Turns out home may be where the heart is, after all…

Briar Run, Kentucky, is where Annie Emerson grew up, where her grandmother Ida raised her. Annie, now a social worker in L.A., left years ago but returns home when Ida’s health fails. She’s devastated to lose her—and shocked to discover how badly the town has deteriorated. But she’s inherited some money and uses it to help rescue Briar Run.

Police chief Sky Cordova is dealing with an overabundance of crime, severe budget cuts and a battle over the custody of his five-year-old son, Zack. The last thing he needs is a woman with a cause stirring up trouble. Despite that, he’s captivated by Annie and her passion to revitalize her neighborhood. He’s not the only one, since Zack falls for Annie, too. Sky starts to realize that her way of bringing the town back to life—one house at a time—might work. Just as she’s brought his heart back to life, one smile at a time…

Annie opened a small leather notebook.

“I surveyed a few residents,” she began. “I believe their spirits can be improved by something as simple as home face-lifts, like the one I’ve started. Fresh paint. Maybe new drapes. Possibly some rosebushes and weeded yards. Those things take sweat equity.”

“And money. Paint isn’t free. Cosmetic changes won’t break the stranglehold gangs have on local teens. If you want to do something meaningful, get me the names of the gang leaders.”

Annie and Sky faced off across the table. “Maybe the gang leaders will give up and move on if we create the kind of community where families want to live. Restore hope.”

“Perhaps that’s true in prosperous neighborhoods. Did any of the residents you talked to tell you how many hours a day they spend riding buses back and forth into Louisville to work at minimum-wage jobs that barely put food on their tables? Those privileged few who actually found new jobs?”

“I haven’t totally gained their trust yet,” Annie admitted. “But I plan to. I thought I’d distribute flyers inviting residents to a meeting where I can lay out my ideas in greater detail.”

“Good luck.”

“I had hoped I could enlist your support.”

He clattered down the steps and strode down the walkway without so much as a backward glance.

Dear Reader,

A lot of writers say that a story will come to life fully formed in their minds. For me, more often the characters appear first and then I need to find them a home. Annie’s Neighborhood was different. The houses in her neighborhood came first.

Whenever I travel, I do so with a tour book of the state in hand. On a trip to Kentucky I wanted to see the home of the Kentucky Derby. We’d just missed the race, but the immediate area was still decked out in new paint and roses. On leaving Churchill Downs, we wound through a warren of streets lined with older Victorian houses. The once-vibrant neighborhood looked faded. Homes needed paint. Retaining walls were cracked and overgrown with vines. Lovely stained-glass dormer windows looked dull, and wrought-iron fencing was rusted. The greater city of Louisville, built by immigrants who worked in manufacturing, was a city in transition. A news article said some areas were battling an infiltration of gangs. But even as we left the state I kept thinking about those homes, about how beautiful they could be. Maybe they are now.

My story of course is a total work of fiction, and Annie’s a character who rattled around in my head for quite a while. She had a murky background and needed roots. She needed my faded homes.

And because I write love stories, independent though Annie is, she needed a family. Who better than a once-burned, jaded cop? Sky Cordova is in the middle of a custody fight with his ex. He’s also trying to keep the peace in a dying community populated by apathetic homeowners cowed by defiant gangs. And then Annie Emerson shows up! She’s testament to the fact that big changes begin with small ones—when it comes to houses and hearts.

And that’s how this story was born. I’m glad Harlequin Heartwarming provided it with a home. I love to hear from readers. Contact me via email at rdfox@cox.net, or by writing to me at 7739 E. Broadway Blvd. #101, Tucson, AZ 85710-3941.

Sincerely,

Roz

Annie’s Neighborhood

Roz Denny Fox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ROZ DENNY FOX

Roz saw her first book, Red Hot Pepper, published by Harlequin in February 1990. She’s written for several Harlequin series, as well as online serials and special projects. Besides being a writer, Roz has worked as a medical secretary and as an administrative assistant in both an elementary school and a community college. Part of her love for writing came from moving around with her husband during his tenure in the marine corps and as a telephone engineer. The richness of settings and the diversity of friendships she experienced continue to make their way into her stories. Roz enjoys corresponding with readers either via email, rdfox@cox.net, or by mail (7739 E. Broadway Blvd. #101, Tucson, AZ 85710-3941). You can also check her website, www.Korynna.com/RozFox.

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

I’d like to take this opportunity to thank

Executive Editor Paula Eykelhof, my editor of many years, as well as Victoria Curran, Heartwarming senior editor, and Marsha Zinberg, Executive Editor of Special Projects, for the time and work they devote to acquiring and publishing good stories so many readers enjoy.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

ANNIE EMERSON WAS the lone occupant in the family car traveling behind the hearse that carried her grandmother to her final resting place. She stared numbly out a tinted side window. At the church, old friends of Ida Vance had said that at eighty-eight she’d lived a full, happy, productive life. But Gran Ida, as everyone called her, was Annie’s only known relative, and Annie wasn’t prepared to say goodbye.

She felt like a stranger in Briar Run, a small town bordering Louisville, Kentucky, where she’d grown up, and where Gran Ida had lived for nearly seventy years. Soon her grandmother would rest beside the man she’d loved and honored all those years, even though John Vance had died in World War II.

As the car crawled along, Annie reflected on the little she really knew about the woman who’d raised her from infancy. Ida didn’t dwell on the past. In fact, it wasn’t until after Annie had sought and accepted a scholarship to UCLA—half a country away in California—that Ida deigned to share a bit of Annie’s own history. Gran got out an old photo album and showed Annie pictures of her grandfather, John, who’d come home to Kentucky on leave before World War II turned really ugly. He had bought the Victorian home, then left again to fight and die before Ida discovered she was pregnant with a daughter from whom, sadly, she’d be estranged for many years. That daughter had been Annie’s mother, but she still knew next to nothing about Mary Louise Emerson. Because Annie had badgered her, Gran admitted that the girl who’d run away at sixteen with an itinerant musician had reappeared at her door one rainy night seventeen years later, ill, pregnant and penniless; she swore she was married and her last name was Emerson. Later, weakened by a difficult birth, Mary Louise died without providing proof of any marriage.

That had all taken place thirty-four years ago—her entire lifetime, Annie thought, wiping away tears of grief. For the past fourteen years she’d lived and worked in L.A. The truth was that she’d fled Briar Run because the boy she’d dated for two years and was sure she loved and loved her in return had let his parents break them up over Annie’s iffy parentage. That created a grievance, which stuck with her long after Gran Ida informed her Brock Barnard and his family had moved away. The hurt went so deep, Annie hadn’t been able to come back to Briar Run even for short visits until two weeks ago, when it became clear that Gran desperately needed her.

During those intervening years she had earned a master’s in social work, and had taken a job in L.A. Her hours as a caseworker in a depressed area were horrendous. Her original aim had been to help young women like her mother. In the back of her mind, she’d foolishly imagined finding her father—which never happened. Letting an unknown, uncaring dad and Brock Barnard’s rejection drive her decisions for so long made no sense. And now, too late, Annie wrestled with guilt for avoiding Briar Run all this time.

And why hadn’t she insisted Gran come and live with her? Maybe she could have gotten her the kind of medical care that might have prolonged her life. Gran loved her yearly visits to the coast, and Annie always sent her plane tickets. But Gran never stayed for more than a month. For the remainder of the year they spoke on the phone every Sunday evening. That felt like a cop-out now. She should have noticed signs of heart trouble during Gran Ida’s last visit. She’d chalked up Gran’s occasional memory lapses to old age. Annie truly hadn’t suspected something might be seriously wrong. Not until a neighbor called to say Ida had trouble finding her way home from the grocery store. Or she’d put a kettle of water on the stove and let it burn dry. Annie had immediately phoned Gran’s doctor. He’d said bluntly that Annie needed to come to Kentucky and arrange assisted living for Ida, whose arteries were hardening—arteriosclerotic heart disease, he’d called it.

