Buck nekkid cannonball.
That’s how Jack Logan and his friends would have greeted
the swollen stream twenty years ago.
Hell, he would have done that ten years ago.
Jack studied the stream and knew that those carefree
moments were long gone. Today he wore a crisp police
uniform and stood a safe distance from the edge. It was
quiet except for the sound of rushing water. Instead of a
gangly bunch of kids, Jack was with Old Man Schneider, who
always wore a bow tie and hat for every occasion.
Schneider took off the newsboy cap and rubbed his bald
spot with a gnarled finger. “Doesn’t look good.”
“Nope.”
The old man’s nose twitched. “More rain is coming.”
Jack looked up at the sky. The clouds appeared innocent,
but he knew better. As much as he hated to admit it,
Schneider was right. You didn’t live round these parts for
this long without being able to smell the rain coming.
He returned his attention to the river that flowed nearby
and fed the stream. “Do you remember it ever being this
high?” he asked the old man.
Schneider puckered his lips. “Nope.”
“That’s very reassuring,” Jack said dryly.
“Ach, I’m wrong, Little Jack.”
Jack clenched his jaw. Wasn’t there a statute of
limitations on childhood nicknames?
“How could I forget?” Schneider put his cap back on and
readjusted the brim. “The flood of ’70.”
“Would that be 1870 or 1970?”
The old man’s rheumy eyes twinkled. “1970.”
Jack didn’t recall his parents ever talking about it while
he was growing up. Then again, he hadn’t exactly been the
most attentive kid. “It got this high?”
The old man gave a sharp, decisive nod. “Yep.”
And the town survived. Good to know. Jack felt the weight
slip off his chest and he breathed a little easier.
“Of course,” Schneider continued, “it didn’t rain after
that.”
Jack’s shoulders sagged.
“It was like God wrung the clouds dry,” the old man said,
gearing up for a long story.
More rain was coming. Jack was certain of it. They were
going to be dealing with a flood. People would be looking
to him for answers.
And he had none.
Jack remained still until the sickening dread evaporated.
Schneider’s stirring rendition of the Flood of 1970 faded
in and out. He hoped he wasn’t going to be tested on it.
What he needed to remember was that he was trained as a
police officer. He came from a family of them. He had the
experience, even if he was new at being sheriff.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to do it all. The impending
flood wasn’t solely his responsibility. He could work with
the mayor, the city council, and the fire chief.
Aw, who was he kidding? The city council was a joke. It
was every alderman for himself, making sure he got the one
and only plow to shovel his street first thing in the
morning after a snowfall.
At least the fire chief was experienced, responsible, and
intelligent. But the guy had been fire chief since Jack
was a kid and was desperate for retirement. Jack couldn’t
blame him and he had a feeling that would happen in a
matter of weeks.
That left the mayor, and everyone knew that Dean was an
idiot. The only reason he got the job was because his
opponent died during the mayoral campaign. Rumor had it
that Dean still managed to lose to a corpse in the
election. Whether it was fact or fiction didn’t really
matter anymore. Dean had planted his butt in the mayor’s
office and showed no signs of leaving.
Jack knew he wasn’t one to judge. His own election was a
close call, and he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he
got the job because his dad, the late and great Big Jack,
had been the best sheriff the town had ever seen.
Maybe the gossips were right, but it was too late to do
anything about it now. His detractors kept bringing up his
misspent youth. Jack didn’t feel that was an issue. The
real issue he kept to himself.
He knew better than to let anyone know that he was in over
his head. That there were times like today when he knew he
wasn’t ready for whatever lay ahead. How much faith could
a town place on their sheriff if they knew he was scared?
Not much.
Schneider looked up at the sky and sniffed. “Yep.
Trouble’s coming.”
The old man’s words disrupted Jack’s train of thought. He
reluctantly looked up and felt the first raindrop hit his
cheek.
Stephanie Monroe stepped on the brakes and wiped the fog
from the windshield with the side of her hand. “Venus
Gold,” she yelled into her cell phone, “you are supposed
to be back at the office.”
“Yeah, I know,” her business partner replied, sounding
somewhat apologetic. “But something came up.”
“And you didn’t want to give me any advance notice?”
