The Police Chief's Lady

So far, most of the rentals Jenni had found were houses too large for her needs or rooms where she would have to share a kitchen and bathroom with strangers. Other than that, she’d visited one duplex apartment next to another occupied by a large family who screamed at one another while the TV blared.

There had to be something better.

“Dr. Vine?” Patsy, the receptionist, appeared in the doorway to Jenni’s office, where she’d retreated to write up the day’s reports. “Mrs. Forrest just brought Nick in. He scraped his shin and he’s diabetic, so she wanted you to check him out. They’re in examining room two.”

The young woman seemed to assume that Jenni would recognize the names. And of course she did. Nick must be Ethan’s son and Mrs. Forrest, she assumed, was the ex-wife.

Unexpectedly, her throat clogged. What was this woman like who’d managed to tame the glowering beast? And why, Jenni wondered, did she feel a curious reluctance to meet her?

“Is Yvonne with them?” she asked. The nurse should be taking the boy’s vital signs.

“She just finished. She’s in the nurses’ lounge, playing with her baby.” Seeing her perplexed expression, Patsy explained. “Usually, Yvonne’s cousin babysits, but Mrs. Forrest helps out sometimes. Today she brought Bethany with her.”

“I see.” In Downhome, everyone seemed to be connected to everyone else, Jenni reflected as she rose. It was a little disconcerting, but a welcome change from the lack of connections she’d experienced during her own fractured childhood.

Outside the examining room, she read the clipboard containing the boy’s medical history. Now five years old, he’d been diagnosed with type 1 diabetes at age three. A year later, he’d been fitted with a pump to provide the insulin his pancreas couldn’t make.

Like most children, he had some problems complying with the strict diet and the frequent finger pricks to make sure his blood-sugar level held steady. However, the chart indicated he was generally healthy.

Still, the injury concerned Jenni. Due to reduced circulation, diabetics were vulnerable to infections, particularly in their lower extremities.

Taking a deep breath, she tapped on the door, then went in.

Two earnest faces tilted toward hers. On the examining table, a little boy with huge dark eyes and chestnut hair regarded her anxiously. From his slightly dirty shorts and the smudge on his nose, she could tell he’d been playing outdoors.

In the chair beside him sat a woman of around sixty. Her worried air softened as she smiled at Jenni. From the stylishly cut hair to the trim pantsuit, she gave the impression of a retired professional. A scan of Yvonne’s notes revealed that the woman’s first name was Annette.

This had to be Ethan’s mother, not his ex, Jenni realized with an odd sense of relief. At the same time, she wondered why the grandmother, instead of Nick’s mother, cared for the boy.

“Mrs. Forrest? I’m Dr. Vine.” Jenni shook hands with her. Although she wanted to get to know the woman, she wished to establish a rapport immediately with the patient, so she turned to him. “It’s nice to meet you, Nick.”

“Are you going to stick me with a needle?” the boy asked.

“I don’t plan to.” She glanced at his chart again. “I see you’ve had a tetanus shot, so you won’t need one of those. Can you show me where you hurt yourself?”

Biting his lip, he stuck out his leg. The scrape, midway between knee and ankle, was about two inches long, wide but shallow.

“I cleaned it right away and applied an antiseptic,” Mrs. Forrest explained. “It doesn’t seem like a big deal, but Dr. Luther always insisted I bring him in for antibiotics if he got hurt.” By Dr. Luther she must mean Luther Allen, Jenni thought. Mrs. Forrest had probably referred to him this way to distinguish him from his wife. He’d been the pediatrician and she the family doctor.

“I don’t see any signs of infection,” Jenni was saying when the door opened.

With his muscular frame and restless energy, Ethan Forrest dominated the room even before entering it. Scarcely nodding to the two adults, he rushed to Nick’s side. “Are you okay, little guy?”

“I have a boo-boo, Daddy.” The boy wiggled his leg.

With a grim shake of the head, Ethan glanced at Jenni. There was no sign of lightheartedness about him now. “Well?”

She hoped he wasn’t going to overreact to a minor childhood mishap. In her experience, take-charge fathers who hated losing control often demanded unnecessary treatments. Still, she knew his response stemmed from love. “I was just beginning my examination.”

Reluctantly, Ethan stepped back. “Go ahead.”

