Chapter Twenty-Seven
They stuck me in a small room with a long wooden table, three uncomfortable wooden chairs, and a one-way mirror that served as a constant reminder of how awful I looked. I paced around and around, made faces at myself -- and whoever was on the other side -- in the mirror, sang 'nobody knows the trouble I've seen', and counted the ceiling tiles. I knew what they were up to. I watch all those cop shows, too.
The way I figured it, the woman deputy was going to be the good cop, the jerk from before, the bad cop. Well, I'd just show them. They could lock me up, but I'll be damned if they were gonna break me.
About a week later, or so it seemed, the woman poked her head in and told me to come with her. When we went out in the hallway, I checked the big clock over the reception desk. I'd only been sitting in the room for an hour and a half? No way. They'd probably changed the time on the clock. Try and fool Marty Sheffield? Not a chance.
She led me down the small corridor and knocked on a door. A man's voice boomed out for us to come on in. She pushed the door open and stood aside so that I could enter. Mom sat in a vinyl chair on one side of a metal desk. She looked like Michelle when she was in that movie with Clooney, only better; her pink silk dress probably cost more than everything in the room put together.
Across the desk from her sat a grandfatherly looking man wearing a sheriff's uniform. His hair was gray and neatly combed. Silver wire-frame glasses fronted kindly brown eyes. Gray stubbles poked through on his chin, giving his tanned face a silvery sheen.
The office was small and orderly. Besides the metal desk, there were two green metal file cabinets and a small table with a computer on it. A window with a green shade was directly behind the desk. Two pictures of an ample-figured, gray haired, grandmotherly looking woman sat on the window sill. A large standard-issue family portrait of the man and the woman, about twenty years younger, and a couple of generic looking kids hung on the wall right beside the door.
He stood up when I came in and motioned for me to sit in the chair next to Mom's. The deputy nodded to him and closed the door. Once I slid into the chair, the sheriff sat back down. Mom glanced over at me and looked absolutely horrified. She wrinkled her nose in distaste.
"Oh, Marty!" she mumbled under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
"Miss Sheffield," the sheriff said, the brown eyes not quite so kindly looking anymore.
I gulped and sat up as straight as I could. He reminded me of the principal from elementary school. "Yes, sir?" I stuttered out. That idiotic sounding high pitch was back in my voice. I definitely needed to do something about it. Imagine if I did that over the air.
"Miss Sheffield, I've decided to release you into the custody of your lovely mother. I've spoken with Detective Luray of the Glenvar police department and based on the information she provided, we've decided not to charge you with anything." His voice was rich and resonant, like a preacher at a revival meeting.
I leaned back my head and sent a small prayer heavenward. "Thank you," I said to the sheriff.
I looked over at Mom. She raised her eyebrow. "Sir." I quickly added.
He looked at me sternly. "I hope I don't see you back in here. For any reason. Next time, I might not feel quite so generous and forgiving."
"Yes, sir. No, sir. I mean, well, I won't be back, sir. I promise. Thank you. Sir."
The sheriff stood up. Mom stood up and reached across the desk to take his hand. He smiled warmly at her.
"Mrs. Sheffield, I must say that it has been simply delightful to meet you," he said to her, his voice changing to a softer pitch.
Mom flashed her most dazzling smile and placed her other hand so that his hand was clasped gently between both of hers. His face flushed bright red.
"Well, Sheriff, I just can't thank you enough for all that you've done for my daughter. I hope that we didn't cause you good folks too much trouble." Her drawl was a little thicker than normal, her voice smooth as honey.
I almost gagged.
She let go of his hands and turned to me. "Marty, dear, let's get out of this nice man's way now. We've been enough of a problem already."
We turned to go just as some sort of commotion started up out in the hallway.
The woman deputy shouted, "Sir! Stop! You cannot go in there. Sir, I said stop!"
Fred Thompson's voice, roared through the door. "I'm gonna go where I damn well please. I'm gonna go talk to that son of a bitch and he's gonna let my kid outta this place."
I stepped backwards and bumped into Mom as the door to the office burst open. Fred stalked into the room. His face was beet red and his breathing heavy and labored.
He pointed at the sheriff. "What the hell is the meaning of this? What do you mean, locking my son up like some sort of common criminal? Are you outta your freakin' mind? So help me God, I'm gonna sue the pants off of everybody in this God-forsaken hell-hole!"
The deputy rushed through the doorway. "I'm sorry, Roland. He took me by surprise," she said.
The sheriff's voice went steely and hard. "Mr. Thompson, if you don't want to be joining your son in his cell, I recommend that you get a hold of yourself right now. We don't take too kindly to threats around here."
