Saving Allegheny Green Read online

  “She talks tough,” Mama said, extending her palm to Conahegg. “But it’s an act. She’s really soft as duck down.”

  Conahegg’s gray eyes glittered at me. “I’ll have to keep that in mind. It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Green.” He took Mama’s hand and had the effrontery to kiss it.

  Show-off.

  Mama giggled.

  Wonderful. There was only one thing that could have made the funeral worse. If Reverend Ray Don Swiggly had been officiating it. That would have placed the cherry on the dung cake.

  “What are you doing here?” I snapped at Conahegg. I needed someone to take my frustrations out on and he was closest. Not to mention that he was the very source of my sexual frustrations.

  “Paying my respects.”

  I eyed him suspiciously, not sure whether I believed him or not. That had been his deputy I’d heard talking to Rocky in the rectory. Something was going on. I recalled what Maddie Farnsworth had said about trouble in the sheriff’s department and wondered what it meant. Could Rocky and Jefferson be in cahoots on a drug deal?

  “Let’s go,” I said to Mama and Aunt Tessa.

  “You’re not really throwing Sissy and Denny out of the house, are you?” Aunt Tessa asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Sheriff Conahegg,” my mother asked in her most sugary Southern accent. “We have a delicious apple pie in the car. Would you care to go on a dessert picnic with us at Cleveland Park?”

  What on earth? That pie was supposed to be for the Kehauls. And what in the heck was my mother doing inviting Conahegg on a picnic?

  “Homemade apple pie?” Conahegg hitched a finger in his belt loop.

  I caught his eye and emphatically shook my head. “Don’t you have work to do?”

  He fixed his flint gaze on me and said, “I set my own hours.” Then to Mama, he replied, “Why sure, Mrs. Green, I’d love to have pie with you in the park.”

  “You’re gonna regret it,” I muttered low enough so only he could hear. “She has a tendency to use salt instead of sugar in her recipes.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Conahegg whispered back.

  “What are you planning on using for plates and forks and napkins?” I asked Mama the minute we got into the car. “And what on earth possessed you to invite the sheriff for pie?”

  “He’s good-looking, polite and he likes you.”

  “He does not!” I denied but my face heated. “Well, he would if you tried a little harder to be nice to him.

  When was the last time you went on a date, daughter?”

  “Don’t start with me.”

  “Why not? I think Sam would make a wonderful son-in-law.”

  “No way. Not ever. Uh-uh. Forget it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Oh for starters he’s arrogant, high-handed, opinionated and totally bent on getting his own way.”

  “Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Mama quoted.

  “At the risk of changing the subject, what are we going to use for utensils?” My pulse was jumping like a squid in a pond full of piranha at the thought of having dessert with Conahegg.

  “Ally—” Mama clicked her tongue “—do you know what your problem is?”

  “No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

  “You have no romance in your soul.”

  “Come again?”

  Mama rummaged in the glove compartment. “Ta-da!” she said, pulling out a box of straws.

  I rolled my eyes. “What are we going to do with those?”

  “Use them as forks, silly.” Mama shook her head. “And we can eat right out of the pie pan.”

  “I’m stopping by 7-Eleven,” I announced. I needed more than plastic forks and paper plates—although I didn’t often drink, a six-pack was looking really good right now.

  I pulled into the 7-Eleven parking lot. Conahegg parked beside me and cranked down his window. I did the same.

  “Detour?” he asked.

  “Beer run,” I replied.

  “Funny. I never pegged you for a drinker.”

  “Normally, I’m not.” I got out of the car, very aware of his gaze on my butt as I sashayed into the store.

  Okay, so I put a little more roll into my hips than usual. Might as well show him what he was never going to have.

  I got my purchases, sans the beer, having decided I needed my wits about me if I was going to have pie with Conahegg, returned to the car then drove over to Cleveland Park.

  There’s a picnic area, tennis and basketball courts, swings and slides for kids to play on. I thought of Denny and got a twinge of conscience. I wished I hadn’t let Sissy take him off with her.