Jenni washed her hands at the sink, then bent over the boy. “Tell me how it happened,” she said as she examined the wound more closely.

“I was riding my bike on the sidewalk.”

“In shorts?” Ethan demanded of his mother.

“I didn’t realize he’d gone outside,” she answered without sounding defensive. “Ethan, he’s not made of eggshells.”

“He got hurt, didn’t he?” The chief waved one hand apologetically. “I’m sorry, Mom. It’s just that when they gave me your message, I thought the injury might be serious.”

“I understand,” she replied.

Jenni asked more questions, establishing that the sidewalk recently had been washed and that Mrs. Forrest hadn’t found any dirt or bike oil in the wound. “It’s not necessarily bad that he was wearing shorts,” she said. “Fabric can harbor bacteria, and if it gets pushed into a cut, it’s bad news. Puncture wounds through sneakers are particularly nasty. You wouldn’t believe what grows in some people’s shoes.” For Nick’s sake, she added, “It makes them stink, too. Peeuw.”

He wrinkled his nose and grinned. The sweetness in his face touched her.

Jenni cleaned the wound again. Normally, the nurse would have done this. However, Jenni saw no reason to interrupt Yvonne’s time with her baby, and besides, she wanted to make it clear she took a personal interest in her patients.

“I can apply an ointment if you like, but frankly, it might delay healing,” she told her audience. “I don’t recommend stitches for a scrape like this, since it’s so shallow.”

“Aren’t you going to cover it?” Ethan inquired.

“I will if he’ll be playing outside again,” Jenni answered. “Otherwise, it’s best to expose it to air.”

“I’ll keep him inside,” Mrs. Forrest said.

“Does it hurt?” Jenni asked Nick.

He straightened like a miniature version of his tough-guy Dad. “I can take it.”

“That bad?” she queried.

“Not really,” the boy admitted. “It used to sting, but it’s okay now.”

“You’re a very brave young man. I think you’re going to be fine.”

“Whoa.” Ethan gave her a disbelieving stare. “What about a prescription?”

She remembered his mother’s statement about Dr. Allen. “Antibiotics aren’t recommended in a case like this. Overuse causes them to lose their effectiveness and there can be side effects. But if he develops any pus or the skin becomes red, warm or swollen, or it starts hurting badly, I’ll be glad to prescribe some.”

“That’s it?” the chief asked. “I could have treated him this well myself!”

“I know you’re used to a different approach with Dr. Luther,” she responded. “Times change and so does medical care. We’ve learned that in minor cases like this, sometimes nature is the best healer.”

“I like you better than Dr. Luther,” Nick announced.

“You do? And I haven’t even offered you a sugar-free lollipop yet!” Jenni joked.

“Why do you like Dr. Vine better?” Ethan regarded his son.

“She talks to me and not just the grown-ups.” To Jenni, Nick said, “Do you have any lemon pops?”

“Let me see.” She searched in a drawer. “Sure thing.” After handing him one, she offered a sampling of flavors to Ethan and his mother.

“I don’t mind if I do.” Annette chose cherry.

Ethan tried to keep a straight face, but he couldn’t. “I haven’t had one of these in years,” he admitted, and selected lime.

Jenni relaxed. Apparently, the chief had decided to bow to her expertise. Considering his obvious worry over his son, that meant a lot. “We’ve got coloring books, too.” She gave Nick one about healthy foods.

“You’re good with children,” Annette commented.

“I love kids.” Jenni enjoyed treating them as part of her practice. She hoped the next doctor to be hired would be an obstetrician rather than a pediatrician, although she did want the kids to get the best possible care.

“According to the grapevine, you’re looking for an apartment,” the woman went on.

“Mom!” Ethan’s voice sank to a growl.

Jenni didn’t know what was going on here. Still, she figured she ought to stay out of it. “I’m sure I’ll find one eventually,” she replied, and turned to the chart. “In case of emergency, I need to be sure we have up-to-date contact information.” The Allens hadn’t double-checked phone numbers and addresses for years, she’d discovered earlier. “Is this correct?” She read off the phone numbers for Ethan and Annette.

Both nodded.

“Is there anyone else?” Jenni didn’t want to be too blunt, but omitting one parent seemed strange. “A child’s whole family is important.”