Taking any time off meant Annie had to dump her caseload on her overburdened coworkers—which took her a while. Then, after she got here, Gran flatly refused to discuss moving to a senior center anywhere, certainly not one in California. In fact, these past two weeks Gran had talked and acted as if Annie’d come home to stay.

The car stopped behind the hearse, next to a grassy knoll where a blue canopy stood. Annie’s mind blanked when the funeral director opened her door, helped her out and led her to where Ida’s pastor waited at the head of an open grave. Copious tears clogged her throat. Few people had come to the graveside service. Annie acknowledged Ida’s next-door neighbors, the Gilroys and the Spurlocks. There was a well-dressed older gentleman she recalled seeing at church, but she didn’t know him.

After the minister wound down a short eulogy, too short in Annie’s estimation, mourners murmured condolences and drifted away. Annie hadn’t planned a reception. First, she didn’t think she could face one. Also, even Gran Ida had said a lot of their old friends and neighbors had moved away.

Annie bent to place a long-stemmed white rose on Gran Ida’s casket. Gran Ida loved flowers, roses in particular.

The well-dressed stranger approached as Annie straightened. He gave her a business card, saying, “I’m Oliver Manchester, Ms. Emerson. I handle your grandmother’s legal affairs. We should meet at your earliest convenience to go over Ida’s will, you being her only heir,” he said.

Annie had been so grief-stricken by Gran’s death, she hadn’t thought beyond arranging a funeral. She read the man’s card and tried to compose her response. “I, ah, left my rental car at the funeral home. If you’re free at one o’clock,” she said after a glance at her watch, “I can stop by. I’m anxious to get everything sorted out because I need to get back to my job in L.A. as soon as possible. I only arranged for a four-week leave.”

“One o’clock is good. Our meeting shouldn’t take long. I must admit, though, I was under the impression that you weren’t returning to California. When Ida phoned me to say you were coming, she indicated you’d be staying on to help revive the neighborhood.”

Annie frowned. Her grandmother had said something similar to her several times. She hadn’t argued, and now there seemed no point in making excuses to Mr. Manchester. She tucked his business card in her purse without further comment, and watched him walk to a dark blue sedan. As he drove away, Annie belatedly wished she’d asked if her grandmother had many outstanding bills. Oh, well, it didn’t matter; she was prepared to settle them. For a number of years she’d sent Gran Ida regular checks to cover rising food and living costs. Considering how badly the once-pristine home needed painting, Annie wished she’d sent more. What she really wished was that she’d made time to visit. Once again her heart constricted with guilt. If Gran had ever said she needed her, Annie would’ve come. Now all that might have enticed her to stay was gone.

* * *

IT WAS TEN after one when Annie jockeyed her subcompact rental car into an on-street parking spot outside Oliver Manchester’s office. Climbing out, she paused to lock the door, and tightened her grip on her purse; she’d noticed that all the offices and shops had iron grates installed over their doors and windows.

She racked her brain, but couldn’t recall Gran’s ever mentioning the town’s business district going downhill.

At the barred door, Annie read a typed sign instructing callers to push a buzzer for admission. Strangely this reminded her of the area where she worked—in the tough, run-down neighborhoods of south L.A.

A woman opened the door and unlocked the outer grate after Annie supplied her name. “Mr. Manchester’s expecting you,” she said. “Would you care for coffee, or perhaps a cold soda, before you go into your meeting?” She smiled at Annie as she relocked the grate.

“No, thank you. Mr. Manchester told me he didn’t expect this to take long.”

Nodding, the woman opened a door and announced Annie’s arrival. She stood aside, letting her enter a private office. The attorney’s office was posh in the manner of old-time Southern aristocrats. The dark green pile carpet was deep. Leather chairs and an oversize mahogany desk befitted a well-to-do lawyer. Oil paintings graced his walls, and crystal decanters sparkled on a corner bar. It was easy to see why Manchester wanted to protect his belongings with bars.

He came around his desk to pull out a chair for Annie. “I’ve gathered all of Ida’s files,” he said, retaking his seat. He opened a manila folder and indicated a spreadsheet on his computer screen.

Annie blanched. Surely Gran Ida couldn’t be so much in arrears that it required a spreadsheet.

“I’m sure you know Ida worked as a lead seamstress for a local lingerie factory until it went out of business.”

“Yes.” Annie’s voice reflected a modicum of pride. “During my senior year of high school, Gran was honored as the company’s longest-serving employee. Her award was a brand-new sewing machine we put to good use sewing my college wardrobe.”

“Ida could have retired well before then. She was fifty-six when you came into her life, and she felt the need to prove to Family Services that she was able to care for you.”

“For which I’m grateful.” Annie smiled.

The lawyer cleared his throat. “Ida bequeathed you the house, of course. It’s a bit of an albatross, I’m afraid, given how this community has declined in the three years since the glove factory, our last major employer, shut down.”

Annie opened her purse. “Mr. Manchester, I don’t make a huge salary as a social worker. Neither do I have time to spend everything I earn. I’m ready to cover any bills Gran Ida left unpaid. Should they add up to more than I expect, I’ll take out a loan. If you’ll provide me with a full accounting of her debts, I’ll begin paying them today.”

Leaning back, the man lowered his glasses and stared at Annie. “You mean you aren’t aware that in addition to her home, Ida has left you annuities and tax-free municipal bonds totaling nearly a million dollars?”

Annie’s jaw dropped and her purse slipped off her lap to hit the carpet with a dull thud. She swallowed a lump that rose in her throat and bent quickly to hide a rush of tears. When she straightened, she had to dash them away, all the while shaking her head in denial.

“I can see you had no idea,” Manchester said, turning to print what was on his computer screen.

“N-no,” Annie stammered. “How...how can that be?” she asked, fumbling out a tissue. “Gran’s salary was modest. And she’s been retired for years.”

“Ida made her first will when John died. She funded her first annuity with his military death benefit. Saving was important to her. The only time she skipped funding what she called her nest egg was after Mary Louise ran off with that guitar player. Ida dipped into it to find her daughter. A private investigator she hired did locate Mary Louise living in a tent on the west coast. She made plain that she hated Kentucky, and told the P.I. she had no intention of ever returning. It almost broke Ida’s heart, but she rallied, cut Mary Louise out of her will and resumed her investments.” The lawyer passed Annie a sheaf of papers. “Ida eventually forgave your mother, because you turned out to be the gift that gave her life purpose.”

“I knew some of that. Not that Gran Ida tracked down...my mother.” Annie looked blindly at rows of figures that blurred. Figures showing, among other things, that Gran had also invested every penny Annie had sent her over the years. “I never felt we lived frugally,” Annie murmured. “Gran Ida was lavish with her love and she convinced me I could do anything I set my mind to, although she didn’t really want me going away to college. Letting me go was generous—I understand that better now. Forgive me, Mr. Manchester, but this is too much for me to take in right now. I need to go back to the house, think about all of this, and I’ll contact you again in a day or so.”

He stood at once. “By all means. If it matters, I do know Ida’s greatest hope was that you’d live here and use your many skills to help families in Briar Run rebuild this community she loved so much. I realize that’s a tall order,” he added.

“I have a job. Gran is gone, and anyway, I’m not sure what she thought I could do...” Annie’s voice trailed off.

