Fireball: Cheap Thrills, #1

By Mary B. Moore

Tabitha

Losing my mom prompted a move across the country so I could bond with the half-sister I'd never even known existed until I'd taken one of those DNA tests and the results came back.

 

With nothing tying me to Jersey anymore, I took the leap and got a job as an art teacher and made an offer on the pretty little house I'd seen online. I just never expected to get arrested by the Sheriff, Dave Bell, within hours of getting the keys to it.

 

I was a sucker for tattoos, and I was also a sucker for a tall man built like a wall.  And apparently, I was a sucker for a guy with a badge and a big… truck. 

Call me old-fashioned, but being arrested, interrogated, and tortured (well, maybe not entirely) wasn't exactly romance, but everyone makes mistakes, so I gave him a second chance. 

 

My only worry was, I hadn't moved to find a man. I'd moved to start a new life. Was anyone ever ready to fall in love, though?

 

"DB"

The residents of the town I worked in were relatively easygoing, well aside from the Townsends. That family was a law unto themselves.

 

Tabitha Newton, the new art teacher, breezed into town and my life at the same time. I'd been called out to check on a house with a suspicious car in the drive by a concerned neighbor and had stumbled across the new woman sprawled across the living room floor. One accidental arrest, a trip to the station, and a friendly 'getting to know you' interrogation later, and I asked her out before she could find out who my stepsister was. 

 

It was stupid, of course she'd find out, but something about the woman had intrigued me so much that common sense hadn't even come into it. 

There's a way around that, though, because there's a way around everything.

 

I hadn't been looking for the fiery, pink-haired, tattooed teacher who took over my heart, but I'd be damned if I'd give up convincing her we were made for each other.

 

Read the series:
Fireball
Living On A Dare
Classy AF
Talk Flirty To Me
Just Good Friends

Eat Crow

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary B. Moore
• Release date: Jan 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393513575

Book preview

ONE

Tabby

It was a miracle that I managed to wait for the door to shut before sliding down it onto my ass on the floor. 

I’d only been in Piersville for eighteen hours and already I was burned out. It wasn’t my sister Jose’s fault that she’d come home from her prenatal appointment and found her husband boinking some ho on the day I’d driven into town. It also wasn’t her fault that the ho in question, Rita, had turned psycho on her. 

No, the fault lay with her soon to be ex-husband’s wandering penis, and the fact that, like the aforementioned penis, he was a dick. I was just glad that I’d been able to help her out when the deputy sheriff had arrived to haul their asses out of the house after Rita Slutita tried to attack her, and her soon-to-be-ex Larry tried to take anything of value after she’d told him to leave.

Few people would dream that the first time they met their half-sister—one which they’d only found out about a few months previously—it would go down like that. Regardless, I was relieved I’d been here to help out during and after it all. 

Now though, I was in my new house. I absolutely loved the property and the town I’d moved to, but Texas was hot as balls and I had sweat gathering in places I didn’t know was possible. Oh, and I was more exhausted than I’d ever been in my life, and there was nothing to eat in the house.

All I had was a case of water and some coffee in my car, but no furniture to get up and lie on because that wasn’t due to arrive until tomorrow. Awesome!

I would have given anything to be able to call my mom to sort out the riot of emotions inside me, but she’d lost her short battle with cancer five months ago. Everyone kept telling me that time was a great healer, but so far I felt as raw as I did the day we found out that she didn’t have long left—as in days left, not months.

That news had prompted me to get one of the genealogy DNA kits I’d seen advertised online and send the swabs back to them to be tested which had led me to where I was today. 

After her diagnosis, Mom and I had sat down and had many heart-to-hearts getting everything out and bearing our souls to each other. That might sound dramatically worded, but when you know you’re about to lose someone, you dig down to your soul and make sure you have no questions left when they’re gone.

It was during one of these conversations that she’d finally explained why she’d never moved on after my dad. Apparently, they’d met, and she’d fallen in love quickly, completely taken by the handsome blond man. He’d said he was in love with her too, but then she’d found out that he was also in love with eight other women. 

Eight!

Something which she’d found out when she was six months pregnant with me, and he’d followed it by telling her that had no intentions of ever being a one woman man. 