  “Let’s get that picnic table in the shade,” Mama said, trailing off toward a stone table under an aging elm, the pie nestled in the crook of her arm.

  Conahegg got out of the car and grabbed my elbow before I could follow my mother and Aunt Tessa. “I like your hair,” he said.

  “Really.”

  “It looks sexy.”

  I raised a hand to pat my new hairdo, flattered that he’d noticed but determined not to be swept off my feet by his attention. I had no idea where I stood with him. None whatsoever. Did he even like me? Sometimes it seemed yes, other times no.

  “I want to tell you something,” he said.

  “Oh?” I lifted an eyebrow.

  “I’m proud of what you did back there in the church, standing up for yourself against your sister and her boyfriend.”

  “No big deal.”

  “For you it was.” He smiled. How did he know so darned much about me? “You don’t like to hurt the people you love so you usually let them roll right over you.”

  “And what makes you think that?”

  “My mother used to be the same way,” he said. “A people pleaser to the detriment of her own wants and needs. You won’t know true freedom, Ally, until you learn to stand up for yourself.”

  “Thanks for your unsolicited opinion.” I wrenched my elbow from his grip. Damn, one minute he was nice, the next he was telling me how to run my life.

  What was wrong with me? Why was I so attracted to him? I liked guys who, well…needed me and I had the distinct impression Conahegg had never needed anyone.

  “Ally, bring the plates,” my mother called.

  We sat around the picnic table eating Mama’s apple pie. Surprisingly, it turned out to be very good. Conahegg had three helpings. I eyed him and wondered how he managed to keep his rock-hard figure even with regular workouts at the gym.

  “Excellent pie, Mrs. Green.” Conahegg patted his belly.

  “Thank you, Sam.” My mother blushed prettily. “And please, call me, Amelia.”

  “All right, then, Amelia.”

  Why was Conahegg trying to win brownie points with my mom? To impress me? Ha. Little did he know I was already impressed, much to my own chagrin.

  “I’ve got to be getting back to work,” he said. “Ally, why don’t you walk me to my car.”

  “What for?”

  “I’d like to speak with you a moment.”

  Oh my gosh, he’s going to ask me out.

  I was both thrilled and terrified. Then I remembered the last time I’d thought he was going to ask me out. Instead he told me I had mozzarella cheese on my chin. Quickly, I swiped a palm across my face to make sure I wasn’t wearing pie crust.

  “Go on.” Aunt Tessa gave me a push.

  Reluctantly, I followed Conahegg to his automobile. I was nervous about being alone with him and not sure why.

  Don’t ask me out, don’t ask me out, don’t ask me out, I mentally chanted but by the time we reached his car it had somehow turned into—do ask me out, do ask me out, do ask me out.

  He stopped, slipped on his Ray-Ban shades and leaned against the hood. He put one foot over the other, crossed his arms at his chest and peered at me through his mirrored aviator sunglasses. At least I think he was peering at me. I couldn’t really see his eyes.

  “Yeah
,” I said, feeling a little confrontational and anxious to hide my real feelings from him. “What is it?”

  “Are you always so testy?”

  “Only when I’m being grilled by a cop.” By a good-looking cop who makes me think naughty sexual thoughts. Damn! I felt powerless and I hate feeling powerless.

  “I’m not grilling you.”

  “If I were a halibut I’d be blackened to a crisp.”

  He grinned. “Good one.”

  “So what’s the deal?” I shifted my weight.

  “Would you happen to know where Rocky buys his marijuana?”

  I stared at him. “No. I’m not privy to Rocky’s secret inner life, thank God.”

  “But your sister is.”

  “Well, she doesn’t usually say things like—‘Hey Ally, Rocky and I are going over to his dealer’s house, want us to pick you up a couple bags of Colombian Gold?’—if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Conahegg ran a hand through his hair. “I’m handling this badly.”

