“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Usually, when something like that occurs, things are broken and there’s trash strewn about. Bottles, food wrappers, detritus. And vagrants don’t usually make the bed before they leave.” She thrummed her fingers on the rocker. “Are you sure nothing was missing? Guns? Electronics? Did your grandfather keep cash around?”
“My grandfather didn’t have much in the way of electronics or cash, as far as I know. And his gun was in the closet when I moved in. It’s still there, by the way. It’s a small shotgun to keep the varmints away.”
“That makes it even stranger because usually, guns are the first things stolen.”
“What do you make of it?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Either no one was there or you were visited by the tidiest and most honest vagrant in history.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Have you seen or heard anyone creeping around the property since you’ve moved in?”
“No. And I’m frequently awake during the night.”
“Insomnia?”
“Some. But it’s getting better.”
“Good,” she said, adding nothing more. She smoothed the pants of her uniform. “But I’ve taken enough of your time. That’s all I can really tell you.”
“I appreciate you swinging by and telling me about all this. And for fixing the door.”
“It wasn’t much of a fix.”
“It did the job,” I said. “It was still boarded up when I got here. How much longer is your shift?”
She glanced at her watch. “Actually, believe it or not, it’s over now.”
“Then are you sure I can’t get you a drink?”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea. I still have to drive home.”
“Fair enough,” I said, “but before you go—and since you’re off, and I’m new in town—tell me what I need to know about New Bern these days. I haven’t been here in a while.”
She paused, arching an eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”
“Aren’t you supposed to protect and serve? Think of this as the serve part. Like fixing my door.” I tried out my most winning smile.
“I don’t think that being a welcoming committee is part of my job description,” she deadpanned.
Maybe not, I thought, but you haven’t left yet.
“All right,” I said. “Tell me what made you want to become a sheriff.”
With my question, she looked at me. Maybe, truly, for the first time, and again I found myself transfixed by the color of her eyes. They were like the waters of the Caribbean in an upscale travel magazine.
“I’m not the sheriff. That’s an elected position. I’m a deputy.”
“Are you avoiding my question?”
“I’m wondering why you want to know.”
“I’m a curious person. And since you helped me out, I feel like I should know at least a little about the person who did the helping.”
“Why do I get the impression you have an ulterior motive?”
Because you’re not only pretty, you’re obviously smart as well, I thought. I shrugged, feigning innocence.
She studied me before finally responding. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself first.”
“Fair enough. Ask away.”
“I’m guessing that the mortar round is the reason you’re no longer in the Navy or a doctor?”
“Yes,” I said. “I was hit by a mortar just as I was leaving the hospital where I worked. Lucky shot. Or, for me, unlucky. Fairly serious injuries. In the end, the Navy put me on disability and let me go.”
“Tough break.”
“It was,” I admitted.
“And you’re in New Bern because…?”
“It’s only a temporary stay,” I said. “I’m moving to Baltimore this summer. I’m starting a new residency in psychiatry.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Is there something wrong with psychiatry?”
“Not at all. It’s just not what I expected you to say.”
“I can be a good listener.”
“It’s not that,” she said. “I’m sure you are. But why psychiatry?”
“I want to work with veterans with PTSD,” I said. “I think there’s a need for it these days, especially with soldiers and marines doing four or five rotations. As I mentioned, it can stay with a person after they’re back.”
She seemed to be attempting to read me. “Is that what happened with you?”
“Yes.”
She hesitated and I had the sense she continued to really see me. “Was it bad?”
“No question,” I said. “Terrible. And it still is, every now and then. But that’s probably a story for another time.”
“Fair enough,” she offered. “But now that I know, I’ll admit that I was wrong. It sounds like it’s exactly what you should do. How long is a psychiatric residency?”
“Five years.”
“I’ve heard residencies are hard.”
“It’s no worse than being dragged by a car down the highway.”
For the first time, she laughed. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. But I do hope you find some time to enjoy our town while you’re here. It’s a beautiful place to live, and there are a lot of good people here.”
“Did you grow up in New Bern?”
“No,” she answered. “I grew up in a small town.”
“That’s funny.”
“But true,” she said. “Can I ask what you intend to do with the place? When you leave?”
“Why? Are you interested in buying?”
“No,” she said. “And I doubt I could afford it.” She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “Where are you from, by the way? Give me a quick sketch of who you are.”
Pleased that she was interested, I gave her a brief history: my youth in Alexandria, my parents, my regular summertime visits to New Bern when I was younger. High school, college, medical school and residency. My time with the Navy. All with a touch of the modest hyperbole men use when trying to impress an attractive woman. As she listened, her eyebrows twitched more than once, but I couldn’t tell whether she was fascinated or amused.