After she’d ended it, instead of showing an interest in being in my life he’d claimed it would be too painful to see her and not be able to touch her, and had never gotten in touch with Mom again. She’d tried contacting him after I was born for my sake, but he’d made it clear that he wasn’t interested so she’d decided that being a mom was the most important thing and had focused on it. 

Did I feel like shit that she hadn’t had another partner since? Absolutely. It felt like if I hadn’t been in the picture she’d have tried again for her happily ever after.

When I’d told her that, she’d argued and said it had been her choice and she’d had the happiest life she could imagine raising me, loving me, having adventures with me, and creating a world with just the two of us in it. It still hurt my heart that she hadn’t had someone else giving her the love that she’d given out—someone who would have been her support network, and who’d have shared her problems whenever they happened.

One night we’d been sitting watching television when an ad for a DNA testing kit had come on, and she’d encouraged me to do it to see if we could track down any more family members. When she’d told me that she didn’t want me to be alone after she was gone, I’d ordered one and had sent it back a couple of days later. 

I’d expected to find an aunt on Mom’s side, or a cousin, or something like that, but when it came back with a hit on a possible sibling, I’d felt numb. I hadn’t even thought along those lines, although in hindsight that probably should have been the first thing I should have considered having out there, given dear old Daddy’s proclivity to swinging his dick around the country. 

The sad thing was, Mom died not knowing about Jose. The results had come in two days after she’d taken her final breaths, ones she’d taken while I lay curled up beside her on her hospital bed, begging her not to leave me, while at the same time praying for her pain to end.

Jose and I had started out chatting online, then by text, and then by phone and FaceTime. Somehow we’d gotten close quickly, and when I’d said that I couldn’t live in the house Mom had owned and that I was selling it, she’d screamed at me to move near her. 

It was like it was all kismet. I’d put our house in New Jersey up for sale expecting it to take a while to sell, when in fact it had only taken two weeks. Once the sale had closed, I’d moved into my friend’s spare room and then applied for a job as an art teacher at Piersville.

The Principal and two members of the school’s council had interviewed me via Skype and had offered me the job on the spot. I’d never even heard of that happening so it had been a total shock. But I had a good resume, my background checks had been done after they’d received my application and were clear, and I had a degree in Art and English so I’d be able to help out in multiple departments at the school. 

Jose had sent me the link to a beautiful house with a small pool that was up for sale five minutes away from hers, and I’d fallen in love. It was a one-story three-bedroomed house, painted white on the outside with dark blue shutters on the windows, and a dark gray tiled roof. The garden at the front was like something out of a fairytale with a little path leading through the grass, bordered by flowers, and rose bushes under the windows.

The pool was in the backyard and wasn’t too big for me to look after so it wouldn’t take too much of my time. The flowers and roses had continued back there and added an extra layer of privacy to the tile patio that led off the kitchen.

Inside it was all tile and wooden flooring with white walls, modern, fresh, and perfect for me to move into and make my mark on. I’d made an offer, the offer was accepted, and it had closed quickly because the owners had moved to Florida to be closer to their daughter. 

And this all led me back to where I was now, lying on the floor in a pool of my own sweat. Well, maybe not quite a pool, but it felt like it.

I needed to go to the store, but to be honest I was so tired and hot that I had no interest in ever moving again, and going shopping would involve me doing a lot of that and leaving my new home. That might involve me needing to be social if someone struck up a conversation too, and I really didn’t have that in me.

So, instead, I was going to bring in my stuff from the car, inflate my air mattress, drink a ton of water, and watch something on Netflix thanks to the data package that I’d had the smart idea to buy so that I could chill until my internet was connected. Netflix, floor, water, and chill. 

Then again, maybe I could just open up the windows and back door, let some air in, and then return to the cold floor instead? I could do the other shit later, once I’d gotten some energy back.

That sounded way more appealing than walking back and forth to the car to bring stuff in. 

DB

Then, she drug me… Mrs. Keating started to explain, but was cut off by her nemesis Mrs. Bane.

With a dramatic groan, she rolled her eyes and sighed loudly "It’s dragged."

The other old woman’s body tightened visibly, and she pointed an arthritic finger at Mrs. Bane. "You see, that’s what she keeps doing. I’m shook I tell you, shook!"

You can’t even get that right. It’s shaken, Mrs. Bane argued back,.