“Well, I don’t blame you. I’m retiring in a few months, and will be moving to Florida. This fund Ida built up will allow you to enjoy a very comfortable life, Annie.”

Something in his comment annoyed her. Was he suggesting she do nothing and live off her grandmother’s largess? The very notion grated all the way back to Ida’s house. Her house now. She pulled into the drive, stopped and rubbed at her temples, where a headache was starting. As she left the car, she realized there was a flurry of activity at the homes on either side of Gran’s. The Spurlocks, a young, newly married couple, and the Gilroys, longtime retired friends of Ida’s, had work vehicles parked in their driveways. Locksmiths, according to signs on a panel truck, and a glass company apparently replacing broken windows on her neighbors’ homes.

The women saw her, and hurried over. That was when Annie saw her front door standing agape. By then her shoes had crunched broken glass on the porch. “What happened?” she asked Peggy Gilroy, who was first to reach the steps.

“Break-ins,” Peggy announced. “When we were at Ida’s funeral. I’m glad you got home while the workmen are still here. You’ll need to arrange repairs before dark, Annie. We scared the intruders off when we pulled in. I should have told you not to list Ida’s funeral service in the paper. That was like an open invitation to gang members.”

“We have gangs? I knew Louisville had problems, but Gran Ida never said a word about Briar Run. I suppose she didn’t want to worry me.” Annie glanced from one to the other of the women, and both nodded. Annie then turned to their husbands, who remained with the workmen. “Did you report this to the police for all of us?”

The two women facing her exchanged worried frowns. “It might not be the best avenue,” Peggy said quickly. “The gang is run by bad elements out of Louisville. They’ve gained a foothold here over the past year. Our shrinking police force has enough trouble dealing with serious crime—worse things than broken windows and a few stolen electronics. Just do the repairs and lie low, Annie, so we don’t attract the gangs’ attention.”

“Are you kidding? Three houses vandalized and the local cops can’t be bothered to do anything about it? I think not.” She hauled out her cell phone and punched in 9-1-1. As Peggy and Missy hurried away, still looking concerned, Annie paced back and forth on her porch, kicking at broken glass. She waved one hand in the air as she impressed on the dispatcher that they needed police intervention ASAP. Then she peered inside at all the things strewn around, but decided it was best not to touch anything.

* * *

THIRTY-FIVE-YEAR-OLD police chief Skylar Cordova took a call from his dispatcher about a series of daytime home break-ins. He stifled a weary sigh, took down the addresses, then asked the dispatcher to contact Lieutenant Koot Talmage, his second-in-command, to meet him at the scene. Talmage was a good, competent cop, even if he’d told Sky that he was only waiting it out until his retirement at the end of the year.

This wasn’t Sky’s first job choice. He’d been an army reservist called up from his big-city police job in Baltimore to serve his country. By the time he’d finished two tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan, with months between tours spent at a variety of military bases, his old job, out of necessity, had been filled, although his captain had tried to save it. Since Corrine, Sky’s wife, divorced him while he was gone and subsequently married a bigwig Kentucky racehorse breeder, this job put Sky as close to his five-year-old son, Zachary, as he’d been able to manage.

He’d been chief of Briar Run less than a year, but it hadn’t taken him very long to see that his force couldn’t handle the escalating crime being directed from outside his legal reach in Louisville. Reciprocal help was a joke; it meant when Louisville cops had time, and they were up to their eyeballs, too.

Out of self-interest, Sky had feelers out, hoping to turn up a job in a larger town, with a force that offered a bigger staff. However, in this slow economy police departments everywhere were cutting back, not expanding, as was the case here. His already minuscule force had been cut in half again in the last budgetary process, implemented by Aaron Loomis, the new city manager who’d been appointed by the governor to pull Briar Run out of debt.

Sky pulled up to a trio of homes that had seen better days. In fact, this whole street, like many in the neighborhood—including his, a few blocks away—looked as tired as he felt.

Koot drove in and parked behind him as Sky picked up his clipboard of report sheets. Shoving his sunglasses off the bridge of his nose into shaggy hair he hadn’t found time to get cut, Sky waited for his friend and coworker to join him.

The older man came up, blotting sweat from his cocoa-brown face. “Enid called me from dispatch. She said three homes in a row were vandalized while the occupants attended a funeral. Whose work do you reckon it is?”

“I don’t know. I just got here and haven’t interviewed anyone yet.” Sky started to say more, but broke off as a woman separated herself from a foursome watching workmen install a window. She came toward them, undoing her hair from a band that had confined it. Sky’s attention stalled on thick, black waves unraveling around her shoulders, hair that shone almost blue in the sunlight. She was tall, but not quite as tall as his five feet eleven, even though she wore heels. A no-nonsense navy suit didn’t hide her womanly shape. He couldn’t help staring as she approached. The closer she got, the more Sky was mesmerized by her flawless skin and smoke-gray eyes fringed by jet dark lashes. Obviously natural lashes. In this job he often dealt with women who achieved that look with stuff that came in a tube and tended to smear when they cried. Women he encountered in the course of a workday were always crying, it seemed.

The woman stopped a few feet short of the men. “I’m Annie Emerson,” she said straightaway. “I called to report the fact that three homes were broken into and vandalized while we all attended my grandmother’s funeral.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Sky muttered, unable to quit staring at her long enough to write her name on the report sheet, until Koot jabbed him none too gently in the ribs. “Ah, yes. We, uh, got the call. I’m Chief Sky Cordova. This is Lieutenant Talmage.”

Annie lifted an eyebrow. His hasty condolence fell a bit flat. She knew his job probably had him mouthing the words on a regular basis, but his perfunctory tone got under her skin. “I didn’t expect such high-ranking officials to show up. Mrs. Gilroy—” Annie pointed to the older of the two other women at the scene “—felt you’d be too busy to come at all.”

“Our department is small, and we’re stretched thin,” Koot explained. “We can see your exterior vandalism. Can you tell us what’s missing from inside? And did anyone see the perpetrators or their car, or get any kind of useful description?”

Annie hesitated. “As I said, I was at my grandmother’s funeral, and the others left before me, arriving home first. The center house belongs to my grandmother, Ida Vance,” Annie said, then with trembling lips corrected and stammered, “N-no, that’s not true. It’s my home now.”

Sky glanced up from the sheet on which he was scribbling. “Is it Miss or Mrs. Emerson?”

“Ms.,” she said. Was he trying to learn her marital status? Why? None of his business in any case. “You should speak to Peggy and George Gilroy or Mike and Missy Spurlock. I didn’t go in because I didn’t want to disturb any evidence. I assume my neighbors came home straight from the cemetery.” Annie chewed on her lip. “That would’ve been a little before one o’clock. Instead of calling the police, they contacted repairmen.” Gazing directly at Sky, Annie added, “I gathered they thought contacting you was pointless.”

Sky bristled, immediately going on the defensive. “At the moment, I and three officers cover all of Briar Run. Our open cases consist of two rapes, an unsolved drive-by shooting and a couple of gang-related drug deals,” he said, waving his pen. “Petty crimes do sometimes get wait-listed.”

The woman facing him didn’t so much as flinch, which made Sky wonder about her. He thought most females would. “You call a bold, daytime break-in of three homes, with wanton destruction of property, a petty crime?”

Koot grabbed Sky’s arm and tugged him toward the two couples who stood by the houses. “I’ll dust these places for fingerprints as soon as we collect a list of missing items, Chief.”

Sky nodded, still gritting his teeth.

