S O WHAT DID A WORKAHOLIC public servant do off duty?

Was that even pertinent to her article? Shouldnt she stay here and soak in some of the town flavor? Suss out the issues? Meet the residents who were directly affected by the local law?

At the front of the roomin the official meetingpeople were hotly debating methods for slowing traffic on the main drag. Yawn. The back of the room wasnt much better. Talk of feed prices, boundary disputes, the sheriffs wedding and some investment scheme making the rounds. Double yawn.

She gave him a couple of minutes head start, then slipped out of the room. At the entrance to the town hall, she observed him making his way across the parking lot to his cruiser. Not a private vehicle. And the deputy was off duty. Was that by the book? Shed have to check. Something else came to mind. She hadnt caught all of Whittakers conversation when shed come upon him in the meeting hall, but she thought shed heard the man hed been talking to mention something about Whittakers having turned to liquor. A joke, or serious? If it had been serious, what did it have to do with the execution of the mans duties?

If he was on the up-and-up, he had nothing to hide from her investigation.

As she made her way to the Yugo, she felt a twinge of doubt. Was this investigative reportingor was this creative nonfiction? Had she singled out Whittaker because he was the deputy in charge or because he was an enigma? That fact-finding challenge she so loved. A man the residents of Applegate relied on, respected and worried about. A man who softenedslightlyonly when he was up a tree, rescuing a tomcat.

June Parker had warned her not to use Whittakers pain to sell papers. But the woman couldnt have known the personal pain that drove Chloe to uncover the facts and dispel speculation.

As the deputy pulled out of the parking lot, she put her own car in gear. Firsthand observation led to facts. The facts, once they fell into a pattern, would const.i.tute the truth. And the truth, however painful, was the foundation of life.

Following at a discreet distance, she was mildly surprised when he didnt pull into the sheriffs office parking lot but continued through town. On the outskirts, where the streetlights ended, he turned left and crossed the railroad tracks. A full planters moon provided the only real light.

Chloe knew that in many small towns in the south, the wrong side of the tracks wasnt merely an expression. Despite its new upscale subdivisions, Applegate still had a seamier side, and this was it. Not part of the groomed in-town neighborhoods, but not rural farmland, either. The road meandered between houses too close together and in need of repair.

The evening being mild for April, Chloe rolled her window down. Many of the residents cl.u.s.tered on front stoopstalking, drinking, smoking or listening to music. Although it was fairly late and a school night, kids were everywhere. Adolescent boys with att.i.tude hung with men who eyed the women. The women eyed them right back. The aromas of barbecue and simmering salsa melded with a sweet scent Chloe knew couldnt be legal. Didnt Deputy Whittaker smell it? If so, he didnt stop.

About a mile down the road, as the houses became less regularly s.p.a.ced, the cruiser slowed, then came to a stop in front of one particular house, its weedy front yard strewn with plastic toys. The deputy got out of his patrol car and walked over to a woman leaning on the front porch railing. Her hair was bigher tank top small. And her jeans looked as if theyd been painted on. In the porch light she looked tired.

Chloe slowed the Yugo as she drove past.

Mack Whittaker pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, took out several bills and handed them to the woman. Stuffing the money in her top, she slid her arm around his back and drew him into the house.

Now what was Chloe to make of that firsthand observation?

CHAPTER FOUR.

T HE DAY WAS ALREADY HOT as h.e.l.l. The terrain outside the military tent was dry, sand-choked and G.o.dforsaken. Several of the guys in his unit were engaged in a game of poker before heading out on patrol. Mack couldnt understand the attraction to games of chance. Not here. When every breath you took was a gamble. But who was he to judge? Nate, looking up from his hand, had razzed him for opting for a showerif you could call it that, what with the rationed water. Whats the point, Nate had asked, when youre gritty again two seconds later? Maybe Mack persevered because, for a few moments, he could close his eyes and imagine himself back in Applegate.