“So you’re a city boy.”
“I beg to differ,” I protested. “I’m from the suburbs.”
Her lips turned up slightly at the corners, but I couldn’t read the intent behind it.
“What I don’t understand is why you went to the Naval Academy. If you were such a brilliant student, I mean, and were accepted at Yale and Georgetown?”
Brilliant? Did I actually use that word earlier?
“I wanted to prove to myself that I could make it without my parents’ help. Financially, I mean.”
“But didn’t you say they were rich?”
Oh, yeah. I vaguely remember saying that, too.
“Well-to-do, I should have said.”
“So it was a pride thing?”
“And service to our country.”
She nodded slightly, her eyes never leaving mine. “Good.” Almost as an afterthought, she added, “There are a lot of active duty military in the area, as you probably know. Cherry Point, Camp Lejeune…many of them have spent time in Afghanistan and Iraq.”
I nodded. “When I was posted overseas, I worked with doctors and nurses from every region of the country, in all sorts of specialties, and I learned a ton from them. While it lasted, anyway. And we did a lot of good, too. Most of our work was with locals—many of them had never been seen by a doctor before the hospital opened.”
She seemed to consider my words. A chorus of crickets sounded in the silence before I heard her voice again.
“I don’t know that I could have done what you did.”
I tilted my head. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Experiencing the horrors of war every single day. And knowing there are some people who are beyond your power to help. I don’t think I would be able to handle something like that. Not in the long run, anyway.”
As she spoke, I had the impression she was sharing something personal, though I’d heard the same thing from others before, in regard to both the military and medicine in general. “I’m sure you’ve seen some terrible things as a deputy.”
“I have.”
“And yet you still do it.”
“Yes,” she said. “And sometimes I wonder how long I’ll be able to continue. There are times when I fantasize about opening a flower shop or something like that.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Who knows? Maybe one day I will.”
Again, she grew quiet. Sensing her distraction, I broke her reverie with a lighthearted prompt.
“Since you won’t give me a rundown of what’s new in town, at least tell me what your favorite place is?”
“Oh…I don’t go out that much,” she demurred. “Except for the farmers’ market downtown. It’s open Saturday mornings. But if you’re trying to find some excellent honey, you’ll probably be out of luck.”
“I’m sure my grandfather still has plenty.”
“You don’t know for sure?”
“There are a few jars in the cupboard, but I haven’t checked the honey shed yet. I’ve been too busy fixing up the place. I mean, a palace like this doesn’t just happen by accident.”
This time she smiled, if a tad reluctantly. She nodded toward the dock. “Have you gone out in the boat yet?”
I haven’t yet mentioned the boat, but suffice it to say that it was a lot like the house, only in worse condition. Even calling it a boat was somewhat generous, because it looked less like a boat than an outhouse and two vinyl recliners, all bolted to a floating platform. My grandfather built it using discarded oil drums and lumber of varying sizes—along with whatever else he could find—and when he wasn’t checking on the bees, he was always tinkering with it.
“Not yet. I’m not sure the engine even works.”
“I know it was working last summer, because Carl told me. It’s kind of a hard boat to miss and your grandfather loved to take it out. People take photos of it whenever they see it.”
“It is a bit eccentric, isn’t it?”
“It suited him, though.”
“Yes,” I admitted. “It did.”
She sighed and stood. “I really should be going. I’ve got some things to do at home. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Benson.”
Mr. Benson? I had hoped we’d moved beyond that, but I guess not. She started down the steps, reaching the bottom in the same instant my brain finally kicked back into gear.
“You don’t have to walk around the back and side of the house. You can go through to the front door if it’s easier.”
“Thank you, but I’ll just retrace my steps. Have a good evening.”
“You too. And it was nice meeting you, Natalie.”
She raised an eyebrow before turning away; with a couple of quick steps, she vanished from sight. After a few beats, I heard a door slam in the driveway and her vehicle start up. All of which left me contemplating the intriguing Natalie Masterson. That she was beautiful, anyone would notice, but what I found interesting about her was how little she’d told me about herself.
It’s been said that women are the mysterious sex, and even now, my first inclination is to laugh when a guy I’m talking to says he understands what makes women tick. I was flummoxed by the one-sided nature of the conversation. I’d told her a lot about myself but had learned almost nothing about her.
I did, however, have a hunch that I would see her again, if only because I knew just where I might find her.