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  Although Daryl knew as much about the town as did his chief, Donovan thought a cruise through town on a warm Saturday night in June might show the younger officer the importance of visible police presence. They left the city jail, a stone conglomerate located downtown next to Magnolia Creek, which meandered along the western limits of the business area. They crossed the one-way bridge to a rather seedy residential area where young, poor white and black families struggled to improve their home life. To the right of the bridge, just past a small park, were the Magnolia Creek Apartments, an attractive red brick and black shingle complex that lent an aura of respectability to the shabby neighborhood.

  As Donovan turned left, he cruised past Burger Paradise, a tiny shack that specialized in huge greasy burgers, making sure the teenagers there were aware of them. Then he began to relate Magnolia Creek burger history to Metson who already knew it but patiently contributed his bit to the discussion.

  “Now, the thing I can’t understand,” said Donovan, “is why they built Burger Paradise in this part of town.”

  “Well, it is close to downtown and the police station,” said Metson.

  “That’s another thing. It’s close to us and it’s across the creek where the bad part of town begins, but them teenagers, for as long as I can remember, have always preferred hanging out and eating there, right under our noses, so to speak.”

  “Those burgers are damn good, better than Lottaburger.”

  “Hell, anything’s better than Lottaburger. Little kids like to go to that place with all them Chirpy Meals and that playland. But soon as they get away from their parents, they head straight to Burger Paradise.”

  “And Burger Giant,” added Metson as Donovan drove a few blocks south, turned left again, recrossed Magnolia Creek on a larger bridge and headed for Burger Giant.

  “Yeah, but you ever notice? The kids just like to park there for their drinks, fries, or onion rings. Damn good onion rings.”

  “They are pretty good,” agreed the younger officer.

  “Yeah, upscale families seem to gravitate to Burger Giant as the kids get a little older. But, I tell you, if you want a true hamburger, then the best place in town, maybe the whole damn county, is the Cracked Cup Diner over on the south side.”

  “Yeah, they’re good but the only people you ever see in there are old-timers, truck drivers, and policemen like us.”

  “Don’t make sense, does it?” said Donovan. “You’d think everybody would head for The Cup, instead of those other places. Of course them Paradise Burgers are almost as good and who’d want to go to The Cup if teenagers hung out there? But Lottaburger and Burger Giant don’t make sense. Those chain restaurants just don’t know how to fix a real burger.”

  “Maybe it’s prestige. Maybe it ain’t so prestigious to go to The Cup. Hey, you ever been to the Deli-Coffee Shop downtown?”

  “That sissy food? Who would go to a place like that anyway?”

  Metson, who rather liked the deli but decided not to say so to his new boss, said carefully, “Oh, the younger businessmen and women, I suppose. Health food, you know.”

  “Damn crazy, if you ask me. This is a burger town and the best is at The Cup and at Paradise. People are just losing their values, all there is to it. Starting little kids out at Lottaburger and then when kids get a little sense they head for Paradise and Burger Giant’s onion rings, but they get grown up and what have they learned? Damn near nothing! A fancy deli with soup and salad. Yuk!”

  Metson smiled but said nothing.

  After circling Burger Giant, they headed northwest toward Candy Crick Park, which bordered the southern shores of Candy Crick Lake, a favorite spot for teenage couples to make out. First, however, they passed through the trailer park where most of the crime in Magnolia Creek either occurred or originated.

  Donovan drove slowly past one of the trailers in particular. A shabby little wooden fence surrounded a weedy yard in front of the decrepit trailer.

  “Isn’t that where the Tuckers live?” asked Metson.

  “Yeah, half the crime in Magnolia would disappear if we could get rid of that family,” grumbled Donovan.

  “Well, maybe at least get rid of ole man Tucker. He’s the rabble-rouser.”

  “Hmmph. Them boys of his are going to be just like him. And them girls are just as spunky.”

