311 Pelican Court - Debbie Macomber [133]
Sure enough, the sheriff’s patrol car pulled up alongside Charlotte. Troy Davis parked at the curb and climbed out of his Crown Victoria, pausing long enough to hoist up his belt before he walked over to her.
“’Afternoon, Charlotte.”
“Hello, Sheriff Davis,” she greeted primly. The sign seemed to grow unaccountably heavier and she lowered it. “What can I do for you?” she asked, as if it was a perfectly normal thing to see her marching down the main street of town, hefting a protest sign.
“Do you have a permit for this little rally of yours?” He looked past her at the string of fifteen men and women, all regular attendees at the local seniors’ center.
“A permit?” she repeated. The truth was, Charlotte hadn’t thought she’d need one. At first the demonstration had consisted of only her and Ben. They’d decided to form their own protest and stand silently by the stoplight at Harbor and Heron. However, as soon as word got out, a dozen or so others had asked to join them. Charlotte couldn’t refuse her friends.
“Officer, perhaps I could answer your questions,” Ben said, stepping closer to Charlotte.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Sheriff Davis said, eyeing Ben suspiciously.
“Ben Rhodes,” Charlotte murmured, gesturing from one man to the other, “meet the local fuzz.”
Ben chuckled; Sheriff Davis didn’t.
“Whose idea was this, anyway?” the sheriff asked.
“Mine,” Ben insisted.
“Now, Ben,” Charlotte said, patting him gently on the forearm. “Both of us came up with the idea.”
Her friends and allies gathered around. “And we asked to join her,” Laura said, edging her way closer so that she stood directly in front of Troy Davis’s face.
“Yes,” Helen echoed, moving next to Laura, although she was so short she had to tilt her chin up in order to get a good look. Any menacing expression was wasted on the sheriff, who didn’t bother to glance down. In fact, it seemed Sheriff Davis was having difficulty keeping a straight face. Charlotte, however, was not amused.
“It’s the only way we have of getting heard in this city,” Bess said. She waved her protest sign, nearly clobbering him in the head when she momentarily lost control of the heavy wooden stick.
“Does Olivia know what you’re up to?” Sheriff Davis asked Charlotte, ignoring the others.
“My daughter has nothing to do with this,” Charlotte said, although her voice faltered momentarily. Olivia was her one hesitation about this protest. Charlotte knew her daughter objected to her involvement—but what Olivia didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
“We don’t feel it’s any of the judge’s business,” Ben added.
Charlotte thanked him with a small smile. He understood her dilemma and had offered his advice. These days, she often listened to what Ben had to say. He was reasonable and wise in his counsel; he’d proved that over and over. He’d also proved something else, which the others didn’t know—that he was an excellent kisser. She blushed at the thought.
“I don’t believe I was speaking to you, sir,” the sheriff said.
“Sheriff Davis, that was completely unnecessary,” Charlotte objected.
“Does Olivia know?” he asked again, and the friendliness was gone from his voice.
“She knew about it. She just didn’t know when I planned to march,” Charlotte answered bluntly.
“So you don’t have an assembly permit?”
“There’s a logical reason we don’t, Sheriff,” Ben said. “We—”
“I’m sure there is. However, if you don’t have a permit, I’m going to have to ask you to disperse and leave the area.”
“We aren’t causing any trouble,” Ben said.
“We come in peace,” Laura insisted, sounding as if she’d just alighted from an alien spaceship.
“But we mean business!” Bess’s sign flashed back and forth in the sheriff’s face.
Glaring at her, he caught the wooden stem with one hand and took it from her. “Mrs. Ferryman, kindly go home.”
“I was his third-grade teacher,” Bess whispered to Charlotte.
“Officer, I appreciate your problem, but we are on a mission,” Ben started. “We—”
“I’m on a mission, as well,” Troy Davis