* * * *
The next morning, he showed up on shift after a surprisingly good night’s rest. Sure, his brain had still been buzzing when he went to bed, but the contentment had lasted, and he’d finally managed to fall asleep just because his body decided it was done for the day.
He’d gone to get everyone coffee from the diner, because it was his turn, and distributed them to Jason and Erin when he got to work. He still had the sheriff’s drink when the man himself peeked out from his office.
“Forrest, good,” he just said, gesturing at Mark.
Since he’d been going in to bring Sheriff Newman his large latte anyway, the fact that he was being sort of summoned meant something else.
Mark glanced at the others who both shrugged.
“I’ve no clue,” Jason said, then went back to whatever he was typing at his desk.
Erin just sipped at her macchiato and shooed him toward the office.
Mark, feeling weirdly on edge, took his own latte and the sheriff’s and went to see what was going on.
The incident at Makai and Emil’s place the previous summer was still something that made him feel awkward. It still affected how everyone in town saw him and even his professional relationship with his boss. Sheriff Newman was a great boss. He was friendly and incredibly fair. For a man who had high standards and expected a lot from his employees, he was also there for them if they needed extra time off or there was something else they needed to talk about.
Mark didn’t bother knocking because the door was ajar for him. He stepped inside with the coffees and closed the door behind himself out of habit.
“Oh, thank you,” Sheriff Newman said, as if he’d forgotten that on most mornings, one of the deputies got them all a pre-emptive pick-me-up from the diner.
Mark just nodded and sat, waiting to hear what was going on. He felt hesitant, but his brain tried to tell him he hadn’t done anything wrong. Unless somehow, the sheriff had found out about Francis? But why would he even care? Besides, the man had a gay son.
Sheriff Newman put his to-go cup down and turned to his computer screen. “So, Mark,” he started, and instantly Mark was on the edge. He was pretty sure this was the first time since The Incident that the sheriff used his first name.
“Mhmm?”
“I’ve gotten another email and then a call from Moira Pritchard.”
“Oh, does she want another welfare check on the Grahams?” Mark asked, frowning at the thought.
Charles and Henrietta Graham were an elderly couple who lived in a large house in the middle of nowhere about ten miles north of town. Their nearest neighbors owned a campsite and trailer park.
“Well, yes and no. She’s been having trouble with getting in touch with them some days. Eventually one of them answers, but she says her parents are getting to the point when more regular visits might be necessary,” Sheriff Newman explained in his usual even tone.
“Don’t they have home nurses?” Mark asked, then drank a bit more coffee, wondering where he fit in with all of this.
“Yeah, they have one going in every two to three days, depending on the situation, but most of the time Henrietta does well with making sure they both get their medications and Charles can get around better than her so they still manage just fine.”
“The last time I was there, I thought they both seemed pretty sharp for their age?”
“Oh, there’s very little wrong in their mental health. No dementia or Alzheimer’s or anything like that. Normal old age stuff mostly. Like forgetting to put the landline back on the hook or leaving the cell phone in one part of the house when they go to the other.” Sheriff Newman waved dismissively. “It’s just that they’re not getting younger and she worries about her parents a lot.”
Mark made a noncommittal sound. He couldn’t empathize. He would be happy if his folks forgot about calling him one day.
“So what do you want to do with this?” he asked, instead of dwelling on his own issues.
“Well, I know they liked you when you last visited. We also know that they don’t take well for people ‘meddling.’”
Mark could hear the quotation marks and grinned a bit. That was true. The reception each time the sheriff’s department had to do a welfare check was somewhere between genuinely delighted and “get off my lawn.”
“Did the daughter have any special requests?” Mark asked, sipping his coffee as he relaxed in the chair. This wasn’t about him, so everything was fine.
“Just that when we have a chance, if we would do a favor. She doesn’t know many people in town, she went to some fancy school in Michigan since she was about fifteen, I think, so she never really spent much time in town.”
“Aren’t the Grahams like closer to ninety now?”
