once, snubbing Theo. Thankfully, she left behind the missing piece of fabric. Theo retrieved it and hurried to sew it into place before she misplaced it again.
At the end of the day, on his way home, Tony stopped by the hardware store to pick up another gallon of paint. The brand-new addition to their house, built as a gift from his brother, Caesar Augustus, and his rich wife, Catherine, had not included the paint. Tony had underestimated the amount of pale yellow he’d need to finish a second coat in the new bedroom for his twin girls. The babies needed to move soon; their current nursery was smaller than a closet.
“Sheriff?” Duke McMahon greeted him from behind the counter. “Need some help?”
“Another gallon of the yellow paint.” Tony reached for his wallet.
“Is it going on okay for you? Not splotchy or anything? You know the key is even application.” The owner of the hardware store seemed skeptical of Tony’s abilities.
Thinking the man was not far off the mark, Tony answered honestly. “Yes. It’s just not going as far as I expected. It’s like the walls are absorbing it.”
Nodding his understanding, Duke ambled from the register to the paint department, peered at his records, and pried the lid off a new can of base paint. He glanced up at Tony. “I got a call from Beth.”
Tony grinned. “I delivered the rescued fish. Finster said to tell you thanks for keeping it, although he did seem a bit put out by the situation and not particularly thrilled to have it back. I’m pretty sure he’s going to have trouble getting his wife to allow him to hang it in their house.”
Duke’s lower lip moved forward in a pout. “Women don’t seem to like a lot of things. It’s not just the fish, I have a poster my wife won’t let me hang either. Bought it at a motorcycle rally. Cute chick and hot bike.” His expression resembled that of an overgrown eight-year-old, except for the mustache and beard.
Tony couldn’t help but envy the man’s long, thick, chestnut-brown hair, combed straight back from his forehead and hanging down to his collar like a mane, but he managed to keep himself from whining about his baldness. He guessed Duke’s disgruntled expression might have more to do with being barely over thirty and having three boys, one almost twelve, than being married to a woman who didn’t want her home to resemble a men’s locker room. Whatever Duke thought he’d be doing at thirty, it was probably not running his family hardware store. Being sheriff gave Tony information about people he’d often rather not know. In this case, it was Duke’s spending more time drinking at The Spa, a local bar, than he did at home. Tony decided on a change of subject. Baseball. “The boys have their first tournament game tomorrow evening.”
“That’s right. Your oldest and my youngest are on the same team.” Duke studied Tony’s bald scalp as if he were trying to calculate the difference in their own ages.
Tony thought about telling Duke he was almost forty to the hardware man’s thirty but decided not to waste his breath. Duke had finally poured the color packet into the base paint and was starting the paint-mixing machine. It made such a racket, no one could talk about anything and be heard. Tony suspected the machine might need an overhaul. Above the chugga-chugga sound was the whine of metal grinding against metal. It made Tony’s teeth ache, so he moved to the far side of the hardware store and studied the garden tools. They reminded him to get some cash to pay young Alvin Tibbles. The teenager had recently become the Abernathy yard and garden assistant. The boy mowed and weeded and trimmed for cash, but he seemed to enjoy the work immensely.
Alvin was not alone in the yard when Theo got home. His mother, Candy, who did less to raise the boy than anyone else in town, had parked her car at an angle so it blocked the new driveway, leading to the new garage. Theo parked in the street rather than
At the end of the day, on his way home, Tony stopped by the hardware store to pick up another gallon of paint. The brand-new addition to their house, built as a gift from his brother, Caesar Augustus, and his rich wife, Catherine, had not included the paint. Tony had underestimated the amount of pale yellow he’d need to finish a second coat in the new bedroom for his twin girls. The babies needed to move soon; their current nursery was smaller than a closet.
“Sheriff?” Duke McMahon greeted him from behind the counter. “Need some help?”
“Another gallon of the yellow paint.” Tony reached for his wallet.
“Is it going on okay for you? Not splotchy or anything? You know the key is even application.” The owner of the hardware store seemed skeptical of Tony’s abilities.
Thinking the man was not far off the mark, Tony answered honestly. “Yes. It’s just not going as far as I expected. It’s like the walls are absorbing it.”
Nodding his understanding, Duke ambled from the register to the paint department, peered at his records, and pried the lid off a new can of base paint. He glanced up at Tony. “I got a call from Beth.”
Tony grinned. “I delivered the rescued fish. Finster said to tell you thanks for keeping it, although he did seem a bit put out by the situation and not particularly thrilled to have it back. I’m pretty sure he’s going to have trouble getting his wife to allow him to hang it in their house.”
Duke’s lower lip moved forward in a pout. “Women don’t seem to like a lot of things. It’s not just the fish, I have a poster my wife won’t let me hang either. Bought it at a motorcycle rally. Cute chick and hot bike.” His expression resembled that of an overgrown eight-year-old, except for the mustache and beard.
Tony couldn’t help but envy the man’s long, thick, chestnut-brown hair, combed straight back from his forehead and hanging down to his collar like a mane, but he managed to keep himself from whining about his baldness. He guessed Duke’s disgruntled expression might have more to do with being barely over thirty and having three boys, one almost twelve, than being married to a woman who didn’t want her home to resemble a men’s locker room. Whatever Duke thought he’d be doing at thirty, it was probably not running his family hardware store. Being sheriff gave Tony information about people he’d often rather not know. In this case, it was Duke’s spending more time drinking at The Spa, a local bar, than he did at home. Tony decided on a change of subject. Baseball. “The boys have their first tournament game tomorrow evening.”
“That’s right. Your oldest and my youngest are on the same team.” Duke studied Tony’s bald scalp as if he were trying to calculate the difference in their own ages.
Tony thought about telling Duke he was almost forty to the hardware man’s thirty but decided not to waste his breath. Duke had finally poured the color packet into the base paint and was starting the paint-mixing machine. It made such a racket, no one could talk about anything and be heard. Tony suspected the machine might need an overhaul. Above the chugga-chugga sound was the whine of metal grinding against metal. It made Tony’s teeth ache, so he moved to the far side of the hardware store and studied the garden tools. They reminded him to get some cash to pay young Alvin Tibbles. The teenager had recently become the Abernathy yard and garden assistant. The boy mowed and weeded and trimmed for cash, but he seemed to enjoy the work immensely.
Alvin was not alone in the yard when Theo got home. His mother, Candy, who did less to raise the boy than anyone else in town, had parked her car at an angle so it blocked the new driveway, leading to the new garage. Theo parked in the street rather than
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