George Gilroy leaned on his cane, and looked uncomfortable when the two cops joined him. After a bit of probing, he admitted, “We lost a TV, a DVD player and a pearl necklace Peggy had left out on her dresser. The thieves grabbed the easy stuff.”

Peggy piped up. “But other things got broken. Some dishes seemed to be randomly swept off our sideboard.”

“Ms. Emerson guessed you got home around one,” Sky said. “It’s three now. Were the perpetrators gone when you arrived?”

“Hi, I’m Mike Spurlock.” The younger man barged into the group. “The thieves must’ve heard us drive in, or else they had a lookout posted. I noticed our broken windows and told Missy to stay in the car. I entered the house through a side door, and saw our back door swinging as if they’d just run out. After I made sure there was no one inside, I had my wife come in to make a note of what all they took.”

“Our new flat-screen TV is gone, along with some wedding gifts I hadn’t even taken out of their boxes,” Missy said tearfully. “A vase, a duplicate coffeemaker I intended to return. We’re starting out our married life and don’t own much yet.” Missy Spurlock curled into her husband’s embrace.

Sky, who was scribbling everything down, turned to Annie. “What was taken from your place?”

“I told you I didn’t go inside. And even if I went from room to room, I might not know what’s missing.”

“Why not?”

“I’m visiting, or I have been for two weeks. This is the home where I grew up, but I, ah, have been living in California until I came to see about my grandmother’s health.”

Sky tapped his pen impatiently on the clipboard again. “You can’t say what’s gone, yet you were most adamant about wanting us to solve this case. The truth is, Ms. Emerson, odds are everything stolen today has already been hocked and the money divvied up.”

“It sounds as if you know who did this. So, can’t you round them up for questioning?”

Pretty as she was, her barbs got Sky’s back up. “It’s an all-too-familiar pattern,” he admitted. “If I were a betting man, which I’m not, my money would go on poor, dumb, local kids acting as puppets controlled by drug-dealer puppeteers from Louisville. Oh, I’d like to knock some sense into these kids—tell them they’re lucky to have folks, whether or not the family has trouble making ends meet. They have a roof over their heads and food in their bellies, which is a lot more than kids I’ve seen in war-torn countries where families subsist on nothing. You, Ms. Emerson, would be wise to cut your losses here and hightail it back to your safe haven in California.”

“Well, thank you for the three-minute lecture, Chief Cordova. I applaud you for serving our country, as you apparently did. May I point out that your current job is to serve the taxpayers of Briar Run? If these are local kids going down the wrong path, it seems to me part of your job should be to show them a better one...by example.”

Koot Talmage, who’d returned from dusting around Annie’s door and windows, listened to their conversation—along with her neighbors. Talmage nudged his boss. “Why don’t you head out, Chief? I’ll wind up here, go to the office and type these reports. We can keep an ear to the ground. I doubt it’ll yield anything helpful, but the word will go out about who we suspect.”

Sky shook off Koot’s hand. He continued to glare at the woman whose intelligent gray eyes remained locked on him. Sky had to say he found Annie Emerson irritating, although definitely attractive. He hadn’t taken such a long look at any woman in quite a while. Not since Corrine’s defection led to the outright lies she continued to tell the family court about him. Ms. Emerson’s dig, as well as Koot’s blasé attitude, and yes, also his own hostile one, woke a sleeping noble-mindedness in Sky—something he thought he’d lost. An innate sense of justice that first made him serve his fellow man in law enforcement and then in the military resurfaced now. It surprised him that the glimmer still existed inside him and burned hot enough to spark a response, considering the carnage he’d witnessed and lived through during two wars. Yet there it was.

“I suggest, Ms. Emerson, that you make a list of missing goods and get it to us. Rest assured, I will find the culprit or culprits, retrieve your stolen property and bring the perpetrators to justice,” he promised, glancing at the other couples before he spun on his boot heel and strode back to his car.

Koot, slower to react, muttered goodbye and rushed to catch up to his rapidly retreating boss. “Chief, have you lost your ever-lovin’ mind? Why on earth would you give our word that we’ll solve a crime that’s virtually impossible to solve?”

“Because the lady’s right. It’s our job.” Sky opened his car and tossed the clipboard inside. Following it, he slammed his car door and drove off. He didn’t tell Koot he intended to dig into this case on his own, in his spare time. Anything he could find would give him a legitimate reason to go back and check on Annie Emerson. He was bothered by a look she had about her that suggested she might take matters into her own hands—making her a lamb in this den of jackals. She ought to return to California for her own good. And his. He’d growled at her for no good reason other than he found her attractive and that bugged him.

Perhaps if he went back when he was in a calmer frame of mind, he could convince her that this community wasn’t safe for a woman like her, especially a woman who planned to live alone in that big, old ramshackle house. Presuming she lived alone. She hadn’t said so, but then he hadn’t asked, either. That bugged him, too. Although, of course—as she’d likely point out—it was none of his business.

* * *

ARMS CROSSED, ANNIE stared after the arrogant cop’s car until it disappeared around the corner.

George Gilroy watched her. “I believe you hit a sore spot with Chief Cordova, Annie. He’s right, in one sense. This town’s gone to the dogs. Peggy and I could sell and move. Our son wants us to come to Dallas, but this is home. We have good memories of raising our boy here—well, he’s over forty now—and moving to a big city at our age is kind of frightening,” he lamented with a sad shake of his head.

Annie commiserated with the couple who’d been good friends to Gran Ida and to her. Peggy Gilroy, younger than her husband by ten or so years, had taught Annie how to cook, and often looked after her until Gran Ida got home from work.

Still in a bad mood, Annie negotiated with the locksmith and the glass company for her repairs. While they did them, she wandered along the sidewalk, studying the homes that had once looked so much nicer. All needed paint. Yards were weedy and several houses had tattered drapes in the windows. Annie remembered that Gran had mentioned neighbors losing their jobs when the glove factory closed.

Walking back home, Annie saw a battered bike at one house, and a rusted wagon outside another. It struck her that her old neighborhood had become similar to the ones she served in L.A. Maybe Gran Ida was right to suggest she stay and try to help. Gran was gone, but Annie’s roots were sunk deep in this neighborhood.

As Mr. Manchester had pointed out, Gran Ida was well past middle age when she’d taken on raising a baby alone. He’d said Gran had fended off Family Services in order to keep Annie. She imagined the trials and tribulations an older woman would have had to navigate. At fifty-six, Gran had stood at a crossroad, her choices either to give her errant daughter’s newborn up for adoption, or devote her later years to nurturing an energetic child. Gran Ida had chosen Annie.

Back at the Victorian, Annie paid the workmen and went inside to meander through the rooms. She ran a hand over a scarred table where she’d done her homework, and where Gran set up a sewing machine to teach her to sew. Gran read to her by the light of the fireplace on wintry nights when Annie was frightened by ice storms that knocked out their power. She must have done that after coming home exhausted from tedious sewing all day on delicate lingerie fabrics.

Going into the vintage kitchen, Annie filled the teakettle, and while water heated, she considered Gran’s legacy—a stately old house with worn contents, but a flush bank account...and dreams. Big dreams. Glancing out the window, as lights came on in houses along the street, Annie felt she, too, stood at a crossroad. She could abandon this house after donating its contents and use Gran’s money to enhance her life in L.A. Or, as Gran Ida had frequently stressed in her final days, Annie could stay and try to restore the neighborhood. Try to return it to the happy place it had once been.

