Knight at Her Service

By Charlene Newberg

Obsessed with creating the perfect monetary future for himself,Gareth,plans to use the money from the sale of an old motorcycle as the down payment on his "castle of success" but the recently widowed propietor of a British tearoom wants Gareth to move his noisy motorcycle business. As Gareth's childhood nemesis, Cara has a life-altering surpise that shouldn't alter Gareth's plans, or should it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charlene Newberg
• Release date: Jul 13, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452429472

Charlene Newberg

Charlene Newberg has lived in Florida most of her adult life where she and her husband have raised three Children. She has degrees in business administration and elementary education. After a brief career as an educator, she now writes full time and has recently completed a 76,000 word romantic suspense, Law and Disorder coming out in the fall of 2015She enjoys the outdoor such as running, gardening and caring for the family’s two horses. She is often inspired with new ideas for her writing when she travels with Craig her husband of thirty nine years.

Book preview

Law and Disorder

Published by Charlene Newberg

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015 Charlene Newberg

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedicated

This book is dedicated to my wonderful husband, Craig Newberg who always supported my writing endeavors in every possible way. I love you. And to my awesome children for your help and advice.

In memory of my parents, Laurence and Caroline whose words live on the pages.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

About The Author

Other Books By Charlene

Chapter One

Like a bad omen, several deer bounded into the traffic circle. Cloven hooves grappled for a foothold on the wet blacktop. A mud-spattered Chrysler van evaded the deer, but forced a Ford Escape onto the shoulder.

Horns blared.

The herd sprinted for the nearby woods. The Ford slid back into morning traffic and order returned to the Florida panhandle town of Impasse.

Deputy Sheriff Jared McKinney maneuvered behind the red van belonging to a neighbor he only knew by name. With his questions and a needling hunch, the van’s burned out taillight afforded him a viable reason to conduct a stop. A bleep from his siren, and Angel Brewster, swerved into the Shell station’s parking lot.

Jared halted behind the van then notified dispatch of his intent. Snatching the aluminum-sided clipboard with the attached manila envelope, he exited his Crown Victoria. The van’s wipers clacked as the window lowered. His neighbor switched off the tune, Monster Mash.

Her features registered open incredulity. Surely you saw those deer.

A twelve-year veteran in law enforcement, Jared remained leery. His adopted motto…expect the unexpected. So, he wasn’t prepared for appealing. Blond strands framed a heart-shaped face. The rest of her hair sat on her head in a loose configuration.

A pungent odor wafted from her vehicle’s interior. His nape hairs prickled. "What’s that smell? Cannabis?"

She chortled and pressed her hand to her chest, over a soft, pink sweater that clung to illegal curves. Am I busted, deputy? She hooked her thumb over her shoulder. "It’s behind me. Great stuff."

Jared peered at a bale of leafy hay set end-up on the seat behind the driver. A yellow receipt peeped from under orange baling twine. He deadpanned. Hay.

Alfalfa. Her lips twitched.

She had one on him. Yet, last night, before the medical examiner collected the body of Derrick Simms, the head of the forensic team asked Jared to identify the Cannabis sativa. The limp cutting had been left beside the deceased, a calling card of sorts.

His neighbor rapped fingernails painted the color of spilled blood on the steering wheel. I’ll be late for work.

Your license, registration, and proof-of-insurance, Ms. Brewster.

"Doyle. Brewster is my maiden name. Her brows lifted. How do you know my—"

"Brewster is painted on your mailbox. I drive past every day."

She slipped her license from her wallet and handed it to him. I live with my grandfather. I painted his name on the mailbox so my sons wouldn’t take Mr. McYinney’s mail by mistake. She searched her glove box for her insurance papers. Here.

One moment. I won’t be long.

Back inside his unit, Jared swiped her driver’s license, checked the expiration, and noted her previous address. She was five-feet-five. Age, twenty-nine years. After typing the appropriate codes into his laptop, he punched print.

Across the busy street, a blue and white clapboard house served as the office for Jacobson’s Realty. A self-imposed custody born of fear kept him from inquiring about the for sale sign outside of Murphy’s Nursery. The risks of self-employment created knots in his stomach. Failure wasn’t an option. What if he lost his savings he’d packed away for years?

His phone tinged. Jared snatched the cell from his duty belt. A text from his kid brother.

Dad is drunk again. Mom thinks he’s seeing someone. But, who’d have him? He’s bloated and he chain smokes. This situation has screwed up our family.

