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IN MY HUMBLE OPINION ROkie White FEATURED COLUMNIST R Ray Collins FICTION |
From the outside Eva Mae’s Café looks like every other small town’s linoleum grill. Farmers sat at the counter like blackbirds perched on a telephone wire wearing half-buttoned overalls that exposed flashes of underwear when they moved, their profession advertised by baseball caps emblazoned with seed or fertilizer logos. Three-layer cakes and deep-dish fruit pies enticed the weak-willed in a revolving glass case. Pots of coffee continuously brewed behind the counter which regulars grabbed for refills without asking. From inside tempting aromas – hickory bacon frying, biscuits baking golden, doughnuts dipped fresh from the grease – would convince anyone this place was special. My stomach growled a protest at breakfast forgotten. Eva Mae waved from the kitchen. Plump with unruly white hair escaping her hair net, framing a smiling face with more wrinkles than a day-old Kleenex, she looked like everybody’s grandmother. And she cooked like everybody wished their grandmother did – every item on her menu her own recipe. There wasn’t a frozen pre-packaged entree container or a just-add-water box mix in her trash cans. I spotted Bobby in a booth by the front window. It took a few minutes to wind my way over to him – stopping politely to exchange greetings with acquaintances in my path. I didn’t stop long enough to give anyone the opportunity to mention my early morning debacle. But I also figured it would take a few more hours for the news to reach everyone. I was counting on a friendly breakfast with the sheriff in a public place for a bit of damage control. A plate of doughnuts and two cups of coffee were already on the table when I slid into the seat across from Bobby. He hadn’t waited for me. His mouth was full. My stomach growled again. He motioned to the plate and I didn’t need a second invitation. My first bite of that sugar glazed treat was the gastronomical equivalent of a time machine. I groaned with delight and despair. This indulgence would add another mile to my jog tomorrow. "Good, aren’t they," Bobby asked. "Always have been. Does anything around here ever change?" I took a sip of coffee. It was familiar, bitter and strong. I added a drop of cream from the tiny stainless steel pitcher sitting between us. "Yeah, people change," he said. "Will there be anything else, Bobby?" The waitress hovered at our table, obviously not perturbed that she was intruding on our conversation. She wore shorts and a thin cotton T-shirt that showed the outline of a low-cut black bra. One of Eva Mae’s granddaughters if I remembered all the girls correctly – maybe even a great-granddaughter. She flaunted an obvious crush on Bobby. I might have been the salt shaker for all the attention I received. "Not now, honey. Just make sure you keep the coffee hot, okay?" He winked at her and a red blush rose from her neck to the roots of impossibly blond hair. With a giggle and a nod she wiggled her slender hips back to the kitchen. "That’s Leslie, Vivian Merrifield’s daughter. Cute young thing." Bobby said. "Young, yes." I didn’t know if Bobby meant cute like a beagle puppy or cute as in an attractive woman. I did a little mental math. "If she’s Vivian’s daughter she must still be in high school." "Yeah, I guess so." He ran a hand over his chin. He’d shaved since I last saw him. We sat in silence. Twenty years is a large gap to bridge over doughnuts and coffee. And there were topics both of us would rather avoid. "So tell me how you got to be sheriff," I said. It seemed a safe subject. "Ah, you don’t want to hear that. Tell me something about you." "Yes, I do. Last I heard you were deputy over at Valley Junction. This is a big step up for you." "Yeah, well…" I rested my chin on the palm of my hand and looked at him with an encouraging smile. He shrugged. "Remember you’re the one who asked. Well, I guess you know when old Sheriff Brook’s son got caught running that gambling and dope operation out at Barrett’s farm …Stop me if you’ve heard any of this…" I nodded. Bobby continued. I’d heard it all before. Momma was forthcoming with the scandals of Aspire and I still subscribed to the newspaper. But the Sheriff Brook’s story even made the front page in the Topeka Journal. Suffice it to say Bobby stepped into the job and the town accepted him happily. He was personable and honest. Sitting there, listening to old news, I admit my attention drifted. I remembered a ten-year-old Bobby on the day my dog died. I’d been crying all day. He stopped by my house to play like he did every day and Momma explained what had happened. She told him I was too sad to see him. He left, only to return an hour later with two field mice in a coffee can. He said he knew they weren’t as good a pet as a dog – they wouldn’t fetch or sit or anything…. "And so, here I am. Right where I want to be," he said and placed both hands, palm down on the table. "That’s great." I smiled to let him know I meant it, because I did. The town could and had done worse. "Just out of curiosity, who is your deputy? I swear I didn’t recognize him and I thought I knew just about everyone in town." "Mel? His name is Melvin Moore. Tends to be a little overzealous sometimes. But he’s young." "Let me guess. He’s fourteen, right?" "Nope. Twenty. Older than I was when I got my first law enforcement job." "Twenty? Really? He looks about fourteen. And this from a woman who teaches fourteen-year-olds all day long." I shook my head in disbelief. "So is he from out of town?" "Yeah." He looked outside into the bright sunshine and squinted. "He’s Ginger’s cousin, so I guess that makes him my cousin-in-law. Moved here last year after he graduated from high school in Wichita. Ginger asked me to give him the job and the town had the money..." That explained a lot. If Mel was Ginger’s cousin then that would make him the Disaster Sister’s great-nephew. The vigilant old ladies probably saw me riding in the back of the police car that morning and called the station. Hearing Mel’s side of the story in detail wouldn’t have cast me in a good light. "You doing all right, Bobby? Can I get you something else?" Leslie reappeared with the coffee pot and filled Bobby’s cup first. "Thanks, honey. We’re doing fine." He waved her away. We both sat quietly for a minute, the flow of conversation disrupted . Bobby picked up another doughnut. And set it down untouched. I hoped he didn’t ask about Collin. "Why do you think Crystal’s back?" he asked. "Momma says she’s house-sitting. Has crime gotten that bad around here?" "Not till you got back in town." Bobby snorted. I winced at the reminder of the morning and tried another thought. "It hasn’t been very long since her husband died. Maybe she wants a quiet place to get over it." "Get over it? You mean, you think she loved him?" "Well – yes," I was sure I could see male ego rearing its head with his question. That surprised me. He’d been the one who dumped Crystal, not the other way around. It never occurred to me Crystal would marry for any other reason. I assumed she’d gotten over Bobby and fallen in love again. It only made sense. Why else would she stay away for so long? Bobby had been single on several occasions between marriages. She had her chances if she wanted them. Only once had he married the same day his divorce was granted. "He was pretty old and very rich." "Now there’s a cynical view," I said. "Crystal always had – ambitions – plans. Didn’t do to cross her. Ever." "Bobby?" Leslie, of the bad timing and obvious crush, appeared at our table again. "Mel called. He needs you back at the station." "Did he say why?" Bobby asked. Leslie shook her head no and blond hair flew in every direction. "Well…better go see what the problem is." He took a few dollars out of his pocket and tossed them on the table. "Can we talk later?" "Sure," I said. Walking back to Momma’s house, Bobby’s comments about Crystal continued to disturb me. Seemed I’d grown up in this town, been best friends with this woman and nobody except me had a very good opinion of her. But I had other things to worry about. Momma had told Collin I’d call him back and I had no intention of keeping her promise.
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