The Farmer's Son

Chapter 50 Roadblock

Located a stones' throw away from the diner and across the street from Sal's, the Sheriff's was a perfectly square one story building. Brown striped awnings shaded the entrance into the small office, where two desks sat against two walls, separated by big windows that looked out into the street. Unlike the rest of the town, inside there was not a speck of dust; floors were polished to a mirror finish, and notes of cedarwood and industrial cleanser scented the air instead of day-old pastries and stale coffee.

Days were usually real quiet, with the occasional domestic call, vandalism, or altercation by the tracks. Unfortunately for Sheriff Boris, this was a particularly loud morning.

"Picked up in the middle of the street like some common hooligan, then locked up in a cell overnight like a criminal! Do you have any idea what went through my mind when I got that phone call? How the devil do you mean to explain this?"

"Now, now, Noah, there's no need for that kind of coarse language," said Sheriff Boris in a calm, low voice. "I was just doing my job, you know that."

Because standing in the middle of his spotless office was Noah, yelling not at Ray, but at the Sheriff himself.

"Your job is to lock up innocent boys just trying to do their job, Boris? Is that what it is?"

"I was responding to a call, Noah," Sheriff Boris said. Even though he stood at least a foot taller than Noah and was built like a bear, with a bald head and a big red beard, his demeanor was that of a mouse. When he spoke, it was with a soft, patient tone. "I didn't arrest him; I just brought him in, s'all."

"Yeah, you brought him in and locked him up. Why don't you just paint 'criminal' on his forehead?"

"Wouldn't be the worst thing I've had on my face," Ray murmured.

"Shhh!" Alan scolded him.

Around the corner, Ray and Alan stood in the open door of the holding cell—which had the shiniest bars in the county, maybe even the country—listening to Noah tear Boris a new one. Noah had been livid that he'd had to wait until morning, but the experience hadn't been too painful for Ray; Boris had given him an extra blanket, a fresh pillow, and woken him with a cup of coffee and a plate of waffles.

"Well, there have been a few complaints over the past week," came Boris's reasonable voice. "We got a call Monday night that he was seen around the Benchley property with a few others, drinking and trespassing. On Tuesday Mrs. Marsden said she saw him leaving her husband's shed, and when she went to check afterwards, there were a couple bottles of, uh, vinegar missing."

Making whiskey wasn't technically legal, but Boris couldn't well arrest every farmer in his jurisdiction.

"Then on Wednesday we found those same bottles of, um, vinegar, empty along the fences of the Dalton farm. Fact is, he's been complained about nearly every night this week. I had to bring him in."

"That's absurd!" Noah exploded. "The boy's been working all day with me and all night at the Dalton farm for the last two months! You really think he decided to just lose his mind this week?"

"If he been working as hard as you say, maybe he needed to let out some steam," Boris said with a shrug of his giant shoulders, fairly bursting out of his sharply pressed uniform.

"The only steam that needs letting out is the hot air from whoever made all those calls!"

"Was it you?" Alan asked. Just to ask.

"If it was, you would have been right there with me," Ray replied.

Alan ducked his head for a brief smile and cleared his throat. This was neither the time nor the place to be getting excited. "Where did you get picked up?"