The explosion rocked the encampment as he was peeling off his T-shirt. Bare-chested, he ran out of the shower area. Plumes of black smoke rose to embrace the relentless Iraqi sun. Rose from the spot where his tent had been. Where the guys had been playing poker minutes ago With a howl to wake the dead, Mack sat bolt upright. In the dark and drenched in sweat, he couldnt tell what was real or what was dream until a door opened and Deputy McMillan stuck his head in. The shaft of light illuminated the wall of lockers, the cotsall empty except for the one Mack clung to, in the barracks room hed called home for the past six months.

Whittaker, you okay?

Mack was shaking so hard he was afraid he might bite off his tongue if he tried to answer.

The morning shifts about to come in, McMillan drawled, feigning nonchalance, Mack knew. Im makin coffee. Take a shower. You can get a hit of caffeine when youre done. The deputy disappeared, leaving the overhead light off, but the door ajar.

Mack put both feet on the floor. He hated that the other deputies tiptoed around him. Hated that they appeared to be waiting patiently for an explanation. Of his continued squatting in the barracks. Of his silence about his tour of duty. Of his night terrors.

His head now throbbing, he stripped and stepped into the shower. Let the harsh stream of cold water sluice over his body, numbing him. When he returned to his cot, a mug of fresh coffee sat on the nightstand. A small act of compa.s.sion that compounded his guilt.

He gulped the coffee as he dressed, then headed downstairs to the sheriffs office. Hed pick up something to eat on the go because he didnt want to hang around the kitchen for breakfast as the shifts changed and the deputies congregated with stories about family or nights carousing or days off fishing. He might be fit for duty, but he wasnt up to faking the rest.

As he approached Kim Nash, engaged in animated conversation withd.a.m.n, hed forgotten all about the kid.

Dressed in penny loafershe didnt know they still made themtrousers made of some silky khaki material and a long-sleeved white shirt with a flowing scarf tied at her neck, Chloe Atherton didnt look as if she belonged in the twenty-first century. She looked like an actress right out of the 1940s. One of those earnest ingenues trying hard to make it in a mans world. The one who always cracked the hardboiled heros sh.e.l.l. G.o.d, hed spent too many sleepless nights watching old black-and-white movies on the barracks TV.

Good morning, Deputy! Atherton sang out as she pocketed her notepad. Im ready when you are.

He wasnt ready. Not for her. Or her constant questions. Not again.

Come on, he said, thinking on his feet. Youre going to want to meet Breckinridge. For a female perspective on the force. You can shadow her today.

There was no mistaking the glint of interest in the reporters eyes. Good. Breckinridges life was such a colorful and open book, she often talked about writing her memoirs. Maybe when she was older and had begun to slow down. This interview would give her fifteen minutes of fame now. Moreover, it would eat up one more day of Athertons stay, and it would keep her prying eyes away from him.

I have a couple questions about The Program, she said, trying to keep pace with him.

Breckinridge can answer them, he replied, moving toward the windowless room where his coworker sat behind a mountain of paperwork. Youll find the deputies interchangeable. Breckinridge, meet Atherton, Mack said. From the Western Carolina Sun. The sheriffs given her open access to the department this week. Todays your day to show her the ropes.

Breckinridge threw up her hands in mock surprise. So you do have a heart, Whittaker. I was beginning to worry how I was going to survive my shift, stuck in this hole alone. I hate filing.

We all do, he replied, turning to leave. Thats why we rotate. He felt the reporters hand on his arm.

I dont think this interview will take all day.

You never know, he replied, shaking her off. These are incident reports. Every one tells a story. Theres no one better at fleshing out a story than Breckinridge. After today, youll have a real feel for our work.

Breckinridge eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing.

Avoiding looking at Atherton, Mack got out of the room while the getting was good.

Chloe tried to open her backpack to retrieve her tape recorder, but she pulled the zipper so hard it jammed. I think he was trying to get rid of me.

Dont take it personally, Deputy Breckinridge replied, grabbing a handful of file folders. Whittakers basically a loner.

How can that be? One of the first things he said to me was how the department const.i.tuted a team. He emphasized that.

At work he is a team player. Absolutely. ButPR isnt his strength. Sheriff McQuire usually handles all that.

Then why would Sheriff McQuire put Deputy Whittaker in charge when he knew Id be here on a.s.signment for the week?