  “Yeah,” Metson agreed referring to the girls, “but spunky don’t necessarily mean committing any crimes.”

  “Maybe,” said Donovan, “but I’m just dreading when those kids get to be teenagers and older.”

  “I think that one of the girls is a teenager already.”

  “Oh lordy. But are those kids going to follow their old man or are they going to heed their mama?”

  “I hear tell that Miz Tucker came from a pretty nice family. How’d she hook up with a Tucker in the first place?”

  “Well, Daryl, I don’t go in none for gossip but since you’re on the force now, you need to know a little about the folks in this park. It’s true that Miz Tucker don’t belong here. Let’s just say that she had a teenage indiscretion. She was dating some nice boys when suddenly she let a Tucker boy sweet talk her and well, the wedding bells just had to ring. The poor thing ended up here, raising a passel of kids and having to contend with what turned out to be the meanest of all the Tuckers. And she was a pretty little thing back years ago and look at her now. She’s all dried up and looking much older than she is. In fact she’s not even as old as I am.”

  “Ole man Tucker sure is an ugly son of a, well, you know.” Metson had heard his boss curse a little but decided to wait until he got to know him better before he expressed himself freely. He knew that the chief liked to put on a front of being an upstanding church-going type of guy. He was curious to learn what the chief was really like in the police force.

  Donovan laughed. “Yeah, a short, scrawny bag of bones to boot and meaner and tougher than all get out. Them Tuckers are all little bitty people and maybe that’s part of why they’re so bad-tempered. You look at one of them cross-eyed and you’re in for it.”

  “How often do you have to bring ole man Tucker in for fighting?”

  Donovan snorted. “Used to be every Saturday night but he’s mellowing out, just a couple of times a month nowadays.”

  They both laughed as Donovan speeded up some and pointed out more of the trailers in a more prestigious area of the park, one in particular where a certain notorious lady lived.

  “I’m telling you, Daryl, the most important thing you’ll ever do is who you choose to marry. You wouldn’t believe who some of the men in Magnolia are that come out here and pay respects to that lady. I got me the finest wife in the world but there’s nothing worse than a wife who’ll drive you into the arms of another woman, especially one like her.”

  Metson grunted in agreement. Who he chose to date and marry was none of Donovan’s business but he did think that Mrs. Donovan was a fine woman, indeed. He kind of wondered how Donovan himself had managed to sweet talk her into marriage.

  Changing the subject, Metson said, “Man, some of these mobile homes are down right well, uh, classy. Just look at how well kept their yards are. You can hardly tell we’re in the trailer park right now. You’d think we were in the ritzy part of town.”

  “Come on,” said Donovan, ignoring Metson’s observation. “Let’s check out the Crick.”

  They drove on through the trailer park and soon arrived at Candy Crick Park, cruising with dim lights and spying on the intensely occupied young inhabitants of the parked cars.

  “Let’s have some fun with these kids,” said Donovan, parking the patrol car behind a couple engaged in backseat acrobatics. He got out of the darkened car, walked up to the car in front of him, shone his flashlight on the two disheveled youngsters, and bellowed, “How would you like for your mamas to see you like this?”

  After taking turns shining the flashlight into parked cars, Donovan and Metson returned to town laughing at how they had scared some of the
boys back into their pants. That is, Metson pretended to laugh. So far the young officer had not been impressed by his superior’s professionalism.

  Not all the young couples of Magnolia Creek were hanging around burger drive-ins or the park. Some couples made out in their parents’ living rooms while the parents attended social events. One such young couple was wrestling on a sofa in the young man’s home. The TV was flickering in front of the pair, but they weren’t paying attention, although some of the dialogue penetrated the subconscious of the young man.

  “Ouch, you bit me!” said the girl, a skinny, fifteen year old promiscuous blonde, playfully slapping her older male companion.

  “Did not!” he responded, feigning hurt from her slap.

  She unrolled herself from his embrace and faced the TV. “What’s on?”

