Page 33 of A Little Taste
I don’t say what I’m thinking, which is that Britt’s perfectionism is what distinguishes her from the rest of the kooks in her family.
Instead, I maintain the peace. “She picked the right field for it.”
“Yes,” Edna sighs, sitting forward. “However, it can be a burden to be so focused on the details in life. I’d like to see her a little more balanced, getting out more, having fun. Perhaps she might date. Your brother Adam was always a good friend. Is he seeing anyone?”
A stab of anger hits me at the suggestion. “Adam’s a bit of a free spirit.”
“Hmm…” Edna smiles. “I like that, and friendship is a solid foundation for a relationship. Maybe you could reintroduce them.”
“No.” It comes out as a sharp retort, which I quickly try to smooth over. “Britt’s old enough to manage her own social life.”
“Of course.” Edna exhales a light laugh. “Listen to me talking like a grandmother. My apologies, Sheriff.”
“It’s okay.” The collar of my shirt feels too tight, and I have an unreasonable urge to punch my hippie brother in the junk, which is ridiculous.
She lifts a sheet of paper off her desk. “Speaking of social lives, the Founder’s Day festival is ten days away. Is it possible we might have this burglary case wrapped up by then? Or is that wishful thinking?”
Shaking off my irritation, I refocus my mind on business. “Perhaps you can help us. We’re looking for a male, mid-sixties, prosthetic leg, driving a three-wheel ATV. Know anyone in or around Eureka who fits that description?”
Edna’s hazel eyes rise from her phone to mine. “A prosthetic leg?”
“On the right side, at least missing a foot, possibly more.” Glancing down at my phone, I see a note from Doug reporting no leads, which frustrates me.
“That is very specific.”
“It’s all your granddaughter’s work. You’d think with that much information, we’d be able to put our finger on the perpetrator—and you’d be wrong.”
“Why is that?” Edna watches me with a curious expression.
“Three-wheel ATVs were outlawed thirty years ago, so sales records are all but gone. None of the clinics we’ve checked have records of an amputee, so we’re having to count on the memory of citizens who might know or remember someone who fits the description.”
“How’s it going?”
“So far, nothing’s turned up.”
Edna exhales with a nod and stands, crossing her arms. “He can’t hide forever.” Her voice is quiet, and she walks to the window, looking out.
My eyebrow arches. “Doyouknow anyone who fits that description?”
“Not for certain.” She turns, arms still crossed, facing me. “Why would anyone destroy a pickle farm? Did he seem to be searching for something or someone in particular?”
“Not that we can tell. So far, it’s just random acts of vandalism and minor burglary.”
Edna presses her lips into a straight line. “Thanks for keeping me in the loop, Aiden.”
“That’s my job.” I push out of the chair, but before I go, I pause, resting my hand on my gun holster. “It’s hard to imagine someone that distinct going unnoticed. My thought is he’s from out of town, or he’s a Eureka native who’s come back for some reason.”
“Your instincts are good.” Picking up her bag, she starts for the door. “I was thinking something very similar.”
The change in her demeanor has me suspicious. “You sure there’s nothing you need to share with me?”
“If there is, you’ll be the first to know.” Her heels click on the linoleum as she strides through the door. “I’m glad my granddaughter is working out. Perhaps you can help me get her to stay.”
I’m not sure what to make of those parting words, but I’m certain she doesn’t mean them in the way Bull Jones thinks she does. I’m not going anywhere, and Britt staying in Eureka doesn’t sound half as bad as it did before she arrived.
Doug glances up from his desk when I return to the main area. “Still no luck tracking down three-wheel ATVs, Sheriff.”
“Any amputees?”