“There isn’t anyone.” Annette glanced at her grandson. However, he was absorbed in looking through his coloring book. “My husband and daughter-in-law both passed away some time ago.”

“I’m sorry.” So Ethan was a widower. Jenni felt a wave of sympathy for the man and child who’d lost so much.

This didn’t make her like him any better, though. In fact, it made her wary, because with his judgmental nature, he probably compared every woman he met with his deceased spouse.

“Speaking of families, didn’t your parents object to your moving so far away?” Annette asked. “They must worry about you.”

“My parents?” That was almost funny, although Jenni didn’t suppose it would strike anyone else that way. “They’re not the sort of people who worry about others, I’m afraid.”

“You’d be surprised,” the older woman said. “Maybe they’re afraid you’d resent it if they showed how much they cared.”

“If they cared, they could have stuck around when I was a kid.” Hearing her edgy tone, she added, “Sorry. That was inappropriate.”

Ethan looked puzzled. His mother wore a determined expression. “I knew you were the right person to rent the flat over my garage! If you haven’t got a family, you should at least live close to one.”

So that was what the two had been clashing about earlier. Jenni peeked at Ethan, but he was studying his son. “That might be awkward, since your grandson is my patient.”

“Awkward? Having a doctor on the premises would be reassuring,” Annette countered. “Besides, everyone in town is likely to be your patient at one time or another. And it’s furnished, which I believe you need, since you didn’t ship any furniture.”

“How do you know that?” Jenni asked in amazement.

“My mother is friends with Gwen Martin, who owns the café, and half the town shows up there to gab.” Ethan’s gruffness couldn’t disguise his affection. “Between the two of them, they know almost everything that happens around here.”

“That’s a little scary.” Anonymity had become Jenni’s friend over the years. The fewer people who learned about her family, the better, and getting away from vicious rumors had been one of her reasons for moving to Downhome.

“If you’re my renter, I promise we won’t gossip about you,” Mrs. Forrest said. “I only live three blocks from the Lowells, so you can stop by anytime. The house faces Jackson Park.”

Jenni had walked by the park several times and enjoyed the relaxed, old-fashioned setting. The lush greenery, like much of the Tennessee landscape, soothed her after the hard urban surfaces of L.A. “It isn’t the beautiful Victorian with the window boxes, is it?”

Annette nodded. Ethan shook his head, but he was obviously joking. “She failed to mention that the apartment overlooks my backyard.”

Uh-oh. She’d have the police chief for a neighbor? Not good.

“Can I get back to you on that?” she asked Annette.

“Of course.”

“Take your time,” the police chief said. “Months, if necessary.”

“Ethan, where are your manners?” demanded his mother. “You’ve hurt Dr. Vine’s feelings.”

“No, he hasn’t,” she assured them.

“I know how it feels to be an outsider,” Annette persisted. “When my husband and I moved to Nashville—he worked for a religious publishing company—it took the longest time for me to make friends. Jenni, the least you can do is look at the place.”

“I can’t…”

“Surely you’re curious about the house!” Mrs. Forrest teased. “You’ve acknowledged that you noticed it.”

Jenni smiled. “Yes, but I really can’t come tonight. Karen Lowell is having some friends over for a potluck. Kind of a welcome party for me.”

Apparently satisfied that he’d won the day, Ethan lifted a radiant Nick onto his shoulders. “We men are going to go take care of the bill,” he told his mother. “See you in a few minutes.”

“Giddyap!” the little boy cried, then looked self-conscious.

At age five, he was already feeling too grown up to act like a toddler, Jenni realized.

Annette beamed at the pair as they exited, both ducking to clear the doorway. “I can’t believe my grandbaby’s going to start first grade in September.”

Instinctively wanting to keep her hands occupied, Jenni straightened the examining room. If there’d been patients waiting, Yvonne would have alerted her, so she could afford to linger. “I’m sorry to hear his mother’s deceased.”

“Martha was a beautiful girl and a wonderful singer. She bowled Ethan over,” Annette said. “Nick was only a few months old when she died.”

“That must have been terrible.” Not wanting to pry into Ethan’s personal life, Jenni veered from that subject by focusing on Annette. “You probably weren’t expecting to take on child-raising duties again.”

“No, but it’s worth it,” she said. “I’d do the same to help my daughter, Brianna, Ethan’s younger sister. She just went through a nasty divorce and I’d love for her to move here.”

