Part 4 (1/2)
Deputy Rusty stopped and turned to Rick. ”Why don't you have a seat. I'm gonna go in the drugstore and find Lee. Have yourself some coffee.”
”Okay.” Rick retreated back into the coffee shop and slid onto a stool at the end of the counter. He could still feel the unmistakable sense of eyes lighting on him and turning away as the men in the room resumed conversation. They were still keeping an eye on him, though. After all, he wasn't from around these parts.
A pretty blonde girl in a pink waitress uniform approached him from behind the counter. She smiled warmly at him. ”What can I get you?”
Rick ordered coffee and the waitress served it p.r.o.nto. ”Cream and sugar?” She looked at him shyly. Her hair fell in blonde ringlets over her forehead and down her shoulders. Her eyes were as blue as the sea, her dimpled face punctuated by a smiling mouth and a cute nose. Her body didn't look that bad beneath the waitress uniform; her skirt was mid-thigh length, showing off tanned, muscular-yet-shapely legs. She reminded Rick of Alicia Silverstone; she had the same All-American girl looks. She was blonde, young, cute, but did not give the impression that she was hot-to-trot or flirtatious. When she turned to pick up an order off the counter, Rick couldn't resist a peek at her rear. Nice. Rick sipped at his coffee. It was nice and hot. Just the way he liked it. The waitress came back and flashed him a big smile. ”You new around here?”
Rick nodded, grinning. ”Just came in town.”
”I'm Melissa Peterson. But some folks around here call me Missy.” She held out her hand and Rick took it.
”Rick Sychek. Nice to meet you.”
”Likewise.”
”What brings you to town?”
”I'm working on a book,” Rick began. ”I'm a writer and...” And the story came out, an abridged version of how he came to decide to settle in Phillipsport for the winter for his new book. Melissa seemed very interested and when he was finished she smiled.
”That sounds great. I'm a Journalism major at Bridgton Community College. Looks like now there'll be somebody in town I'll have something in common with.”
”Absolutely.” Rick took a sip of his coffee.
Melissa noticed a customer beckoning to her from the rear of the coffee shop. ”Duty calls,” she said. She exited the counter and went over to tend to her duties. Rick settled on the counter, drinking his coffee and wondering how much of the day was left that was salvageable to do something constructive.
His thoughts were broken by the arrival of Rusty and an older, gray-haired gentleman dressed in a red and blue plaid s.h.i.+rt and blue jeans. Rusty patted Rick on the back as he approached the counter. ”Rick. This here's Lee Shelby, the owner of Shelby's Drug Store. Lee, this here's Rick.”
A round of pleased to meet ya's was traded and Lee Shelby scratched his head and scowled. ”Rusty tells me that you went down into a ditch off Highway 1. Says you swerved in the road to avoid hitting something.”
Rick nodded, suddenly remembering the giant crab-like thing in the road. He took another sip of coffee. ”Yeah. It was just right there and I didn't know what it was. I tried to avoid hitting it and lost control.”
Lee peered at him curiously. ”Looks like you got a b.u.mp on the head. Doc Jorgensen take care of you?”
Rick nodded. ”It was nothing serious. Just a scalp wound.”
”Doug is filling your prescription order,” Lee said. He clapped Rick on the back and grinned. ”I know it's a h.e.l.luva welcome to town, cras.h.i.+ng into Little Feet and all, but I really do hope your first experience in town doesn't change your mind about staying.”
”Accidents happen.” Rick shrugged matter-of-factly. ”I'm just glad I made it to town in one piece.”
Lee and Rusty chuckled, prompting a grin to emerge from Rick's face. ”Welcome to Phillipsport, son,” Lee said. His grin was wide and genuine. He was truly glad that Rick was new in town.
Rusty took a seat at the counter next to Rick and Melissa came and took his order. Lee joined them from the other side of the counter and the three men chatted for a few minutes while Melissa tended to the other customers. Lee excused himself after a minute and went to attend to some other business. Rusty began talking with somebody in the booth closest to him; his back was turned to the counter, talking in his excited tone as Rick sat at the counter nursing his cup of coffee. Melissa came back and poured him another cup. Their eyes locked for the briefest instant, then she looked down at the counter. ”You live around here?” Rick asked.
”I live in town,” she said. She began wiping the counter idly with a wash rag.
”Is this considered *town'?”
She laughed. ”Rusty sure considers this town,” she said, stealing a quick glance at the deputy who was paying them no heed in his conversation with the men in the booth. ”He loves it here.”
”Yeah, it has all the comforts of a big city mall.”
Melissa stopped wiping down the counter and leaned against it nonchalantly. Her eyes locked with his again, more firmly. ”To answer your question, I live off Fir Street, which is off the main drag. That's the section the old timers refer to as *in town.'”
