Forbidden (Southern Comfort) by O'Neill, Clark (best affordable ebook reader txt) 📕

Apparently the pharmacist had miscalculated demand, or there’d been a full moon when he wasn’t looking.  Maybe something in the water.

“Do they come in a rainbow assortment,” Kim asked, “like, you know, today I’m in the mood for Do Me Blue?  Or are they all that shockingly red?  Were they flavored?”

The door, thank God, opened at that exact minute.

It was Josh Harding, bearing his composite, which he’d already transformed into a box full of flyers.   “Sorry to interrupt.” He jostled the box to get a better grip.  “But we’re a little short on manpower at the moment, and I was wondering if I could press you into service.”

Clay looked at Kim, who nodded and shut down her computer.  “We’ll be happy to help.” He stood, stretched his legs.  “Do you have a list of addresses for the establishments you want us to visit?”

“Right here,” Josh said, using his knee to balance the box while he procured the list.  “A few post offices, several mail box places and a list of grocery stores and restaurants.  I figured the guy has to eat.”

“Right,” Clay said, finally finding a companionable smile for the deputy.  There was a busy brain behind the pretty face.

Then he took a sizable stack of flyers, and he and Kim went to work.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

JOSH Harding carried a flyer into the Main Street Diner, sweating through his second uniform shirt of the day.  It was ninety-two degrees, so humid the air was like syrup, and he was starting to smell almost as bad as Agent Copeland.

But at least he didn’t reek of having had one too many the night before, and then somehow fallen into a field of pansies.

It was petty, he knew, because Copeland honestly seemed like a good guy. But Josh had overheard part of the two FBI agents’ conversation, and the fact that the pansy field Copeland had fallen into the night before had involved Tate Hennessey and the use of a condom… well, it was okay to be bitterly pleased that the guy smelled bad.

Lucky bastard.

What kind of a name was Clay, anyway?  It was like calling your kid Dirt.

Or… Sediment.

Mud.

Feeling marginally better, Josh scanned the restaurant, locating Sally Huggins – who’d worked at the diner since the dawn of time – and put on his cop face as he strode over.  As Sally insisted on reminding him, she’d known him since he was in diapers, which meant she tended not to take him seriously.

His baby face was a definite liability in his line of work, but damn if he could help it.  Unlike Copeland, who’d started to look ragged around the edges by twelve o’clock, Josh was cursed with appearing terminally clean shaven.  And his hair – he didn’t even have to arrange it.  It just did that thing all on its own.  And so what if he preferred to smell good?  People thought he was obsessed with his appearance, and cultivated that teen idol image, but oh, if they only knew.

“Hello Mrs. Huggins,” Josh said sternly, trying to set the stage for a serious discussion.

But apparently he’d only managed to look adorable, because Sally smiled and reached across the counter to pinch his cheek.  “Joshua, honey, how are you?  You want to sit down here and have a little pie?  Lordy, baby, your cheeks are all red.  Why don’t I get you a glass of tea while you get out of this heat.  Or would you rather have one of them grape sodas?  They always were your favorite.”

So much for Sally taking him seriously.

“Actually, I’m here in an official capacity.”  He placed the flyer on the counter.

A group of teens came in, momentarily distracting Sally, and she waved to them to let them know she’d seen them.  They wandered down to the opposite end of the bar and took up residence on several stools, their cargo shorts dropping so low on their hips that they verged on indecent exposure.

“Be with you in a minute, boys,” she called out.  Then she turned to Josh with a frown.  “Hooligans,” she told him in an undertone.  “These young ones nowadays don’t know from respect.”

Josh eyeballed the pack of young boys, thinking that they were probably more mischief than trouble.  But if they were giving Sally a hard time, he wanted to know it. “Any problems I need to take care of?”

“Don’t you worry yourself, honey.”  She patted his hand.  “T’aint nothing old Sally can’t handle.  Just the usual shenanigans – loitering, stirring up the other customers, but there’s no reason for you to be worried.”

Josh shifted, placing his booted foot on the rail.  “Well you just say the word, Mrs. Huggins.”

“Thank you, baby. Now tell me your official business.”

Josh handed her the flyer, the one showing their perp as Tate described him.  This diner was right in the heart of the target area, which should fit Copeland’s theory exactly.  Of course that was assuming he wasn’t too hung over to know what the hell he was talking about.

“I was just wondering if you might remember this man,” he asked, “there’s a chance he may have come in here.”

Sally pulled her glasses up from the chain around her neck, perching them on the tip of her nose.  “Not that I can recall. Unless it was one of my off days.  What’s he done, son?  Robbed a bank or something?”

If only.  “You know I’m not at liberty to say, Mrs. Huggins.  Let’s just call him a person of interest.”

Sally gave the flyer another, more thorough, once over.  “Sorry, Joshua.  You know I’ve got a memory like an elephant, but I can’t say as I recall this one.”

Josh pulled out the second flyer, the one showing the man as an albino.  “Do you by chance recall seeing this man?”

Glasses in place, Sally studied the flyer a moment.  And a moment was all that it took before excitement had her hands fluttering.  “I certainly do!” Her exclamation caused several customers to