Going Home (Nugget Romance 1) Page 14

  “Where’s Wyatt?” Rhys asked. “Staff meeting should’ve started five minutes ago.”

  “Oh, sorry, Chief,” Connie piped up. “I forgot to tell you, Wyatt responded to a call at the middle school.”

  “What’s going on there?” Rhys didn’t like being kept out of the loop.

  “The principal called right before you got in. Two students got into a tussle.” When Rhys lifted his chin for her to continue, she said, “You know how kids are when cabin fever sets in. I’m sure Mr. Crocket overreacted.”

  Typically, the school didn’t call in the police for a playground scuffle unless it was serious. Before he could give it another thought, Wyatt came in the door. Snowflakes clung to his military-style crew cut, but other than that the kid seemed unaffected by the cold.

  He nodded to everyone in the room and filled a cup with coffee. “What’s up?”

  “You’re late,” Rhys told him.

  Wyatt looked nervously over at Jake. “He’s just giving you a hard time, kid.”

  Wyatt had instantly clicked with Jake, who’d taken him under his wing. The kid already showed progress. He’d grown up in Nugget and served a few years in the army. After his hitch, he came home and the mayor told Rhys to hire him. Rhys had suggested that Wyatt enroll in some classes at Feather River College in Quincy or even the University of Nevada. No one knew better than he the disadvantage of not having a college diploma. After being passed over for detective twice at Houston PD, Rhys had taken day classes while working night patrol to earn a degree in criminal justice at Sam Houston State University.

  “What’s up at the middle school?” Rhys asked.

  “The Becker boy and Clay McCreedy’s son got into it.” Wyatt paused and Rhys could tell he was uncomfortable. Everyone knew that Rhys and Clay were tight.

  “Why’d the school call us in?”

  Wyatt swallowed, looking even more ill at ease. “Justin had a knife . . . was threatening to cut Will Becker’s dick off.”

  Rhys tensed. “How did you resolve it?”

  “The school confiscated the knife and suspended him for a week. I wrote up a report and released him to his father’s custody.” He hesitantly added, “Tomorrow, I’ll submit the report to the DA. Right?”

  Dragging his hand through his hair, Rhys said, “That’s the procedure.” Even though Justin was his honorary nephew, he didn’t want his staff thinking he played favorites. But if the district attorney brought up charges against Justin, it would kill Clay.

  Jake interjected, “How old’s the kid?”

  “Fourteen,” Wyatt said.

  “We’re not talking a Ka-Bar or a bowie knife here, are we?” Jake asked.

  “Nah,” Wyatt said. “Just a little Swiss Army penknife.”

  “Hardly seems worth submitting to the DA,” Jake said. “Why don’t we make a deal with both sets of parents for the kid to do some kind of community service? Shovel the sidewalks or some crap like that.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Wyatt looked at Rhys for approval.

  “I’ll leave it up to your judgment, Wyatt.” When Rhys caught Jake’s eye, the Silver Fox shrugged and nonchalantly popped a fry in his mouth.

  Clay was under an old John Deere when Rhys came walking up his path.

  “What’s wrong with the tractor?” Rhys asked.

  “Nothing that can’t be fixed. Now, my son I’m not so sure of.” Clay knew Rhys’s visit was more than a social call.

  “Clay, don’t be so hard on him. He’s just a kid.”

  He crawled out from under the tractor, handed Rhys a wrench, and stood up, shaking off the snow. “I think I’m screwing this up.”

  “Your boy got into a playground brawl,” Rhys said, leaving out the crucial fact that Justin had pulled a knife on another kid. To Clay’s way of thinking that was more than just a playground brawl.

  “As I recollect you were in a hundred of ’em,” Rhys went on. “So don’t turn this into a federal case.”

  Clay held out his hand for the wrench and stashed it in a toolbox that lay open next to the tractor. It was something like twenty-five degrees outside. So Clay led Rhys into the barn, where he kept a few dairy cows, and lit a kerosene heater. They both sat on a bale of hay and warmed their hands.

  “It’s not just the fight at school, or the break-in at the cabin. It’s a whole passel of problems. Justin’s got a chip on his shoulder as big as this barn, and Cody’s so clingy that half the time it feels like I have a third leg. The shrinks say it’s normal for a kid who’s lost a parent. But it doesn’t feel normal.”

