Chapter 1
Merrick
Dying alone isn’t the worst thing. But, it’s also not great.
The scent of bacon, pancakes and greasy fried food mixes with the smell of black coffee as I take a draw of the steaming liquid from the heavy brown mug as I think about the subject line of an email my mother forwarded me this morning.
It was a blog or article, or some shit written by a P.R. person from findingyourmatch.com; a dating site my mother won’t shut up about lately.
In the booth in front of me, a Shirley Temple look alike toddler with curly hair and dimples keeps popping up and giving me a shy smile.
When I smile back, she ducks down and her mother gives me a sympathetic shrug.
“I’m sorry. She has a fascination with police officers.”
“It’s okay.” I shake my head with a wave. “It’s a perk that comes with the job.”
Winking at the kid, I take another sip of coffee and wait for my usual breakfast order to arrive. Four or five mornings a week I’m here at The Over Easy Diner getting my less than heart heathy morning start.
I straighten my leg under the table, trying to work out the cramp that started a few days ago after I tried to take up jogging thinking I needed to watch my expanding mid-section a bit more.
That was a mistake. As a hobby, or a fitness routine, clearly isn’t my thing. When I need to get into a foot chase, I hold my own so I’m going to put away my aspirations of running off the fifteen or twenty pounds extra meat I’ve packed on over the last five years.
Besides, Dad-bods are a thing these days from what I hear, even though I have no interest in finding anyone that is interested in mine.
Wincing as I stretch, Margaret the diner owner and a friend of mine comes out from the swinging kitchen door with two plates, shooting me her usual bright smile as she heads my way. I like Margaret. She and her partner, Dawn, have become friends over the years. The love between them is hard to miss, and I guess even a guy like me, without a romantic bone in his body, has some distant appreciation for what they share.
“You okay there?” She tips her head to look under the table where I’m folding and unfolding my aching leg.
“Yeah. Pulled something.”
She slides two white plates in front of me as my mouth waters at the sight and scent of the wonderous food. “Getting old, Sheriff?” She cocks her hip and settles her fist at her waist.
“Every day.” I sit up and admire the perfection of the bacon, two eggs over easy, sausage and extra well-done hash browns on my plate. Food is my one sin and I enjoy it in a way that is almost dirty.
“Well, if thirty-two is old, I’m ready for the home.” She chews her gum on a smile knowing my age because my parents threw me a surprise birthday party here a couple months ago. I hate surprises. “And don’t even think I’m going to tell you how old I am. A lady never tells.” Her signature rose-red lipstick is perfect, day and night. She wears her auburn hair up most days in a controlled twist, and her whole style could have dropped straight out of a 1950’s classic diner.
“And a gentleman never asks,” I counter. “My mama taught me well.”
“I’m sure she did. They were here night before last as usual for Wednesday senior special.”
I nod with a half-smile. I live in the same town where I grew up. My father was the sheriff before me, and he and Mom are still kicking up dust wherever they go. She made him retire after forty-six years on the force and one heart attack. They’ve been driving each other nuts ever since.
She also taught me to cook, which I do well enough. I just don’t really enjoy cooking for one, so I end up here most times or at the Rusty Nail Bar & Grill on the other side of town.
They’re great parents, always supportive and proud. I graduated from a local college with my law enforcement degree, then went right to the academy. It’s a small town and it didn’t take me long to gain the respect of the other deputies, and when it was time for my dad to step down, I had the support of the community, as well as my fellow officers, to fill his boots.
Or try to, at least.
I’ve worked my ass off to not let anyone down, even when the choices were difficult. One of many things I learned from my parents, doing the right thing isn’t always easy and the easy thing isn’t always right.
The bells tied on the top hinge of the front door jingle as it opens, and Margaret turns toward the sound. Stepping inside the small diner, Summer grins at us both.