The Prodigal's Return. Lynn Bulock

her see how crazy this is.”

      The brunette shrugged and took a sip of coffee. “As much as I’d hate to see your mom move, it’s not so crazy. I could get her a small fortune for this house. She could probably buy the biggest mansion in that little town you guys are from—”

      “It’s Friedens—and Mom, what would I do back there? You may miss it, but I sure don’t. I’ve never lived there, remember?” His brown eyes glowed with emotion.

      “All too well.”

      Gina watched them both, as if observing a game of ping pong. Wisely, she was saying nothing.

      Jeremy kept glaring. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “It means that you’ve grown up in a different place both physically and emotionally. And I remember it every time you answer me in that tone of voice, every time you nag for the latest electronic gadget. You remind me each time you try to talk me into letting you sleep in on Sunday morning because you’ve stayed up too late in a chat room or with one of your buddies doing skateboard tricks out on that ramp you set up on the driveway.”

      “Like none of that would happen in Missouri?” Jeremy huffed. “Well, I know the skateboard part wouldn’t happen, because I didn’t see another skater the whole time we were there for Grandpa’s wedding. Not one.”

      Laurel suspected Jeremy might be right, but she replied, “There have to be some there. I can’t imagine even a place as backward as Friedens, Missouri, being totally devoid of skateboarders. And if it is, you’ll start a new trend by being the coolest guy in town.”

      The light went out of Jeremy’s face. “So you’re serious about this?”

      Laurel nodded. “I am. Jer, I miss my family. I feel really rotten that I wasn’t there when my dad and my sisters needed me this week. And I want to go back and help Grandpa Sam with stuff. Besides, I think it would be great if I could give you a lot more freedom than I’m ever going to be comfortable giving you here.”

      That got his attention. Gina nodded while he wasn’t watching her, to give Laurel encouragement that she might be on the right track.

      “What kind of freedom?” Jeremy asked.

      Laurel tried to frame her thoughts, so that she could be honest and still appeal to her son. “A whole bunch of kinds, really. The freedom to wander around town without me worrying what kind of trouble you could get into every moment. The freedom to have lots of people you could go talk to about a problem if you didn’t want to talk to me.”

      “Like who?”

      His voice held challenge, but there was also interest. Laurel felt that maybe he was considering the idea. “Like your uncle Ben or either of your grandpas, or even that pastor at Grandpa Hank’s church that you thought was so cool.”

      “The one that made the jokes at the wedding? He was pretty cool. I could probably even stand listening to him, if only I didn’t have to get up before daylight to do it.”

      Laurel reached out and took his hands. She was amazed at how they dwarfed hers. Jeremy wasn’t anywhere near grown-up in intellect, but his body was making man-size leaps into maturity. She was in awe every day that this was the child to whom she had given birth. Fourteen years didn’t seem like nearly enough time for this kind of transformation.

      “So you’d give it a shot? For me?” she asked.

      “I guess. Are you going to let Gina sell our house right away?”

      “No. We’ll go out and stay with Grandpa Sam. Don’t roll your eyes when I say this, but I’m going to have to pray a while first about any decision as big as selling the house.” She could see her son fighting a grin, and the urge to roll his eyes. “Hey, so you have an old-fashioned mother who prefers to take all decisions, no matter how large or small, to the Lord.”

      Now Jeremy’s normal, rather impish grin was back. “Actually, I like that part. That way I can pray at the same time, and see if God might be on my side this time and move us back here.”

      “Don’t hold your breath on that one, sport. Not right away, for sure.”

      She let go of his hands, and Jeremy straightened. He dashed the brown hair out of his face.

      “So how much time do I have?”

      Somehow he reminded her of the valiant hero facing the firing squad. She was sure that was the image he wanted to project.

      She did some quick mental calculating. “I can’t very well just pack up tomorrow. If I take a week, will it give you enough time to tell your friends, and skate all your favorite places a few times?”

      “How about ten days. I have a lot of friends. And a lot of favorite places.” He sounded wistful. For a moment Laurel wondered if she really was doing the right thing.

      As if to answer her, the telephone rang, and she looked for the handset to the cordless. Of course it wasn’t there.

      Jeremy shrugged. “Not my problem this time. I haven’t used the phone since I was on the computer last night with Bill playing games…” His voice trailed off. “Which means it’s probably there, huh? I’ll go get it.”

      He headed off in search of the phone and Laurel sat back down with Gina. “So what do you think? Am I as crazy as Jeremy believes I am?”

      “Don’t ask me. I’m in trouble either way I answer. If I tell you you’re making a crazy impulsive decision, you’ll argue with me. And if I tell you it sounds great and to go for it, I’m losing my best friend.”

      “I guess it’s hardly fair to ask you to take sides,” Laurel conceded. “But tell me more about selling this house. I never thought I’d say this, but I think it’s time.”

      Friedens—Ten days later

      Every new day as acting sheriff brought Tripp more challenges. He was near the two week mark now. At least he wasn’t bored. The temperature in the office didn’t bother him as much anymore. He’d gotten used to drinking decent coffee on a regular basis. Now that he was in the office as sheriff, instead of out patrolling as a deputy, he had developed more of a rapport with Verna. She didn’t intimidate him as much, although he did still feel as if he were being inspected.

      Mrs. Baker and a few of her friends seemed to stop by daily with something that got under their skin. Sometimes he could hear Verna out in the main office pacifying them. On those days he considered whether Verna needed a raise. But some times the Old Ladies Brigade couldn’t be stopped that easily. Tripp told himself he had to stop referring to them that way even in his own mind, or he’d slip and end up saying it out loud. Even if he were only talking to Verna it wouldn’t be a good idea: she was probably related to half the brigade.

      Over the past couple of days, they appeared to be on a rampage. Their problems were so petty. They ranged from kids still shooting off leftover bottle rockets from the Fourth of July, to threatening dogs, to parking tickets he’d missed.

      After years of solving real problems in big city homicide, Tripp now kept telling himself that Lillian Baker and her friends should be a piece of cake. He was having a hard time holding his temper in check when their complaints turned out to be so minor that they weren’t worth his time to investigate.

      Didn’t they ever have any real crime here? He knew that Hank had broken up a methamphetamine ring, because Tripp had worked some of the busts himself. It was the only major crime he could recall since living in Friedens. No murders, no other drug rings or even major burglaries. If somebody had a gun, they were probably hunting animals in season, and had a legal permit. Even the local merchants didn’t report much shoplifting.

      Tripp could hear Lillian Baker out there again, talking something over with Verna. His department secretary and part-time dispatcher was beginning to grow on him. She had the patience of a saint, and more common sense than most people he could name. She knew when to pay attention to the complaints of Lillian and the crew,