Chapter Two

IT TOOK SKY over a week to track down some of the goods stolen from the trio of families on Rose Arbor Street. By tracing serial numbers, he found the two TVs at an obscure pawn shop across the border in Indiana. The broker brought out a cherrywood chest filled with silverware for twelve, which he said he’d also taken from the man who’d pawned the TV—a regular-looking guy claiming to be down on his luck. That was always the standard story. Sky didn’t have any silver on his list, but he redeemed the ticket in case it belonged to one of the couples.

As he left the pawn shop with the merchandise, he admitted it felt good to have made progress via old-fashioned legwork. It had been quite a while since he’d felt like this—good about his job. Maybe he’d let too much slide lately. Granted, he didn’t recognize the pawnbroker’s description of the guy who’d pawned these things, but Sky assumed the actual thieves were local kids who turned over the wares to gang leaders. The leaders were known to stay in the background during robberies or other crimes. It burned him to have a gang like that operating under his nose. Any gang. The one called the Stingers needed to be stopped. It was a particularly notorious one that had come to his attention numerous times.

Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Sky pondered the steps his small department could take to start rooting out these sleazy leaders. It shouldn’t have been possible for three families to be burgled so openly in the middle of an otherwise normal day.

Entering his neighborhood, he started to wonder if Annie Emerson had packed up and gone back to California. He’d avoided her street since the break-ins for reasons he didn’t care to examine. Now, thinking she might have been a one-time blip on his radar, he felt a small sting of regret. If he was honest about it, their brief encounter had been scintillating—and intriguing. Yet he deliberately hadn’t looked her up since then, because he’d closed off that part of his life. He hadn’t let himself feel anything for a woman since his marriage fell apart—through what he believed was little fault of his. It represented a failure all the same.

Sky turned at the traffic light at the corner of Rose Arbor and Dusty Rose. Ah, Annie Emerson hadn’t gone anywhere. Approaching her old Victorian, he saw her at the front of the house as she sanded peeling paint from the lower siding. He parked, got out of his cruiser, and as he headed up the walkway to speak to her, he realized her noisy electric sander blocked the sound of his footsteps. Reaching out, he tapped her shoulder to announce his presence.

Annie yelped and flung the sander down.

It struck Sky on the shin. In the corner of his mind that wasn’t registering pain, he was thankful the sander had an automatic shutoff, or it would’ve have done serious damage to his leg. With that thought whirling in his head, he wasn’t aware that his grip on Ms. Emerson’s shoulder had tightened, and he wasn’t at all prepared when, without turning, she grabbed his wrist, jabbed her pointy elbow into his solar plexus and sent him flying. Even as he flipped through the air, Sky had no idea what had happened until he found himself lying flat on his back, staring into the blinding sun without his sunglasses. Then his world blurred as the toe of Annie’s sneaker on his throat cut off his blood supply. The pretty face he remembered swam before him. Today, her arresting gray eyes were obscured by the bill of a Dodgers baseball cap.

In martial arts fighting stance, Annie peered down into the stunned blue eyes of the police chief. “For heaven’s sake, what were you thinking, sneaking up behind me like that?” she demanded, yanking out earbuds attached to an iPod tucked into her shirt pocket.

Hearing him gasp for air, she lifted her sneaker from his neck. As he continued to blink up in confusion, she extended a hand to help him to his feet.

Sky ignored her offer. Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, he eased up on one elbow until he finally fit together the series of events that had landed him in this predicament. Chagrinned, he cast a stealthy glance up and down the street to see who might have witnessed his ignominious takedown at the hands of a woman. Thank goodness no one else was around. Only then did he allow himself to feel grudgingly impressed.

It took a moment before he vaulted up and dusted off the seat of his pants. Fleeting admiration already gone, and needing to counter his embarrassment, Sky shouted back at her. “What were you thinking, leaving yourself exposed to anyone who might be up to no good? You know young toughs roam these streets looking for easy marks, which you were. Between the blasting music and sander noise, you were totally zoned out.”

“Brother! Talk about arrogance.” Annie settled both fists on her hips.

“What would you have done if I’d been a thug? A thug with backup. I’m talking about gangs, lady. You were a sitting duck!”

Annie pointed a thumb at herself. “For your information, I’ve spent eight years doing social work on some pretty mean streets in L.A. Not to brag, but I hold a one-stripe red belt in tae kwon do. I figure I can take care of myself.”

“Big deal,” Sky snapped, snatching self-righteousness from the air that sizzled between them. “Martial arts moves aren’t an effective defense against a group of hoodlums packing heat.”

“You’re right,” Annie said. Backing down at once, she bent to retrieve her fallen sander. “I’m sure you didn’t intend to scare me half to death, and I’m just as sure you didn’t drop by to get involved in a shouting match. To what do I owe this visit, Chief?”

Needing to buy time for his reeling nerves to settle, Sky bent and scooped up his sunglasses out of a patch of weeds, where they’d flown during his somersault. Her sudden graceful capitulation surprised him—and provoked him at the same time. He studied her obliquely through the dark lenses, and found himself liking the fact that she was a woman of contradictions as well as the fact that she could admit to being wrong. That reaction immediately flip-flopped and her apologetic demeanor suddenly annoyed him. Because seeing her contrite left him wanting to untuck all that gorgeous black hair under the Dodgers baseball cap.

“I came by to see your neighbors,” he said gruffly. “This morning I managed to run down their stolen televisions. The other items they lost I doubt we’ll ever recover. It’s fortunate that George and Mike had paperwork on their TVs, which gave me serial numbers. Other run-of-the-mill household articles rarely provide cops with a workable trail.”

Annie nodded. “I’m so glad you got their TVs back. Neither family can afford to replace them. George is on disability, and Mike works on commission. He and Missy are still paying off their wedding. I asked if either family has theft insurance. Both carry basic fire coverage, and that’s all.”

“What about you?” Sky asked abruptly. “To my knowledge you never gave us any information on what you lost.”

“Gran’s TV was old. She was a lifelong reader, so she didn’t have any other electronics. The intruders did dump everything on her bookshelves. Gran also pieced and sewed quilts her church group passed on to a family crisis center. She was passionate about making a new kid-sized quilt for every child who ended up with their mom in an abuse shelter. But from what I could tell, her sewing supplies are intact. One thing that might be missing is her good silver. Truthfully I can’t say. I hadn’t seen it since I got here. But knowing Gran, she might have given it away. Although it meant a lot to her since it belonged to her mother.”

“Huh, you may be in luck,” Sky said, moved by the way her whole demeanor softened when she spoke of her grandmother. “The same guy who pawned the TVs left a chest of silverware. I have it in the car. I picked it up on the off chance it belonged to one of you three. If you can identify the set, the pawnbroker is out a bundle of cash.” He shook his head. “Who would’ve thought old silverware would be worth so much?”

“Wow, getting it back when I wasn’t even sure it had been stolen would be lucky.” Annie set her sander on the porch and prepared to follow him. “Solid sterling is costly in today’s market. Gran had a full service for twelve people. The pattern is La Perle. Some pieces are stamped with the maker’s name. If I recall, it’s Reed and Barton. Gran Ida didn’t own a lot of nice things. But in keeping with her Southern heritage, she always set a formal table for holidays.”

“Hmm. My mom’s not Southern. She’s a born and bred New Yorker, and she whipped us into shape for big family gatherings, too. I hope the silver is yours. If not, I’ll have to drive back to the pawn shop across the border.”

“Is that what the gang does? Shuffle what they pilfer out of state?” Annie matched his longer stride, seeming interested in hearing his answers.

