Cop Tales an Anthology for a Cause Read online

  Gemma jerked down her covers. “Why didn’t you stop me?” she asked.

  I grabbed her arm and sat her up. Handing her the coffee, I said, “Drink.”

  “Okay,” she replied with her eyes closed. “It’s too bright. Close the curtains.”

  “They are closed, Gemma.”

  “Oh shit. I drank way too much.”

  “Yes, you did,” I agreed, proceeding to get my own coffee. I intended to drink mine then clean my apartment. After that, I’d eat some ice cream and read the rest of the day away. I had three new books. The most difficult thing to do today would be choosing one.

  “Did you have fun?” she asked, sipping at her coffee with a wince.

  “I read five chapters of Jane Eyre,” I replied, leaving out my conversation with Ansel. She’d make more of that than she should. Besides, I doubt she remembered Donny.

  “Ugh! You’re hopeless,” she said, annoyed.

  “Seeing you now, right now, I’d have to say that’s backwards. I’ve been reading for hours and without pain . . . so it appears my choices were better. I’m less hopeless.”

  Gemma drank more coffee, made further pained noises then stood up. “But I had fun last night.”

  “You don’t remember most of it.”

  She shrugged. “But I bet it was fun.”

  I didn’t understand that mode of thinking so I remained silent. She had to get ready for work and I was anticipating quiet. I wanted to be boring. Enjoy the solitude. Forget about bars and loudness.

  “Shower,” she said, moving towards my bathroom. Before she went inside she paused and turned back to me. “Why do I feel like I saw you talking to a guy? A hot guy?”

  Because she did, but I didn’t know she’d seen it, our chat having been so short.

  I shrugged. “You drank a lot. Go shower.”

  She frowned then did as I asked. Gemma left it alone. Exactly where I wanted it to be. That was my memory. One I didn’t want to go over a million times with Gemma and pick apart. While she showered I gave it a little thought. His blue eyes, the way his voice sounded, and how he’d said my name . . . were . . . really . . . really nice.

  Twenty minutes later, Gemma came out of the bathroom looking more like herself, and proceeded to educate me about myself. “Your problem is you don’t see yourself clearly. You have zero self-esteem and that jackhole you were with didn’t help things. Sure, when you met Ken you hadn’t blossomed yet. You were a late bloomer but when you bloomed, you frigging bloomed, babe! Everyone sees it but you.”

  This wasn’t a new conversation. It was also silly. I did change some after college. I lost twenty pounds, my breasts decided to make an appearance, and my hair grew longer. But that was it. “Get to work before you get fired,” I said. I wasn’t acknowledging anything else. I was done talking about how I looked.

  Gemma growled with frustration. “You drive me nuts, Sugar! I’d kill for your boobs and your hair! And that freaking freckle above your lips is like Marilyn Monroe’s!”

  “I also love you. Technically it’s a mole and not a freckle. Go to work,” I said.

  Her shoulders dropped. Gemma came towards me. She seemed defeated but I knew she meant well. There was nothing here that needed fixing. I liked being boring. I was good with that. I didn’t get hurt being alone. My heart remained safe.

  “It’s just . . . that there are good guys out there.”

  I nodded. “I’m sure there are, but it’s the looking thing that I’m not interested in.”

  Gemma hugged me. “I hate Ken.” She said that a lot. She needed to blame someone and he was her target. I didn’t hate him. I didn’t feel anything for him. That was over. I wished she wouldn’t bring him up. He was my mistake and I wanted to forget that mistake.

  It was then left alone and she exited through the door and I was safe again.

  I stood there, secure in my apartment. I was accepted here. I didn’t have to try not to be awkward. I could be me with no one around to watch and judge. After years of Ken judging and correcting me, making comments about my faults, this was heaven, my own personal heaven. Here I was safe from the constant pressure to be better, to be someone I wasn’t.

