Robert B. Parker’s Buried Secrets

Fifteen

The pain in Jesse’s hands wouldn’t let him sleep, even though he’d been up all night at the scene, then at the hospital. At six a.m., he gave up trying. He showered and got dressed and headed to the station.

He’d barely gotten behind his desk when he received a call on his cell. It took him too long to get it out of his pocket with his clumsy hands, which felt like they were the size of catcher’s mitts. Without looking at the screen, he answered.

“Hey, Chief, this is Ty Bentley at WBZ,” the voice on the other end said.

Jesse spent a moment trying to remember Ty Bentley. He was new and young, like they all seemed to be these days. He finally placed him from a stand-up he’d done in front of a crime scene last year. Lots of makeup to make himself look tan. Product in his hair. Teeth unnaturally white.

There were only a couple of reporters Jesse trusted. One had recently left him for a job in New York. The other was not Ty Bentley.

“What’s up, Ty?”

“I was doing the stand-up in front of the Burton place about the dead hoarder, and I happened to run downtown. That’s when I found out you and your department have been banned from a local restaurant that has some kind of beef against cops,” he said.

“What?”

“The restaurant owner has a sign in the window. No Cops Allowed. I’ve already got photos if you want me to shoot them to you.”

“No, thanks, Ty. Listen, I’m in the middle of something—”

“Right, the dead hoarder. Like I said, I’m covering that, too. Any updates there?”

“No comment.”

Ty hesitated. “On which story?”

“Either one. Both. Take your pick.”

“What?”

“No comment, Ty.”

“Oh, come on, Jesse. This is good for you. Let me be on your side for once. I was thinking I’d come down there and we’d get you on camera, see if we can get your story out there.”

“No,” Jesse said.

Ty was struck silent for a beat. “But — isn’t this discrimination against cops? Don’t you want to let people know about that?”

“No comment, Ty.”

“Chief, come on. I bet your officers would have something to say. And I bet Daisy would think twice about that little sign in her window if she got a little taste of the spotlight, if you know what I mean.”

“What? Daisy?”

“Yeah. Daisy’s café. I thought you guys were friends.”

Jesse hung up. He breathed in deeply through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. His psychiatrist, Dix, had suggested it as a way to help him contain his temper sometimes. It didn’t really help.

He got up and left the station, walking down the street toward Daisy’s.

Jesse didn’t quite believe Ty about Daisy. Ty had been known to stretch the facts to fit a story before. No outright lies, but definitely some bending and framing.

It was entirely possible, he thought, that he had been a little dismissive of Daisy and her complaint about Tate. Maybe they could talk. He was pretty sure everything could be smoothed over.

But when he got to Daisy’s, he stopped dead in his tracks.

There was a sign, handmade, written with Day-Glo markers, taped to the front window.

It said: No Paradise Cops Allowed.

Four words. Simple and direct.

And yet he still had trouble understanding what they meant.

He opened the door.

And because he understood the intent of the sign if not the reason it was suddenly staring him in the face, he stayed on the threshold of the café without stepping over it.

Everyone inside the café looked up from their breakfasts. Some looked away quickly, as if embarrassed. Others glared, as if daring Jesse to walk in. It was particularly disturbing to see Emmy Knox, the ninety-three-year-old volunteer head of the Friends of the Paradise Library Book Sale, clench her fists like she was prepared to throw down if Jesse put so much as a toe on the floor.

So. People were choosing sides. Jesse had seen it a lot in his time here, and that was never a good thing in a town as small as Paradise.

“Uh, Jesse,” Jordyn, behind the counter, Daisy’s latest assistant, said to him. “I’m sorry, man, but you can’t come in.”

“I’m not,” Jesse said. “Can I speak with Daisy, please?”

“Um. She’s in the back. Baking. I don’t think she wants me to bother her.”

Jordyn’s eyes pleaded with Jesse, Don’t do this to me, but Jesse didn’t feel like letting him off the hook. He waited.

Jordyn took a deep breath and went into the kitchen.

Everyone could hear the tone of their conversation, if not the words. It didn’t sound good.

Jesse tried to smile at Daisy’s customers. There was a couple sitting at his table. The one where he always sat. They stared down into their coffees. Emmy Knox glared even harder at him.

Daisy emerged from the back. Face a blank slate, arms crossed.

“What?”

“No cops allowed?”

“I have the right to refuse service to anyone, as long as it’s not based on race, creed, ethnicity, gender, or sexual orientation,” Daisy said. “Believe me, I ran into plenty of people who tried to keep me out of places. I know the rules. You and your department are no longer welcome here.”

“Don’t you think you’re taking this a little far, Daisy?”

“I need at least one place I feel safe in this town,” she said. “And I don’t want to take the chance your new hire will pull a gun on me or my customers.”

“Daisy.”

“What?”

Jesse shook his head. “You’re really telling me I can’t come in?”

“Does Derek Tate still have a job?”

“Yes.”

“Then no.”

“Can we talk about this?”

“I tried to talk to you, Jesse. You told me to stick to baking muffins. So that’s what I’m doing. You stay on your side of the line. I’ll stay on mine.”

Jesse took a deep breath. Tried to count to ten. Got to five before Daisy spoke again.

“It’s cold out, Chief,” she said. “Please close the door.”

“Fair enough,” Jesse said, and turned on his heel and walked away.