Page 27 of In a Word, Yes

“Charity Falls Sheriff’s Substation. Is this an emergency?”

Fine. Let’s do this. “Uh, no. No emergency,” I say.

“Terrific. Lieutenant Hayes speaking. How may I be of assistance?” Yay, a friendly voice.

I launch directly into the reason for my call, without even another “uh” or “um.”

“Of course,” he says. “Sam Peabody mentioned something about that. Let’s see. I’m finishing up some paperwork, but I’ve got time after two.”

Two o’clocktoday? That’s barely half an hour from now. So I say, “I’m sure you have a busy schedule, Deputy—I mean,LieutenantHayes.”

“Wyatt is fine.”

“Okay ... Lieutenant Wyatt.”

A soft chuckle. “Just Wyatt works.”

“Right. I was hoping we could maybe get something calendared for tomorrow morning, Lieu—er, Wyatt. Ten o’clock, perhaps?” What am I doing? That’s the absolute latest I could put the interview off and still have time to craft an article. What’s my problem? “I promise I won’t take much of your time.”

“Ahh, I see. Hmm.” The man almost sounds disappointed. Probably looking forward to his fifteen minutes of fame. A touchnarcissistic, I’d guess. Knows he was born to wear that Bermuda short–uniform thingy.

“Unfortunately,” he says, “tomorrow gets tricky. We’re hosting a regional training event here at the substation. But if you happen to have any time today, I’m all yours. At the moment it’s unusually quiet around here. That’s always subject to change, of course.”

“Of course.” I drum my fingers across my lips. To make matters worse, our editor in chief chooses this precise moment to approach my workstation. Hovering an arm’s distance to my left, Sam gives off those commanding vibes that used to make me quake in my faux Birkenstocks.

Not that I’d describe my editor as a mountain of a man. More of a rounded butte. But maybe Ihavelearned a thing or three in the years I’ve worked for him. Because I’m no longer acompletelyspineless jellyfish. I’m not the same woman who washed up in Charity Falls after the tall, dark, and intense man who promised to forever love and protect me did the very opposite.

For one thing, and it’s no small thing, I’m more likely to look beyond a man’s outward appearance to the posture of his heart. And I happen to know that under that gruff exterior, Sam’s a regular cinnamon roll. Head of steam, heart of gold, that one.

Still, if I delay this interview with the good sheriff’s lieutenant until the twelfth of never, as I’m tempted to do, Sam will never let me hear the end of it. And rightfully so.

“I’ll see you shortly, Lieutenant,” I say into the phone.

“Headed to the sheriff’s station?” Sam asks after I hang up.

“Yep.”

“Stellar. I’m sure Dot can keep an eye on things here.”

I slide my spiral notebook into my tote. “You mentioned a human interest aspect to this story.”

“Of course.”

“Can you tell me what it is?”

“No idea,” he says. “But you’ll ferret it out.”

“You want me to ask our new sheriff’s lieutenant personal questions?”

“I want you to be yourself. Stop overthinking it, Lucy.” He makes a move toward his office.

“Sam? You came out here a moment ago. Do you need something?”

“Oh. Right you are.” He slips his wallet out of his back pocket. Flips it open. “Here, take this.” When he hands me the business credit card, his eye catches on something below my neck.

Fiddlesticks. I’d forgotten about the hot-pink blob I couldn’t get out of my shirt.

Sam chooses not to comment on it. “Grab a bag of coffee on the way back, would you? We’re just about out.”