  “What’s Justin so angry about?” Rhys asked, edging closer to the heater.

  “Some of it’s teen angst and raging hormones. But a lot of it’s over his mother—anger at the way she lived her life, anger at her for dying.”

  “Why’d he threaten to cut off Will Becker’s dick?” Rhys asked.

  Clay rubbed the back of his neck. “The kid made some crude remark about Jen.”

  “Can’t blame a kid for standing up for his mama.”

  Clay got the feeling that Rhys was remembering his own past. When the town bullies made fun of Shep.

  “I guess not,” Clay said, his expression uneasy. “This gonna go down on his permanent record?” He tried to make a joke of it. But Clay didn’t want the possible ramifications of Justin threatening a boy with a weapon to screw up his future. What if his son wanted to follow in his footsteps and attend the naval academy? Something like this could keep him out.

  “I think Officer Maynard has come up with a compromise . . . as long as the Beckers go for it.”

  “Yeah?” Clay raised his head. “What’s that?”

  “Community service.”

  Clay nodded with relief. “A part of me wants to say treat him like anyone else. But he’s my—”

  Rhys cut him off. “Clay, this is what we’d do for any other fourteen-year-old. Justin doesn’t have a record—he’s a good kid.”

  Clay scrubbed both his hands over his face. “These kids make Annapolis look like a cakewalk.” One of the cows called from its stall, so he got up, grabbed a hay hook and snapped open a bale of alfalfa. He threw a flake into the animal’s feeder and the sound of contented munching filled the barn. “So how’s your home life?”

  “Bursting at the seams. The fifth wheel’s a lifesaver, though. You don’t want it back, right?”

  “It’s all yours. You going to the basketball game tomorrow?”

  “Nope. Gotta work.”

  “Come on, Rhys. The kid’s excited he made the team.”

  “As I recall pretty much anyone with working legs makes the team. Wait, I take that back. When we were in fifth grade, Larry Riggs got to play center. Remember him, the kid in the wheelchair?”

  Clay laughed. “Yeah, but that boy could shoot. Sam needs you there, man.”

  “I’m not making any promises,” Rhys said.

  “Do what you gotta do.” Clay passed his hands over the heater again. “I hear a petition against your girlfriend’s inn is making the rounds.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend. In fact, I don’t think she’s talking to me anymore.”

  “How come?”

  “I had to force her off Sandy Addison’s property,” Rhys said, and for the first time that day Clay felt like laughing.

  “Pissed her off, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Rhys said. “The woman might look sweet, but you don’t want to rile her. Take my word for it. Any chance the city will yank her lodging permit?”

  Clay cocked his head to the side. “Ooh wee, boy, you’re gone for this girl, aren’t you? Hell, Rhys, she’s on the rebound. Don’t get in over your head with this one.”

  “Yeah, thanks for the advice. What about her permit?”

  “There’s always a chance they’ll revoke it,” Clay said. “From what I understand the Addisons are making a good case. And they have pull around here.”

  “But not more pull than the McCreedys, right?”

  “No
pe.”

  When Rhys left, Clay went into the house and yelled up the staircase for Justin to come down. It took at least three bellows before his sullen son dragged his ass into the kitchen where Clay poured them each a glass of milk.

  “What do you want?” Justin sneered.

  “I suggest you watch the attitude.” Clay dropped into a chair across from his son.

  “I’ve got homework.”

  “You can finish it when I’m done. You’ll have plenty of time during your week of suspension.” He watched Justin drain the milk. The boy was starting to shed some of his gangly adolescence. Soon he’d be as tall as Clay. “We all miss your mom—”

  “You don’t miss her. You don’t even care what people in this town say about her.”

  Clay pinched his eyes closed. “Small towns gossip, Justin. It’s just a fact of life. That boy, Will Becker, when his dad was young, he used to taunt your uncle Rhys mercilessly about his father.”

  “Yeah, and I bet Uncle Rhys kicked the crap out of him.” Justin gave Clay an accusatory glare.

  “No, Justin. Uncle Rhys didn’t give Will’s dad the time of day. He wasn’t worth the trouble.”