“Unfortunately, they run an efficient underground,” Sky said as they reached his cruiser. He faced her home as he popped open the trunk of his car. “So I guess you’re doing a facelift, hoping to sell the house for a higher price,” he said, jerking a thumb toward the Victorian. “Not that you asked for my advice. However, it’s free. Renovating isn’t worth your time and money. Our housing market stinks. It wasn’t great when I moved here a little over a year ago. I shouldn’t have bought, and wish I’d rented instead. Only I needed to prove to... Oh, never mind,” he muttered, drawing her attention to the contents in the trunk.

Annie’s brain skipped from his question to his comment about the house and on to his abruptly cut-off revelation that might have revealed something personal. “Oh, that is Gran’s silver,” she exclaimed, letting his comment go. “I recognize the chest. But maybe we should check inside to be sure.”

Sky raised the lid and the broker’s guarantee lay on top of the first tray. It verified that the contents were sterling, the maker Reed and Barton and the pattern La Perle. “You nailed it,” Sky said, handing the guarantee to Annie. “Pawn shop owners have to know a lot about all kinds of merchandise, or they’d lose their shirts lending money to people they hope will come back to reclaim their goods, but rarely do.”

“I hadn’t thought about that. Isn’t it against the law to deal in stolen property?”

“If they have reason to suspect it’s stolen. Certain pawnbrokers have a backroom fencing operation, so to speak. This guy volunteered information about the silver, which I didn’t have on my list, so I figure he’s on the up-and-up.”

“Oh, then I’m sorry he got taken.” Annie lifted the chest out of the deep trunk of the aging Ford Crown Vic.

“Here, let me get that for you,” Sky said. “I’ll carry it to the house.”

“That’s okay. It isn’t that heavy and you have two TVs to deliver. George Gilroy has a bad back, and Mike Spurlock’s at work. I’m not sure if Missy is pregnant. Something she said the other evening made me think she might be. She broke down after the vandalism debacle and cried about the thought of raising children in this neighborhood.”

“Huh,” Sky snorted. “I’m an authority when it comes to that concern. My ex-wife’s attorney drives it home every time they haul me into court hoping to derail my bid for joint custody.”

“You have children?” Annie asked as he hefted the larger of the two TVs and slammed the trunk lid shut with more force than necessary.

“One,” Sky answered. “Zachary’s five.”

Annie saw his jaw tense. She recognized his not-quite-checked anger. She’d seen similar reactions on numerous occasions during her work with broken families. She didn’t know this cop well enough to sympathize, however. Besides, she was trained to remain neutral. “Just before you showed up, I was thinking of taking a break to have a glass of cold lemonade,” she said lightly. “If you can spare a few minutes to join me on the porch after you deliver those TVs, there’s something I’d like to run by you—in your official capacity.”

For a split second Skylar felt uneasy. But then, after glancing at his watch, he gave a brief nod.

Annie left to climb her porch steps. At the door she turned and called out, “Hey, thanks for getting back as much stuff as you did. I doubted you’d make the effort. My apologies for misjudging you, Cordova.”

Sky nodded again, this time looking away. He hoped her apology was sincere. But if he went by past experience, it was entirely possible that she was trying to butter him up for some other reason. Not exactly an unfamiliar experience for him, since manipulation was a habit of his ex-wife’s, he thought irritably as he rapped on the Gilroys’ front door.

It took Sky twenty minutes or more to return the TVs and break away from the Gilroys’ and Missy Spurlock’s vociferous thanks. Almost wishing he’d turned down Annie Emerson’s invitation for a cold drink, he checked in with Koot, hoping for a minor crisis that would give him an excuse to leave. As bad luck would have it, the lieutenant said all was quiet in the precinct.

Returning his cell phone to its holder on a leather work belt weighed down with a nightstick, a stun gun, handcuffs and a Glock, Sky trudged up Annie’s steps. He saw several changes on the porch since his last visit. An old glider swing sported new cushions, as did four wicker chairs clustered around a glass-topped table. A pitcher filled with frosty lemonade sat there, along with two glasses. A shiny silver laptop rested on a sheet of paper Sky recognized as a plat map of Briar Run.

“How did the hoodlums miss stealing your laptop?” he asked, gesturing at it as Annie passed him a glass of lemonade.

“I had it in my rental car. I shouldn’t admit this to an officer of the law, but I caught up on work email at stoplights between here and the funeral home.” She gave him a wry smile.

Sky couldn’t help laughing as he took a seat. She was a contradiction—a warm, everyday homebody mixed with a sometimes tough, cool professional. It unsettled him that he might not be so anxious to see her leave town. “I guess you’re trying to calculate the worth of this house,” he said after a long swallow. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pointed to the map. “Since you probably want to get back to L.A. quickly, my recommendation, as I said earlier, is to sell all the contents in one giant estate sale, and put the empty house in the hands of a reputable Realtor.”

“I, uh, phoned my supervisor in L.A. and tendered my resignation. I sublet my condo to a coworker who’s going to ship my clothing and personal items like photo albums, CDs, books...and a special quilt Gran made... Oh, you don’t care about that.”

Sky straightened. “Pardon me for calling you a bit foolish, but the job market here is one of the most depressed in the nation. Plus, I would’ve thought a break-in might have convinced you about the sorry state of this town’s general safety.”

Annie tapped the map with a forefinger. “Don’t you think it can be safe again? Do you know Briar Run was built before urban planning became a viable field? But it’s laid out beautifully in a series of spokes around the town center. It was probably designed as a bedroom community for Louisville to accommodate the growth that was expected because of the Kentucky Derby.”

“A bad calculation, since it was based on a once-a-year horse race,” Sky muttered. “Thoroughbred horse owners, the folks with money, live on high-value real estate situated well outside the city. Not only is horse racing a sport that relies on transient labor, anyplace with big-dollar betting attracts criminals.”

“You are cynical,” Annie said. “I wish you’d seen this neighborhood the way I remember it, the way it was when I was growing up here. People took pride in their homes and yards, and they derived joy from socializing with neighbors.” She moved the pitcher of lemonade and traced an area on the map. “There used to be manufacturing along our section of the Ohio River. Gran Ida worked for most of her life at one of the major lingerie-makers in the South. The owners sold the plant to a glove factory, which retooled and produced cotton and leather work gloves for export.”

“And now they’re gone,” Sky said quietly.

“I know, but the building isn’t. And a good-sized city park is a buffer between it and a residential area. South of the park are elementary, middle and high schools. When I was a kid, we all walked to school with friends. Briar Run was a great family town.”

“Manufacturing here is defunct.” Sky shrugged. “The park you remember so fondly has become a haven for drug pushers prowling for kids whose parents can’t afford to drive them to school. I recommend you take another look at it—but in daylight. My force is too small to patrol everywhere 24/7. I figured your neighbors might’ve told you that lots of good people who used to live here have moved away. Take my lieutenant. You met Koot Talmage earlier. Koot and his wife, Sadie, moved to a safer town when their third kid was still in elementary. Sadie used to teach at the local high school. Now there’s a forty percent dropout rate between middle grade and high school. Half the kids who do go on never graduate.”

“Well, shame on them. And shame on all of you. People in positions of authority who shirk responsibility for whatever reason feed problems like the ones that exist here. If no one fights back, soon it won’t be safe to live anywhere.”

“Oh, right,” he said, springing up. “I guess you’ve swept in from California and diagnosed all our problems.”

“I don’t know what you have against California or Californians, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that one major problem here is apathy. On the part of residents, business owners and public servants like you and your lieutenant. You’re like rats jumping off a sinking ship—you’ve written off this town. So has your city manager, who gave me the same song and dance the other day when I stopped in to ask if it was okay to hold a public meeting.”

Sky set his now-empty glass down on the section of map that outlined the park. “Those of us who work in the trenches aren’t apathetic, we’re realistic. That’s what we are.”

