"He wasn't thinking with his head, that's for sure," Ginny Spencer quipped. The town's only female officer dropped her usually serious demeanor to taunt Grant. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a sleek, tight bun, her sharp, hazel eyes rarely missing a thing.
Shooting her a painful glare, he took the proffered drink and pills, downing them both quickly. Just then, the two other officers walked in. Looking over at Grant they both grinned. Sam Stubbis, the oldest member of the police force, moved past Mildred to the coffee maker while Burt Tobber clapped Grant on the shoulder as he passed him.
"You hanging in there this morning?" Burt asked. "You were still going strong when I left last night."
"Yeah, well, you and your wife had to get back to relieve your babysitter, so you hardly stayed very long," Grant grumbled. "It's not like I was that much later than you."
"I remember the days of closing down a bar," Sam reminisced, patting his slightly protruding stomach as he helped himself to a pastry brought in by Mildred. "But those days are over for me." Lifting his gaze to Grant, he added, "And never before patrol."
Grant slumped into a chair at the table in the workroom, hoping Mitch would make his appearance soon so they could get to business.
On cue, Mitch walked in. The tall, handsome Police Chief was still wearing the same smile that had graced his face last night every time he had caught a glimpse of his fiancé, Tori. "Morning, everyone," he greeted.
"God, you are entirely too happy, Mitch," Grant grumbled, hanging his head.
Mitch's steely gaze dropped to his officer and friend, and his smile widened. "Looks like you drowned your sorrows a little too much last night."
At that, Grant's head jerked up, his frown meeting Mitch's grin. "Drowned my sorrows? Hell, I was celebrating my freedom!"
"Whatever," Ginny said, rolling her eyes.
Grumbling under his breath, Grant sipped his coffee, grateful when Mitch took pity on him and began the meeting.
The first items on the morning's agenda dealt with town business and Grant struggled to focus on the notes. Suddenly Mitch's tone changed and Grant sat up, watching his Chief's jaw tighten with anger.
"Heard from the State Police that drug runners are beginning to use the Eastern Shore instead of Highway 95 that runs from Florida to Maine. It takes longer to move drugs through here, but they think they have less of a chance of getting caught." Mitch pinned his group with a hard stare before adding, "I don't want anything passing through our town."
"Are they just running?" Ginny asked.
"Not sure right now. The State Police are stepping up their patrols out on the main road going through. They just want us to be vigilant, especially when pulling over speeders with out-of-state tags."
"If they stop here, there's enough of a youth population to be of interest to drug runners," Burt said. "So far, we've done a fair job keeping it out."
"Speaking of youth," Grant looked up, "will the next American Legion meeting get the youth baseball league going?"
This subject captured the attention of the entire squad since they were all members of the new American Legion. Mitch, as the newly elected President, nodded. "Yes, make sure you're at the meeting tonight. We'll get the youth league started."
"Been wanting to work with the boys that had their basketball hoops taken down. They might like playing baseball," Sam commented. "It's a way to keep the town manager and mayor off our backs." Earlier in the summer, Sam had come under pressure to keep the teens from hanging around an old school. They had not been a problem, but according to the manager, Silas Mills, they presented a "blight on the town".
"Just boys?" Ginny asked, her eyebrow rising in question.
"No, no, not just boys," Mitch assured. "The leagues have girls in them as well."
The squad continued to discuss the ongoing cases and work schedule for another half hour. Once dismissed, Sam and Burt pushed their chairs back, nodding at the others as they headed out to begin their patrols. Ginny moved into the other room to sit at her desk as she worked on a few open cases.
Grant, grateful to be able to go home since he only had to pull early morning patrol, was about to leave, when Mitch called him back.
"Let's talk in my office, shall we?" Mitch asked.
Grant knew that even though he and Mitch were friends from childhood, at work, Mitch was the boss. And he could tell that Mitch's professional invitation brooked no refusal. Following him down the short hall and into the office, he plopped down heavily in the utilitarian, metal chair across from Mitch, who settled in the creaky wooden chair behind his desk.