I’d gotten a call about two women fighting, and when I’d arrived they’d been rolling around the grass trying to get the other one in a headlock. That wasn’t that unusual, until you took into account that one was eighty-six and the other was eighty-eight. Oh, and that we were at a retirement home surrounded by old men cheering them on and placing bets.

I speak English, ok? Mrs. Keating yelled, storming up to Mrs. Bane. I don’t need you to correct me or tell me I’m not speaking it right.

I said it because you’re not, Mrs. Bane snapped, poking her in the chest. 

This is Texas, and excuse me if I’m wrong, but we still speak English in Texas, do we not? she argued, giving her a prod right back.

You’re not using the words correctly, so yeah I’m going to correct you because you sound dumb. Nowhere in any dictionary will you find that you can use the word drug in place of the word dragged. Nor is it proper to say shook instead of shaken. If you can’t speak it properly, don’t speak at all, she challenged, leaning into Mrs. Keating and miming zipping her lips up.

Why wasn’t I saying anything? Because it was taking everything in me not to lose my shit. 

You’re a shriveled up old bitch, Joan Bane, Mrs. Keating shrieked, her whole body shaking with it. Then again, if you were her age and weighed roughly one hundred and ten pounds, yours would probably do the same thing I guess.

Watching the two gearing up for another round, I sighed and stepped forward. Ladies, you’ve both said your piece, so why don’t you go your separate ways and…

Sheriff, I’m only helping her when I correct her, Mrs. Bane waved in Mrs. Keating’s direction. She has the vocabulary of a two-year-old most of the time, and then you add on her misuse of the English language… the woman needs help.

It’s the right words, Mrs. Keating shouted back at her. Isn’t it, Sheriff?

Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I counted to five. When that didn’t help, I shoved my hands in my pockets and counted for another five beats. That’s when I made my choice on what I had to do.

If I didn’t say what I needed to, the chances were that I’d be called out here again later, or tomorrow if I was lucky and they left it that long to pick the argument back up again. To avoid that, I was going to have to go with agreeing with one of them.

They’re actually vernacularisms, I sighed. What you’re using them for is incorrect.

Mrs. Bane nodded smugly while Mrs. Keating looked at me like I’d just sold my soul to the devil.

Was it that big of a deal what words they used? No. But I was sick and tired of getting called out to Bates Retirement Home to deal with arguments like this. It was wasting a lot of man hours every week when the staff could be dealing with it instead of standing around looking at Facebook or whatever they were doing.

At least the two women that worked here who I avoided like the plague after my last call out when they both tried jumping me in the hallway, Pamela and Rinna, weren’t here.

They’re what? Mrs. Keating asked.

They’re vernacularisms, I repeated. They’re only used in an area. Every area has some, in fact every country has them so it’s not unusual for things like this to happen. But in this case, your use of the words is definitely incorrect.

Changing my focus from Mrs. Keating to Mrs. Bane I added, That said, does it really matter what way she uses them seeing as how she’s not the only person to use them like that?

Both of the women’s mouths open and closed a couple of times, and then like someone flipped a switch on inside Mrs. Keating her she-devil reared its head again.

And that’s how I arrested an eighty-eight-year-old woman during my lunch break.

Fifty-seven minutes later…

Sheriff, Rory called from her desk as I walked past it. Raoul says old man Beck called him on his cell to report a strange car parked in the drive of the Joseph’s old house. You know, the flower one on…

The corner of Grove Lane, I finished, wishing today would just end. I told him not to give that old man his cell number, but did he listen?

Old man Beck had taken to calling the station four times a day at least. A cat shitting in his grass. A car he didn’t recognize driving down the road he lived on, probably casing the joint. Finding a bag he didn’t recognize as one of his own in his garbage can. The time he found a limb in his garden the day after Halloween. It had turned out that the cat was his wife’s, the car was his neighbor’s new car, the bag had been his wife hiding that she was throwing out his old shirts before she died, the limb was a Halloween prop that a kid had thrown… It was a pain in the ass, but we attended no matter what.

The limb incident had happened shortly after Raoul had joined us. He’d felt sorry for the old guy and his claims that we never took anything seriously or cared about what crimes were being committed even though we answered and investigated all of them, so he’d given him his cell number.