  “Well, I’m gonna kill the next guy who says one bad thing about Mom.”

  “Then I guess Cody and I will be spending a lot of time visiting you in prison,” Clay said. “I can tell you this; it would break your mom’s heart. Is that how you want to celebrate her memory—getting kicked out of school, doing hard time?”

  “You couldn’t care less about her memory,” Justin shouted, his voice cracking as he swiped at his cheeks. “You hated her. You think I don’t know about the divorce? . . . About how you made us move here and ruined our lives. It’s your fault she’s dead.” He jumped up, knocked the chair over and pounded up the stairs to his bedroom.

  Clay started to go after him, but thought better of it. The boy needed time. And so did Clay.

  “Hi, Chief Shepard.”

  “Hey, Chief,” the voices continued to chorus as Rhys walked through Nugget High School’s gymnasium. The elementary school didn’t have an indoor basketball court, so the fifth graders played at the home of the Prospectors on Wednesday, and the middle school’s team got to borrow the court on Thursdays.

  Shep hadn’t wanted to come to the game—shocker—so Lina had stayed home with him, forcing Rhys to have to endure these hallowed halls once again.

  As he scanned the bleachers, looking for Clay, the greetings kept coming, making Rhys feel a little self-conscious. No one had been this friendly when he’d actually attended this school.

  Finally spotting Clay, Rhys climbed to the third row and grabbed the seat next to him. Amanda sat behind them with her husband. Either they had a fifth grader who played, too, or the Gaitlins were extremely hard up for entertainment.

  “Hey, you made it,” Clay said and handed him a carton of Milk Duds.

  He greeted the others and watched as both teams came onto the court to sing the national anthem. Sam and Cody, heads taller than most of the other players, stood out in their purple and gold uniforms. The team had always been called the Hotshots, slang for the fast long-distance freight trains given first priority on the tracks. Today, they were playing the Blairsden Bulls.

  Someone announced the starters, but Sam wasn’t on the list. Rhys watched him go to the bench with a few of the shorter players. Cody made first-string center and the kid had some moves.

  Rhys elbowed Clay. “Cody’s got game.”

  “Not bad, huh?”

  “Where’s Justin?”

  “Home.” Clay sighed. “We’re taking some space.”

  Rhys arched a brow. “Some space?”

  “The kid’s got issues with me—some of them justified.” Clay pointed across the gymnasium. “Isn’t that Shep over there?”

  Rhys followed Clay’s finger and there stood his dad, Lina, and Maddy staring up into the bleachers. Rhys waved them over and they made their way toward his side of the grandstand. Shep had never been to a game before. As far as Rhys knew, Shep had never been to the high school, hadn’t even come to his graduation. Tip had, and afterward had taken both Clay and him out for steaks in Reno.

  “I thought you weren’t coming,” Rhys said and Shep just shrugged.

  “I wanted to see him play,” Lina said, sitting next to Rhys. “Maddy brought us.”

  “Hi,” Maddy said a little shyly—maybe she was embarrassed over her Addison meltdown, who knew?—and Clay made room so she could squeeze in between the two of them.

  “Thanks for bringing them,” Rhys said to Maddy, then leaned over Lina. “Hey, Pop, the team’s called the Hotshots.”

  That tugged a little smile out of Shep. If nothing else, the old man knew his railroad terminology.

  “Where’s Sam?” Lina surveyed the boys running across the court.

  “They haven’t put him in yet,” he said, noticing that the girl was shivering under her thin jacket.

  Neither kid had the proper attire for the Sierra’s frigid winters. Lina had bought a couple of things with Maddy, but no coat it would seem. He couldn’t stand seeing her cold, so he took off his ski jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

  “Why not?” she wanted to know.

  “They save the best for last,” he lied and swiveled to face Maddy, who was gabbing with Amanda, but stopped when he caught her attention.

  Rhys reached for her hand and poured a few Milk Duds into her palm, then passed the box to Lina. “How’s the trespassing going?”

  She gave him a tight smile. “I’ve mended my wicked ways.”

  “Glad to hear it. San Quentin’s damp this time of year.”

  “Yes, you’re very funny. Nate says we have nothing to worry about, so I’m channeling my inner Zen and doing a lot of yoga.”

