He’d make it up to her somehow, eventually. He knew how to bide his time, didn’t he? He’d been waiting for her nearly half his life already.
Joe Dolin was also biding his time. His cell was dark, but he wasn’t sleeping. He was planning. He knew most people thought he wasn’t very smart, but he was going to show them, all of them, soon. He’d learned how to play the game, to say what the guards and the psychiatrists and the fat-faced warden wanted to hear. He’d learned how to act as they wanted him to act.
He could be humble. He could be repentant. He could be anything he had to be. As long as it got him out.
Devin MacKade thought he’d proved something, driving by the work site, flashing his badge. Oh, he owed Devin MacKade. Big-time. He hadn’t forgotten the way Devin had come after him, had cuffed him and tossed him into a cell. No, he hadn’t forgotten what he owed Devin. There would be payback.
But Cassie would come first, because he owed her most of all. Everything would have been fine if she’d stayed in her place. But she’d gone whining to MacKade, sniveling about their personal business.
A man had a right to punish his wife, to give her the back of his hand or let her feel his fist when she needed it. And Cassie had needed it a lot. She still did.
No fancy divorce papers changed that. She was his wife, his property, and he was going to be reminding her of that before too much longer.
Till death do us part, he thought, and smiled into the dark.
Chapter 4
Parade day was a tactical nightmare. That was to be expected. Over and above his usual reasons, Devin was looking forward to it, because it would keep him too busy to think about any personal problems.
The parade would kick off at twelve sharp—which meant anytime between noon and twelve-thirty—with the usual speeches at the square and the ceremonial laying of the wreath at the memorial.
As sheriff, he was required to be there, in full uniform. He could handle it. There were only a handful of days out of the year when he had to drag out the dress khakis and tie and shiny black shoes.
Of course, that meant dragging out the ironing board, as well, which he hated. It was the only domestic chore he truly despised, and the only one that jittered his nerves.
But by 8:00 a.m. he was pressed and dressed and out on the street. Already there were eager beavers claiming their spots, holding spaces along the curbs and sidewalks for others with lawn chairs and coolers.
Most of the storefronts and shops along the parade route were closed for the day, but he could count on Ed’s being open for breakfast.
He sauntered down the sidewalk, knowing he had the best part of an hour before he had to worry about crowd control or making certain the concessionaires were in their proper places with their balloons and hot dogs and ice cream.
Summer had decided to make its debut on parade day. It was already hot, and he tugged irritably at his collar.
He imagined the tar on the street would be soft and melting by afternoon. He hoped the little girls who did their tumbles and cartwheels in their spangled uniforms were prepared.
He made a note to make certain there was plenty of water along the route for the marchers. He didn’t want anybody fainting on him.
It might be a holiday, but Ed’s was doing a brisk business. He could smell ham frying, coffee brewing. The scent reminded him that he’d been off his feed for the past couple of days.
After exchanging a few greetings with patrons in booths, he sidled up to the counter and took a stool.
“Sheriff.” Ed winked at him. As usual, her rhinestone glasses were dangling on a pearl-studded chain against her scrawny chest. She wore a splattered apron, but beneath it she was ready for the celebration in a snug, midriff-baring top as red as her hair, and shorts that barely met the limits of the law.
She had bright blue shadow all the way up to her penciled brows, and her mouth was stop-sign red. Poppies dangled from her ears and were pinned to her apron.
Devin grinned at her. Only Edwina Crump could get away with an outfit like that.
“Ham and eggs, Ed, and keep the coffee coming.”
“You got it, sweetie.” Though she was old enough to be his mother, she fluffed her hair and flirted. “Don’t you look handsome in your uniform!”
“I feel like an aging Boy Scout,” he grumbled.
“One of my first beaus was a Boy Scout.” She wiggled her brows as she took the clear plastic top off a plate of doughnuts and chose one for him. “He was surely prepared, let me tell you. On the house,” she added, casting a sharp eye over her two scrambling waitresses.
She left Devin with his coffee and doughnut before heading back into the kitchen.
He tried not to brood, really. To keep himself sane, he set his clipboard on the counter and read over his notes and itinerary. A half hour later, he was doing some fine-tuning and trying to enjoy Ed’s very excellent ham and eggs.