Page 92 of A Hero Comes Home

“Hell if I know, but these black leathers cost me a hundred bucks, and they pinch.”

Doreen, a senior by anyone’s definition, was dressed today as a cross between Betsy Ross and Anne Bonny with her clearly dyed, reddish-brown hair all poufed up like a big bush, no doubt thanks to the special Jake had seen advertised this week in the window of her daughter Francine’s hair salon, Styles and Smiles. Francine was married to Sheriff Henderson. The family connections in Bell Cove boggled the mind.

“Senator Franklin, this is Captain Jacob Dawson and Lieutenant Isaac Bernstein, whom we told you about,” the mayor chirped happily. Doreen was in her element with these kinds of affairs, always had been. Either that, or she was high on hair spray. “Boys, this is Senator Franklin.”

Boys?

“You can call me Colonel or just Phil,” he said after giving them a smart salute, accompanied by a click of his heels, which almost caused him to tip over.

Jake grabbed for him and almost fell over himself when his cane fell to the ground.

The colonel jabbed Jake in the arm and laughed. “Us fellows with war wounds gotta stick together.”

“What about me?” Izzie asked. “I got wounds, too. Inner wounds.”

The colonel looked at Izzie like he had a few screws loose or was suffering what they had called “shell shock” in the Great War.

Just then Major Durand came up, greeted Jake and Izzie, and carried on a brief conversation with the old guy about some mutual acquaintance who still served on the Armed Services Committee. Jake was impressed by the amount of color on Durand’s uniform. Some of those bars had been given for valor in battle.

So. Apparently the asshole wasn’t a desk jockey all his career, Jake mused. He still didn’t like the guy.

In fact, when Durand walked up to him and insisted, “We need to talk,” Jake actually groaned aloud and said, “Don’t spoil my day.”

“Your day or days are going to be more than spoiled if you don’t learn to take advice, young man.”

Blah, blah, blah. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. When are you leaving?” Hopefully, tonight.

“You’re still in the service, Captain Dawson. And I’m still your superior officer.”

Jake nodded his acceptance of that fact.

“This afternoon at the Conti mansion, after the show.” With a curt salute, the major dismissed him, for the moment.

A short distance away, someone with a bullhorn walked by announcing, “Fifteen minutes till showtime, everyone. Rev your engines.”

Jake saw Izzie do a double take. Then he did the same when he realized it was Laura Atler, wearing a red, white, and blue halter dress that ended midthigh, leading down a length of bare legs to red high heels. Her pale blonde hair was piled on top of her head where there was a red, white, and blue bow. Her lipstick was a bright, really bright red.

When had timid, slightly overweight Laura turned into a centerfold? It was amazing that Jake hadn’t noticed the transformation when they’d met last week. Yeah, he’d seen that she looked different, but not in this way. Wow!

Jake waved at her, which prompted Izzie to hiss, “Stop!” Which of course prompted Jake to glance at Izzie to see why he objected to a mere wave to an old acquaintance.

Before he could make some “What the hell?” type comment, Laura noticed them and stopped. She was staring directly at Izzie, who was staring at her like she was a cherry snow cone on a warm Outer Banks summer day.

She blushed, gave a little wave, and continued on her way, yelling into the bullhorn.

“She’s on the parade committee,” Izzie said dumbly, and then he blushed, too.

Taking one look at Izzie’s red face, Jake said, “Do I sense a romance brewing, or rather reheating?”

“Hell, no!”

“Uncle Abe would lend you his make-out mobile.”

“What are you? Like fifteen years old?”

“Maybe you could ask her to go steady like you did in ninth grade.”

“Bite me.”