I know I shouldn’t fuck with him, but I just can’t help myself. “So,Swift? Any relation toyou know who?”
He glares at me. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re in town.”
“I live here.”
“You moved away.”
“Yes, and while I know you would have loved to have christened the day I left as a town holiday, I am back. For good.”
He does absolutely nothing to hide his disappointment. Oh well. He can suck on a body part that I don’t even possess.
“I’m sure you and I will be seeing a lot of each other, Joanna,” he says in a demeaning tone.
His eyes glance down at the bag that rustles in my hands.
Not able to help myself once more, I say, “Oh, sorry, did you want one? I know your kind loves donuts.”
I truly have nothing against cops. I’ve been arrested enough times to have had my fair share of experiences with them. Most have just been doing their jobs and have been nice enough. But Sheriff Swift is the only one who has me pinned as guilty no matter the circumstances.
I half-expect him to pull out his cuffs right here and now, but he just eyes me up and down again.
“Oh, yes, Joanna. We’ll see each other much more.”
He lumbers away, and I think about what a dick he is. Back when I was a teenager, Mr. Simpson’s dog went missing, and the sheriff immediately came to my house to grill me about it.
Anyone who knows me knows how ridiculous that is. I love dogs more than I love people, and I’d own fifty of them if I could. As a kid, I spent hours every week volunteering at the animal shelter. I should have been his least likely suspect. I may have gotten in trouble for many things, but hurting an animal would never have been one of them.
My mom thought it was so absurd that she slammed the door in his face right after telling him to get his head out of his ass. I smile just thinking about it.
God, I love that woman.
Suzanne Lawson is not a woman to be trifled with. Even the sheriff knows that.
Speaking of my mother, as I walk into Andre’s, I see her standing behind the bar, looking through a stack of receipts. She looks so small back there. Just like me, she only stands about five feet tall, but unlike me—or any of her other kids—she has blonde hair and blue eyes.
She glances up at me as I walk toward her.
“Well, hi, Joanna Leigh,” she says, looking back down at what she was doing.
My mother is the only one who doesn’t make me cringe when she uses my full name. I mean, she is the one who gave it to me, so that shouldn’t be surprising.
“Hi, Mom.” I keep walking toward her until I get to the bar. “You don’t look surprised to see me.”
“I’m not.”
“Did Dylan tell you?”
“No, he told Ronnie. Ronnie told Liz. Liz told Michelle, and Michelle told me.”
“Good grief. Communication in this family is like a giant game of telephone.”
“Don’t I know it? I also know that you left your boyfriend and moved in with Dylan.”
“Geez. Do you also know what I ate in the car on my way home?”
“I don’t have firsthand information, but I’m guessing more Red Bull than is medically advised and something that hurt your stomach—probably a gas station burrito.”
“You’re a wizard,” I whisper.