“You’re insinuating I’m not?”

“Look, all I know is that I’m doing my best to keep ahead of crime with a force that’s been slashed twice this past year.”

Annie got up, too, moved his glass and folded the map. “Fair enough. I understand that much of the bad stuff happening here is directed by criminals living outside Briar Run.”

“At least we agree on that.”

“Sort of.” She opened a small leather notebook. “I informally surveyed a few residents. I believe their spirits can be improved by something as simple as home facelifts, like the one I’ve begun. Fresh paint. Maybe new drapes. Some rosebushes and weeded yards. Those things take sweat equity.”

“And money. Paint isn’t free. That kind of cosmetic change won’t break the stranglehold gangs have on local teens. If you want to do something meaningful, get me the names of the gang leaders.”

Annie refilled their glasses as they faced off across the table. “Maybe the gang leaders will give up and move on if we create the kind of community where families want to live. Pleasant surroundings restore hope. Hope creates far-reaching results.”

“Perhaps that’s true in prosperous neighborhoods.” Sky drained his second glass. “Did any of the residents you talked to tell you how many hours a day they spend riding buses to Louisville and back to work minimum-wage jobs that barely put food on their tables? And those are the privileged few who actually found new jobs.”

“I haven’t totally gained their trust yet,” Annie admitted. “But I plan to. I’ll book a room at the library, and after setting a time and date, I’ll distribute flyers inviting everyone to a meeting. Then I’ll lay out my ideas in greater detail.”

“Good luck.” Sky handed her his glass. “Thanks for the drink. I need to get back to the job I’m being paid to do.”

“I’d hoped I could enlist your support.”

He clattered down the steps and strode along the walkway without so much as a backward glance.

Annie was fairly sure he’d heard her. She sighed as she collected the pitcher, glasses and her notebook, and carried them into the house. What if Skylar Cordova was right? What if she and Gran Ida were wrong about her ability to help revitalize this neighborhood?

* * *

SKY WENT BACK to the office. He called the pawnbroker to let him know he’d found the owner of the silverware. Afterward, he made up the work schedule for the following week. Aaron Loomis, the city manager, wouldn’t let him authorize any overtime for his staff, which meant Sky had to take up the slack if any of his men needed a day off. When he posted the shifts to his calendar, he saw he had a dinner at Koot and Sadie’s tonight. That was good. His pantry was bare, plus Sadie was a great cook. With nice weather, maybe they’d have a barbecue. And if the Talmage sons were there, the four guys could shoot hoops for a while. Sky could use a workout.

He’d just shut down his computer when the dispatcher notified him that a call had come in from a drugstore—a possible domestic dispute in their parking lot. Those had the potential of being especially difficult—and dangerous. Heading out, Sky called Teddy Saunders, his youngest officer, as backup. At six-three, two hundred and eighty pounds, Saunders often just had to show up and perpetrators got scared enough to beg for mercy.

Sky arrived at the altercation first and encountered a couple he’d been called out on before. Roger McBride reportedly had a problem with alcohol, and his wife, Loretta, had a problem with the amount of money Roger wasted on liquor. In the past there hadn’t been any violence, so Sky canceled his call for backup.

Parking his cruiser a safe distance away from the arguing pair, Sky walked toward them and deduced that their spat was the same old thing. Loretta was outside Roger’s car shouting at her husband, who sat behind the wheel.

“Loretta,” Sky said evenly. “Roger.” Sky nodded at the man. “Is Roger too drunk to drive?” That question he aimed at the woman.

“Not yet, but I just went to the bank with my pay and checked to see that his unemployment funds had come into our account. Who did I pass as I left the bank but this lazy bum on his way to spend money we don’t have on Irish whiskey.”

Roger glanced away, but not before Sky saw his unshaven jaw tense. “I only bought a pint,” the man said. “Chief, don’t I have the right to some of the money from my unemployment? This week I filled out four new job applications. I quit going to the tavern. Since Loretta got on me, for not doing anything around the house, I’ve taken over all the chores. No matter what I do, she wants more. It’s humiliating enough for a guy like me to let my wife be the family breadwinner.”

Sky pinched the bridge of his nose. Man, where was the curb-appeal fairy who thought she could set local folks’ world right with curtains and paint? He’d love to hear Annie Emerson’s solution for this.

“Loretta, is Roger doing better?”

“I suppose.” She plucked at the collar of her blouse with a work-roughened hand. Sky knew the couple was in their late fifties. Loretta worked at a fast-food restaurant. Roger used to be a production manager at the glove factory. Sky had heard the same kind of hard-luck story from a host of others in town.

“You’re the one I’d have to charge with disorderly conduct today,” he told Loretta.

“Don’t do that,” Roger broke in. “All she’s guilty of is trying to pound some sense into my stubborn head. I’ll return the pint.” He grabbed the sack and got out of the car.

Sky and Loretta watched him jog back into the store. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have made a scene, but my boss said today they may have to cut everybody’s hours. I saw Rog headed for the store to get booze, and something snapped.”

“It’s okay. No harm done. I’m sorry life’s so rough. If I hear of any work I think Roger can do, I’ll call.”

“Come by the house,” she said meekly. “We had to let them shut our phone off.”

“I’m sorry.” Sky caught himself saying that a lot lately. The more trouble that was heaped on the heads of people in his jurisdiction, the more painkillers he took. He climbed into this car to scribble out an incident report and dug out a bottle he kept in the glove compartment, then shook out two pills and swallowed them dry. He hadn’t quite finished his report when a call came in from the principal at the middle school. A fifth grader had been found with marijuana in his book bag.

Sky left the convenience store and drove four blocks to the school. He remembered getting in trouble once for taking a garden snake to school. It wasn’t just that he’d taken the snake to class, but he’d put it in Julie Clark’s backpack. Sky couldn’t fathom what kind of mischief kids would be up to by the time his five-year-old son reached middle school. He hoped he’d have some say in guiding Zack through those awkward years. He wouldn’t if it was up to Corrine.

During the school year so far, Sky had sat down with this principal more often than either of them would’ve liked. “I don’t know what to tell you, Chief Cordova,” Mrs. Beckerman said. “Billy Joe Wright swears he was set up.”

Sky watched the scared kid who sat in the principal’s waiting room. He was fair-haired and well-dressed. He didn’t have on the oversize, low-slung jeans that seemed to be the gangbanger dress code. “What are his grades like? Have they slipped lately?” Sky asked.

The principal accessed the boy’s record on her computer. “He’s a surprisingly good student. I hate to admit it, but that’s why I know so little about him. It’s terrible that my days are spent getting to know all the children at the opposite end of the academic spectrum.” She handed Sky the plastic Baggie filled with leaves. “But there is the fact that this fell out of his book bag in algebra class.”

Sky opened a corner of the bag, sniffed, then made a wry face before sealing it again. “Potent weed,” he said, coughing. “It’s worth some bucks. Could be someone’s bullying him, or else somebody’s been coerced by a dealer up the chain to try and get him involved.”

The principal closed the boy’s record. “I’ll talk to his mother. He said his dad’s out of town on business. That could mean anything. It may mean he’s in jail. If our counselor can handle one more case, I’ll refer him and I’ll sign a release for you to confiscate the bag. For now I’m inclined to give Billy a pass, but I’ll try to keep him under surveillance.”

All too familiar with the drill from past confiscations, Sky had come prepared with a notebook of release forms. Extracting one, he set it on her desk, and she signed it with a flourish.