A nice sentiment from Doug, but how were they a family?

Jared ripped the warning from the printer and returned to the van. He handed Ms. Brewster-Doyle her license and registration. You lived in Orlando, he said. Any particular reason for returning to Impasse?

Any particular reason for asking? Her brows collided as she peered over her shoulder. "I recognize your cruiser. You live up the hill. You’re that unfriendly recluse."

Recluse? Well hell.

You’re Mr. J. McYinney? The name on your mailbox next to ours.

"It’s McKinney. The lower stem of the K is missing."

She eyed his name badge. "Great. A McKinney. She repeated his last name like it reeked of rancid chicken. Her mouth dropped. Are you hitting on me, deputy?"

She was breath-arresting pretty, but the rain running behind his shirt collar tested his patience. "I’m issuing you a warning for the missing taillight."

Her expression pinched. "You are Michael McKinney’s son, right?"

What of it? How had she wangled the upper hand for this traffic stop? Do you have any knowledge of Lee Vander?

His neighbor drew her chin in. Lee-Ann who?

She’d amped up her drawl, so he tried another tactic. You work for Mayor Brewster.

I do. Eben Brewster is my uncle.

"There’s a statewide manhunt on for Lee Vander, he said. Mr. Vander’s dossier states he was employed by your uncle years ago."

Eben has been in business since I can remember. Lots of people have worked for him. Her eyes slit. What does my employment have to do with this fugitive?

Perceptive. However, he was paid to ask the questions. Years ago, Lee Vander lived in Impasse. He attended school here. When she shrugged, he added, Last night, witnesses claim an individual fitting Mr. Vander’s description argued with Mr. Simms about unpaid wages for working a grow house. Mr. Simms was stabbed and left to bleed-out.

Her face fell. Derrick Simms? Stabbed?

You knew him?

She nodded, her fingers pressed to her lips. He’s my cousin three or four times removed. There’s a past marriage connection. She paled. By ‘bleed-out’, did you mean…Is Derrick…

I’m sorry. It was common knowledge at headquarters that he lacked diplomacy skills. And, this time he regretted his poor phrasing. Some witnesses, who overheard the argument, claim the Brewster name was mentioned. Now, about Lee Vander.

She dipped her head. Her palm pressed her chest. He was in the store a week ago to see Uncle Eben. They were talking about my uncle’s new car.

Jared’s heart thudded. His hunch was spot-on. Mr. Vander?

Derrick. He did side work for Eben.

What kind?

I don’t know. She inhaled, clearly shocked. We were in school together until I left in my sophomore year. She glared. Why did you stop me?

A defective taillight. Mostly, I have questions. Could you shed any light on Lee Vander’s possible whereabouts? Has he contacted you? If he has, you should know he’s—

Contact me? Why would he? With a practiced twist of her wrist, she checked her watch. I left Impasse thirteen years ago. I don’t know him.

This close to the border, her drawl was light, but sweetened with a hint of Georgia blackstrap. The vehicles slogging toward the traffic circle obliterated another element, or quality, in her speech he hadn’t yet identified.

Jared withdrew Lee’s most current file photo from the envelope and handed it to her.

Good grief, she whispered. He’s gaunt.

Yes, ma’am. He’s about my age and height, just over six feet. Weeks ago, before he was expected to appear for a hearing, Mr. Vander escaped from a Collier County courthouse. Jared experienced a sharp jab at his chest. He’s wanted for rape and murder. I’ve gleaned from interviews with the locals that you worked with Mr. Vander.

That’s impossible because I’d never forget these scars. She pointed to several striations on the left side of Lee’s face. They’re faded, but raised like they never saw stitches.

He took the photo. She was correct. This explained the ‘scar-face’ comment by an individual last night.

The one thing I cherish on cold mornings before work is to stop at the Chocolate Ambush. She consulted her watch and groaned. Now, I can’t. It’s nothing to you, but peppermint hot chocolate is my simple solace.

Simple solace.

Despite the uphill roar of a flatbed piled with a chained-load of pine timber, he identified the element in her speech. His neighbor possessed a profound lisp.

Sonafagun. Charmed and disarmed, his lips curved. The lisper added a glimmer to this otherwise tombstone morning.

Deputy, you’re staring. Intimidation?

No, ma’am.

Soaked to the core, he wiped water from her warning ticket. As Jared jotted his initials, he recognized the trademark rumble of a Harley-Davidson. When the bike’s engine downshifted, Jared peered over the van’s roof. The driver of the red, Springer Softail was a young and lanky roamer who’d recently appeared in town. He was also a speed-sign rebel.