Mom grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the door. "Let's go." she whispered. "Let's get out of here before he changes his mind and tosses you in jail, too."
I jerked my arm away. "No! I can't leave now. I want to make sure Zach is okay."
She grabbed my arm again and dug her nails in, almost breaking the skin. "Marty, I said, let's go! Now!" I hadn't heard that tone of voice since I'd told her I was going to quit college and become a D.J.
I learn from my mistakes. I went.
Fred and the sheriff were still arguing loudly when we left. Well, Fred was, at any rate.
The sheriff was simply repeating over and over again, "Mr. Thompson, your son is under arrest for assaulting an officer of the law. I intend to throw the book at him. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
I glanced back toward the little office right before we walked out of the building. Two deputies had hold of Fred's arms and were forcibly removing him from the office. He was still hollering, threatening to sue everybody.
Poor Zach.
I was sort of surprised that Giselle wasn't in the lobby waiting for me. I shouldn't have worried. She was outside, standing by Mom's car.
"Condoms, condoms, condoms. Giselle stole some condoms. Red ones, blue ones, purple-speckled ribbed ones," I sang.
It distracted her long enough for us to get in Mom's car and lock the doors.
"What on earth was that all about?" Mom asked.
"Just a little diversion tactic. See, Giselle stole some condoms when we were in high school. It occurred to me the other day that she wouldn't want to use anything like that on the air. Too embarrassing for her. Now, every time I see her, I bring up some embarrassing incident from high school. Believe me, there’s a bunch of them, too. Pretty smart thinking, wasn't it?"
Mom didn't say anything. I guess she was overcome with awe at my brilliance. The two deputies, with Fred in tow, came out of the station. Giselle's cameraman filmed them.
"Let's go," I told Mom. "Quick, while they're busy filming Fred."
We were out of the parking lot and headed toward home faster than you could say red ribbed condom.
The sun was blinding. I reached for my tote bag to get my sunglasses. Damn. My stuff was still up at the Thompson's lake house. I started to ask Mom to go over there so I could get it, but I thought better of it. She looked very unhappy, sort of like she'd looked when I was a high school sophomore and got caught trying to wrap toilet paper around Salem High School, Glenvar High's big football rival.
I waited for her to let loose on me, but she never said a word. That concerned me. Two bright red spots inflamed her cheeks and her hair actually looked slightly rumpled. Every few seconds she took a deep breath and let out a sigh that pretty much said it
all. And what it said wasn't good.
I sat quietly, reflecting on the whole stinking day, wondering how many more tricks Destiny had in store for me. Thinking about Zach. Wondering if I'd ever see him again. We zipped down the road, passing cars and boats headed for the lake.
My mouth was dry as cotton. I gathered up my courage and meekly asked Mom to stop at one of the little grocery stores so I could get a soda. She did, never saying anything. When I asked her for some money, she silently reached in her purse and handed me a five. I went into the store and bought a couple of sodas. When I went back out to the car I got a big surprise. Mom was crying.
I put my arm around her. "Mom. Please. Don't cry. I'm really, really sorry."
She grabbed me and pulled me to her. "Marty, baby, it's okay. I'm just so relieved that you weren't hurt," she said when her sobbing was under control. "The sheriff told me about the fire. You could have been killed. I can't believe how close I came to losing you."
Talk about being shocked.
"You aren't mad at me?"
She kissed me on the cheek and pushed me away from her. "Well, of course I'm mad at you. You behaved very irresponsibly. Attacking police officers. Whatever were you thinking? It's so embarrassing."
"Mom," I said, my voice just a little whiny. Okay, a lot whiny. "I'm sorry. I never meant to embarrass you. But, you weren't there. You didn't hear what that deputy said about me. He accused me of killing Warren. And of setting the shed on fire. He was really, really mean." I told her about the rogue deputy.
She was livid by the time I got to the end. "How dare he? After all you'd been through. I should go back down there and give him a piece of my mind. Talk to my kid that way? Who the hell does he think he is?"
"I guess it's a good thing you didn't know all that stuff when you talked to the sheriff. Otherwise, we'd both be locked up in the cell next to Zach."
She smiled a little. "I suppose you're right. Come on. Let's go home." She started the engine and pulled out onto the highway.
I sipped on my drink and watched her drive. "Hey, Mom?"
"What, honey?"
"Thanks for bailing me out. You were great. You had that sheriff wrapped around your little finger."
She smiled, back to her old self. "I guess I did, didn't I?" she drawled.
Michelle Pheiffer might be the one with three Oscar nominations, but she ain’t got a thing on my mom when it comes to acting chops!