The Battered Heiress Blues - By Laurie Van Dermark Page 0,21

her face.

“The police are on their way. Just give me the car. It’s mine.” He fell back to the other side of the circular driveway.

“Not so much- anymore.”

The sound of a siren got louder as it made its way down the long drive, pulling in between Jackson and me. I walked back into the house to locate my gun permit in anticipation of what was to come.

Kate followed me around, nervously. We went from room to room rifling through drawers. The faint sounds of Jackson’s annoying voice could be heard, but the distance filtered it. I’m sure he was delivering a ‘woe is me speech’. He and the truth were like oil and water. I was sad to be missing his performance, but first things first.

“Maybe it’s in the foyer?” I walked back toward the front door talking to myself. No one was in sight. My attention turned back to Kate as she walked up behind me. I was feeling more defiant as each minute passed.

“I don’t care what donut eating cop they send out. This is my property. That’s my car and here- here is the permit for my gun. Ha.” I looked up at Kate feeling very proud of myself, but she had that deer in the headlights look about her. She moved her hand to her chest area and nonchalantly pointed with her index finger in the direction of the door. The wind was knocked out of my sails. I couldn’t move.

“The donut eating cop is behind me, right?”

All she could do was shake her head yes. Before slowly turning in his direction, I mouthed the words, ‘get the car’ to Kate. There he was- the mystery man, wearing the same coat as that night in the cemetery. Turns out, I wasn’t crazy after all. He walked toward me with his hands raised in front of him, his eyes glancing up and down my body, taking in my strange attire.

“I’m not going to shoot you.” I didn’t appreciate his theatrics.

“Thanks for that. I would miss all those donuts,” he jabbed.

“What can I do for you, officer?”

“This man claims that you have a car in your possession that belongs to him.”

“Not true. I own the car.”

Jackson walked up on the veranda, spouting off, “It was a birthday gift.”

I pumped the gun and the officer waved him back.

“Your car. My car. Semantics. My name is on the bill of sale and title. Would you like to see them?”

“That would clear things up from my perspective.”

Kate pulled the red Porsche out of the garage and parked it next to the cruiser.

“Bring the title from the glove box, Kate.”

She was still carrying the club as she stopped in front of the officer, delivering the paperwork to him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.” Kate was hitting on the officer. She had impeccable timing.

“Sheriff Gabe Martin.”

“Sheriff,” she repeated slowly, looking back at me. Kate was impressed. I was annoyed.

“That was you in the cemetery the other night?”

“Yes. I’m very sorry for your loss. I read about it in the newspaper. I heard you screaming. I’m sorry to have intruded.” His eyes were compassionate, full of understanding and sympathy.

He was very unassuming; the type you would pass over in public without realizing just how good looking he was unless your gaze lingered on his face. He had worry lines around his eyes and on his forehead that gave away his hard life. My eyes thanked him and we shared a moment.

Jackson cleared his throat.

“This isn’t a sympathy call. I just want my car.” He was still an asshole.

Kate was beside herself. Before his very last word made it to my ear, she walked over and slapped him across the face. “Shoot him.”

“I’ll take that.” Gabe intervened, requesting my weapon.

“I have a permit.”

“Just the same, your friend really wants you to shoot him.” He reached for the gun and I complied.

“Of course I do. Someone needs to. That low life is the father.” She gave Jackson a scowl. “I use that term in the biological sense only. You really couldn’t attend your own child’s funeral?”

“Julia knew she was on her own. I never wanted a kid.”

Gabe looked dismayed and handed the gun back to me.

“What are you doing?” Jackson said perplexed.

“She has a permit. She can lawfully own that firearm. Fact of the matter, sir, is that the lady has asked you to leave her property. You’re trespassing.”

“I’m not leaving without the car.”

Straw. Camel. The back was broken. I’d had enough. I aimed the