  “I don’t know,” he said nuzzling her neck. He glanced at the screen and momentarily found himself absorbed in the plot of Death on the Nile starring Peter Ustinov. “Oh, I know that movie. You’d be surprised but it’s kind of interesting.”

  “Oh, give me a break. This crap? Look at that fat man with the funny accent. How can you watch stuff like that?”

  “That’s Hair-cool Pwahrow, he’s some kind of famous detective.”

  “You mean for real?”

  “No, Bernie, you silly ass,” he said. “I watched this once with my mother. She likes to watch those old movies and never could get my dad to watch with her so I would.”

  “Whew! You and your mom got weird taste. Let’s watch MTV.”

  “No, listen. I wonder if anyone could really pull off something like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “A plot like that one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Aw, never mind, come here you,” he said in a teasing manner as he grasped and kissed her in a tight embrace. She squealed but didn’t resist.

  “Aren’t you afraid your folks might walk in and find us? You know how your mama hates my guts. What would she do if she and your dad walked in on us like this?”

  “Aw, don’t worry.” Then, looking at his watch, he exclaimed, “Holy Moses! I’ve got to get you out of here.”

  Arriving in town, Metson asked Donovan, “Why is this town called Magnolia Creek anyway? There’s nothing but pecan trees lining the creek.” After a moment he added, “Some years they produce mighty good pecans, too.”

  “I think there used to be some magnolias along the creek. We’ve got a couple in our yard. May Belle loves the smell of them but I tell you they’re a bit much for me, especially when those blossoms start to fall.”

  “You ever go moonlighting pecans when you were a kid?”

  Donovan laughed. “Hell yes. Man, but those were the days. How about you?”

  Metson grinned. “Sure, and we were always worried that you cops were going to catch us. Never did, though. Do you ever catch kids doing that nowadays?”

  Donovan groaned. “Don’t I wish that’s all I caught kids doing! What do you think the real reason was that we went cruising out at the park?”

  “Uh, trying to keep kids from uh, you know.” Metson wasn’t sure how he should have phrased his response.

  “Naw, not really. It’s pot, dope, that we got to worry about nowadays or worse such as coke and stuff. Sometimes those kids go to the park to deal. That’s why I go out there to nose around. I think they’re getting the message since I haven’t caught any with dope in quite a while. That’s also why I cruise around the hamburger joints. Any place kids hang out there’s bound to be some dealers. I tell you, Daryl, the world’s changing and not for the better. And the drug dealers aren’t even the worst of it. Now, we got the white supremacist loonies to look out for plus worrying about the loonies from overseas. Damn scary if you ask me.”

  Metson solemnly agreed, silently thinking that maybe there was more to old Donovan than he had thought only moments ago. However, he had a feeling that the chief enjoyed interrupting the romantic interludes of teenage kids whether he was looking for dope or not.

  The two police officers proceeded to cruise through some of the better neighborhoods of Magnolia Creek. A car with a young couple in it sped past them.

  “You gonna get them for speeding?” asked Metson.

  “Naw,” replied Chief Donovan, “didn’t you see who the boy was? That’s one fine young man. He’s never in any trouble. I ain’t gonna hassle him.”

  “Who’s the girl with him?”

  “Don’t know. Couldn’t see her but she had to be somebody his mama approved of.”

  They drove on in silence for a few minutes then Donovan said, “Let’s check in for the night. Say, why don’t you come over for a nightcap?”

  The last thing Metson wanted to do on a Saturday night was visit with the Donovans. A nightcap for them was usually coffee or on a night like this, a glass of iced tea or a can of soda pop. Reluctantly, he accepted.

  “I’ll come over for a while.” A very short while, he added to himself. They drove downtown to the station where, after signing out for the night, Metson got his car and followed Donovan to his home. He parked behind Donovan in the driveway and got out of his car. The fragrance of magnolia blossoms hung heavy on the night air.