”Which is...?”
”About five minutes from here.”
”Ah.”
”And you?”
”Don't know yet. I haven't even been to where I'm supposed to be settling in for the winter.”
They were so involved in their conversation and their flirting with each other that they didn't notice the door to the drugstore opening, the new customer sauntering in. It wasn't until Melissa's eyes moved toward the newcomer and her expression changed from smiling and flirtatious to a look of dread-like a child who has just been discovered misbehaving and knows the consequences-that Rick realized somebody was approaching them.
The neighboring patrons continued on with their drinks, food, and conversation as the new man now sidled up next to Rick with a cold, c.o.c.ky look. His steel gray eyes flicked from Rick to Melissa and back to Rick again. He was wearing a Highway Patrol uniform similar to Rusty's, but seemed to carry more of a demeanor of authority. His badge read SHERIFF.
Rusty turned at the approach of the newcomer and recognition flickered across his features. He clapped Rick on the back. ”Sheriff Conklin, this here's Rick Sychek. Rick's a real famous writer and he's gonna be-”
While Rusty launched into his litany, Sheriff Conklin looked at Rick with stony features. Scrutinizing him.
”-staying in Phillipsport, and-”
”He's the one that wiped out on Highway 1.” Not a question, but merely a statement of facts. Sheriff Conklin's voice was gritty. Rick felt the man's gray eyes light on him, marking him.
”Why, he sure did!” Rusty admitted this in a tone that was eager and jubilant. It was almost like Rusty was saying, Well G.o.dd.a.m.n, he sure did! And isn't that just great!
Sheriff Conklin snickered and shook his head. His eyes went from Melissa, who turned away, back to Rick. ”Wiped out in a little patch of rain. What the h.e.l.l were you doing, boy? Playing speed racer?”
”I-” Rick began.
”He weren't speedin', sir,” Rusty said, grinning. ”No sirree.”
Sheriff Conklin acted like he hadn't heard Rusty. He leaned toward Rick, his features set in a perpetual scowl. ”Not speedin, huh? Well, then, why'd you spin out, boy? Been drinkin?”
Rick opened his mouth to protest. He looked at Melissa who flashed him a brief smile of encouragement. Conklin caught the brief exchange and his features darkened. A pall of what appeared to be jealousy flickered briefly over his features and then was gone. His features became stony. He huffed. ”Speedin' on Highway 1 in a rain storm is a misdemeanor offense. Not to mention cras.h.i.+ng into the trees; Little Feet is five hundred years old and you done ruined her.” He moved toward Rick. ”I got a good mind to write you a ticket for that.”
Rick opened his mouth to protest but Lee Shelby beat him to the punch. The owner of Shelby's drug store had heard the exchange and now he was stepping up to the counter. ”You've got to be kidding! This kid was involved in an honest accident. He wasn't driving recklessly.”
Conklin flashed Lee a smirk. ”Did you investigate the scene?”
”No,” Lee Shelby sputtered.
”Then keep out of this.” Sheriff Conklin turned back to Rick. His features were unemotional. ”As for you...”
Rick's heart had begun to beat fast at the mention of a ticket; it began to beat faster at the tone of the Sheriff's voice. He had had run-ins with cops like Sheriff Conklin before. If you weren't a middle-of-the-road White Anglo Saxon Male Protestant, cops like Sheriff Conklin would pull you over for anything, just for the chance to hara.s.s you in the hopes of making an arrest. It didn't matter that you didn't commit an infraction, what mattered was that you were either a long haired, drug snorting, hippie-commie sc.u.m, or you were an earring-wearing f.a.ggot who was a little bit too feminine, or you were black, or Oriental, or Mexican, or whatever. If you fit any of the above, you were subject to unnecessary search and seizures from officers like Sheriff Conklin. Rick had once had two previous run-ins in Philadelphia with cops like Conklin; one of them ended with Rick spending the night in jail for resisting arrest. The charges had been dropped later because there hadn't been any to begin with. The officer stopped him because he had long hair and surely he must be either carrying drugs, or was under their influence. Rick had protested and spent the night in jail.
Ever since that night Rick had thought about the situation and decided that should he find himself in a similar situation, he would handle it differently. He even rehea.r.s.ed various scenarios in his mind. Now that Sheriff Conklin, the spitting image of the other two a.s.shole cops that had hara.s.sed him for similar reasons, was in front of him just egging him on into a similar confrontation, he switched to this tactic effortlessly. His features softened. ”Gee, Sheriff Conklin, but I'm really sorry about the accident. I'm even more sorry about the tree. If there's anything that I can do to help...” he shrugged his shoulders. ”Anything I can do to help in the treatment of... Little Feet was the tree's name?”