Southern Storm (44 South, Book 2) by Nicola Claire

Author:Nicola Claire [Claire, Nicola]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780473382414
Publisher: Nicola Claire Books
Published: 2016-12-05T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 28

At Least This I Could Handle

Matt

The sun beat down on the back of my neck as I pushed open the door to the shop, sucking in a deep breath and preparing myself. The fish was floating in the corner above a shelf full of pricey scarves. I wondered if I should pick one up for Liv. Merino wool from our farm.

Then I shook my head and reminded myself it was still warm out, and Liv wouldn’t need a scarf for weeks. My eyes automatically went in search of what else I could get her instead. Kiwifruit lip balm?

The fish’s tail swished and the fucking thing turned beady little eyes toward me. The camera lenses inside them no doubt zooming in on my blush.

I cleared my throat.

“I know you’re there, Senior Sergeant,” Alicia Parsons called out from behind the stack of postcards in the middle of the store.

“Your fish,” I guessed, rounding the stand and catching my first look at the souvenir shop owner. She was dressed in a prim skirt suit; pink tweed was the only description that came to mind.

“I clocked you long before that,” Ms Parsons said in her British accent.

I just raised my brow.

“New acquisition,” she explained. “High-powered zoom lenses on all my hardware. I saw you park your car outside the Musterer’s Hut.”

It never failed to unnerve me that our resident peeping Tom kept tabs on everyone including the cops.

“Didn’t double park today,” I grumbled.

“No,” she agreed, giving me a stern look in reprimand.

I resisted the urge to adjust my shirt collar.

“Need your assistance, Ms Parsons,” I announced.

“I thought as much,” she said dryly. “I was sure it wasn’t a novelty sock that you were after.”

Would Liv like a novelty sock? I shook my head. Thankfully, Alicia took the movement as an answer.

“The vandals,” I started.

“I’d be more concerned with the boy racers.”

I stared at her, not passing comment.

“But then you know who they already are,” she remarked.

“The vandals,” I started again.

“Yes.”

“Have you caught them?”

“I’m not a police officer.”

“On your video cameras,” I stressed.

“Which don’t cover the entirety of this street, let alone the whole town. At your insistence, I might add.”

“If we could afford a CCTV system, the council would invest in one,” I pointed out, yet again. “But allowing a member of the public such a liberty is not something the police service can condone.”

Every time I came in here, we had the same bloody conversation.

“And yet, here you are, asking for my help. Does that not seem shortsighted to you, Senior Sergeant?”

“Ms Parsons, did you happen to catch the vandals or not?”

“I’m going with ‘or not,’” she said, sweeping past me and rearranging a nearby shelf.

“Is that a literal ‘or not’ or an ‘I want to piss the cop off because he’s pissed me off or not’?”

Alicia turned around and stared up at me. “You’re extremely frisky this morning.”

I grimaced.

“Are the girls well?”

“Fine.”

“Your brothers?”

“Fine.”

“Red Tussock?”

“Ms Parsons.”

“Yes, yes, can’t have the local senior sergeant opening up about personal things.”

I really needed to get out of here.

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