Need You for Keeps (Heroes of St. Helena, #1)(46)

Clovis stopped, her face going a little flushed. She recovered in record time and flapped a dismissive hand, as though she were the expert on the matters of penal code violations. “That’s irrelevant.”

“Uh-huh.” Jonah stared at her.

Clovis stared back, her wrinkles rippling at the expression she adopted. Moments passed, along with a few silent challenges.

Finally, with an exasperated huff, she plopped her enormous purse on the counter to dig around inside. “I have pictures somewhere, if you need them as evidence for the warrant.”

Jonah wasn’t buying it. “When did he, uh, expose himself to you?”

“Not me,” Clovis snapped. “It was that swim teacher.”

Pausing, she glanced at the other people in the station, then leaned in and lowered her voice, and Jonah was beginning to see the real problem. “Giles has been paying her twenty-five dollars a pop for ‘lessons’ so he can watch her flotation devices up close. Only this week he got bold, faking that he couldn’t swim, and started flapping around. His man-hammock, which he bought at some fancy out-of-town shop, swayed with the current, if you know what I mean.”

Clovis signaled with her eyes to her lower regions and Jonah threw up a little in his mouth. There was nothing about his uncle’s man-hammock that he was remotely interested in knowing. Although the only reason Giles would go out of town to buy a man-hammock—and there went another gag Jonah had to suppress—was if he was too embarrassed to buy one in town.

One of the most important rules for getting to the truth of the matter, Jonah knew, was to ask the right question. “Now, Ms. Owens, does this have anything to do with his Pinterest page?”

A page that was becoming the bane of Jonah’s existence.

“It’s not a page, it’s a board—his Sexy and Single in St. Helena board—and no.” Clovis folded her arms over her chest—rather under because her arms weren’t long enough to go over. “It most certainly does not.” Although her pained expression told a different story.

Jonah didn’t argue. He just stood quietly until Clovis’s beady eyes got even beadier, trying to intimidate him into submission. Only Jonah didn’t intimidate easily. Growing up with a sister and great-aunt who weren’t afraid to fight dirty—to use fists, knees, any sharp body part that could do damage—gave Jonah a leg up on the older woman. Unless she was concealing a weapon inside her bag, or aimed her cane at his boys, he wasn’t caving.

“I think you should bring him in for questioning.”

Jonah closed his notebook and put it away so he could put his hand on Clovis’s, and softened his voice. She wasn’t mean or vindictive, just a lonely woman with the misfortune of having feelings for a man who was blinded by the latest and greatest model in sweater-kittens. “Maybe instead of trying to get him arrested, you should tell him you want to be friends. Cook up one of your famous lemon-iced fig cakes and take it as a peace offering.”

“He wouldn’t invite me in,” she said.

“I don’t know a man in town who could turn away one of your cakes, Ms. Owens.”

“Oh.” She looked away, shy and nervous—and soaking it all up. “I don’t know about that. Plus, we’d start arguing before we even cut the first slice.”

“Don’t bring up the board or Celeste, just be yourself. Show him that flotation devices eventually deflate, but an evening with a charming woman who has a big”—Jonah smiled until Clovis was good and flustered—“heart and a wealth of life experiences is a night well spent.”

“My fig cake,” she said with a shaky nod and collected her cane. He wasn’t sure if she would take his advice, or if he’d solved the problem, but at least the real issue was out in the open.

He watched her slowly make her way toward the exit and wondered how much energy the older woman expended on covering up the fact that she was lonely.

A lot, he decided, thinking about his work schedule. A whole hell of a lot.

“You just earned my vote,” a sweet voice said from the other end of the counter.

Jonah turned to find the best set of sweater-kittens he’d ever seen in a bright blue sundress held up by tiny straps. The neckline was clearly made to mess with his mind. It fell down into a deep V, and there was just enough fabric to cover her without covering everything. He couldn’t tell if the dress went to the knees or flirted around her thighs—the counter was in the way—but he took his sweet time imagining the latter. Then he imagined a big gust of wind blowing through the door and smiled.

Desk duty wasn’t looking so bad after all.

“Well, if doing my job is all it takes to get votes, then maybe there is still hope,” he said, glancing at the woman waiting at the ticketing counter in a WARREN’S GOT BOOTY tee.

Shay looked over her shoulder and chuckled. “Warren’s the pick of the week, a passing phase.”

He eyed the woman again and wished he could say he agreed. A few days ago, it wouldn’t have even crossed his mind that a slacker like Warren could wind up as sheriff. Now, he wasn’t so sure. “I hope it passes before the election.”

She placed her hand on his. Everything about her in that soft dress, with those soulful eyes, called to him. “He needs a badge to prove he’s sheriff quality, a leader. You’re already that man, Jonah, and the town knows that.”