Firefly Nights. Cynthia Thomason

quick inspection of the parking lot confirmed what Kitty already suspected. At least a dozen electronic items lay scattered at the guard’s feet. Digital cameras, MP3 players, video games... Kitty couldn’t take it all in at once. “Oh, Adam, you didn’t.”

      A man in a white shirt approached with the second security guard, who held a radio in his hand. “I’ve got Sheriff Oakes on the line,” the guard said. “He’s only a half mile away, so he should be here pretty—”

      A siren cut him off as a patrol car careened into the lot and came to a lunging stop next to them. A large man in a uniform with a badge that proclaimed him Sheriff stepped out of the car and strolled around the hood. After appraising the situation, he removed his wide-brimmed hat and ran his hand through thick gray hair. Then he looked at Adam, whose face was the color of chalk. “Looks like you’re in a heap of trouble, little buddy.”

      “What’re you gonna do?” Adam squawked as the guard lowered him to the asphalt.

      “Well, let’s see here.” He picked up the damaged remains of what was obviously an expensive camera. Adam didn’t comment.

      Next the sheriff examined the split blister packaging that contained a handheld gaming system. The contents rattled in the throes of electronic death. The rest of the merchandise, which had obviously been stuffed into Adam’s jacket, was in a similar state of ruin.

      Kitty pinched the bridge of her nose to ward off a pain that had sliced between her eyes. She stepped between Adam and the sheriff. “Officer, I’m his mother, and...”

      The sheriff touched the brim of his hat. “Sheriff Oakes,” he said, and motioned to the man in the white shirt. “Quint, run a tab of what all this costs.” He looked down at Adam and raised thick bushy eyebrows. “I hope you got a lot of money, son. It’s not likely to get you out of this mess, but it’s a start.” He returned his attention to Kitty. “So you’re the boy’s mother?”

      She nodded.

      “Can’t say as I envy you, Mrs....”

      “Watley. Miss Kitty Watley.” She stared intently at her son, warning him not to reveal the truth about her name. “This is Adam.”

      “Where are you from?”

      “Florida, most recently.”

      “You come all the way from Florida to attend the opening of our Value-Rite, Miss Watley?”

      “No, of course not. My son and I were just passing through. We’re on our way to Charlotte, but our truck broke down, and that’s not all. We got lost. We’ve been robbed...”

      “Sounds like a hard-luck case, all right,” the sheriff said. “But how do you figure this justifies what your boy just did?”

      Kitty felt her hopes for a sympathetic solution to this current disaster deflate like an old inner tube. “I’m not sure,” she admitted, and looked at Adam.

      He rubbed a dirty finger under his nose and stood ramrod straight. “You wouldn’t let your mother starve, would you, Sheriff?” Poking the same finger in Kitty’s direction, he added, “Look at how skinny she is. I was just trying to fetch a few dollars to keep her from fainting. You were close to fainting from hunger, weren’t you, Mom?”

      “Oh, Adam...”

      The sheriff placed a hand on Adam’s shoulder and nudged him toward the patrol car. “Let’s go down to the station and see what charges will have to be filed.”

      Adam jerked away. “Charges! You got to be kidding.” He gawked at Kitty. “Did you hear that, Mom? Are you happy now? He’s gonna put me in jail for trying to save us from starvation.” The look on his face was pure desperation when he said, “Cripes, Mom, it’s time to use your cell phone and call Grandpa!”

      Kitty looked away from the pleading in her son’s eyes and spoke to the sheriff. “He’s not going to jail, is he? You wouldn’t put a boy in jail.”

      “No, ma’am, but we do have the juvenile intervention center over at the Spooner County seat, and that’s a strong possibility, especially with your boy’s attitude.”

      “I have a right to a lawyer,” Adam protested. “If you lock me up anywhere, my grandpa will sue you for every cent—”

      “Adam, for heaven’s sake, be quiet,” Kitty said. “Even Grandpa can’t sue somebody because you broke the law.”

      “I’d take your mama’s advice, son,” the sheriff said, leading them to his car. “I think now’s the time to be quiet.”

CHAPTER TWO

      ADAM AND KITTY rode in the back of the patrol car to the downtown area of Sorrel Gap, North Carolina. The police station was a redbrick building on a shady two-lane street of similar structures designed to capture a historic feel.

      Sheriff Oakes’s office was sparsely furnished with three desks, a few filing cabinets and a gun rack. There was one other person in the office, a plump, fiftysomething woman. She stood up when they came in and appraised the prisoners with a disapproving eye. “These the folks who stole from the Value-Rite, Virgil?” she asked.

      “Yep. This is Kitty Watley and her son, Adam. Folks, this is my wife, Wanda Oakes.”

      “How do you do,” Kitty said, attempting a smile. Good manners couldn’t hurt.

      The woman nodded, disturbing tight gray curls in a nest on her head. “I knew something like this would happen,” she said to her husband. “Once the Value-Rite opened, we’d have a crime wave, and you and I would end up working most Sundays.” She handed a piece of paper to the sheriff. “Quint called from the store. He said the boy stole fifteen hundred and twenty dollars’ worth of merchandise. Only a cordless mouse for $69.97 wasn’t damaged.”

      Kitty stared at her son in disbelief. “A cordless mouse? We didn’t even bring your computer.”

      “That’s a serious crime, son,” Sheriff Oakes said.

      “Look, I can get the money,” Adam said. “If you’d just let me make my one phone call...”

      “No, Adam,” Kitty said. “You’re not calling anyone.”

      The office phone rang and Wanda picked it up. “It’s Tommy,” she said, handing the phone to her husband.

      He listened, mumbled a brief response and hung up. “That was my deputy, Miss Watley, calling from where you left your truck. He traced the temporary tag to a dealer and says the vehicle is registered in your name. Your story checks out.”

      Thank goodness the car dealership had accepted her old driver’s license as proof of identity. Of course when a person paid cash for a junker, not many questions were asked.

      “Look, Sheriff,” Adam said. “My mom and me—we’re stinkin’ ri—”

      Kitty clamped a hand over his mouth. “Not now, Adam.”

      Sheriff Oakes asked for Kitty’s driver’s license. She could honestly say it was in her stolen wallet. “Run a check on her name anyway,” Oakes said to his wife. “See if there are any warrants in Florida.”

      “There aren’t,” Kitty said.

      Oakes did a quick head-to-toe appraisal of Adam. “And no rap sheet on the boy?”

      “Of course not,” Kitty said, though the words not yet came to her mind. “Adam was just trying to help me.”

      “Seems like he only made things worse,” Oakes said.

      “Sheriff, what can we do? What I told you about my money being stolen is true. I can’t pay for that merchandise. But I’d be glad to work off the debt. I’ll do anything you say that will make up for what my son did today.”