Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors (21 page)

Tracy Frank's alteration area stood out in sharp contrast. She had placed a colorful large rug on the floor. Her three sewing machines appeared new. Her worktable was clean and uncluttered. An attractive waist high fence, complete with a large swinging hinged gate, enclosed her area. Across the back was a wide unit with deep shelves that held bolts of cloth, various shades of thread and other tools of her trade. Tracy sat in a comfortable padded chair reading a paperback novel. It was obvious that business was not good.

Tim wandered back into the Discount House area of the building and found a vantagepoint where he could pretend to be looking at merchandise while actually studying Tracy. She was a lovely young lady with long, curly, somewhat kinky, dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, and a peach colored complexion. She was wearing neatly tailored blue slacks and a white, loose fitting golf shirt with every button securely fastened. Tim stood fascinated by the rise and fall of the pockets of her shirt as she breathed.

He decided to find a bathroom before talking with Tracy, partly because his bladder was full and partly because he needed a little time to get rid of an erection, which could prove embarrassing. Rick Holston directed him to the back of the store.

The men's room was absolutely filthy and smelled of urine. There was one commode, recently used but not flushed, a stopped up urinal, and a sink with only cold running water, no soap, and no towels. He did what he had to do and then knocked on the door to the ladies room. Hearing no response, he entered. It was cleaner, but that was about all.

He went directly to Robbie Thompson and arranged to have the plumbing problems corrected immediately. Rick, eavesdropping, volunteered to clean the rooms and stock them with soap and paper towels for a price, and Tim readily agreed to his terms. In exasperation, Tim observed that the only way he could see to make the building decent was to build a new, modern building in the adjoining parking lot and tear down the old warehouse. Because he expected their agreement, he failed to notice the expression of disapproval on the two men's faces.

Tracy put down her paperback as soon as Tim approached her swinging gate. “May I help you?"

Tim liked the timber of her voice and it's pleasant but businesslike tone. He especially liked her crooked smile and brilliant white teeth and the fact that her fingernails were neither long nor painted. “Yes, Tracy,” he responded. “I want to talk with you about a job."

“Sure, what do you need? Pants let out a little?"

Tim glanced down at his expanding midsection and decided to ignore the insult. “No, I want to talk with you about a job at the hardware store. Lizzie and Wanda tell me you would be perfect for the job I have in mind."

Tracy looked embarrassed. “I'm sorry. Am I supposed to know you?"

“I think I love you,” Tim laughed. “You are the only person I have met in Dot who didn't already know that I am Tim Dollar, Pete Harlow's nephew."

“Oh. Mr. Mustang.” Tracy was now laughing and her eyes, Tim noticed, were sparkling. “For two days after he met you all Billy could talk about was your red Mustang convertible."

“It's not for sale."

“We couldn't afford it if you offered it to us for a hundred dollars.” Tim noted she suddenly stopped smiling.

“Business not too good?"

“Believe it or not, I make more money with my little business than Billy does at the gas station. There's no profit in selling gas, and Billy practically gives away his mechanic work."

“In a way I'm sorry, but in a way I'm glad. Do you mind if I smoke?"

“I'd prefer that you didn't,” she replied. “This place stinks badly enough as it is. You said something about a job offer?"

Tim forced the cigarette back into the pack, bending it in the process. “Yes. Among other things, I inherited the Dot Hardware Store. Do you know Lizzie and Wanda?"

“Sure. They're good customers of mine."

“Well, we have been making some plans for the store. We badly need to install a point-of-sale inventory system. They said you had some experience along these lines with Kmart."

“Yes and no. I did some maintenance work on the store system, upgraded software from time to time and did plenty of data entry. I loved it, but I would have no idea how to select or install a complete system from scratch."

“That's not a problem, Tracy. I met a young man in Charlotte recently who I think might be interested in moonlighting the installation, and I would trust his system selection implicitly. It would be your job to work with him to bring the system on line, keep it running, do the data entry, and pull off needed reports for Lizzie and Wanda."

