Page 29 of When the Smoke Clears

“Hey, Sav. Everything alright?” I ask, eyes fixed on the stranger.

“It’s fine,” she says, voice steady. “Cameron was just leaving.”

Gabe tilts his head. “Let’s get you on your way then, Chet.”

“My name is Cameron.”

“Don’t care,” Gabe returns, and I have to bite back a laugh.

“On your way, college boy,” he repeats firmly.

“Nah, I’m good,” Cameron slurs.

“You’re anything but good,” I say, my voice low but firm. “You’re drunk, and you put your hands on a woman without her consent. So this can go one of two ways: you can take an Uber back to wherever you came from, or you can sober up in jail. My jail.”

A flicker of understanding crosses his face. His shoulders slump. “I’ll call my ride.”

“Excellent decision.” I gesture toward the door. “Let’s go wait outside for him.”

I glance at Gabe. “Will you stay with my sister?”

He nods, and I follow Cameron out.

We stand in silence for a few minutes until a white sedan pulls up to the curb. Cameron climbs into the passenger seat, limbs loose and clumsy.

“Maybe next time don’t show up to a blind date drunk,” I tell him before shutting the door a little harder than necessary.

When I head back inside, Gabe and Sav are sitting in silence, watching the baseball game on the TV above the bar. She flicks a glance my way, then back to the screen.

“Don’t start,” she warns.

“I wasn’t going to.” I know better. She’s a grown woman, and her dating life is her business. Mostly.

“I’ve got to head to the station,” I say.

Gabe glances over. “I’ll be in touch.”

Sav ignores us both, focused on the batter working a full count.

The station is quiet when I arrive, which doesn’t surprise me at this hour. I check in with the night dispatcher, who’s bent over a Sudoku puzzle.

“Hey, Christine.”

“Hey, Sheriff.” She doesn’t even look up, unfazed by me showing up whenever.

“Is Mike out patrolling?”

“He is. Want me to get him on the radio?”

“Ask him to call me,” I say, heading to my office.

My phone buzzes almost immediately.

I answer and explain that I want him to swing by the inn and Gretchen Tanner’s house a couple of times over his shift. To his credit, he doesn’t ask why.

I stare at the mess on my desk and decide it can all wait until tomorrow. I give Christine a quick wave on my way back out.

The drive home demands my full attention; the forest crowds both sides of the road, and deer like to treat the asphalt like a suggestion.