? Who is it? Mrs. Johnson from the grocery store? Ellen from the hardware store?" Tim starts spewing out names. All of which are older women. Who are lovely in their own way, and I should be interested in them, but I'm not. And there is zero way I'm telling these two I'm only interested in a woman closer to their age than mine. "Let's see who else? Holly?" He looks at me with wide eyes." Oh, no, she's married."

Dianna sits back and crosses her arms, looking distinctly satisfied with herself. "I know people and their behaviors and I can tell something's up with you."

Lucky guess, but I'm the Sheriff. I interrogate criminals; I spend everyday, day in and day out with people and their behaviors. Checkmate dear daughter in law. There isn't a force on this planet that would make me tell you or confess to anything.

"I'm not seeing anyone."

"Now? Like currently or like you have no one you are seeing on a regular basis?" Dianna asks, still squinting.

"Both. I am not seeing anyone. In any way." I get up to get another bowl of chili. Do I want another bowl? No. But, do I want a break from her gaze and point on questioning? Yes.

"You're interested in someone?" She cocks her head to the side as she gets up and follows me.

"I'm interested in lots of people." I say, ladling more chili into my bowl.

"Let me rephrase that. Are you interested romantically in one certain person?"

"You're gay!" Tim jumps up blurting out. Both Dianna and I snap our heads to look at him. "I mean, are you? Because if you are, it's okay. We love you and accept you for who you are. And we would welcome and love your partner as well." Dianna looks at Tim like he's grown a second nose. He just raises his hands defensively. "What? He could be."

"True," Dianna continues to peer at her husband, "but, dear, we all know how unbelievably bad you are at figuring out mysteries. So, why don't you sit down and let the sheriff and I handle this."

Tim sinks back into his chair looking like a kid whose balloon just floated away on the breeze.

"Umm, thanks for the acceptance son, but I'm not gay." I sit back down, unable to hide my amusement at Tim's unexpected question and his following disappointment. If this was just Tim and I, I would find it amusing watching him flounder around searching for an answer. But Dianna is a bloodhound, when she gets a scent there's no stopping her.

"So, who is this lady you're interested in?" Dianna asks, still giving Tim side-eye for his outburst.

"No one." I say firmly.

"Tim, notice he didn't say 'there's no one I'm interested in.' Or 'no one I'm wanting to tell you about right now.' Just 'no one.' Which means he's covering up and there is someone. However he's just not wanting to share it with us right now." Dianna's analysis would be impressive if I wasn't the one being analyzed. Many times I've said that it's not too late for her to become a detective.

"Is Dianna right? Because usually she is." Tim asks, winking at his wife.

I just shake my head and sit back in my chair. "All right, listen. Truce, there was someone who I thought I might like to get to know better, but it didn't pan out. And no, I am not telling you who it is." I point a finger at Dianna before she can press further. "Don't even think about pushing me, cause I'm not telling."

"Is it someone I know?" she asks anyway.

"Dianna..." Tim warns, recognizing my growing discomfort.

She taps her spoon against her bowl thoughtfully. "Interesting, very interesting. I think you aren't through with this mystery person."

"It's over. Nothing will come of it." I sit back and say with finality.

"That's his 'I don't want to talk about it anymore' tone," Tim explains to Dianna.

"I love you both for caring about me. But I don't want to date," I say, softening my tone. "Right now, I've got bigger concerns. Like figuring out who's behind these break-ins before someone gets killed."

"Speaking of that," Tim says, mercifully changing the subject, "have you warned all the business owners to be extra cautious? Especially the ones who work alone?"

The image of Ruth in her shop, vulnerable and unaware of the danger, flashes in my mind. "We're working on it. Actually, I'm stopping by several businesses tomorrow morning to talk about security measures."

"That's a big undertaking, this town has a lot of small businesses." Dianna points out. I simply nod my agreement to her statement knowing full well she is trying to get me to unconsciously admit something.

The rest of the evening passes with safer topics—Dianna's family, their work, debates about getting a pet. As I'm getting ready to leave, Tim walks me to the door while Dianna cleans up in the kitchen.

"Dad," he says as we reach my pickup, "whoever she is, it's okay. Mom would want you to be happy, you know."

I look at my son, surprised by the sudden lump in my throat. "I know, son. I know. But honestly, it didn't pan out."

"For what it's worth," he adds with a small smile, "I don't think Janice from the hospital was right for you anyway."

For a moment, I consider telling him everything about Ruth, about the age difference, about my fears and reservations. But old habits die hard.

I hugged him goodbye. "Thanks for the chili."

Driving home, my mind is split between three concerns: the break-ins growing more violent, my son gently pushing me toward a life I can't have, and Ruth, alone in her shop every morning, potentially the next target in a series of escalating attacks.

I've already made the plan to go speak with Ruth tomorrow morning. I told the deputies I would take the strip mall, I'm committed now. I sighed, "Now why did I go and do a foolish thing like that."