“Sounds like fun. What would be the hours?"

“I imagine the hours would be pretty long at first, but would in time settle down to something like a forty hour week. I understand you have to run the Super Save when the fire siren sounds, and you could move your alterations business to the hardware store if you like."

“You've left out one small detail,” she said with an impish grin on her face.

“I don't know what a fair salary would be, and I am open for negotiation on that score."

“Kmart paid me ten dollars an hour, furnished health insurance, gave me normal holidays off, five days of sick leave and a week's vacation each year."

Tim noticed she ticked off these details as if she were reading from a script and correctly guessed she had spent much time regretting the loss of the good job her marriage caused. “I can afford to meet all the perks you mentioned. The salary I have in mind is twenty dollars an hour. Do you think that is too high?"

The impish grin returned. “You ask the question as if there's a snowball's chance in hell that I will insist on something less."

“That's my offer, Tracy. I would like for you to start as soon as possible."

“May I have a little time to think and talk with Billy about it?

It was Tim's turn to smile impishly. “You ask the question as if there's a snowball's chance in hell you may turn me down. Let me know something in the next few days."

On his way out, Tim made a point of meeting the owner/manager of the Discount House; an aging distinguished looking man named Ezra Golf. Tim let Ezra know he was ashamed to collect rent on the building, considering its state of repair, and was considering the construction of a new building next door.

Ezra's response, which seemed curious to Tim, was, “Think long and hard on that one young fella. New ain't always better than old."

“You haven't told me about your trip to Atlanta, yet,” Cathy said as she pressed her bosom against Matt's chest on Thursday afternoon. He seemed to be avoiding her since his return. He had allowed her to hug him only once and then, as now, he did not return the embrace. He had not smiled much and had spoken no words of endearment to her. “Was it as boring as you expected?” What she actually wanted to know was had he discovered that the pictures of Sandra Dollar were missing?

Matt felt pain in his swelling groin. Her body next to his, her smell, the intimate conversations, the anticipation of something more was hard to give up. His arms wanted to hold her, his hands wanted to roam over her buttocks and breasts, and his lips wanted to touch hers. He pulled away from her. “Pretty much,” he lied.

“Matt, is there something wrong?"

“Sit down pretty lady. I need to talk with you."

She sat and listened in disbelief.

“I had a lot of time to think while I was in Atlanta. I'm not going to bore you with all the details. I simply cannot continue anything beyond a professional relationship with you or anyone else. I love my wife, and my job is my life. I must not, I cannot, jeopardize either. Please try to understand, Cathy. You are one hell of a woman and one hell of a deputy."

Cathy said nothing, but her mind was racing.

“I do love you,” Matt continued. “But not like I love my wife. It's not fair to you to continue a secret personal relationship, but I will always treat you with respect and admiration as a law enforcement officer."

“I don't know what to say, Matt. I didn't see this coming."

“You're going to have to help me with this, Cathy. Please quit wearing those tight pants and short skirts. I can't take it."

She stood up, nodded, turned and walked slowly out of his office. She was stunned and even more fearful of what the future held for her. She slipped the small key into the lock on her bottom desk drawer and reread all of the notes he had written to her. Her mind continued to race. She felt Matt's change of attitude cost her too much—a ready source of revenue and the constant stream of promotions and outlandish salary increases to which she was now accustomed. Sandra and Tim Dollar possessed the incriminating videos. Matt would soon discover the missing photographs. She felt her world was rapidly ending. She must find a way to turn things around.

Matt watched the cheeks of her scrumptious bottom grind slowly against each other as she left his office. His erection was painful, but went away quickly when he remembered what he learned about two of his fellow sheriffs in the Atlanta meeting. Under different circumstances, both men were guilty of having sexual relationships with women other than their wives. One was involved with an incarcerated prostitute and the other was seeing another man's wife. Both sheriffs had been fired and their lives utterly destroyed. That must not happen to him.