When the kid reeved the bike’s engine, Jared returned his wave.

Catch you later, pal. We’ll discuss the county’s posted speed limits.

Jared tapped the warning ticket. Sign there, Ms. Brews—

It’s Doyle. I need a—

He produced a pen from his shirt pocket. Here.

His neighbor snatched the offered pen. If her nails were teeth, she’d have bitten him. Pride your fast reflexes, Deputy McKinney?

As a matter of fact, I do. They might save a life. He tapped the warning. Date beside your signature.

Like corn silk, blond wisps caught between her lips. He’d worked yesterday’s Alpha and Bravo shifts. Surely, fatigue explained why his fingers twitched with an urge to brush the strands away.

Tonight, he’d pop a Hungry-Man beef entrée into the microwave, grab a flashlight, and move a hundred six-foot pecan saplings before the weather worsened and toppled them. His prized Curtis and Moreland juveniles were resistant to limb breakage. They’d sell well to his wholesalers.

Deputy, you’ve reminded me that I shouldn’t have return to Impasse. And, why living here still fills me with dread. She thrust the pen at him. No, make that fear.

Fear? He loved this quaint town of his youth. Why, Jefferson County was interspersed with lakes, swamps, and rivers. While livestock grazed on emerald pastures, corn fields abounded. And, crops with cotton bolls gave the fields a pink tinge.

You grew up here then left, he said. Why?

She fingered a circular pendant set with tiny diamonds. Brows furrowed, she glared. "Now, I’m late for work."

Do you remember Janet Bell?

Of course. Her eyes softened. She was Eben’s bookkeeper and secretary.

Correct. Ms. Bell claims Lee Vander worked for Eben the same time you did. It’s been years, but she described how you endorsed your paychecks, and who you chatted with on your breaks.

She lifted a shoulder. Your point?

You remember Ms. Bell, but not Mr. Vander.

Dispatch crackled. Forty-seven?

He recognized Maria’s voice and keyed his shoulder mic. Forty-seven.

Fifty-five Newton Road. James Lyons reported his ATV stolen. A black Yamaha Banshee. Code one?

Copy. I know the address. He knew Jimmy Lyons. I’ll be code one in a few moments.

Her expression preoccupied, Angel Brewster-Doyle slid the pendant back and forth along the chain.

Oh, hell. Could he blame her? He’d slammed her with the news about Mr. Simms and questioned her memory. Jared blew through his lips. He’d salvage this situation before he responded to his next call.

As neighbors, could we go off the record? I’d like to discuss some things. He cleared his throat. Namely, your pet.

Eyes the color of cattail velvet narrowed to slits. Bandit?

He mangled a dozen of my willow saplings. Actually, this isn’t the first time he’s gotten loose and mangled my saplings. And, while I’m thinking of it, your sons were in my garage last Saturday morning. He pictured her grade-schoolers. One boy was tall, older. The younger kid was plump and rosy-cheeked.

In your garage? That’s doubtful. My boys claim the hermit-on-the-hill chased them with a rake.

Hermit? You believed them?

Can you prove those were my sons in your garage? She smacked the steering wheel. What my grandfather says about the McKinneys must be true. They steal farms and homes, and let’s add your ticket-writing talents to the list.

It’s a warning. No points against your license.

The skin under her eyes twitched. Wait until I tell Pop about your hateful accusations regarding my boys. But, that’s like your lot, isn’t it?

Hateful..his lot? What’s this about stealing farms and homes?

She held the brake, but set the shift on the column into drive. Ask your father.

She boggled, confused him. If anything comes to you concerning Lee Vander, call me or the sheriff’s office. Meanwhile, resume a prudent speed and exercise caution on these wet roads. He thrust the warning at her. And, remember…I’ll be watching you.

He sustained a glare meant to flash-freeze. "Off the record, neighbor? We may share a common driveway, but I’m warning you. Don’t bother my boys, or my grandfather ever."

The van rolled forward. A rear tire hit a pothole. Water and grit splashed his regulation green slacks. He jumped back. "Hey."

She braked. "Step on my property, or frighten my family, and I’ll file a lengthy complaint after I’ve filled your backside with buckshot."

#

Like vultures, dark clouds circled as Angel neared Eben’s Fine Furniture moments later. The radio announcer opened the phone lines for requests.