  “Yoga?” He didn’t necessarily agree with Nate, but he didn’t want her tangling with Sandy Addison again.

  “Mmm hmm. With Pam. Amanda, too.”

  “Maybe you should turn the Lumber Baron into an ashram.”

  “Maybe you should watch the game.”

  At halftime the teams switched goals and Sam got called in to substitute for Cody, who’d already scored five baskets. The Hotshots were up by seven points. Sam jogged to the center of the court with a slightly shorter boy from the Bulls to do the tip-off. The ball went to the Bulls. Sam tried to steal, but tripped over his own feet and took a mean header onto the court.

  The spectators muttered a collective “Ah,” and Rhys and Lina jumped to their feet. But Sam got up and quickly positioned himself just outside the three-point arc.

  “Good boy,” Rhys quietly cheered. That fall looked painful.

  When Charlie Gaitlin managed to block a pass, the home team crowd roared. Charlie tossed the ball to Sam, who prepared to shoot. Okay, here’s your chance, kid, thought Rhys as he waited, holding his breath. But in the middle of his shot, a stocky Bull mowed into him.

  The referee blew his whistle and motioned foul, awarding Sam three free throws. He missed every single one.

  With only two minutes left in the quarter, Sam was called for traveling and double dribbling. The coach finally pulled him, and put Cody back in to win the game.

  “Ay Dios, he’s not very good, is he?” Lina said.

  “He just needs practice,” Rhys replied, but the truth was Sam sucked. Hard. “He play much in Stockton?”

  “No,” Lina said. “He liked soccer.”

  Great, kids’ soccer season wouldn’t start up again until spring. After the game they waited for Sam to change in the locker room. Rhys expected him to be down in the dumps, but the boy bounded out as chipper as if he’d brought the team to victory.

  “Did you see me, Papa?”

  “You were terrific,” Shep said, and Rhys wondered how the old man would know since he’d slept through most of the game. To be fair, since the Alzheimer’s, Shep’s sleep cycle had become erratic. The doctors said it was par for the course.

  Maddy came up alongside
Rhys. “Maybe we should go out for burgers or something, to celebrate Sam’s first game.” Rhys felt sure it was her subtle way of telling him the kid needs this, don’t be a dickhead.

  “Yeah. Dinner. You guys want the Ponderosa, or the Bun Boy?”

  After deciding it was too cold to sit outside at a picnic table, they headed to the bowling alley. Maddy took Shep and the kids in her Outback and Rhys went in his truck. Good thing he had his own parking space, because when he got to the square it was packed. Why wasn’t everyone home baking pies for Thanksgiving?

  They started for the Ponderosa when Maddy suddenly turned toward the sporting goods store. “What the hell is that?” she asked, stomping through the park, Rhys at her heels.

  A banner hung over the shop’s door. “Save Our Sewers, Flush the Lumber Baron,” it read. The same banners hung on Portia and Steve’s adventure tour kiosk, the used-clothing store, Owen’s barber shop, and the kayak and bike rental shop. The Ponderosa, the Bun Boy, Pam’s dance studio, and the police station were about the only places that didn’t have a banner.

  “I’m going to kill those Addisons,” Maddy shrieked.

  “Shush.” Rhys grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close so that only she could hear him. “Don’t ever threaten to kill someone in front of a cop.”

  “For crying out loud, it’s a freakin’ figure of speech. Would you look at that.” She pointed at the banner, whipped out her phone, took a picture and texted it to Nate. “We are so screwed.”

  He had to admit it didn’t look good. “You call a lawyer?”

  “Not yet,” she said. “Until now I didn’t think it was necessary and was trying to save money. Big mistake! Right after Thanksgiving, I’m calling the fanciest hotel lawyer in the business. Josh will ruin those Addisons.”

  Just then Donna Thurston came tottering across the square in three-inch heels. “Now, honey, don’t you go getting yourself all worked up over these nitwits—a bunch of inbred goat-ropers is what they are. For years I’ve watched this town try to freeze out every newcomer. Everyone’s afraid the place will turn into Lake Tahoe—overrun with tourists and development. As if.” She harrumphed. “You hold your ground just like Sophie and Mariah did when these idiots gave them hell for fixing up the Ponderosa.”