The sheriff and Whittaker were friends long before they worked together. If you ask me, the a.s.signment is kind of a personal rehabilitation Breckinridge stopped abruptly. Thats off the record.

Why would Mack need rehab?

If youd rough sort these by case number Breckinridge, any confidential att.i.tude gone, indicated the folders covering the small desk Ill file them and give you an indication of the types of situations we handle.

Because the deputy balked at discussing Mack further, Chloe agreed to help, then spent the morning alternately filing and filling her tape recorder and notebook with details of movement of prisoners at the county jail, a.s.sistance in court proceedings, domestic disputes, traffic accidents and the ongoing county fight against illegal substances. Although Breckinridgeshed eventually insisted Chloe call her Hannahwas a font of department information, besides being very forthcoming about her own colorful off-duty life, Chloe felt dissatisfied. The police stuff was good background, but it wasnt a story. And although Hannahs life was a plot and a half, it didnt particularly affect the dynamics of Colum County law enforcement.

On the other hand, Deputy Whittakers relationship with Sheriff McQuire might merit a feature article. Cronyism, perhaps? Was the sheriff carrying his friend for some reason?

I cant believe we finished this job, Hannah declared several hours later. I appreciate the a.s.sist. You want to break for lunch upstairs? Tacos. Dardens specialty.

No, thanks. Chloe looked at her ink-smeared fingertips. Id like to wash up, then interview some of the business owners along Main Street. Get a feel for their concerns.

Suit yourself. If you have any more questions, Im here on desk duty for the rest of my shift.

I do have one more question. You said Deputy Whittaker was a loner off the job. Has that always been the case?

Hannahs expression became guarded, and she made a show of straightening the miscellaneous items remaining on the desk.

I mean, you love people. Chloe hastened to reframe her question. Its obvious from talking with you this morning. You feel a connection to the citizens of Applegate. So Id like to know how a loner like Whittaker chooses a career in public service.

Mack wasnt always a loner. Doodling on the blotter, the deputy examined her cartoon and chose her words carefully. I was a couple years behind him in high school. He was the big man on campus. Sports star. The guy all the girls fell for. It didnt hurt he had a killer smile on top of that ripped body. He loved practical jokes, fast cars and parties. He loved life. She looked up at Chloe and shrugged. It was fun being around him.

The kind of guy whod made Chloes high-school days uncomfortable at best.

Shy as a girl, shed had no social skills as an undercla.s.sman in high school. When she discovered the school newspaper in her junior year, she didnt suddenly blossom, she found protection in the power of the pen. Her writing gave her leverage, discipline and detachment to cope with her familys shared pain and her own adolescent angst. And the where-withal to eventually grow strong.

So what happened? Chloe asked, now curious about why a former social creature had gone cold and distant. To Whittaker.

I dont know. AlthoughI think it must have had to do with his tour of duty in Iraq. But I dont think even Sheriff McQuire knows. Hannah slapped her hands on the desk and stood. Hey, Im starving. Sure I cant interest you in a couple tacos?

No, thanks. Chloe loaded up her backpack and accompanied Hannah as far as the stairs.

Determined to be the one to get the answer to the deputys turnaround, Chloe found it ironic that with this article on the sheriffs department, shethe former insecure nerdnow had potential power over a man such as Mack Whittaker.

A S THE CLOCK ON THE county courthouse struck four, Mack lowered himself onto a stool at the far end of the counter in Rachels Diner. When he caught Rachels eye, he nodded toward the coffeepot. Although midafternoon customers chatted amiably across the room as if they werent at separate tables, no one spoke to him. Oh, theyd all recognized him with a nod or a wave as hed entered, but unless he initiated conversation, they knew to leave him alonea reflex from his six months as a belligerent drunk.

Cheer up, Rachel said, setting a mug of steaming coffee in front of him. Only five more days in the public eye. Rachel was one of very few people in town who didnt pay any attention to the wall hed put up. The sheriffs new wife, Samantha, was another.

And you have it lucky, the owner of the diner continued. You know the end will come. Sam didnt know if those vultures would ever leave her alone.

