“Here we go. One fresh cup of hot coffee.” She smiled again, handing him his coffee.

  “Smells great, thanks.”

  She lingered, her eyes trailing the contents atop his desk.

  “You sure you don’t need help going through all these cases, Sheriff?”

  Angus shook his head midway through a big mouthful of coffee.

  “I think it’s best I go through them myself, thanks. Helps if I see the information first-hand.”

  “Sure thing, Sheriff. Oh, that reminds me. Old Mrs. Richardson called again. She’s insisting that she saw someone wearing a black face mask run past her house in the middle of the night. But I checked. We haven’t had any reports of any burglaries anywhere in the neighborhood. Not even a triggered car alarm. What would you like me to say to her? She won’t stop calling.”

  Angus scratched the back of his head.

  “I’ll take care of it. I’ll pop around and show my face. Can’t have one of the town’s oldest citizens complain that the new sheriff isn’t taking her seriously. Besides, I could do with the distraction.”

  “Good call. Mrs. Richardson is renowned for creating a stink if things don’t go her way. I’ll send her address through to your phone.”

  Tammy spun around and returned to her desk and barely a minute later, the message sounded on Angus’s mobile.

  * * *

  The front door to Mrs. Richardson’s house was flung open the instant Angus pulled up in his brand new marked Durango. In her late sixties, her petite frame hurried down the garden path toward him.

  “It sure took you long enough, Sheriff. If you want to be this town’s sheriff you had better react a bit quicker. I could have been dead by now.” She wagged her arthritic finger in front of his face.

  Stifling his amusement at her admonishing as if she decided his fate as town sheriff, he greeted her.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Richardson. I got here as soon as I could. Why don’t we step inside and then you can tell me all about it?”

  His words seemed to appease her and she turned and made for the front door. Once inside, she walked straight to the window, explaining that this was where she stood when she spotted the masked man walking down her street.

  Angus pushed the delicate, white curtain to one side and peered out into the street before dropping it back into place.

  “Do you recall roughly what time this was when you saw him, Mrs. Richardson?”

  “Of course, Sheriff Reid. I made a note of it.” She reached back to pick up a writing pad on the nearby dining table.

  “See, here, four twenty-three a.m.” She handed him the note.

  “That’s quite precise.”

  “Yes, it is. The clock is right there, see?” She pointed to the antique grandfather clock in the far corner.

  “Indeed it is. May I ask if something woke you up? Why were you up so early?”

  “I’m always up at four a.m., Sheriff. Every day for the past forty years. That’s how I manage to keep my house in tip-top shape without neglecting my other duties. You should try it, Sheriff.”

  She was hinting at his tardiness.

  “I’ll take that to heart, thank you, Mrs. Richardson.” He glanced back through the house.

  “And Mr. Richardson? Any chance he saw the guy too.”

  “Oh, he won’t notice a bear if it pokes him in the eye. Besides, he’s not an early riser like me. He was lifting the rafters until nearly eight thirty. That’s when he usually sits down for his breakfast.”

  “So he didn’t hear or see anything.” Angus double-checked.

  She looked at Angus through squinted eyes.

  “You think I made a mistake don’t you, Sheriff? I can tell that’s what you’re thinking. I’m old, probably have bad eyesight, it’s dark, yada yada yada. I might be old but I’m not senile. I know what I saw. Take it from me. I’ve been around long enough to know when something suspicious is going on in my neighborhood. And this guy was definitely suspicious. Who runs around with a mask on his head in any event?”

  Angus couldn’t deny her point.

  “Yes, that does seem odd except we ran an incident report. There were no burglaries or breaking and entering of any kind anywhere in the neighborhood last night. Could it be that it might have been someone going for an early morning run and the light hit his face wrong? It’s still pretty dark at that time and I’m assuming you would have had a light on inside the house then. That would make it a bit harder to see outside, especially if these curtains were still drawn.”

  He knew he was risking Mrs. Richardson’s wrath but he needed to say it.

  At first, Mrs. Richardson didn’t speak as she now glanced out at the street.

  “I suppose so,” she said, the fire in her belly now somewhat subdued.

  “Tell you what I’ll do, Mrs. Richardson. I’ll take your advice and get up early tomorrow morning and I’ll drive through the neighborhood myself on my way to work. I have a ton of work to get through anyway. Sound good?”

  She nodded, her hands suddenly on his arm and the fire back in her belly.

  “I made a fresh batch of granola cookies this morning. Wait, let me give you some.”

  She hurried to the kitchen and was soon back with a plate of cookies and pushed it into his hands.

  “You have one of these with your coffee when you wake up. It’ll give you an extra boost. It’s an old family recipe full of goodness. Not this rubbish you young people put into your bodies these days.”

  Satisfied that her new sheriff was living up to her expectations, she ushered him out onto the porch from where she watched Angus drive off before she disappeared back inside her house.

