Making It Right (Most Likely To #3)

Billy nodded like a bobblehead doll.

She inserted the key in the lock and paused. “You have running shoes, right?”

“I have sneakers, if that’s what you mean.”

“Good.” She clicked open the door. “Bring them with you tomorrow when you meet me at River Bend High at six in the morning.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Six in the . . . what do you want?”

She opened the door wide. “Six a.m., River Bend High.”

She didn’t expect an argument, and Billy was sober enough to understand that.

“Thanks, Sheriff.”

Yeah, he’d thank her now . . . but tomorrow, after three miles on the track . . . not so much.

She followed him out the door and found Zoe snickering as he walked by. “Mornin’, Billy.”

He mumbled a good morning and hustled out the door.

Once it closed, Zoe started laughing. “I swear you’ve turned into your father.”

“I run faster than he did.”

Zoe slid off her perch. “I better get back to Miss Gina’s. Breakfast won’t cook itself.”

“Thanks for this.”

“Not a problem. Always great to see you playing cop.”

They hugged before Zoe walked out the door.

Playing cop . . . yeah, that’s how it often felt.

Jo put together her essentials: gun, duty belt . . . keys to the squad car, before gathering the spoils left by Zoe. Once outside the station, she locked the door and looked around the silent streets of River Bend. Saturday morning held little interest for early risers unless there was some kind of town event or holiday to celebrate.

Not that weekend.

Her eyes landed on the cornerstone bronze plaque of the station, the one that told anyone who could read the date the building was constructed. Taking a step closer, Jo noticed where Zoe had pushed aside the vining jasmine to find the key they’d tucked into the underside of the building’s facade. Pleasant memories of her youth kept her staring at the building for quite a while before she stepped away.

Out of habit, she drove the few blocks of town, around the block, and back down the main street before making her way home.

She left the squad car in her drive and unlocked the front door of the single story bungalow. There was a time in the not so distant past she didn’t bother locking the door to her house. Her father never had, and they never needed to. Only the previous fall, around the time of Ziggy Brown’s death, the weight of a thousand eyes bore down on Jo like a thick fog choking the town from the ocean.

Jo had started locking doors, looking behind her back, and changing her routine. Looking behind her back and changing her routine lasted about a month longer than the eyes watching her. Or perhaps she grew used to being under someone’s radar. Either way, she was getting sloppy again. At least according to Agent Burton, the Fed who had become a friend over the past couple of years.

Jo started undressing before she turned down the hall and into the master bedroom. It had taken two years for her to move her father’s stuff out and take over the space to make it her own. For almost eight years she’d been sleeping in his room and performing his job.

For nearly ten years she’d been living his life.

The bed called out to her, suggesting she catch another couple of hours of sleep.

Instead she turned to the shower and turned the volume of the rock band of the hour on high.





Chapter Two




Jo, Mel, and Zoe sat in the parlor of Miss Gina’s Bed-and-Breakfast for their weekly girls’ night. Most of the time they had to use Jo’s house for their gatherings due to the B and B having a full house. But Tuesday nights and even the occasional Wednesday this early in the spring meant the inn had one, maybe two rooms occupied.

Miss Gina entered the room carrying a red pitcher of her famous lemonade. Her worn Birkenstock sandals made squeaky noises against the floor as she walked, her ever-present tie-dyed skirt swishing at her ankles.

Mel stood. “I’ll get the glasses.”

A tray of guilty pleasures sat on the table: chocolate, cheese, and fruit that Zoe had thrown together. Anyone else would have put a bowl of Hershey’s kisses and small chunks of cheddar, but not Zoe. Jo could identify two of the four cheeses, and the chocolates looked like the gourmet category that one picked up at the mall in Eugene. Even the fruit had been prepared with some kind of cutesy knife that offered deckle edges to the melons.

“You’ll be happy to know my cookbook is now in production.” Zoe picked up a small chocolate and nibbled.

“What does that mean?”

Miss Gina spoke first. “It means Felix and his crew are coming into town by the end of the month to start filming.”

“Did I know about this?” Jo tried to place the information inside her head and came up blank. “I remember talking about the possibility—”

“Probability.” Mel set the glasses on the table and started to pour. “Felix set everything up, right, Zoe?”

Zoe was dressed down to jeans and an oversize shirt, her long black hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. “Felix put together a small team—”

“How small?” Jo was more interested in the safety of large truckloads of film equipment sitting around for long periods of time.

“I’m not sure.”

“Guess.”

Zoe glanced at the ceiling. “No less than ten people, probably more like a dozen.”

“And trucks? How many trucks?” The size of the town and simple politics meant there weren’t permits needed for filming, but if someone wanted to cause problems, there was county-wide red tape that could be pulled.

“Just one, probably,” Zoe answered.

“Why do you ask?” Mel sat back, her bare feet tucked under her bottom as she made herself comfortable.

“So I can head off any issues before they become a problem.”

“You think there’s a problem?” Miss Gina asked.

Jo shook her head. “No. Most of the people in town love it when Zoe’s people are around. It makes everyone feel like they are the famous ones.”

“I’m not famous.” Zoe rolled her eyes.

Jo shook her head. “Who here has not been on TV multiple times with celebrities all over the world?”

Miss Gina, Mel, and Jo raised their hands.

“Who here doesn’t have a zillion frequent flyer miles on their airline of choice for filming said TV spots?”

Three hands went up.

“Who here doesn’t have fan mail, has to dodge autograph requests, or has an agent—”

“Okay, okay . . . so I’m a little famous.”

Jo laughed. “Anyway, if I know what’s coming, I can give a heads-up to those who might need to know, and maybe the few busybodies in the area, to avoid any trouble.”

“If there is any trouble, we will sic Felix on them. He’s great at making everyone get along.”

Jo took a sip of her drink and decided to not finish the glass. She wasn’t on duty, but the thought of not being able to jump on an issue if needed didn’t sit well with her.