Now, all the calls went to him and he was meant to deal with them himself.

Looking around, I couldn’t see the man in question. Where’s Raoul? Why isn’t he doing it?

Hurst Townsend and Bill Richards decided to take some big tractor thing out for a ride. That mean bull of Hurst’s took exception to them driving through his field, so he charged at them. I took the call and all I could hear was Hurst screaming about coming to save their asses, so I dispatched Raoul and Logan.

I could feel my frustration leaving me with every detail of this story.  

When they got there, the tractor was in a ditch and both men were on its roof to stay as far away from the animal as possible. Last I heard, they were waiting on someone to come and secure the bull after he charged at the cruiser too. She paused and tapped her fingers like she was making sure she’d covered all the points of the case.

I was sure she had, I mean what else could have happened during something like that?

Oh, and someone’s been called to come and pull the tractor out because there’s an old sewage line there that the city have been planning to cover with more dirt. Apparently it’s breaking through to the surface and they’re worried it’ll crack under the weight of the vehicle.

Unable to hold it in, I burst out laughing. After the shitty morning I’d had, this was the news I’d needed to hear. Piersville was a small town outside Belton, Texas, and on the whole it was peaceful and quiet. Well, aside from the Townsends, but that family were a law unto themselves. We’d had a couple of big crime cases, but not a lot, and I could happily say thank fuck for that. 

I knew exactly what had happened with Hurst and Bill today. They’d dipped into the hooch or bourbon, raced the tractor, and had gotten caught by the bull. Added onto that was the fact that Bill Richards was my Deputy’s, Logan, grandfather too, and he’d had the joy of arresting both the men on a couple of occasions, as had the rest of us. It was a slight conflict of interests, but Logan usually just slapped the cuffs on them, brought them in, and left the rest to us to deal with so it was ok.

Please tell me they’re recording it?

We already had a section on our system dedicated to footage of the Townsends, and regularly had viewings in the break room. This one would have everyone coming to see it.

Obviously, she rolled her eyes. Anyway, old man Beck sounded a bit strung out when he spoke to Raoul, so can you go see him?

She tried leaning forward to show me her cleavage, but I was blind to it, just like I’d been blind to it every day since she started. You never ever shit where you sleep. People made that mistake all the time, and were left with tension, drama, or just unnecessary grief where they worked. It was unprofessional and a pain in the ass. So, no, I wouldn’t be taking her up on her offers now or ever.

Nodding, I resigned myself to another foodless lunch and headed out to my vehicle, knowing Beck would be wrong.

Turns out, on this occasion he’d actually been right. Well, kind of.

TWO

DB

The front door and windows looked fine, so I walked around the side of the property to check the rest. As I passed it on my way to the back garden, I stopped to look in through the windows of the car in question. It looked like someone was either moving to a new house or living in the vehicle.

Pillows, bags, boxes, an empty cup, a case of water, a bag with wrappers and napkins in it—every bit of space inside was filled.

I’d run the plates after I’d pulled up, and it had come back to a Tabitha Newton who was a resident in Bloomfield, New Jersey. With no one had answering my knocks on the front door and with Ms. Newton so far away from home, teamed with the contents of the car, it left me with a couple of possibilities. 

As far as I was aware, the house was still up for sale, and from his call obviously old man Beck hadn’t been notified of any update on it either. Still, I called Rory and asked her to contact the owners, an elderly couple who’d retired to be closer to their daughter, and asked her to find out for me. 

I was a Houston native and only lived in Piersville for three years. When the grind of living in a big city had started to really get to me, the level of crime exhausting the fuck outta me too, I’d taken the job as Sheriff here. My move had also been strongly motivated by things becoming strained between me and my dad, so not facing that every day made life easier.

Because of this, I wasn’t really familiar with all the houses here, so I was navigating blind as I moved around the property. Continuing down the side of the house, I got to the fence that separated the back garden from the driveway and opened it.

From the front of it, I never would have expected to find a backyard, pool, old wooden train track sleepers and carriage wheels being used as borders for the flower beds, and a large porch. The house was beautiful from the front, but fucking outstanding from the back.

That’s when I saw the open doors and windows like someone was letting fresh air in. What burglar airs out the house? It could be a homeless person, but would they have a