“Yes, ma’am, I did,” Hannah responded on a whisper easy to overhear. “It’s on account of Jethro Winston getting married to that movie star.”
Jethro Winston and Sienna Diaz, the Hollywood actress, had met at the beginning of the summer and subsequently become engaged two months ago. He was the oldest of the seven Winston siblings. After Jethro came Billy, next was Cletus, Ashley (the only girl), the twins—Beau and Duane—then Roscoe the youngest. Roscoe was my age and, if I’d attended school, we would have been in the same grade.
“Jethro already marry that lady?”
“No, not yet.” Hannah leaned farther over the desk and lowered her voice. “But the rumor is she’s already pregnant.”
My heart twisted with envy.
It’s not that I was jealous of Ms. Diaz. Not at all. I’d had no designs on Jethro Winston. Though he’d seemed nice enough to me, my father always said Jethro was the wrong sort and that I should avoid him.
And by wrong sort, my father meant Jethro wasn’t ever going to be wealthy. A man was nothing to my father if he wasn’t rich or had the potential for notoriety.
The truth was, I was jealous of Sienna and Jethro. If the rumors were true, despite meeting just five months ago, they were starting a family. They were having a baby, a little perfect person to love and take care of and cuddle and hold.
More than anything, I wanted that. I wanted a family of my own.
I crossed to the big door, my heels clicking on the linoleum, leaving the two women to their conversation while I fought to subdue my envy. I turned the knob and stepped through to the back office, scanning the space for Sheriff James. It was a busy place today, much busier than typical, and much bigger than what people might expect from a small town station.
The state of Tennessee mandates that each county elect a sheriff to serve for four years. Sheriffs are public servants with full police authority in a particular county. But if the cities have their own police departments, Tennessee sheriffs (and their deputies) usually keep their patrol limited to unincorporated areas of their counties.
Not so with Sheriff James. He and his deputies patrolled the entire county, were responsible for three incorporated cities within the boundaries of the county, plus had shared jurisdiction with the federal warden for the national park on the Tennessee side. He had a big job and a large team.
The administrative staff were huddled around one desk, whispering anxiously. Usually, the majority of the officers were out on the road, on patrol. Not today. I spotted at least five deputies milling about impatiently. The workplace held an unmistakable air of waiting.
“Jennifer Sylvester, always a pleasure.”
I turned from the peppering of uniforms and found the sheriff walking toward me, a friendly and fatherly grin on his features.
“Sheriff James. I brought you zucchini bread.” I held it out between us, pleased when his grin grew into a beaming smile.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, though he took the foil-wrapped offering readily enough. “Your momma said something about me recording a statement about your cakes?”
“Yes, sir. That’s right. She’d like me to record you talking about the cupcakes we sent over, if you don’t mind.”
“I see. Are you going to be in it, too?”
I shook my head, even though I knew my momma wanted me to be in the video. But I’d come up with an alternate plan. “No, sir. I’ll record an introduction later, but we’ll get your testimonial now. I won’t be in the shot with you.”
He nodded, bending closer as I spoke as though trying to hear me better. “Ah, okay. Sounds fine. But let’s go back to my office. It’ll be quieter.”
“Okay—”
At that moment, the door behind me burst open followed by a loud whoop. I turned just as Jackson James appeared, putting his hands on my hips and squeezing past.
“Excuse me, Jenn,” the deputy said with a wink, stepping between his father and me.
Jackson James was the only son of Sheriff James and his wife, Janet. They also had a daughter named Jessica who, until just recently, had been a mathematics teacher at the high school where my father was the principal.
See? Small town. Everybody knows everybody.
Jackson waved a large manila envelope excitedly. “We got it, sir. I have it right here.”
“That was fast.” The sheriff’s eyes lit and he traded his son the zucchini bread for the envelope, hastily opening it as the other members of the sheriff’s office crowded close. I took a step back and to the side, not wanting to be in the way.
“Judge Payton rushed it through.”
“We just got the evidence this morning.”
“He said the photographs painted a clear picture and he was honored to be the one to sign the warrant.” Jackson flicked the envelope with his fingers and swapped smiles with the other deputies. “So I guess the only question remaining is, who gets to arrest the bastard?”