  “Oh, I get it,” I said, remembering what Maddie Farnsworth had told me. “You think one of your deputies is dealing from the evidence room.”

  He arched an eyebrow in surprise. “How did you hear about that?”

  “I know you’ve been away for a long time, Sheriff, but Cloverleaf is still a very small town.”

  “You’re right and I don’t want to fight with you.”

  “Are we fighting?”

  “Seems like we’re always at cross-purposes.” His mouth tipped upward. “That was never my intention.”

  What was his intention? I gulped.

  “Listen, Ally, as far as you know, did Tim do drugs?”

  “No. His vices ran along other lines.” I forced my mind to stay on the business at hand.

  “That’s what I thought. We didn’t find any kind of drug paraphernalia in his trailer.”

  I wagged my finger in the air. “Do you think Tim’s death is somehow connected to the problems in your department?”

  “Not at all,” Conahegg said smoothly, but it made me wonder.

  I thought of the deputy I had overheard talking to Rocky in the church. I almost said something to Conahegg about it, but I had no proof of anything so I kept my mouth shut.

  “If you don’t mind, could you put out some feelers about Rocky’s drug connection? Maybe ask your sister a few subtle questions.”

  “All right.”

  “If you find out anything, let me know.” He fished a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to me. “My home number is on the back. Feel free to call me any time of the day or night.”

  Palming his card, I casually flipped my hand over, saw a number scrawled in pencil. I got a strange feeling, as if my lungs weren’t filling properly. Any time of the day or night? Meaning?

  Conahegg’s expression was deadpan. I couldn’t read a darn thing in his face. “I’d appreciate any help you could give me.”

  “Okay.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  He unfurled his arms and got in the car. He didn’t smile or wave. He simply backed out and left me standing there, uncertain what to do next.

  SISSY TORE INTO the driveway about ten o’clock that night, opened the car door and let Denny out, then took off again without coming inside.

  I met my nephew on the porch. He had a disgusted expression on his face. I slung an arm around his shoulder. “How you doing, tough guy?”

  He shrugged.

  “Don’t want to talk about it?” I gently ruffled his hair.

  “Me and Mom had a fight.”

  “What about?” I tried to keep my voice light. I didn’t want the kid to think I was quizzing him about Sissy’s whereabouts.

  “That stupid Rocky dude.”

  “Where did you guys go?”

  “To look at some house to rent. Mom said we were going to move in there with Rocky, but I told her I didn’t want to.” He paused a moment. “It was a real nice house, though. Had a swimming pool in the backyard and a basketball court.”

  “Where was the house located?”

  “Over by the high school.”

  In Mira Vista Estates? Most of those homes boasted price tags of over two hundred thousand dollars. There was no way Sissy could afford to rent a place in that area of town. Another fine example of my sister’s illogical thought processes.

  “Then what did you do?” I asked, ushering him inside and locking the door behind us.

  “Then we got a pizza and went over to Rocky’s place.” Denny made a face. “What a roach motel. That’s when me and Mom got into the fight.”

  “Oh.” I waited, hoping he would go on without my having to prompt him.

  “They went in the back to watch some video on the television in Rocky’s bedroom. They left me stuck in that yucky living room with nothing to do.”

  “I’m sorry, Denny.” We went into the kitchen and I poured him a glass of milk. He sat at the bar, his legs kicking against the bar stool.

  What had Sissy and Rocky really been up to in that bedroom? Smoking pot? Watching porn movies? I shuddered. Surely, not even Sissy would do such irresponsible things with her son in the very next room.

  What was I going to do about my sister?

  “Then a little while later Mom came into the living room and she was crying. I asked what was wrong but she wouldn’t tell me.” Denny’s face darkened. “I thought that stupid Rocky had been mean to her or something, so I started yellin’ at him.”

  “Did he hurt you, Denny?”

  “No. He told Mom to get me out of there. So she brought me home. She said I have to be nice to Rocky, that he might be my new Daddy. I told her no way in hell and she slapped me.” Tears collected in the corners of Denny’s eyes but he fiercely swiped them away.