  “Woo-ee, I see what you mean about this magnolia smell. But I guess women would like that sort of thing.”

  Donovan grunted and said, “Yeah, but come on in. At least you can’t smell it inside.

  Entering the modest ranch-style house, Donovan shouted out, “Honey, I’m home.” He turned to Metson and said, “She just cracks up when I say that.”

  They walked into the living room where May Belle Donovan, seated in a recliner, was watching TV. Next to her, another recliner, much larger and presumably her husband’s, also faced the TV.

  “Oh hello, Officer Metson,” she said glancing up at them. She thought Metson was a mighty fine looking young man, slim but muscular, with very attractive wavy brown hair. She wondered how long he would remain single. Surely many of the young women of Magnolia Creek would be chasing after him. She hoped that the two men would work together amicably for a long time. Maybe Metson could be a surrogate son for the child they had never had. “You boys keep busy tonight?”

  “Uh, yes, ma’am,” said Metson.

  “Still spying on the young folk out at the park?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

  Metson stifled a giggle. Mrs. Donovan was not only a comfortable person to be around but a very perceptive one. He just wondered why she hadn’t been more perceptive when she was younger and fell in love with Donovan, who at six feet, was getting rather paunchy and double-chinned, due more than likely to a policeman’s diet of burgers and fries. Mrs. Donovan was short, probably around five feet four inches thought Metson, and pleasingly-plump, as the saying went, with graying short dark brown hair. Physically, they seemed to fit but mentally she seemed miles above him. Then he spotted some framed photographs on a nearby shelf, photographs of a husky, but muscular, young man in uniform and a pretty young woman smiling upwards at him. Ah well, he thought, people did change. Donovan probably had presented an air of youthful strength and stability in those days.

  Donovan, unaware of Metson’s observations, winced at his wife’s words. Damn, he thought, how did she know that?

  THE PRESENT

  CHAPTER ONE

  Saturday, June first

  “Too bad there aren’t any crimes in this part of town,” commented Metson.

  “Huh? What the hell do you mean?” grumbled Chief Donovan, his mouth full of greasy cheeseburger.

  Metson was driving their patrol car, slowly ambling through the swankiest residential district of Magnolia Creek. The streets were wide and lined with oak trees. He momentarily wondered why magnolia trees hadn’t been planted here.

  “I mean why do we always get called to the poorer sections, especially that damn trailer park?”

  “Hell, man,” said Donovan, “crime is crime. What difference does it make where we get called? B
esides, remember there are some real nice trailers out there.”

  “Ah, come on, you know what I mean. We’re always making drug busts or settling domestic disputes in that one section of the park. And it’s damn dangerous if you ask me.”

  “Well, at least we got ole man Tucker finally sent down to the pen. That’s one less hothead to worry about.”

  “That’s what I mean. You never know when one of them will snap and pull a knife and stab somebody to death, like he did. Now if we were to be called over here to this part of town, it’d probably be for burglary. You know, jewels or some such. Nothing dangerous.”

  “You don’t think burglars are dangerous?”

  “Naw, think about it. The rich folks don’t know they’ve been burgled until they get back from vacation. The robbers’d be long gone. We’d get called over, be made comfortable, offered a drink, maybe some of them fancy horse-doors.”

  “We don’t drink on duty, Daryl,” the older officer mumbled somberly as he chewed, “and I think they’re called oar-doves.”

  “You know what I mean. We’d be made to feel real welcome and not fearful of what might happen when they answered the doorbell.”

  “Maybe. But I’ll tell you one thing. I’ve been doing this job a lot longer than you and messing with rich folks can get downright messy,” Donovan stated redundantly.

  “How so?”

  “Because usually it ain’t burglars long gone we got to contend with. Usually it’s rich kids vandalizing their neighbors’ property just for something to do. You got to tread mighty careful when you go to arrest some city councilman’s kid.”

  “Maybe so, but you ain’t in any danger.”

  “Not physical danger but danger of losing your job.”