WMUR. What’s your desire this morning?

Melissa. The caller chuckled. She’s so beautiful.

Angel melted and set aside any angry thoughts concerning her irksome neighbor.

Sounds like love. The disc jockey chuckled. So, what’s your choice in music, bud?

Every Breath You Take.

The announcer hesitated. By Sting?

Yeah. That’s it. The caller’s voice was smooth, easy. The lyrics keep running through my head.

Sure, pal. The music started. "After all, it is Halloween."

Angel parked four lots down from her uncle’s latest acquisition, a mid-sixties Jaguar. The blue paint sheened in the wet gloom.

It takes a long time to choke someone, you know.

Her hand found her throat. Why the creepy thought? The need to flee? She shivered. The news about Derrick Simms had affected her. Did her uncle know? Should she tell him?

Further down the parking lot, a car door slammed. A middle-aged woman with rich auburn hair, secured by a clip at her nape, exited a bronze Mercedes. They’d exchanged quick greetings before, but never talked. Slim and attractive, the woman volunteered at the attached community center. With a jangle of keys, she opened her trunk and removed several plastic bags, bulky in shape.

Angel lowered her window. Want help with those?

The woman’s smile was quick, natural. Thanks, but they’re not heavy. They’re Styrofoam table decorations that I’m making for the Veterans Day dinner and dance. No sense in both of us getting drenched.

They exchanged waves, and Angel dashed for the building’s overhang. Before entering

Eben’s store, she patted her hip. Good. Her phone was deep in her skirt pocket. Eben disliked his salesforce taking personal calls in the showroom. But, Eben had no children, so he was clueless about her concerns.

She reached for the double glass doors when one side swung open. The brass bells over the entrance chimed a welcome. A man in a brown uniform greeted her with open-faced perusal. You must be, Angel. I’m Ralph. The logo patch on his sleeve read ‘Burnside’. Ralph’s hair was sun-streaked from hours at the beach. Like a Ken doll, he sported a model’s square chin cut with a vertical cleft.

Hi. She glimpsed his holstered pistol. Eben had hired a security service? What for? Except for the bank, no other business in town had a security guard.

As if he owned the store, Ralph stood back for her to enter Eben’s carpet-muted world of glittering chandeliers. Dining tables and sideboards of oak and mahogany gleamed from polishing. Glass-fronted cabinets were filled with hand-painted china and crystal stemware.

Manny Diaz and Carolyn, their expressions cloudy, stood by the Keurig machine set on a table beside a massive partners’ desk. Angel dropped her purse inside the desk drawer and caught Manny’s gaze.

Shielding her hand against her middle, Angel pointed to Ralph. Why is there armed security?

Short and swarthy, and in his mid-fifties, Manny lifted his thick shoulders. We thought you would know.

I don’t. I’m as surprised as you are.

A part-time sales person, Carolyn’s petite stature and elfin features were perfect for her bobbed hair style. Normally cheery, she crossed her arms, her expression defensive. Eben is convinced we’ll steal his precious brick-a-brac. That’s why he hired that beach boy mannequin, isn’t it? Her eyes flashed. I’ll look for another job.

Manny shook his head. No rash decisions. Angel, will you speak to the mayor?

Of course. I need to see him anyway.

Carolyn exhaled. Good luck getting past his self-appointed Doberman Pincher.

Angel strode beyond the living room and bedroom sets toward the offices at the back of the showroom. How could Eben treat his hard-working employees with such disregard? She thrust her chin. Fine. She’d use her indignation to confront him. If he didn’t keep his word, she’d return to Orlando. She’d find steady pay there.

She stopped to admire the store’s newest addition, a stained-glass table lamp, resplendent with various shades of blue. The foiled pieces reminded her of Deputy McKinney eyes. Like azure shards, they sliced and diced. Had the lawman expected to cut information from her?

She lifted the price tag. Even with her discount, the cost was exorbitant. After she paid her bills, there was nothing left.

Why not steal it?

Angel spun to face Carolyn. You’re joking.

The other woman stroked the lamp’s tree-formed base. Don’t you want to?

"I’d never do that."

Never say never. Anyway, isn’t that what Eben thinks we’ll do? Steal? Before Angel could respond, Carolyn’s features relaxed. Sorry. Maybe if he’d told us what to expect this morning, I wouldn’t be fuming.

I promise to speak to him.

Carolyn regarded the lamp. I’m headed to the ladies room. On my way back, I’ll move it to the front for better exposure.

