out of scraps he’d gathered from his dad’s garage. He didn’t come into town often that anyone saw, but there was a clear-ish path down to his camp not five feet off the jogging trail at the 1.75-mile marker. All the locals knew where it was, but no one ever bothered him.
Scott ducked beneath a low-hanging branch and made his way through the trees. It was at least ten degrees cooler in the damp shade. He followed the slope of the land down toward the creek.
“Jelly?” Scott paused and listened. “Jelly? You out here, man?”
A slender man wearing a dirty blue-and-white-striped long-sleeve shirt that was so thin you could see through it popped up from behind a bright-yellow forsythia bush. “Heard you coming.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
The old man shook his head. “You don’t scare me. Just didn’t know it was you. How ya doin’, Sheriff?”
“Worried about you. Deputy Taylor said you seemed upset today. You okay?”
The wisp of a man started running his hands through his long, thinning hair. He turned his back on the sheriff and headed toward his camp. Then he spun and marched right up to Scott. “I told you before.”
Scott nodded.
“It’s evil.” The man’s eyes bugged out and his fists seemed to be grabbing for air. Jelly folded his arms across his chest and flopped his elbows up and down a couple of times in a way that made him look like some kind of crippled bird. His voice shook. “That painting tells a story. An ugly story. I seen it myself. You saw it. It needs to go away.” Jelly turned and nearly sprinted to the creek.
Scott broke into a jog and caught up with him. “I don’t want you to worry, Jelly. I’m going to take care of it. If there’s something to it then we don’t want to ruin the evidence, right? If we paint over it . . . then the story is gone.”
The old man nodded his head so fast, it looked more like he was shaking than agreeing.
“Can you be patient with me?”
His eyes darted around. “I don’t know what the story is, though. But it’s bad. I know it’s bad.”
“I’m not sure what it means either, but trust me, Jelly. I’ll figure it out. You trust me, right?” The old man looked so frail. He hated to see him afraid too.
Jelly dropped his hands to his sides. “Of course you will. You’re a good boy.” He shook his head. “I can’t go back there until it’s gone.”
“I’ll let you know what I find out. Until then, you can shower at the jailhouse like you used to instead of at the yoga studio.”
He nodded. “Okay. I can do that.”
Scott’s heart went out to the guy. He didn’t have anyone, and although he seemed to prefer the solitude, it worried Scott to see the guy so frazzled. “You can’t be scaring folks. You need to keep this between us.”
“I’m sorry. You promise you’re looking into it?”
“I promise. Now, man, you’re looking thin. Can I buy you a meal?”
Jelly shook his head. “I got plenty of rations. Plenty.”
“More than bread and jellybeans?”
He gave a hearty laugh. “That’s not true. I don’t just eat jellybeans. I got other stuff too. I do like me some jellybeans, though.”
“I know you do. Just not the green ones.”
“That’s right.”
Jelly looked surprised, but it hadn’t been all that hard for Scott to figure out. Around the campsite green jellybeans had been pitched into the dirt. You didn’t have to be a great detective to notice that evidence.
“You’ll come to me if you need anything, right?”
Jelly wrung his hands together. “Yeah. I will.”
Scott put his hand out and they shook. The guy still had a firm handshake. “I respect that. You take care of yourself, and I’ll take care of the painting.”
When Scott had first been elected sheriff in Adams Grove, one of the first things he’d tried to do was to help Jelly get some assistance and a place to live. It had never occurred to him that the man was living exactly the life he wanted to live.
Scott ducked beneath a low-hanging branch and made his way through the trees. It was at least ten degrees cooler in the damp shade. He followed the slope of the land down toward the creek.
“Jelly?” Scott paused and listened. “Jelly? You out here, man?”
A slender man wearing a dirty blue-and-white-striped long-sleeve shirt that was so thin you could see through it popped up from behind a bright-yellow forsythia bush. “Heard you coming.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
The old man shook his head. “You don’t scare me. Just didn’t know it was you. How ya doin’, Sheriff?”
“Worried about you. Deputy Taylor said you seemed upset today. You okay?”
The wisp of a man started running his hands through his long, thinning hair. He turned his back on the sheriff and headed toward his camp. Then he spun and marched right up to Scott. “I told you before.”
Scott nodded.
“It’s evil.” The man’s eyes bugged out and his fists seemed to be grabbing for air. Jelly folded his arms across his chest and flopped his elbows up and down a couple of times in a way that made him look like some kind of crippled bird. His voice shook. “That painting tells a story. An ugly story. I seen it myself. You saw it. It needs to go away.” Jelly turned and nearly sprinted to the creek.
Scott broke into a jog and caught up with him. “I don’t want you to worry, Jelly. I’m going to take care of it. If there’s something to it then we don’t want to ruin the evidence, right? If we paint over it . . . then the story is gone.”
The old man nodded his head so fast, it looked more like he was shaking than agreeing.
“Can you be patient with me?”
His eyes darted around. “I don’t know what the story is, though. But it’s bad. I know it’s bad.”
“I’m not sure what it means either, but trust me, Jelly. I’ll figure it out. You trust me, right?” The old man looked so frail. He hated to see him afraid too.
Jelly dropped his hands to his sides. “Of course you will. You’re a good boy.” He shook his head. “I can’t go back there until it’s gone.”
“I’ll let you know what I find out. Until then, you can shower at the jailhouse like you used to instead of at the yoga studio.”
He nodded. “Okay. I can do that.”
Scott’s heart went out to the guy. He didn’t have anyone, and although he seemed to prefer the solitude, it worried Scott to see the guy so frazzled. “You can’t be scaring folks. You need to keep this between us.”
“I’m sorry. You promise you’re looking into it?”
“I promise. Now, man, you’re looking thin. Can I buy you a meal?”
Jelly shook his head. “I got plenty of rations. Plenty.”
“More than bread and jellybeans?”
He gave a hearty laugh. “That’s not true. I don’t just eat jellybeans. I got other stuff too. I do like me some jellybeans, though.”
“I know you do. Just not the green ones.”
“That’s right.”
Jelly looked surprised, but it hadn’t been all that hard for Scott to figure out. Around the campsite green jellybeans had been pitched into the dirt. You didn’t have to be a great detective to notice that evidence.
“You’ll come to me if you need anything, right?”
Jelly wrung his hands together. “Yeah. I will.”
Scott put his hand out and they shook. The guy still had a firm handshake. “I respect that. You take care of yourself, and I’ll take care of the painting.”
When Scott had first been elected sheriff in Adams Grove, one of the first things he’d tried to do was to help Jelly get some assistance and a place to live. It had never occurred to him that the man was living exactly the life he wanted to live.
Similar Books