Borrowing her stapler, Sky stapled the bag to the form. Mrs. Beckerman photocopied it, bag and all. “I hope I don’t have to call you in again before school lets out for the summer. Not that I envy you having so many potential delinquents turned loose on the community for three months. I should warn you, the district cut all summer programs.”

“Gr...eat.” He sighed heavily. “Don’t they realize it leaves the schools at risk for vandalism?”

She shrugged. “They claim they’ve wrung every possible penny out of the budget just to hire teachers for enough hours so our seniors can graduate.”

“Thanks for the heads-up, Mrs. Beckerman. I’ll see if I can arrange our schedules to include driving by the three schools several times a day.”

“Do that. I’ll pray for an angel to swoop down and keep our facilities protected.”

Sky took his leave, fearing it was going to be a long summer. The news about no summer school felt like one more nail driven into the coffin of this dying town.

* * *

LATER, AFTER HE wound up his day, he went home, showered and changed out of his uniform before traveling eight miles to the town where Koot lived. Sky stopped at a flower shop and bought a potted plant as a hostess gift for Sadie Talmage. He knew she liked flowers. Continuing into the residential district, Sky couldn’t help comparing these clean streets, well-tended lawns and inviting homes with those in his run-down community. He’d been to the Talmage home several times, but it struck him now that if he hadn’t had a touchy encounter with Annie Emerson today, he wouldn’t be making comparisons.

The safety of residents in his town was his first concern, not how the houses looked to passersby. Yet, Koot, a thirty-year veteran cop, had moved his family because he deemed this town far safer than Briar Run.

When Sky was hired as police chief, the city had a rule stating that its employees, especially police and fire, had to reside within city limits. Sky wasn’t sure if they’d relaxed the rules for Koot, who was a fixture on the force and due to retire soon, or if the city manager wasn’t aware he’d moved.

The main question still ricocheted inside Sky’s head—was there truth to Annie’s assertion that spiffing up the neighborhood would translate into safety? Sky hated to think that his reluctance to take her seriously could lie with the fact that she’d laid him out in her front yard, thereby threatening his masculinity. Preferring to put that incident and the woman out of his mind, Sky was glad to arrive at his destination.

* * *

SADIE ANSWERED HIS knock. She enveloped him in a hug, which was her way of greeting everyone. “Why thank you, sugar,” she drawled when he gave her the plant. “Koot, are you too old to learn some manners from your younger boss?” she said with a laugh when her husband walked up behind her. She kissed his cheek to take away the sting of her rebuke as she showed off her gift. Koot flung an arm around her shoulders. His brown eyes twinkled as he feigned being stabbed in the heart by Sky, who grinned and followed his hosts through the kitchen and out to the back patio, where an outdoor table was already set. He felt the cares of the day recede. His friends had the kind of marriage he wished his had been.

“Grab a chair,” Koot said, picking up a platter and a spatula.

Sadie handed Sky a chilled bottle of light beer and set one each in front of her husband’s plates and hers.

“Prepare to eat the best pulled-pork sandwiches you’ve ever tasted,” Koot called over his shoulder. He opened the lid on the barbecue and the scent of spices made Sky’s mouth water.

“No kids tonight?” Sky asked when Sadie moved a tray of condiments to make room on the table for a green salad.

“Marcus is coaching a junior baseball team at the boys’ club,” Koot said, returning to the table with a platter of buns, piled high with meat oozing a tangy-smelling sauce.

Sadie used tongs to set a sandwich on Sky’s plate. “Sam is helping his sister study for her bar exams. Poor Sam, he wishes he’d stayed in college instead of dropping out to get married. His job as a hospital orderly just pays the bills.”

“He could go back and finish his degree,” Koot said, whipping open his napkin.

Sadie defended their middle son. “It’s almost impossible with two kids, and tuition fees climbing.”

“I was lucky to finish college with some help from ROTC. Then I went straight into the police academy before getting called to active army duty,” Sky said. “A lot of guys I met overseas hoped they could attend college after their tours,” he added. “If they already had a family, it’d mean sacrifice. Maybe Sam will go back, though, if Koot keeps after him.”

“I could have helped him out financially if I’d continued teaching.” Sadie dished out salad and passed around dressings.

“You didn’t need the hassle.” Koot turned to Sky. “It got to where she was trying to teach kids who didn’t care. You know how many times we get called to that high school. I wanted her and Diandra out of there.”

“I picked up a packet of pretty high-grade weed at the middle school today.”

“Middle school? Dang.” Koot shook his graying head. “Can our job get any tougher?”

“Which reminds me. Apparently the school board voted to defund summer school. We’ll have to be extra vigilant about keeping watch on the buildings.”

Koot rolled his eyes. “Like that’s gonna be easy. If it didn’t affect my pension, I’d retire tomorrow.”

Sadie patted his hand. “Do it if you want.”

“Don’t you dare,” Sky put in. “Guaranteed our city manager won’t replace you.”

“It’s a shame everything’s gotten so bad in Briar Run,” Sadie said. “It’s never made sense to me how things began to slide, and then one downward trend led to another. You may not believe this, Sky, but Briar Run used to be as nice as this town. What you need to do is find a miracle worker—preferably a volunteer.”

“An army of them,” Koot flung out. Sky mulled over Sadie’s comment, which led back to his earlier thoughts about Annie Emerson. “Do you think one person could start a movement capable of turning a whole town around?”

Koot was quick to say no. Sadie seemed more willing to explore the possibility. “Briar Run didn’t fall into decline overnight. We stuck it out for a long time. What happened was like a row of dominos. The first one that toppled was economic. The factory closed, and that affected the livelihoods of more than half the workers in town. One by one more dominoes fell. No job, no money. No money, fewer taxes paid. Fewer taxes, fewer city services, and so on and so on. You get the picture.” She rose and collected their plates. “I’m going to the kitchen to get our dessert.”

“Briar Run is in a hopeless spiral,” Koot said after Sadie left. “I’m sorry you bought a house there, Sky. I know you took the job because it’s near your ex. Unfortunately, conditions in Briar Run are so degraded, her lawyers can legitimately harangue you. The best hope you have is to keep sending out résumés for any comparable job in a forty-mile radius of your ex and her new hubby’s horse farm. Ah, chocolate pie,” he exclaimed as Sadie returned. “My favorite. Let’s find a happier topic, so as not to give ourselves heartburn.”

Sadie cut each man a generous slice of pie.

Sky continued to worry the subject the others had dropped. “If I understand you right, Sadie, are you saying that if people do stuff like painting the exterior of our houses, new landscaping, making the outside more appealing, it won’t significantly improve their outlook? The city still lacks the economic development necessary to make folks less poor but wouldn’t this make a difference?”

She gave a shrug. “Yes and no. I’ve long been interested in the effect housing design has on alleviating poverty. After I left teaching, I took design classes at the community college. One thing we learned is that housing developments with homeowner associations that have strict rules for keeping up homes and yards have happier, healthier residents. But...they still need funding.”

Using the tines of his fork, Sky made a crater in the whipped-cream topping of his pie. “So...say, somebody got us all to gussie up our houses and maybe redo the park. Would that be enough to put a dent in crime? Will it encourage residents to get out and about?”

“Sounds like you wish a fairy godmother would wave her magic wand and turn Briar Run into utopia.” Koot tipped back his head and roared with laughter. “Dream on, my man. Dream on.”

Sky flinched. “Yeah, I see how the whole notion seems silly.”

As the trio polished off their pie in silence, Sky thought how ironic it was that he’d mentally tagged Annie Emerson the “curb-appeal fairy.” She would have to work magic, he realized, to accomplish even a tenth of the grandiose ideas she’d outlined.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.