Out of Eden. Beth Ciotta

to her medicine cabinet and nabbed a bottle of aspirin. Between the hangover and Faye’s snippy mood, she felt queasy. To make matters worse, Stan shouted something in the background and Faye shouted back. Okay. So maybe she’d just caught her friend at a bad time. “Are you guys fighting about Sting and the ice cream fiasco?”

      “Not exactly.” Faye blew out a breath and lowered her voice. “Just do me a favor, Kylie. Don’t drink any more cosmopolitans.”

      “Trust me, it’s not on the agenda.” Stomach rolling, Kylie popped an antacid along with the aspirin.

      “So what instigated that birthday meltdown, anyway?”

      A change of subject and a softer tone. Sort of. She’d take it. “Spenser.”

      “Let me guess,” Faye said. “He extended his shooting tour. Which means you have to postpone your trip. Again.”

      So far Kylie had missed out on two opportunities to travel the Orient. Both times due to a family crisis. The latter had wiped out her bank account. Now, after years of living frugally and saving (again), she finally (almost) had enough money to fund her dream trip. Problem was, Spenser’s change of plans put a glitch in her plans. “Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”

      Faye snorted. “Maybe you should tell Spenser why you need him to come home and to take responsibility for the business he inherited.”

      “I don’t want to step on his dream. Into the Wild is a huge hit. He’s in his fifth season and the ratings are consistently high.”

      “What about your dream?”

      Kylie faltered. Her gut said she needed to attack the here and now. The real world. Her world. “If I went to Asia now,” she said sensibly, “I’d still have to deal with my dull existence when I got back.”

      “Meaning?”

      Kylie shoved on her glasses, glanced at the shoe-order confirmation and the paint samples she’d printed off the Internet. She smiled. “Meet me at the hardware store in two hours.”

      CHAPTER FIVE

      JACK STEERED HIS SUV into the chief of police’s designated parking space. He glanced at the black-and-white parked to his left—one of two department cruisers. Chief Curtis had used his own wheels. Jack opted to do the same. Small towns have small budgets. Police vehicles were costly. Better to allocate funds to staffing, programming and equipment. Besides, driving an unmarked vehicle suited his purpose as did his semicasual uniform.

      He cut the engine, looked at Shy over the metal rims of his polarized Oakleys. Instead of the backseat where he’d put her, she now sat on the passenger seat. Slobber streaked the partially open window. Short blond hairs coated his black dashboard. His new car didn’t look so new anymore. Didn’t smell new, either. Was there such a thing as dog Beano?

      “So is this because of the canned kibble?” Jack asked, waving off the noxious odor. “Or because you’re nervous?”

      Shy barked.

      “Uh-huh.”

      Maybe a trip to the vet was in order. Not that he planned on keeping her. But as long as Shy was in his care, he didn’t want her stinking up his air.

      “Okay. Listen up. The squad’s still mourning Curtis. They’re not sold on me. I have no idea how they feel about dogs.”

      Shy angled her head, whimpered.

      “Relax. I’m not locking you in the car for eight hours. Just…behave. No chewing. No peeing. No farting.”

      Her tail wagged.

      “You don’t understand a word I’m saying, do you?”

      She barked again.

      “Right.” He climbed out and jerked a thumb. “Let’s roll.”

      Shy leaped to the sidewalk. He half expected, half hoped she’d run. Run home. Run off. Anything to relieve him of this newfound responsibility.

      She sat by his side.

      Great.

      New job. New life. New, and unwanted, complication.

      In an effort to root himself, he scanned Main Street and assessed the area. No skyscrapers. No public transportation. No street vendors or homeless beggers. Just a scenic grid of two-story buildings, antique street lamps, and meter-free curbside parking.

      Eden, Indiana.

      Smalltown, U.S.A.

      Four eateries: Pizza King, The Box Car, Boone’s Bar and Grill and Kerri’s Confections.

      One grocery store. One hardware store. One barbershop, beauty salon, car dealership, car wash, Realtor, dollar store, library, shoe store and pharmacy/sundry. One convenience store—Circle K. One department store—Kmart. Two churches—both Protestant. Two gas stations and one bank. Two dentists. Two doctors. Two lawyers—one of those being his brother-in-law, Frank Cortez, or as Jack called him: the Cheating Bastard.

      Jack shook off the thought of the man who made him see red. His numbness did not extend to TCB. He breathed in the crisp autumn air and a heady dose of Americana.

      Considering where he’d spent the past several years, he felt as if he’d traveled back in time. Kylie was right. Eden hadn’t changed in decades. The storefronts looked exactly as they had when he’d been a kid. J.J.’s place still had a soda fountain. A red-and-white-striped barber pole spun outside Keystone’s and the Bixley still showed feature films at bargain prices.

      Unlike Kylie, he found comfort in the familiar. Especially when the familiar included old-fashioned values. His CSI cynicism could use a dose of Leave It to Beaver innocence. Dog at his side, he strode toward the station house, soaking in the sunshine and breathing smog-free air.

      To think he’d blown out of paradise the day after he’d graduated high school. He’d been hungry for purpose and action. Jessie had accused him of having superhero syndrome. She’d said it like it was a bad thing.

      Turned out, she was right.

      As soon as she stopped giving him the cold shoulder, he’d concede and give her a chance to say I told you so. At least it would mean they were talking.

      He shoved aside thoughts of his sister. She wasn’t the only one’s favor he needed to gain. He needed to earn the respect of his new unit. A skeletal crew divided among three shifts for twenty-four-hour coverage. His second in command, Deputy Ed Ziffel, worked 7:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. Officer Andy Anderson covered the 3:00 p.m. to 11:00 p.m. The night shift belonged to Officer Bo Hooper. Dorothy Vine, their administrative assistant, pulled nine to five. Jack would float, working longer hours and where needed. He’d get to know the unit, but it would take time.

      Prepared for the morning shift, Jack entered the station house along with the perky-eared, stink-ass dog.

      Ed Ziffel sat at a dinged metal desk immersed in a book while devouring a powdery pastry. Ziffel had graduated high school two years behind Jack. They’d never been friends, but they weren’t enemies, either. After an hour in the man’s company yesterday, Jack knew why the town council hadn’t promoted from within. Some men are born to lead. Some…aren’t.

      Jack cleared his throat.

      Ziffel jerked his nose out of the book and brushed crumbs from his dark blue tie. He noted Jack’s attire. “Chief Curtis dressed in the official EPD uniform,” he said by way of a greeting.

      “I know.” Part of the reason Jack had deviated. Dark blue Dutymax cargo pants and black LITESpeed running boots. He wore a white T-shirt under his tan polo shirt and a lightweight nylon blue jacket with Police embroidered on the right. His gold badge was clipped to his belt. His .40 caliber semiautomatic Glock was holstered at his hip. His headgear of choice—a blue ball cap—was embroidered with stark white letters: EPD.

      His goal was to appear official yet approachable. According