Yeah, the paparazzi certainly had descended on Applegate when theyd discovered Samantha was a hotel empire heiress. The poor woman had come to Applegate under an a.s.sumed name to turn her life around. Not only had she turned her life around, and Garretts, shed dragged Mack to AA and a reckoning of his own.

He kept his head down and took a long, slow sip of coffee.

Rachel didnt accept the brush-off. Theres only one in this new wave, sure, she said, standing right across the counter from him and vigorously polishing the salt and pepper shakers with a paper towel, as if she had nothing else to do. No other customers to hara.s.s. I guess you could consider her marginally local. But shes as tenacious as that whole pack of national newshounds. Look at her out there.

Mack followed Rachels gaze out the front plate-gla.s.s window to the bench next to the laundromat across the street, where Atherton sat, writing in a notebook. There were a dozen benches along Main Street. So why did the woman choose this particular one? And how had she escaped Breckinridge?

She was in here earlier, Rachel said. Asking about you.

About me? He turned his back to the window and tried to tamp down his rising displeasure. d.a.m.ned articles supposed to be about the department, he muttered. Maybe if he ignored the source of his irritation, shed go away.

The conversation was odd from the beginning, Rachel mused, pouring herself a cup of coffee, then leaning on the counter. Mack resigned himself to a long story. It was better than the alternativewalking out of the diner and having his shadow reattach.

Her questions were roundabout at first, Rachel continued. A setup. Because what she wanted was information on you.

How so?

Well, first she asked about Burt.

Burt? Burt Jones was a Vietnam vet who lived alone up in Beechams Hollow. On his meds, he was an accomplished handyman. Off, he wandered aimlessly. Earlier this afternoon hed been in town, medicated and purposeful. What could she possibly want to know about him?

As I said, I couldnt figure her real motives. Especially when she switched the subject to Duke Donahue.

d.a.m.n. Duke was Tanyas oldest. The teenager had been hit hard by his fathers death and had been in and out of trouble recently. Shoplifting. Vandalism. Recreational drugs. Two suspensions from school. But he was beginning to show signs of coming out of this self-destructive behavior. He didnt need any aspect of his story splashed across the pages of the Sun.

Mack dug into his pocket to pay for his coffee. It was time he straightened out Ms. Chloe Atherton.

Its on the house. Rachel pushed his money back across the counter. Theres more.

Puzzled, he looked at her. Hed almost forgotten he wasnt alone. What did you tell the reporter about Burt and Duke?

Nothing. Rachel turned one shoulder to him as if offended. Shed already gotten their names from someone else. But as I said, you were her angle. I understood shed seen you with both Burt and Duke.

I talked to them at different times this afternoon, yeah. In broad daylight. On Main Street. So whats the big deal?

She wanted to know if there was a big deal. Why youd be taking money from Burt. Why youd be giving money to Duke.

The Atherton woman had gone too far. In that instant he stopped thinking of her as an innocent kid.

Leaving his money on the counter, he turned to go, only to discover the bench in front of the laundromat was empty.

She wasnt getting off that easily.

He stepped next door to headquarters. Not there.

Back on Main Street, he marched the couple of blocks to Junes bed-and-breakfast. For the life of him, he couldnt figure out what the reporter was up to. Could it be she was no more ethical than the paparazzi whod harried Samantha?

Inside the inn, he stopped short at the sight of Ms. Parker presiding over tea in her front parlor with several guests. Atherton wasnt among them.

Shes in the back garden, the owner said quietly, a definite look of interestcollusion?on her face.

If Chloe Atherton thought she could hide behind June Parkers skirts, she had another think coming.

Mack stormed through the familiar old house, into the kitchen and out the back door. From the stoop he could see Atherton sitting on the swing under the big oak tree in the very back of the garden. Her arms wrapped around the swings thick ropes, she was listening to a tape recorder in one hand while jotting notes with the other.

He saw red.

What the h.e.l.l do you think youre doing? he demanded, striding toward her, his boots scattering pebbles on the well-groomed path.

The very question I wanted to ask you, she replied, hopping off the swing to face him.

Me? Im not the one prying into everyones personal business.