Stephanie asked in a growl. “Did you decide that I would
eventually figure it out?”
“Basically.”
Stephanie exhaled sharply. Why wasn’t she surprised? This
is what happens when you go into business with a stylist
to the stars who was better known for her irreverent
lifestyle than her avant-garde creations.
Stephanie could imagine Venus right now. She would be
lounging sideways on a comfy chair—the woman could never
sit properly—and probably painting her toenails in her
favorite color of the month, wild cherry red. With
glitter.
She, on the other hand, was freezing. Stephanie rubbed her
bare arms, but the goose bumps didn’t go away. She turned
up the heater, but only tepid air streamed weakly through
the vents.
Stephanie regretted not changing clothes before hopping
onto the plane. The snug yellow halter top, low-slung
periwinkle blue jeans, and dark blue platform sandals were
perfect for the trendy L.A. scene. Wearing something head-
turning was good for business, but today, it was only good
for getting an upper respiratory infection.
Wasn’t America’s heartland supposed to be hot in the
summer? She glared at the rain pinging against her SUV.
Stephanie would have known about the chill had she gotten
the chance to watch the Weather Channel like she did every
day. But noooo, this is what she got for disrupting her
daily schedule.
“You run Venus & Stephanie ...fine without me,” Venus
said, the static intruding. “Anyway, I’m only . . . gone
for a while.”
“Yeah, I believe you said you were taking a weekend trip
back home.” Stephanie squinted through the streaked
windshield. It was dark and there were no landmarks or
signs to guide her. Unless she was supposed to follow the
moon or watch which way the corn blew. If that was the
case, she might as well declare herself lost right
now. “That was two weeks ago.”
“Really? Has it been that long?” Venus sounded genuinely
surprised. “I’ll be back . . . a week. Two, tops. I
promise.”
“Two weeks!” Stephanie’s hands squeezed the steering
wheel, her knuckles turning white. The situation was worse
than she realized.
“It’s no big—”
“Yes it is,” Stephanie argued, the panic gurgling in her
stomach. “I can’t put together Jennifer’s outfit for the
awards ceremony.”
Venus’s pause clung and the static crackled. “Oh, yeah.”
“Oh, yeah?” Stephanie repeated, incredulous. “That’s all
you have to say? You forgot that you’re supposed to be
creating an outfit that will get us international
coverage?”
“I’ll call Jennifer and talk to her,” Venus said in the
very breezy tone that always made Stephanie quake in her
four- inch heels. “She’ll understand.”
“Why don’t you tell her that face-to-face?” And she would
sit in the meeting to make sure Venus didn’t lose the
commission.
“Jennifer . . . in Mayfield?” Venus snorted. “Not likely.”
“No.” Stephanie pressed her lips together and tried to
count to ten to restrain her temper. She made it
halfway. “You need to come back to L.A. and tell her.”
Stephanie wondered how she was supposed to be the makeup
artist in the partnership but wound up adding babysitter
to her job description.
The static garbled Venus’s reply. “What?” Stephanie asked,
wincing as she tried to make out the words. “There was
interference.”
“I said...get...as soon...I can.”
Oh, this phone connection was really annoying her. “That’s
going to be sooner than you think.” “I can’t hear . . .”
“I’m coming to get you,” Stephanie said, enunciating each
word. If Venus knew what was good for her, she’d quietly
return to L.A. Stephanie was aware that was wishful
thinking on her part. “Quiet” wasn’t in the wild woman’s
vocabulary.
Venus’s laugh came through loud and clear. “This
connection . . . bad. I thought you said . . . coming to
get me.”
“I am. I just reached Mayfield. I think.” She grabbed the
wrinkled map and glanced at it. She was stunned that
travelers still used paper maps. Then again, she couldn’t
believe the rinky-dink car rental didn’t have a GPS
available.
“And . . . no way can you handle small town . . .” Venus
continued, her voice wavering in and out. “Not even for
five minutes.”
“You’d be surprised,” she muttered.
“Stephanie?” Venus called over the hissing static.
“Stephanie, are you there?”
“Unfortunately.” She reached for the phone as she drove
through a puddle. A giant fan of water sprayed out and
slapped the side of her vehicle.