the ignition and the big V-8 roared to life, a quick press on the accelerator and the Econoline disappeared in a cloud of dust. Cletus returned to his classifieds shaking his head slightly. Trouble, he thought to himself, nothing but trouble.
“Shit! God Damn it!” Randall Jackson dabbed wildly at his lap with the worn cloth handkerchief he kept safely concealed in his back pocket. The coffee that had only moments before burned his tongue was now scalding his crotch. For a second he saw Cheryl’s face poking around the frame of his office door, mock concern etching her face.
“Randall, you’ve always been such a klutz.”
She laughed playfully and then she was gone, her image wavering briefly before winking out for good. He cursed himself silently for stirring up old memories. Cheryl had left, and she wasn’t coming back. Randall stood up and watched helplessly as coffee dripped from his white Dockers and splattered on the leather of his office chair before pooling into a small brown puddle.
Normally he wore his sheriff uniform but today was Sunday, the one day his badge took a back seat to his realtor’s license. Cheryl had encouraged him to get into real estate, always wanting for a little more than his modest sheriff salary could afford. She wasn’t greedy, far from it; she just couldn’t stop dreaming of a better life, a life without credit card debt and the constant worry over whether or not there was enough money left for groceries after the monthly bills had been paid. It was a life Randall never could give her and deep in his heart he didn’t blame her for leaving. He chuckled to himself in spite of the painful memory, Cheryl certainly wasn’t missing much.
These days houses were selling like candy corn the day after Halloween. The once a week breaks were good for him though he supposed, not that sheriff of a town like Saltar’s Point was a stressful endeavor, about the only crimes that occurred around here were the occasional DUI or the local high school kids letting off a little steam with a game of mailbox baseball. Still, it was nice to get out of the station once in a while. He didn’t worry about leaving his post anymore, confident that Denny could handle his deputy duties, and if anything ever came up he had his radio nearby. Life in Saltar’s Point had become routine, almost too routine, and in the back of his mind Randall Jackson couldn’t help but wish for a little excitement. He had no idea how exciting his life was about to become.
“Looks like you had yourself a little accident.” Jack Darrow said as he stepped into Randall Jackson’s office. The screen door slammed shut behind him, announcing his presence with a startling clang.
TWO
They drove separately. Darrow insisted that he had to be somewhere shortly and would leave right from the Manor. Randall received an odd feeling that he was not being entirely truthful, but shrugged it off. Perhaps the man wasn’t fond of strangers or small talk. Perhaps he just liked to be by himself; no crime in that.
Randall checked his rearview mirror and assured himself that the van was still behind him, trailing distantly. The van itself gave Randall pause. It wasn’t the sort of vehicle you would expect someone to drive who was willing to shell out over half a million dollars for a house the size of a small shopping mall. Randall cursed himself quietly for his stereotyping. He didn’t want to loose a possible deal based on rash judgments. When they had spoken on the phone earlier Randall had told him the details of the estate including the asking price and Darrow’s voice hadn’t flinched a bit when he said “that sounds fine.” The man was a bit eccentric was all there was to it, and he probably liked his old van. Randall let the thoughts drop from his mind as he turned up the gravel driveway.
The Porter Place seemed to rise from the horizon, the wind-damaged wooden shingling appearing first and pulling with it the rest of
“Shit! God Damn it!” Randall Jackson dabbed wildly at his lap with the worn cloth handkerchief he kept safely concealed in his back pocket. The coffee that had only moments before burned his tongue was now scalding his crotch. For a second he saw Cheryl’s face poking around the frame of his office door, mock concern etching her face.
“Randall, you’ve always been such a klutz.”
She laughed playfully and then she was gone, her image wavering briefly before winking out for good. He cursed himself silently for stirring up old memories. Cheryl had left, and she wasn’t coming back. Randall stood up and watched helplessly as coffee dripped from his white Dockers and splattered on the leather of his office chair before pooling into a small brown puddle.
Normally he wore his sheriff uniform but today was Sunday, the one day his badge took a back seat to his realtor’s license. Cheryl had encouraged him to get into real estate, always wanting for a little more than his modest sheriff salary could afford. She wasn’t greedy, far from it; she just couldn’t stop dreaming of a better life, a life without credit card debt and the constant worry over whether or not there was enough money left for groceries after the monthly bills had been paid. It was a life Randall never could give her and deep in his heart he didn’t blame her for leaving. He chuckled to himself in spite of the painful memory, Cheryl certainly wasn’t missing much.
These days houses were selling like candy corn the day after Halloween. The once a week breaks were good for him though he supposed, not that sheriff of a town like Saltar’s Point was a stressful endeavor, about the only crimes that occurred around here were the occasional DUI or the local high school kids letting off a little steam with a game of mailbox baseball. Still, it was nice to get out of the station once in a while. He didn’t worry about leaving his post anymore, confident that Denny could handle his deputy duties, and if anything ever came up he had his radio nearby. Life in Saltar’s Point had become routine, almost too routine, and in the back of his mind Randall Jackson couldn’t help but wish for a little excitement. He had no idea how exciting his life was about to become.
“Looks like you had yourself a little accident.” Jack Darrow said as he stepped into Randall Jackson’s office. The screen door slammed shut behind him, announcing his presence with a startling clang.
TWO
They drove separately. Darrow insisted that he had to be somewhere shortly and would leave right from the Manor. Randall received an odd feeling that he was not being entirely truthful, but shrugged it off. Perhaps the man wasn’t fond of strangers or small talk. Perhaps he just liked to be by himself; no crime in that.
Randall checked his rearview mirror and assured himself that the van was still behind him, trailing distantly. The van itself gave Randall pause. It wasn’t the sort of vehicle you would expect someone to drive who was willing to shell out over half a million dollars for a house the size of a small shopping mall. Randall cursed himself quietly for his stereotyping. He didn’t want to loose a possible deal based on rash judgments. When they had spoken on the phone earlier Randall had told him the details of the estate including the asking price and Darrow’s voice hadn’t flinched a bit when he said “that sounds fine.” The man was a bit eccentric was all there was to it, and he probably liked his old van. Randall let the thoughts drop from his mind as he turned up the gravel driveway.
The Porter Place seemed to rise from the horizon, the wind-damaged wooden shingling appearing first and pulling with it the rest of
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