“I’m sorry about the divorce.” Jenni hadn’t expected so many confidences. “If she does come back, she might need the apartment.”

“I don’t see it happening anytime soon. I’d like you to take a look at the place.”

Annette obviously wasn’t an easy woman to dissuade.

“The offer’s open. Drop by any time.”

“Thanks,” she replied.

After Annette left, a glance at the clock showed it was after five o’clock. Jenni gathered her purse, helped Yvonne close the office and went out to the compact car she’d leased.

Tonight ought to be fun, a chance to let down her hair and get to know some other women. Karen had promised that they’d give her the lowdown on the singles’ scene.

Jenni didn’t want to start dating anytime soon, though. Ethan already considered her a husband-stealing flirt, and for some reason, she wanted to disprove his low opinion.

The prospect of living next door to him made her shudder. No one could stand up to that kind of scrutiny, especially if she was being compared with an idealized wife.

Yet an image lingered of him carrying the little boy on his shoulders, two pairs of dark eyes shining and two sets of white teeth flashing. It made Jenni long for something she’d never had and probably never would have.

Pushing away the thought, she headed for the Lowells’ house.

Chapter Four

Shortly after six p.m., Ethan found the outdoor terrace already filled at the Café Montreal, Gwen Martin’s establishment at the south end of The Green. Once in a while, he stopped in for lunch or dinner, as much to keep his ear to the ground as for the exceptional food. He preferred to dine with his mother and Nick, but tonight they were attending a kids’ birthday party.

On this warm June evening, customers sat enjoying their meals as colored globes glowed in the twilight. Ethan identified the scents of garlic, sausages and orange crepes, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. He paused briefly to exchange greetings with Archie and Olivia Rockwell before making his way inside.

A waitress showed him to a table near the glass-fronted pastry display. Although picking out a dessert was hard to resist, he ordered only his usual bowl of onion soup and a patty melt on rye.

Ethan had no idea what a real French café looked like, whether in Paris or Montreal, but he enjoyed the ambience created by Impressionist prints on the walls and striped awnings above the service counters. He also appreciated that between this cafe and Pepe’s Italian Diner, Downhome offered international cuisine in addition to the Southern fried chicken, hush puppies and grits available at the local coffee shop.

His fellow diners were a mix of workers, farmers and retired folks. The strangers sprinkled among them must be travelers passing through. The town didn’t attract tourists except the one weekend a month when Gwen organized a Farmers Market and Crafts Fair on The Green.

The owner, in a red-and-white checked apron, stopped by his table. Although she wore her steely gray-on-black hair in the usual bun, tendrils curling from the sides softened the contours of her face. “So what do you think of our lady doctor? I heard Nick went to see her.”

“She seems competent.” Ethan had been impressed by Jenni’s assurance and by the rapport she’d struck with Nick, whatever his other reservations about her. Despite his impulse to demand further treatment, he’d recognized that she was probably right to avoid antibiotics. “What’s the consensus?”

“The women love her. They say their husbands are suddenly deciding they need the physicals they’ve been putting off for years.”

“They’re not jealous?” he asked.

Gwen shook her head. “Any woman can tell Jenni’s not on the prowl.”

“I don’t see how.”

“She isn’t needy. Or greedy, either.” Gwen swung toward the pastry counter and addressed the young man behind it. “Box me up a dozen of those tarts, a couple of pounds of cookies and a lemon pie, would you, Jimmy?”

“Sure thing,” he called back.

“What’s that for?” Ethan inquired.

“Potluck at Karen’s.”

“Oh, right.” He remembered Jenni mentioning it. Too bad he wasn’t invited. The food would be great, and always curious, he’d love to know the topics of conversation.

“Still think we made the wrong choice of physician?” Gwen challenged.

“Too soon to tell.”

“According to the grapevine, she paid you a visit Monday morning.” The café owner watched her employee box the desserts. “Must have been an interesting discussion.”

“Very.” He let it go at that. No point in feeding the gossip mill, which was obviously working overtime.

Gwen shook her head at him. “One of these days, Ethan Forrest, some woman is going to get under your skin. You’ll open that gorgeous mouth of yours and poetry will flow out.”

He raised his water glass in a toast. “I live for that day, chérie.”

