Officer Jones

Chapter 24

I’d finally escaped the clutches of Maloney, Bowden and Sutcliffe. I don’t think it was a coincidence that my enjoyment level picked up.

I rode the Ferris wheel and ate some more chicken. Despite my attempts at remaining low profile, a few people recognized me. But capturing the spirit of the day, I politely posed for pictures and signed autographs. My father ended any last attempts to meld into the background by dragging me to judge a baking contest.

Eventually I got out on my own again. I soaked in the sunny Saturday and breathed in the barbecue chicken/cow shit odor. It was the smell of peace … the smell of returning home. It took me a long time to get back here and I planned to make it last.

I stopped by numerous farming equipment exhibits, including the FFA from the local high school. I realized that farming might be a lot more difficult than I’d thought. Maybe I’d get back to the original plan of writing for a small newspaper. Gwen returning as editor made it an even more tantalizing thought. I walked around, searching for you-know-who, hoping she was here. But at the same time, scared that she might be.

As the sun began to set behind the large oak trees in the distance, I sat down on a wooden bench to rest my weary body. Shuffleboard and three o’clock dinners couldn’t be far behind, I mused. I aimlessly watched people stroll by, and then I spotted a girl I knew. It wasn’t Gwen. It was my niece, Ella.

Ella was Ethan’s eldest daughter-it was hard to believe she was already ten. Sticking with the family naming tradition, she was named after Ella Grasso, the first woman governor of Connecticut.

There were a lot of whispering and finger points in my direction. I could tell the presence of her television-star uncle made Ella the star of her group of friends. She led the troops toward me, and I was soon surrounded by a group of fourth graders.

Ella played proud spokesman, introducing each wide-eyed friend. I smiled and shook their nervous hands. They spent a few minutes questioning me about my capture. The Q amp;A session boiled down to fifteen different ways to ask me, “Were you scared?” Which was pretty similar to how the grown-up media works. I answered with heroic cool, but the truth was, hell yeah I was.

I sensed it would impress Ella’s friends for her famous uncle to call for some one-on-one time. This also fit nicely into my agenda, which was to figure out why her father was avoiding me. The kids scrambled away, but not before making plans to meet Ella at the bumper cars in twenty minutes.

“So how come you guys haven’t come over to see me?” I asked calmly.

Ella just shrugged. “I don’t know.”

I had extracted answers out of those who had refused to talk under torture, but Ella Warner was more difficult to crack. “Are your parents mad at me?”

Shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Have you guys been busy?”

Shrug. “I don’t know.”

“What did you think of the game last night?”

“It was awesome,” came an excited response. I thought I might be making progress.

“Did your dad say anything about me after the game?”

Shrug. “I don’t know.”

Back to the drawing board. I knew I needed a more direct source. “So where is your dad?”

Ella turned all the way around twice, viewing the fairgrounds. I couldn’t tell if she was looking for her father or trying to make herself dizzy. Then she pointed. “Over there!”

I followed her gaze, which led me to my brother. He was chatting with two burly flat-topped football players. Also present was my sister-in-law, Pam.

“Let’s go see your dad,” I said to Ella, already limping in his direction.