This was because they even had a five-star hotel with a world-class spa abutting the biggest lake in the county (the source of the “mist” in Misted Pines, as it had a multitude of hot springs feeding it, so the water was temperate year-round, but when it got cold, the mist of the lake enveloped the town, even miles away up at my cabin).
As picturesque as all of this was, it still somehow didn’t hide the seediness that humanity got up to.
I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was afeelto the place that was so contradictory, it could make your head spin if you thought on it too long.
It was welcoming.It was warm.It was quiet.It was low-key.It was pretty.The people were friendly.
And it was seething.
Don’t ask me how this was real, it just was.
Prominent on the town’s only major street was the county’s sheriff’s office.A one-story brick building on a corner.
And that was where I aimed my truck.
It was early September, and somehow, even if the kids were at school, so vacations weren’t on offer, the tourist traffic hadn’t died down that much.
Perhaps it was due to the Pinetop Lodge, that aforementioned five-star hotel that hosted weddings and had the capacity for conferences.
Who knew?
I just knew I constantly had to hustle to keep the store stocked, because one couldn’t say I was killing it, but after month four up here, I hadn’t had to dig intohismoney to pay my employees, my rent, or feed myself.
I wasn’t adding to (or, God forbid, subtracting from) my other bank account, the one I left to earn interest, which had been created by me selling off my belongings before moving up here.The one I’d use as a down payment when I finally bought a house to settle—please God, once and for always—somewhere safe.
But even if the store wasn’t making a killing, it was making it.
Due to the bustle of Main Street, I had to park two storefronts down from the sheriff’s department in one of the angled spots right on the road.
I did this.
And then I tramped back to the station, opened the door and all but flung myself through it.
Mm-hmm.
You could take this as I was still angry.
Very.
Unsurprisingly, the reception area was a throwback in time.Gleaming wooden counter facing the door, old wooden benches on the edges to sit in should you have to wait for…whatever you’d have to wait for at a police station.
Beyond that counter, however, I was hurtled back into the twenty-first century.
Desk cubbies with low walls so the personnel could see and talk to each other.Nice computers.Two glass-walled conference rooms at the back.
A Latino man was standing at the counter.His name plate saidHernandez.
“Can I help you?”he asked.
I walked up to him.“I’d like to report a trespassing.And a threat.A threatening trespassing,” I announced.
I then opened my bag, pulled out the letter and handed it to him.
“That was on my welcome mat this morning,” I went on.“And yes, before you ask, I had company last night.He spent the night, left this morning, and he was not my husband under God’s eyes or anybody’s.”
In fact, I don’t even know the man’s name, I did not add.Though I knew he was polite…as such.
Deputy Hernandez listened to this with a blank cop face before he opened the letter, read it, and I was gratified to see how his eyes narrowed on the words.
