The Return(17)

She appeared to be alone and after a moment’s hesitation, I started toward her, almost colliding with an older lady who’d been examining a birdhouse. When I was getting close, Natalie turned in my direction. She did a quick double take, but by then, I was already by her side.

“Good morning,” I chirped.

I could feel her eyes on me, gleaming with amusement. “Good morning,” she responded.

“I don’t know if you remember, but I’m Trevor Benson. We met the other night.”

“I remember,” she said.

“What are the odds I’d bump into you here?”

“Pretty high, I’d say,” she remarked, “since I mentioned that I come here regularly.”

“After your recommendation, I thought I’d check it out,” I said. “And I needed to get some things anyway.”

“But you haven’t found anything to buy yet?”

“I had cider earlier. And there’s a doll made of straw I’m thinking about.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of guy who collects dolls.”

“I’m hoping it will give me someone to talk to while I’m having coffee in the mornings.”

“That’s a troubling thought,” she said, her eyes lingering on mine for a beat too long. I wondered if it was her way of flirting, or if she scrutinized everyone this way.

“I’m actually here to pick up some potatoes.”

“Feel free,” she said, waving a hand at the table. “There’s plenty.”

She turned her attention to the table, chewing on her lip as she studied the produce. Moving closer, I stole a peek at her profile, thinking that her unguarded expression revealed a surprising innocence, as though she still puzzled over why bad things happened in the world. I wondered if it had something to do with her job, or whether I was simply imagining it. Or whether, God forbid, it had something to do with me.

She chose a few medium-sized potatoes, sliding them into the basket; I opted for two of the larger ones. After counting how many she’d already selected, she added a few more.

“That’s a lot of potatoes,” I observed.

“I’m making pies.” At my questioning expression, she said, “Not for me. For a neighbor.”

“You bake?”

“I live in the South. Of course I bake.”

“But your neighbor doesn’t?”

“She’s elderly, and her kids and grandkids are coming to visit later this week. She loves my recipe.”

“Very nice of you,” I commended her. “How did the rest of your week go?”

She rearranged the potatoes in her basket. “It was fine.”

“Anything exciting happen? Shoot-outs, manhunts? Anything like that?”

“No,” she said. “Just the usual. A handful of domestic disturbances, a couple of drivers under the influence. And transfers, of course.”

“Transfers?”

“Prisoner transfers. To and from court appearances.”

“You do that?”

“All deputies do.”

“Is that scary?”

“Not usually. They’re in handcuffs, and most of them are pretty agreeable. Court is a lot more pleasant than jail. But every now and then, one of them will make me nervous, the rare psychopath, I suppose. It’s like something elemental is missing in their personality and you get the feeling that right after killing you, they could wolf down a couple of tacos without a care in the world.” Peering into her basket, she made a count before turning to the vendor. “How much?”

At the vendor’s response, she pulled a few bills from her handbag and handed them over. I held mine up as well and fished the cash from my wallet. As I waited, a brown-eyed brunette in her thirties waved at Natalie and began to approach, all smiles. As the woman weaved through the customers, Natalie stiffened. When she was close, the woman leaned in, offering Natalie a hug.

“Hey, Natalie,” the woman said, her voice almost solicitous. Like she knew that Natalie was struggling with something I knew nothing about. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’m sorry,” Natalie responded as the woman pulled back. “There’s a lot going on.”

The woman nodded, her gaze flicking in my direction, then back to Natalie again, her curiosity evident.

“I’m Trevor Benson,” I offered, holding out my hand.

“Julie Richards,” she said.

“My dentist,” Natalie explained. She turned to Julie again. “I know I need to call your office and set up an appointment…”

“Whenever,” Julie said, waving her hand. “You know I’ll work around your schedule.”

“Thank you,” Natalie murmured. “How’s Steve doing?”

Julie shrugged. “Super busy,” she said. “They’re still trying to find another doctor for the practice, so he’s booked solid all week. He’s on the golf course right now, which I know he needs, but thankfully, he promised to bring the kids to a movie later so Mom can have a break, too.”

Natalie smiled. “Cooperation and compromise.”

“He’s a good guy,” Julie said. Again, her eyes flashed momentarily to me, then back to Natalie again. “Soooo…How do you two know each other?”