  Chapter Six

  Success tasted good, Jake thought as the last of his customers turned around and disappeared between the gravestones. He shoved the guy’s cash inside his concealed belly pouch, now bulging with notes, and walked toward the church. Somehow, he had managed to sell out his entire quota in just two days. Something he thought he’d never be able to do. Could it really be that easy, he wondered. He’d never been this successful at anything in his life before. Even though he tried his hardest, his grades were average. He had long since accepted he was not the academic type. He didn’t play any kind of sport either. Jake Foley was nothing but an average Joe. In every possible way. And although college was the next tier on the education ladder to success, he still had no idea what he wanted to study.

  But the prospect of having his own little business changed everything. This he was good at. This he did with hardly any effort at all. This made him feel empowered.

  He kicked at a stone with his shoe when his conscience poked at his soul. Under ordinary circumstances, he’d thank God when things went right in his life but he knew full well this couldn’t be one of those times. This he knew God would never approve of. Suddenly he knew exactly why Adam and Eve hid from God and he wondered if God would ever forgive him. As quickly as the thought came he ejected it from his mind. He didn’t want to feel guilty. He didn’t want to be thinking about his faith right now. Didn’t want to face God. Surely God knew he was only doing this to help his family.

  He shoved his hands deeper inside his pockets, tucked his chin into his chest, and set off through the churchyard. He wasn’t going to do this forever. Just a short while, until he saved enough for college and settled Teddy’s medical bills. He’d already decided how he would get the money to his parents without them knowing that it came from him. He would simply leave a church donation envelope with cash in their mailbox. Perhaps he would add a note that said it was to help with Teddy’s bills. His parents would assume it was just another gracious church member's donation, except this time it wouldn’t be coupons for food or clothing. This time it would be a fat wad of notes. The thought brought a smile to his face and he could almost imagine seeing the relief on their faces when they opened the envelope. And if business continued like this, there might even be a little extra for that holiday his mom had always dreamed of.

  With a smile still etched on his face he felt like he was on top of the world. Finally, he was in a position to help them. Finally, his stepdad would see there was nothing average about him. And it felt good. Really good.

  As he crossed the dark quiet street a block away from his house, his cell phone suddenly buzzed against his belly and he pulled it out from between the cash. Crouched down in the shadows of two trashcans that had been left for collection later that morning, he read the text message. It was from one of his customers from the night before. He was asking for more treats. This time double the amount he delivered the night before. Jake texted him back. Tomorrow he’d ask Aaron to take him back to Moses for another batch. He glanced at the time on his wristwatch. It had just gone four twenty-five. He was right on time.

  True to his promise to Mrs. Richardson, Angus had set his alarm for four a.m., instantly regretting it when the shrill sound went off and yanked him from a deep sleep. He slammed his hand down atop the clock radio and groaned into the darkness. If he were a dishonest man, he’d turn around and carry on sleeping. Except he wasn’t. He also knew that Mrs. Richardson would without doubt be standing at her window looking out for him driving by. And having her wrath come down on him was the last thing he needed.

  The sobering thought had him instantly awake. He flicked the covers off and swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his palms across his face. It’s only for today, he consoled himself.

  Ten minutes later, he was dressed in his uniform, his thermos and two of Mrs. Richardson’s granola cookies in hand. As he stepped out into the B & B’s small parking area and walked toward his car, The Mill’s signage flickered on and off above his head. Time to find a place of his own, he thought as he dropped the thermos in the cup holder between the seats and drove toward the center of town.

  The entire town was still in slumber when he slowly drove the car down the three blocks toward Mrs. Richardson’s street. Apart from the local bakery’s lights being on, all the other shops were still closed. As he approached her neighborhood, he passed the church and decided to pull over in front of it. He’d been meaning to drive by to see what time the Sunday service started and now was as good a time as any. He rolled down his window and from inside his car scanned the poorly lit notice board out front. Making a mental note of the time, he paused when he thought he saw something move along the side of the building. With his vehicle lights now switched off, he sat forward in his seat and stared out into the dark space to where he could just see the edge of the cemetery.

  Something was definitely moving in the distance and he looked at it with more intent. A second later a raccoon darted off across the street and soon disappeared into the nearby bushes. "False alarm," he murmured to himself and relaxed back into his seat before he slowly drove his car down the quiet road. Careful not to let the engine wake up the neighborhood, he gently turned up into one of the side streets, deciding to crisscross through the small neighborhood. The slow drive allowed him to properly survey the dark corners between each house as he passed them, scanning up and down each driveway. It seemed Mrs. Richardson was right. There was something so calming about being up before the rest of the world started their day. At this rate, he’d be behind his desk before sunrise, which would give him at least a three-hour head start before Tammy clocked in. More importantly, he’d gain the respect of one of Weyport’s esteemed residents. Something he desperately needed if he was to gain the townsfolk’s trust.

  When he neared the street where Mrs. Richardson lived, he drove a little faster, suddenly eager to get to the office. From the corner of his eye, as he passed one of the side streets, he caught an odd-looking shadow moving next to some trash cans and he slammed on the brakes. He threw his car into gear and backed up until the spot came back into view.