Eben. Angel’s fists bunched. She was financially strapped. She wanted steady pay as promised, not a monthly commission check. She entered the outer office. This was Lavern’s domain. Her desk and office walls were filled with framed examples of her cross-stitching and photos of her nieces and nephews.

A drawer rolled shut. Lavern Wells appeared from behind a large filing cabinet. ’Morning, Angel. Big-boned with thick eyebrows, the bookkeeper’s brunette waves teased her broad shoulders. Mom made a batch of Comfy Colon Brownies last night. Will your grandfather need more?

No. That’s not necessary. Aware she’d spoken too quickly, Angel added, Pop is much better. Thanks.

That’s wonderful news because there’s nothing worse than backed-up basement pipes.

Lavern seated herself and rolled the chair forward. Like a set of sofa pillows, the bookkeeper rested her breasts on the desk and reached for a sheaf of yellow invoices. She drew the adding machine closer and flipped the switch. It looks like the county’s emergency management is gearing up for Tropical Storm Engelberta.

Angel stared. The storm’s been named?

The weather’s expected to deteriorate later tonight. As Lavern reviewed each invoice, the fingers of her right hand attacked the keys. She looked up. Pensacola reported flash flooding.

Pensacola’s three hours away. Maybe the storm won’t be as bad here. I hope the community center stays open tonight, Angel said. Shane and Brad are looking forward to some Halloween cheer with their friends.

Lavern crossed her fingers and nodded toward the wall that separated the furniture store and offices from the community center. The Rotary Club members hammered and dragged props around all day yesterday. Lavern craned her neck to see down the hall towards Eben’s closed door then continued. The potential for flooding and loss of power worries me. She snapped her fingers. "Heavens, did you hear about the murder? To think it happened in Impasse."

Angel exhaled. It’s sad and disturbing.

The authorities say it was drug related.

Did drug related explain the deputy’s concern over the alfalfa?

Lavern swept her hand towards the padded swivel chair facing her desk. Take a seat and visit for a moment.

I wish I could, but I need to see Eben. It’s important.

Lavern gave her the thumbs-up, and Angel headed to Eben’s office. Thanks to Deputy McKinney, she was still smokin’-on-fire. Her arguments for Eben were formed.

At his door, Angel raised her hand to knock when he spoke. Are you trying to cheat me? I’ll send my niece to collect. Problem solved.

Send her where? She rapped on the door frame. After no response, she walked inside. Thin-framed and dapper in a coral-colored dress shirt and gray slacks, Eben faced a window. His iPhone was wedged between his ear and shoulder. Using a long-snouted container, he filled the reservoirs for several potted African violets stationed on the sill.

Unaware of her, Eben adjusted the phone and continued speaking. No more of your drivel. Have my rent ready when she arrives, just as we agreed. No excuses. He grew quiet. Oh, she’ll be there. Pay up, or I’ll bulldoze your farming enterprise right off my—

Angel cleared her throat.

Startled, Eben pivoted which caused his metal leg brace to squeak. With a flick of his thumb, he cut the connection, and slipped the phone in the front pocket of his slacks. "Girlie, you’re late."

It couldn’t be helped, she said. We need to talk.

Not now. His thick waves of gray were flattened and center-parted. "I have a budget meeting at city hall. Idiots. They’ve become squirrely about my charity accounts. Perfectly legal. He waved her out. Go sell furniture."

When she didn’t move, he tapped his watch. Four minutes. That’s more time than citizens get to grouse at the Tuesday night council meetings.

She motioned towards the showroom. You hired a security guard? Why? Your salespersons claim you don’t trust them.

I don’t. A set of hand-painted Italian coasters disappeared. With this killer on the loose, added security will give our customers shopping confidence while they sip on their lattes and decide what to buy.

She wanted to discuss her financial concerns, but the horrific news about Derrick weighed in her chest. Did you hear about Derrick Simms? He’s a cousin, related by marriage.

Eben’s chin drew inward. Hear what?

Derrick was killed last night. Stabbed. It’s possible this has to do with the manhunt for, uh Lee…I forgot his last name.

Her uncle clutched the desk chair, his features leached of color. Spittle formed at the corner of his lips. "God, no. His leg brace squeaked. Not Derrick. He shook his head, his disbelief evident. How do you know?"

She wouldn’t mention the deputy, not if she didn’t want Eben to rant about the McKinneys. It’s on the news.

He worked to regain his aplomb. "Then it was an excellent