At midday on Thursday, the pharmacist at Dot Pharmacy shouted in reply to a startled customer, “Why in hell does everybody all of a sudden want to buy a copy of
Silas Marner
?"

At about the same time the manager of the Discount House told his clerks to start a waiting list, and he called his supplier to order additional copies of the sold out paperback.

Sandra was waiting by the roadside mailbox when the postman delivered her copy of the
Dot Courier
. The smiling man held up a paperback, showing Sandra that he had already purchased a copy. “I hope it is as good as you say it is,” he said.

Sandra read her review three times before driving the golf cart across the highway and up the gravel path to show Bobby, Adele and the workmen who were putting the finishing touches on the remodeled home which now belonged to Bobby Elliott.

Next she burst into Tim's study and placed the paper on his desk without waiting for him to come to a stopping place.

“Tim,” she exclaimed. “It's on the front page. I'm now an officially published author!"

Instead of reading the review immediately, Tim jumped up and pulled her to him. He said nothing. The expression of pride on his face was more elegant than all the words in his vocabulary.

The telephone rang. He answered and handed the receiver to her. He read the review as she talked with some man from the
Charlotte Observer
.

“That was the editor of the feature section of the
Charlotte Observer
,” she said softly with a note of awe in her voice. “He wants to publish my review in Saturday's edition. He has already gotten permission from Diane."

“Sandy, I am so proud of you,” he said genuinely.

“There's more. They're going to pay me $75, and he said he would like more reviews on classic novels as soon as I can get them written."

Sandra sat at her computer desk for a long time, unable to resume the writing of her novel. She was trying to understand, to put a label on the emotion she was experiencing. Having never before been proud of herself, she did not recognize this most important reward for her effort.

The next two weeks flew by for Sandra and Tim. Bobbie and Adele were married on Halloween and embarked on a wedding trip to Disney World. Tim had all he could handle with the rental house repairs and the installation of a point of sale system at the Hardware Store.

Sandra devoted four hours a day to her novel. She wrote a report of proposed improvements to the rental houses to get the building inspector off Tim's back. She went fishing several times, once with Tim. She even found time to play with the sewing machine and alter some of the clothes she previously set aside for that purpose. She attended worship services twice with Tim. She was beginning to like the interim pastor, as did Tim, and she managed to stay awake for most of the two sermons.

Cathy did not come in on Friday morning, November 1, and she did not call in sick. Matt was concerned and called her apartment four times, but received no answer. He had a 9:00 a.m. meeting with the county manager to discuss his budget requests and reluctantly left his office at 8:45.

The secretary directed Matt to the smaller of two conference rooms. On entering he was surprised by the number of people present, some of whom he did not recognize. There were no greetings. Matt settled uncomfortably in a chair at the end of the table.

“Matt,” the manager began. “I'm sorry to have brought you to this meeting under false pretences. Someone has filed very serious charges against you. You know our county attorney,” he continued, beginning the necessary introductions.

“What kind of charges?” Matt interrupted.

“Sexual harassment."

“By who?"

“Deputy Cathy Long."

“Not Cathy,” Matt said with anguish. His mouth was suddenly so dry his lips clung together.

“Sheriff, have you ever hugged Deputy Long?” asked the attorney.

“Not against her will,” Matt protested.

“But you have embraced her many times?"

“I returned her embraces. Cathy hugs everybody."

“Have you ever placed your hands on her buttocks and breasts?"

“Maybe, I'm not sure. But I repeat, I have never touched her against her will."

“Have you ever given her sums of money and/or other gifts?"

“Yes, but there were never any strings attached."

The county manager interrupted. “Did that money come from county funds?"

“No,” Matt replied with force. “It was always my money."

“There will be an audit, Matt."

“That's not a problem."

The attorney resumed the questioning by sliding a manila file folder across the table to Matt. “Did you write these notes?"