  My mother didn’t have any relationships until she met my stepdad during my first year of college. She was happy just having me. But now, she was still happy. I knew that every relationship wasn’t terrible. Still, I didn’t want one bad enough to suffer through all the other stuff. I was the kind of girl a guy had to pursue. I didn’t know how to pursue a guy. I said stupid things and embarrassed us both, which made me fear that the only kind of guys who pursued women like me were the ones I didn’t want. They were Kens. I was done with that.

  This was so much easier.

  My phone rang. The sound made me jump, making my coffee slosh over the sides. No one called me on Sunday. Confused, I walked over to pick up my phone and saw my boss’s number on the screen. Eleanor never called me on Sunday. She attended service at the Baptist church and then her kids went to her house for lunch.

  “Hello,” I said, trying not to panic. My imagination was running in high gear.

  “Sugar, I need you. I just got a call from the police department and a woman rammed her car into the store — directly through the window! I can’t imagine the damage. The driver is fine, but I don’t know any more details. They need someone there. It has to be you. Please, would you begin listing the damage, whatever it may be? I’m in Falmouth. I came up here yesterday to visit my sister. She’s been sick. Oh Lord, what a mess!”

  “It’s okay. Don’t worry, Eleanor. Drive carefully. I’ll call you with an update as soon as I can.”

  “Thank you, Sugar. I can’t believe this. What was she doing? How does one drive a car into a store window? I bet she was texting.”

  There was a high probability that was the case. “Yes, ma’am. You take your time. I can handle this,” I assured her. Eleanor was a sixty-nine-year-old widow. She had three grown kids and ten grandchildren. I’ve worked for her since my freshman year in college. She’d recently promoted me to manager and, little by little, had been giving me more and more of her duties. Pay raises came with additional responsibilities and I was glad to have them.

  I have a degree in business. My goal is to (one day) buy the store whenever she’s ready to sell. Small town bookstores struggle these days, but I’d helped keep hers alive by adding a children’s section with a weekly story time, and a wine bar — which took some time to open because Eleanor had to be convinced — with a women’s monthly book club. We also had an online store with gift items for book lovers like myself. All of that had put her back in the black and a good distance from the red whenever she balanced her books.

  My stomach felt sick as I thought of all the damage that had been caused. I dressed quickly, hoping this wasn’t going to hurt all the progress we’d made. If she had to close for repairs and those repairs took a long time, it could be devastating.

  Chapter Three

  The first thing I saw when I turned down the street was the blue lights from the police cars. Next to them, a fire truck idled and the road was blocked by an ambulance, which surprised me since Eleanor had said no one was hurt. My anxiety grew as I quickly parked then hurried toward the officer standing near the blocked off area. He turned, his hands rising to stop me, and said, “No one can get past, ma’am. We’ve got us a bad situation up ahead.”

  I replied, “Yes, I know. I’m the manager of the bookstore. The owner, Eleanor Waltman, is out of town. She called me to come answer questions and report back to her on the damage. I’m Sugar Taylor. I have ID.”

  He stepped back and waved his hand for me to follow him. “This way. You’ll need to talk to Mullroy.”

  I fell into step behind him. As we walked closer, I could see the older model Honda Accord that had been driven through the front window. Glass and debris were everywhere.

  “Careful where you step,” the officer said, glancing back at me as we drew closer. “Mullroy!” he
yelled. My focus shifted to the car that had driven over not only the curb, but a garbage can as well, before crashing into the store. “He’s coming. They’re making sure the woman driving wasn’t hurt before arresting her.”

  This got my attention. Was this a crime? I didn’t think it was intentional. “They’re arresting her?”

  He nodded. “DUI.”

  “Oh.”

  “Probably shouldn’t have told you that. Let Mullroy tell you. Okay?”

  I replied, “Of course.”

  “Is your real name Sugar?” the cop suddenly asked.

  This change of subject confused me, but I responded, “Yes.”

  He grinned. “I like that.”

  Was he really doing this? There was a car in a store window. This wasn’t the best time to discuss my name.

  “Hey,” a deep voice said. My head twisted to meet those eyes that I’d only seen once but doubted I’d ever forget. “Sugar,” he surprisingly added after we stood there a moment staring at one another. He smiled, his all-business cop face easing some as he grinned. Not like last night. But it was still a smile.