She gave an exaggerated sigh. “If I weren’t old enough to be your mother, I’d take a stab at it myself.” Across the counter, she accepted a stack of pastry boxes. “Well, I’m off. I’ll give the ladies your regards.”

“Please do.”

His onion soup arrived, encrusted with melted cheese. Savoring the taste, Ethan let his thoughts wander back to that afternoon.

He wondered what Jenni had meant about her parents not being around much during her younger years. Perhaps they’d shuffled their child off to boarding schools.

Having worked summers and weekends since he was a teenager, Ethan found it hard to sympathize with a poor little rich kid, but he had to admit Jenni had turned out squarely grounded. She must have worked hard in medical school, and he assumed she put in long hours at her profession.

That she’d chosen to relocate to Downhome puzzled him. Even in light of the scandal in L.A., she must have had other options. Perhaps she’d decided to play at being a country doctor.

What had Mom been thinking when she offered to rent to Jenni? The last thing Nick needed was to grow attached to a short-term renter.

More people entered the restaurant, and Ethan forgot about Jenni as acquaintances stopped to say hello. One expressed concern about the portrait thefts. A couple of people asked if he’d heard the talk of a proposed new shopping center on the west side of Downhome. He had, of course. Rumors had swirled for months over the sale of several hundred acres in that area, but so far a proposal had not come before the city council. Ethan knew no more than anyone else.

He was digging into his patty melt when Barry Lowell slid into the chair across from him. “Mind if I join you?” The editor had picked up a Reuben sandwich at the take-out counter.

“Be my guest. Did your sister ban you from the premises tonight?”

“What? No.” He pulled the plastic lid from his soda cup and took a swallow. A few years younger than Ethan, Barry had thick brown hair that perpetually flopped on to his forehead, almost covering the scar he’d received in prison. Although he worked next door to the Snip ’N’ Curl, he rarely found time to pay it a visit. “I just finished putting the paper to bed.”

The Gazette, which came out on Tuesdays, was printed in Mill Valley. Ethan assumed Barry sent his pages over there electronically. “Competing with other media must be hard when you only publish once a week.”

“It’s not hard at all,” Barry said between bites. “You think CNN’s going to cover the disappearance of Pepe Otero’s family photo?”

“I suppose not.” Hearing a touch of bitterness in the editor’s voice, Ethan avoided making further comments about the national media and turned to the need for people to lock their doors until the wave of break-ins was solved.

Barry readily agreed. It was a far cry from the kind of journalism he longed to practice, though, Ethan knew.

By all accounts, Barry had been an ambitious teenager, editing the school paper and working part time for his parents’ Gazette. He’d made no secret of his plans to write for a major newspaper someday.

When he was seventeen, he was accused of killing a farmer during a prank. Based on the testimony of his best friend, Barry had been convicted of manslaughter, despite his claim that he’d only struck a glancing blow in self-defense.

Although Ethan’s family had moved away by then, he’d read the police reports since his return. The case was a tragedy all around, since it seemed obvious Barry hadn’t intended to harm anyone. Still, he must have struck harder than he realized, because the farmer died of his injuries.

In prison, Barry had taken college courses and, following his release, earned a journalism degree from the University of Tennessee. His murder conviction had ended his dreams of making it in the big league, however, and he’d eventually returned to Downhome to take over the Gazette from his parents.

“So you get to relax for the weekend?” Ethan asked, making conversation.

“No. I’ve got an advertising publication to put together.” Barry downed a handful of french fries before continuing. “And I’m working on a story of my own, kind of a long-term thing. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I’ll be in my office for a few hours tomorrow,” Ethan said. “If you want to access records, though, you’ll need to wait till Monday, when Amy’s on duty.”

“No, no, I’d just like to show you what I’ve put together. I’d appreciate your opinion,” Barry explained.

“It’s a crime story?” This aroused Ethan’s interest. If the newspaper planned to run an exposé, he wanted advance notice. “I’d be glad to read it.”

Barry swept aside the remains of his meal. “Are you free tonight?”

It occurred to Ethan that his colleagues in Nashville would have found it odd to see a police chief eating dinner with a convicted murderer, and even odder to find him treating the man as a friend. But Barry Lowell had reclaimed his place in society, and besides, Ethan liked him.