  No, Sissy, no. My sister was in deep trouble and I didn’t know the full extent of it.

  I sent Denny to bed, then I went into Sissy’s bedroom. A lot of her clothes were missing and so was a suitcase. She must have come back after Tim’s funeral and packed while Mama and Aunt Tessa and I were picnicking with Conahegg.

  In her address book I found Rocky’s phone number and called his trailer. It rang and rang and rang.

  Damn. They were probably out somewhere getting drunk.

  I threw the receiver back on the hook and then, not knowing what else to do, I called Conahegg.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “HELLO.”

  At the sound of his husky voice that held the same smooth bite as expensive brandy, I almost hung up.

  “Hello?” he said again, demanding that I answer.

  “Um…hi.” I sank onto the edge of Sissy’s bed, and twisted the phone cord around my index finger until it turned dusky.

  “Allegheny?”

  I was inordinately pleased that he’d recognized my voice with so little to go on.

  “Yes. Can you talk?” I untwisted my finger and shook my hand to get the blood circulating.

  “Hang on a minute. I’ve got a potpie in the oven.”

  I heard him settle the phone against what sounded like a countertop. He was talking to me from the kitchen, I deduced. Poor thing. Reduced to eating tasteless frozen dinners from a box. If I were there I’d make him my special chicken potpie with homemade crust and a tossed salad on the side.

  “Okay,” he said, “I’m back.”

  “You’re eating awfully late.” I could imagine him standing in the kitchen. His hair was damp from a shower and sticking up in spiky clumps. Was he in his underwear? I wondered. Or maybe even naked? My heart beat faster.

  “Yeah, well, I left work late, then I had to cook and debone the chicken before putting the pie together.”

  “You made it yourself? From scratch?” So much for my domestic fantasy of feeding Sheriff Burly He-Man. Still, I was impressed that he had made his own chicken potpie. My daydream shifted a little. In my mind’s eye he remained naked, but now he wore an apron that read: KISS THE COOK.

  “I cheated a little,”
he admitted. “I used Pillsbury ready-made crust. And I bought the vegetables already cut up.”

  Ah! He wasn’t perfect after all.

  “So, what can I do for you?” he asked.

  Besides raise my core body temperature and drive me wild with desire? “I need to talk to you.”

  “Fire when ready.”

  I heard a chair scrape against a tile floor. I closed my eyes, licked my lips. He was pulling out the kitchen chair, sitting down. The KISS THE COOK apron fell strategically across his bare lap barely covering his large…

  “Ally? You still there?”

  “Huh?” I felt dazed. Like someone jerked from a deep sleep.

  “You okay? You sound…funny.”

  Try horny, fella.

  “Fine, just fine,” I muttered, struggling to keep my mind on the topic at hand and off Conahegg’s imaginary anatomy. I kicked off my shoes, scooted to the middle of Sissy’s bed and tucked my legs beneath me.

  “Where are you at?” he asked.

  “I’m home.”

  “Where at home?”

  “In bed.”

  “Ah.” His voice cracked.

  Startled, I realized Conahegg might be having a few late-night fantasies of his own. The thought revved me up like a finely tuned car engine. Goose bumps spread across my arms.

  “What are you wearing?”

  Oh my gosh! Obviously he’d misinterpreted the meaning of my call. Time to jump in and tell him about Sissy, to nip the wayward conversation in the bud.

  “Or are you wearing anything at all?”

  My cheeks flamed. I glanced down at my faded, comfy, frumpy pj’s with the top button missing and the grape jelly stain on the collar. I could tell the truth and bring our little tête-à-tête to a screeching halt or I could play along and see where it might lead.

  “A negligee,” I lied and heard a gulp from the other end of the line. I unfurled my legs, lay back against the pillow.

  “What color?”

  I could see him. His sweaty hand clasping the receiver, the KISS THE COOK apron making a tent big enough for a family of circus dwarfs to camp beneath.