  “Yes. I work here. Eleanor, the owner, is out of town. She called me to come see about things.” I was impressed with the way I said all of that without sounding stupid or stuttering.

  “I got this, Harris,” Ansel said to the other policeman without looking at him. My heart felt funny. It sped up when he got closer. He was a cop. I wouldn’t have guessed that last night.

  Harris said something before walking away, but I was a bit flustered with the turn of events and didn’t hear what he said.

  “Not the best way to wake up on your day off,” Ansel said with an apologetic smile.

  “No, it’s . . . not.” I glanced around at the mess surrounding me and worried about Eleanor. She wasn’t going to handle this well. I needed to say more, but taking in the destruction, along with Ansel being here, was a smidge overwhelming. My awkwardness was back in force. I was surprised that I could even speak.

  “You drink coffee?” he asked.

  “Uh, yes,” I replied. I wasn’t sure what that had to do with this.

  “Cream . . . sugar?”

  “Both.” My response sounded like a question instead of an answer.

  He angled his face without shifting his body and yelled, “Jake! Coffee! Sugar and cream!” Then he looked back at me. “Let’s go do this,” he said, gesturing for me to follow.

  We walked towards the wreckage. “The driver isn’t conscious. She’s passed out drunk. Not sure where she was headed yet. We’re assuming home. This isn’t her first DUI. I’ve arrested her before. However, this particular offense is going to get her some time. Suspending her license hasn’t been enough and she’s continued to test the system. The system can and will bite back.”

  “Was she hurt?” I asked, realizing it wasn’t any of my business, but for Eleanor, who had been told the driver wasn’t hurt, I had to make sure.

  “Bruised up. She’s fine. The store wasn’t so lucky. Considerable damage was done. I haven’t been inside, but it appears from the outside that she destroyed a bar and some inventory.”

  The beautiful wooden bar that Eleanor had special ordered and was so proud of was broken beyond repair. Crushed wine glasses were mixed with window glass on the floor. Only the women’s fiction section seemed to be damaged. The other books were okay. Not that it mattered. We couldn’t open back up anytime soon. This was going to take a while.

  “Are you okay?” His concern was sincere. My stomach ached and I was positive that my expression mirrored how I felt.

  I started to say “yes” but the truth came out instead. “This is awful. Eleanor is going to be devastated. Small independent bookstores have it hard enough as it is.”

  “Everything is fixable. It looks bad now but this will be back to the way it was with some effort and elbow grease.” He was trying to be upbeat. I appreciated that. Yet, for a minute or two I needed to be by myself and feel the pain that it caused.

  “Yeah,” was all I could say, as I continued to take in the damage, knowing there was no way that I could make this easier on Eleanor. She’d be here in mere hours. We’d worked so hard to bring business through these doors. Keeping a store open like this one, which the Internet had almost made irrelevant, was a daily toil and grind.

  “Coffee,” another man said, handing Ansel a cup. He took it then stepped closer to me and placed it in my hand.

  “Take a deep breath, sip a little bit, and try to loosen what tension you can in those shoulders of yours, even though caffeine won’t help.”

  Ansel smiled that smile as I did what he said. Not because his voice was deep, or because his eyes were stunning, but because I was verging on a panic attack and I needed to get myself under control.

  The coffee was a little too sweet but it was hot and it was strong. Hot and strong were what mattered. Maybe a sugar overdose would give me the energy I needed to deal with this.

  “Ansel, we need you over here for the witness,” the man who had brought the coffee said. Ansel glanced at him before nodding.

  “Sugar, when you’re ready to begin the property damage report we’ll commence with that. Right now, drink your coffee and take a moment for yourself.”

  I tilted my head idiotically. That’s all I could think to do. “Mmm-hmm,” I mumbled.

  He walked away swaggering. Swagger came naturally to him. This was a distraction that gave me a weird sort of peace, and if I had to face this while looking at Ansel, that was a bright spot, in a dismal scenario. Then I scanned the destruction before me and decided there wasn’t a bright spot within any of this, though it was nice to have him here.

