The Witness

fault.”
    “No one could blame you.” As Brooks headed out, he wondered why she’d put the skinny in a latte when she was having a cookie. But that was one of the female mysteries he didn’t worry himself into a headache over.
    He glanced at the sky as he walked. The temperatures refused to settle, shooting up, diving down and clashing in the middle as a welcome mat for tornados. But the sky held to a harmless faded denim.
    He crossed over to Shop Street, pleased to see the Saturday-afternoon bustle of locals and tourists. He passed the gourmet market, thought of Abigail, and walked down another block to Ozark Art.
    He didn’t see any signs of a dispute through the display window. In fact, he didn’t see Grover or a customer or anyone else. The little bell jingled as he stepped in, scanned the main showroom and its walls of paintings, the stands displaying sculptures, shelves of handblown glass and local pottery.
    The air carried the fragrance of a spring woodland from one of those reed diffusers. Grover’s work, he thought absently. The guy looked like a storybook gnome, and was a wizard with scents.
    He started back toward the storeroom and office, saw no one at the checkout counter.
    And heard the click of heels on wood.
    Sylbie, hair tumbled, eyes slumberous, slipped out of the back room.
    “Well, there you are … Chief.”
    “What’s the problem, Sylbie?”
    “I’ll tell you.” She crooked a finger, tossed her hair and her own personal scent as she opened the back-room door. “In here.”
    “Where’s Grover?”
    “He’ll be back in a few minutes. Somebody has to watch the shop.”
    Brooks felt the trapdoor creak under his feet. “Sylbie, Grover called the station, said there was a dispute that needed police involvement.”
    “There is a dispute, but there doesn’t have to be. Come on into the back, and we’ll settle it.”
    “We’ll settle it here.”
    “All right, then.” She wore a dress swirled with black and white. And then she didn’t.
    “Jesus Christ, Sylbie.”
    She laughed, again tossing her hair and perfume before she leaned against the doorjamb, naked but for a pair of high red heels that showed a peek of toenails painted the same shade.
    “You didn’t come see me the other night, Brooks. I had to drink that wine all by myself.”
    “I told you I was busy. Put your clothes back on.”
    “Now, that’s something I don’t recall you saying in the past.”
    He kept his eyes on hers, surprised and a little disconcerted that it took little effort to keep them from roaming down. “I’m saying it now. Put your dress on, Sylbie.”
    “Come on over here and make me.”
    “What’s wrong with you?” he demanded. “You talk Grover into calling the station, requesting an officer.”
    “Not just any officer, honey.” She pursed her lips in a kiss. “I wanted you.”
    “Shut up.” Temper he rarely lost strained against the leash. “If you’re not back in that dress inside ten seconds, I’m arresting you.”
    “Oh … you want to play that way.”
    “Look at me, God damn it. Am I playing?”
    His tone, his face, finally got through. Temper lit her eyes in turn as she bent down, pulled the dress back up.
    “Don’t you think for one minute you can speak to me that way.”
    “I’ll do more than speak to you if you pull something like this again. I’m the fucking chief of police, Sylbie. I’m on duty.”
    She fit the dress straps in place with two defiant snaps. “Like anything ever happens around here.”
    “I’ll tell you something that’s going to happen. I’m going to find Grover, and I’m going to fine him for calling in a false report.”
    “You will not.”
    “Believe it.”
    She took a quick step forward. “Don’t do that, Brooks. Don’t. He only did it because I asked him.”
    “Then he’ll know better next time. And so will you.”
    “Why do you act this way?” Tears sizzled through the temper. “You make it so I have to throw myself at you, and all you do is get mad. Back in high school, you couldn’t keep your hands off me.”
    “This isn’t high school. I don’t want high school.”
    “You don’t want me.”
    He knew those tears. He’d swam through rivers of them before, and they were sincere enough. “Sylbie, you’re beautiful, probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. You’re talented, and when you make an effort, you’re an interesting companion. But I don’t want you the way I did back then. I