the middle ≫ jj maybank

xxxii. the daughter

Not to mention, before she'd become sheriff, she was Victor Shoupe's police partner, and his oldest friend on the force. They'd even known each other in the academy. Hell, he'd known Pete longer than he'd known Leanore.

And Rafe Cameron murdered her.

In only a few short hours, Slater's entire life had turned upside down. Her friend was wanted for murder he did not commit -- a murder committed by his girlfriend's brother. Every single person on the island was trying to track John B down, and at the head of the search party was Slater's father, who'd been quickly named Interim Sheriff amongst the chaos. She'd been dodging calls from Vic all day, up until her phone died.

With John B's photo plastered across the island, there was no way for John B to lay low. So, the pogues had resorted to the next best option: an escape plan. JJ's dad had an old racing boat, the Phantom, that he used to move illegal contraband up and down the coast. With the SS Pogue surrounded by cops, it was John B's only chance at freedom.

Unless ...

Slater had a plan of her own.

The pogues had been laying low, parked in an unsuspecting place, formulating John B's escape route, when Slater left the vehicle on the pretenses of needing to pee. She'd been gone at least ten minutes now, and she was sure they were worried about her at this point, especially JJ. If she'd told them about her plan, they would have tried to talk her out of it, and she didn't need any of them getting involved.

This was the one thing she could do to help John B. She couldn't offer a boat or fake passports or any evidence of Rafe Cameron's guilt, but she could try pleading her case to the new interim sheriff: her father.

She hadn't seen Vic since the night of their big fight, and as she walked down the crowded street towards the police station. She entered the building, pushing her way towards the hoard of officers and concerned citizens, stopping at the front desk.

"Slater, sweetie," the secretary, Bernice, jumped in surprise as Slater walked up to her desk, probably looking disheveled and out of place. "Your father isn't here right now, I'm afraid."

"I need to know where he is," Slater replied. "I need to talk to him."

"Sweetie, your father is really busy right now --"

"Bernice, I need to see him, okay? And my phone is dead, so I can't call him."

"Well, you can try using that pay phone over there," Bernice said, pointing to the wall.

Slater shook her head. "Bernice, I really need to see him in person. It's important. Can you please find out where he is?"

Bernice fixed the girl with a questioning stare, and for a moment, Slater wondered if Vic had informed the woman on his daughter's latest troubles. Finally, she let out a sigh and nodded. "Okay, give me a few minutes." She reached for a radio, bringing it to her mouth. "502, this is the station. Requesting 10-20."

The only reply was static for a few seconds, before Vic's voice rang out. Slater felt a sense of relief on hearing her father's voice. He was alive and well.

"This is 502. 10-20, The Wreck restaurant, Channel Street."

"10-4, 502," Bernice replied, setting the radio down. "He's at The Wreck, Slater, but he probably won't be there very long. I'd get a move on if I were you."

"Thank you so much, Bernice," Slater replied, plastering an innocent smile on her face. As the older woman stood up, coffee cup in hand, Slater quickly reached over the desk, grabbing one of the police radios.