  Chapter Four

  Turned out, Donny was also a cop. If Gemma had known that, she would’ve been more aggressive with her flirting last night. She had a thing for a man in uniform. Ansel didn’t return after I finished my coffee and gained my composure. However, Donny did. He smiled at me without seeming to recognize who I was. If he did, it wasn’t mentioned.

  Once the car was removed, I began listing the damage. Much later, Eleanor arrived. She reacted with tears, panic and frustration, much as I expected. I reassured her. Pretended it was no big deal. Told her we could mend it, move the stock around. The store would even improve after the repairs were done. We would survive it and thrive.

  “I can’t deal with this, Sugar,” Eleanor said once we reached the back room she used for an office.

  I replied “I’ll deal with it.”

  She dropped her head into her hands and sighed. “It’s too much. The holiday season is almost here. We can’t be ready by Black Friday. That’s our main season for revenue. It always saves my year. Losing that will shut me down.”

  “We have a month until Black Friday. We will be back open by then,” I replied, even though I was unsure if we would. I didn’t know how long the insurance claim would take; this was new territory for me.

  She looked up. “I think I’m too old for this.”

  “No, you’re not.” This wasn’t the plan. I didn’t have the money to buy the store yet. She couldn’t sell now. My panic began to rise yet again.

  “I should’ve sold and retired years ago. I need to be enjoying my grandkids, sleeping late, and drinking mimosas with my friends at ten every morning, not stressing over this store. This was the slap that I needed to finally do something.”

  I opened my mouth to argue. She simply held up her hand. “Please don’t, Sugar. This has been coming for a while. I was already thinking about a change, and now my hand has been forced. I don’t want this anymore. For so long it has kept me going, but I’m not getting any younger and I need to start enjoying life without this constant pressure. Worrying won’t prolong my life; time with my grandchildren will.”

  She stood as if this was set, the decision already made. “Go on home. Enjoy the rest of your day off. I’ll call you tomorrow. I can figure things out today. You’ll get a large enough last check to keep you going for
a while so you’ll have time to find another job.” Her smile was one of relief, as if saying this was therapeutic. A lightness shone in her eyes because this was what she wanted.

  I managed to nod but I couldn’t say anything as I walked to the door. Without preparation or warning, my life had just changed its track and I was headed in a new direction.

  As I left, Eleanor said, “Sugar, you’re brilliant and hard-working, with so many wonderful ideas. You’re just beginning. Don’t let this bring you down. Setbacks are many and varied and they make you tough.”

  I should have responded but I couldn’t. I just walked away. My surroundings faded to tunnel vision as my mind focused on what I would do now and how to begin. I should be there doing something. The bookstore was my baby. For so long I’d only focused on the store. When I broke up with Ken, that place saved me.

  My chest ached. I was empty. Losing the store was harder than losing Ken. I loved that store; I hadn’t loved Ken. The difference was blatantly obvious. And now the store was gone.

  “Sugar?” Ansel said.

  I couldn’t talk to him, not like this. So even though the sound of his voice made warmth run over me during all this despair, I kept walking. Trying not to be awkward and thinking of things to say that were witty and smart, was entirely too much in this moment. I wanted to cry, to break down and cry like a baby. I never cried. But I was about to bawl, my throat thickening with emotion, and here I was before this man that I didn’t even know.

  Crap.

  “Sugar! Hey, Sugar!” he called.

  I still didn’t stop. They didn’t need me here anymore. Eleanor was closing the doors, selling out so she could be a grandmother. I couldn’t hate her for that. Yet, that didn’t change my need to crumble here in public.

  I stopped at my car. As I dug the keys from my purse, a hand touched my shoulder. I jumped without spinning around. I didn’t have to see who it was. His scent hit me then his touch made me tingle. I already knew who it was. I stood there staring at my car trying to decide what to do. Crying in front of Ansel would be embarrassing. I doubted I’d see him again. Did it really matter what he thought of me?