  Chapter Seven

  As Jake got up from between the trash cans, tires screeched somewhere to his right. He looked up and saw the red taillights from a vehicle backing up fast. Under the glowing overhead streetlight, the markings on the car came into full sight. It was the new sheriff’s car! He dashed back and hid behind the trash cans, his heart beating so fast he thought he was going to faint. Perhaps he didn’t see him, he reasoned. But as soon as he saw the sheriff’s car turn into the street, its headlights now on full, he knew he had been spotted.

  Still crouched down behind the trash cans, Jake turned to find an escape route. If he could clear the fence at the end of the narrow alleyway that ran between the two houses behind him, he might be able to cut through Mrs. Richardson’s garden. Out of time, he had to make his move.

  To his right, the headlights were approaching fast, now aimed directly at the trash cans. Thinking he had better hide his face, he yanked his ski mask over his face and made a run for the fence behind him.

  The car’s tires screeched to a halt behind him. He ran. As fast as his scrawny legs that now felt like jelly would take him. When he reached the nearly six-foot high fence, he leaped onto it. His sneakers slid down and he was back on the ground. Adrenaline surged through his veins as his mind fought to find another way to clear the fence.

  “Stop!” He heard the sheriff yell from somewhere behind him then heard his car door slam.

  But Jake didn’t stop or look back. His mind was working too hard to find an escape.

  To his right, an empty planter stood atop a wheelbarrow and he reached to pick it up, hardly feeling the full weight of the clay pot as his body reacted to the surge of energy that pushed his muscles into overdrive.

  The sheriff’s feet slammed onto the concrete driveway behind him.

  Jake dropped the giant planter onto the ground, hoisted himself over the fence, and slammed down the other side.

  “I said, stop!” The sheriff’s voice echoed into the darkness on the other side of the fence.

  Jake’s body was operating at maximum, his heart sitting tight in his chest. He sprinted across the lawn toward the slightly lower fence that separated this house from Mrs. Richardson’s. This time it was much easier to clear the fence and he jumped into Mrs. Richardson’s back yard. The garden light went on, blinding him for an instant. Shielding his eyes, he kept running and bumped into one of her wrought-iron garden chairs. Pain stabbed at his thigh but he kept running.

  Behind him, Mrs. Richardson’s fence rattled as the sheriff cleared it.

  Jake pushed his body forward, still not looking back.

  He burst through the small garden gate and ran out onto the front lawn before turning right to sprint the last few meters to his house. He had to hurry. Before the sheriff caught up and saw him disappear into his house.

  One. Last. Sprint.

  His feet slammed down on the sidewalk.

  His lungs felt as if they were going to explode.

  He pushed his body harder than he had ever needed to before.

  Just when he thought he couldn’t go any farther, he reached the bottom of his driveway. Ever so briefly he turned back to see where the sheriff was, relieved when he didn’t see him.

  Ducking underneath the low branches of the tree, he turned, ran across his front lawn, and leaped onto their front porch. The timber landing thumped loudly under his shoes but he couldn’t worry about that right now and nearly exploded through the front door. Thankfully, he had left it unlocked behind him when he slipped out earlier. As he shut the door behind him, now a bit more cautious not to be making more noise than he already had, he heard his mother’s whispers sound from their bedroom as she attempted to wake up his stepdad.

  Yanking the ski mask off his face, he made one last stealthy dash toward his room. With mere seconds to spare, he slipped inside his room and quietly shut the door behind him.

  It took less than two seconds for him to pull his shoes and clothes off before he jumped into his bed, the pouch of cash still strapped onto his body. He snatched a T-shirt off the floor, and pulled it on, wiping the beads of sweat from his face in the process before he pulled his bed covers up to his chin.

  Outside his door, he heard his parents shuffling down the corridor to the lounge. Still out of breath, he lay very still, praying the sheriff didn’t see him run inside his house. But his fears soon became a reality when there was a soft knock on the front door.

  Jake wanted to cry. Wanted to scream. Or run. But he couldn’t do any of it so he kept his emotions at bay and shut his eyes as tight as he could.

  Moments later he heard his bedroom door creak open and sensed his stepdad’s presence at his door. He froze. Lay deadly still.

  The door quietly shut again and he heard his stepdad’s voice announce that his son was sound asleep in his bed. That it couldn’t have been him running through the neighborhood. That he was a good kid and that he’d be the last person on the planet to do something as stupid as that.

  And as Jake listened and the sheriff left, he could finally breathe again.

  When the house quieted down and his parents had gone back to bed, reality kept Jake up for the rest of the night. He had so nearly been caught tonight. Narrowly escaped the jaws of the law. Nearly destroyed his family.

  And for the first time since he ventured down this dark path, Jake realized just how dire the stakes were. How risky his little business venture truly was.

  But instead of heeding the silent warning, instead of listening to the small voice that cautioned him to turn away, Jake decided to continue. Because for the first time in his life, Jacob Foley felt what it was like to live on the wilder side of life.

  And he liked it.