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The ruddy color to his cheeks could also be from the wind, but I’m betting it’s more his infamous temper. Quick to light and quick to die down to mostly grumbling, I’ve dealt with it growing up and working in Everette for as long as I can remember.
Jerry’s owned the local grocery store for years, and even though there’s a larger chain just outside of town, most of the residents of Everette shop here to support his business.
The midday shopping crowd finally died down enough for the two knuckleheads next to me, with their sunken in shoulders and guilty expressions — to take the freshly dried cement of the new parking lot for a spin on their skateboards.
“Tom, Bobby, you see that sign right there?” I point to the newly hung “No Loitering” sign. Under it is a sign stating clearly “No Skateboarding” and under that is a “No Skating” sign.
“Yes, sir,” the two boys chorus. Summer break in Everette is going strong, and this isn’t the first call I’ve had about redirecting the bored energy of Everette’s youth, and it likely won’t be the last until school resumes in September.
“Bunch of hooligans,” Jerry mumbles under his breath. If he had a lawn in front of the store, he’d be yelling at the kids to stay off it. And I get it, he works damn hard on keeping the exterior of the store in shape. But also — they’re kids. There’s not a lot of activities for them to get up to in the middling part of summer when camps are done, but the back-to-school craze hasn’t hit yet.
“We’ve all been hooligans a time or two,” I say affably. Sometimes the dichotomy of being a law enforcement officer for the same town that I ran roughshod through as a kid comes back to bite me in the ass.
“It’s about respect,” Jerry snaps, the vein in his forehead throbbing.
“I’m sure that they understand that. Riding their skateboards on your new parking lot wasn’t malicious. They’re bored.” I turn back to the kids. “But there are signs against it, and as the owner of the store, Jerry’s not wrong being mad here either, you guys.”
“Hmmph.” Jerry glares at the kids.
“Sorry Mr. Singer,” Tom says.
“Yeah. We were just trying to nail our kick flips. We didn’t mean anything by it,” Bobby agrees.
Jerry’s shrewd gaze goes a fraction softer at the boy’s apologies.
“Your trash compactor still broken?” I ask Jerry.
“Yeah. Should be fixed sometime next week if the company can get someone out here.”
Jerry’s trash compactor broke earlier this summer, and he’s had a hell of a time getting it fixed. Most of the time he carts truckloads of boxes that need to be smashed over to the local dump, but it’s not a feasible solution in the long run. And based on the run around that he’s been getting from the company that services the machine, I doubt it’ll be fixed anytime soon.
“Okay. Here’s what I’m gonna do. The boys are gonna come by and break down your boxes and load them into your truck for the dump, Jerry. Two hours a day oughta do it until the end of summer or your compactor gets fixed. Boys, I’ll call your parents and let them know what happened here today and where you’ll be spending some time until school starts back up. Fair enough punishment for the crime?”
The kids mumble their agreement and a sharp nod from Jerry is the best I’m going to get from the taciturn grocer.
“Okay. Now, you boys get home. Jerry, you let me know if they don’t show up or if you have any more trouble okay?”
“Will do, Sheriff.”
The boys scramble away on their skateboards, the wheels bumping over the uneven sidewalk through the square. I start back toward the station. It’s coming up on the end of my day, and most of the shops are getting ready to close. I wave or stop for a quick word with some of the residents out and about.
I dip into Brewed Awakening — Jem’s coffee shop — for my afternoon hit of caffeine. Light instrumental music pipes through the speakers and the scent of coffee and chocolate hang in the air. The exposed copper pipe shelving system over the espresso machine holds ceramic mugs and dishes. The entire back wall is made up of built-in bookshelves full of lightly loved reading material. There are some comfy couches, but most of the seating is custom furniture that Duke made for Jem before she opened the shop. Like the grocery store, the later afternoon crowd is light, and Shelby, the barista on duty, greets me by name.
“Hey, Har, you’re usual?”
“Yeah,” I say. The mornings are reserved for coffee, but the afternoons call for lighter, and Jem created a gummy bear-flavored tea that I can’t seem to pass up.
“Sure thing. That’ll be three forty-six.”
I take a five out of my wallet and pass it over. “Keep the change.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to glance at the notification. Jedd sent something in the group chat, and I take a minute to catch up on the texts from my family for the day.
On impulse, I saved the picture Maisie sent last night of her and Audra. Maybe it makes me creepy, but seeing the small smile on her face while her daughter was sleeping on her made my chest tight, and I wanted the memory of her being safe and happy saved to my own device.
I snag my tea from Shelby and head back to the station. The smell of coffee mixes with the various lunches of my deputies, and I swirl the ice around the plastic to-go cup from the shop as I start back to the bullpen where the majority of my deputies desks are. Johansen has a burger laying on the wax paper from the deli while he stabs at his keyboard.
Good-natured ribbing flies as my team gives each other shit. Most of the overnight deputies are just getting in for the evening.
