“He’s not wrong there,” a male voice muttered from the seniors’ table. The sentiment kicked a good-size hole in Roman’s ego.
“I can only promise to do the best I can as chief. With Frankie’s help.” Roman met Mrs. Hastings’s sparkling eyes. “And I hope you’ll all give me a chance to prove my being here isn’t a mistake.”
“Didn’t say we weren’t going to give you a chance.” Mrs. Hastings tapped her cane twice on the linoleum floor. “I just wanted to say my piece and let you know a lot of us aren’t happy about the entire situation. Frankie shouldn’t have been treated this way.”
“No,” Roman said. “She shouldn’t have.” He surprised himself when he realized he meant those words. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m here and I plan to do the job I’ve been hired for. I’m well aware I’ll need to earn your respect. And your trust.”
“You can do that by promising you won’t push Frankie out any farther.”
“Is that what you all think?” Roman couldn’t have hidden his surprise if he’d tried. “That I want to get Frankie fired?”
“Don’t you?” Mrs. Hastings challenged.
“You’re one of Gil’s lackeys, ain’t ya?” A rotund silver-haired man in overalls and a worn San Francisco Giants cap pointed a fork at him. “Just here to do the mayor’s bidding? He’s never liked Frankie. Not since she caught him under the bleachers with Penelope Carter before the spring fling. You ask me, he earned that nickname fair and square. Doesn’t matter who gave it to him.”
Was that what was behind Gil’s overlooking Frankie for the job? Had they dated at one time? Was there still something between them? Roman glanced at Bud, who, much to Roman’s frustration, merely shrugged. The retiring chief was obviously letting him endure this trial by fire on his own.
“Well?” Mrs. Hastings tapped her cane again. “What do you have to say about that?”
Roman glanced over at Holly, who looked to be the only one other than Bud willing to give him a chance. “I can only say one thing, Mrs. Hastings. I plan to do my job. Not the job Mayor Hamilton thinks I should do, but the job where I will put the needs of the community front and center. Always. But I am well aware my word doesn’t mean much at this point. Rest assured, it will. I promise you that.”
The sharp clang of a bell made everyone, Roman included, jump.
“Enough browbeating the boy.” A cackling, craggy voice echoed unseen from the kitchen. “How about we give him a chance? He’s already shown good sense choosing where to chow down.”
“On Frankie’s recommendation.” Roman had to wonder, however, if she’d anticipated the reception he’d receive once his identity was known. “The scones are for her.” He admitted to Holly and earned a thaw in her frosty gaze.
“See that?” The voice surged again. “Now back to eatin’, all of you. Boy’s got time to prove himself. I say we give him that time.”
Roman knew better than to turn his back on Mrs. Hastings. “Ma’am?”
“Hmm.” She narrowed her eyes, but there was an amused twitch to her lips. “You’ll do. For now. Come sit with me and we’ll chat some more. Holly?”
“Yes, Mrs. Hastings?”
“He’ll be joining me for breakfast. You, too, Bud.” She waved her cane at the current chief. “No need in me taking up a booth to myself, and besides, I like men with a healthy appetite. Come on.” She made her way back to the booth near the family in desperate need of napkins.
“You’d best go,” Holly said as she topped off his coffee and the restaurant returned to normal. “Ursula and Mrs. Hastings are pretty much the law of the land in this town. You earn her trust, you’ll be okay. But Chief Salazar?”
“Roman, please.”
“Fine. Roman. Just so you know, earning Frankie’s trust will go a lot further.”
“Understood.” Roman nodded. “Understood.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“YOU FINISH WITH the checklist, Jasper?” Frankie asked the station’s teenage volunteer.
Jasper had arrived, as he usually did, less than fifteen minutes after school let out. Granted, she only knew this because he’d signed in on the call sheet, as she’d been out answering calls. Nothing serious. Just...typical. One frantic panic attack due to a sparking microwave that had set off Carla Bouvenet’s smoke alarm. Jonathan Fitzgibbons now sported an Ace bandage for his sprained ankle thanks to a worn-through porch plank he’d promised to fix two months ago. She’d applied a butterfly bandage to Brian Tart’s hairline because his wife accidentally walloped him with a length of new rain gutter they were trying to install. And then there had been Petunia, Peter Preston’s pet parrot, who took any opportunity to fly out the front door and perch on the highest branch of the historic oak tree across the street in the park. That the parrot knew Frankie by name should have added a little levity to the situation, but given Frankie was now sporting some extensive scrapes and scratches from the untrimmed branches, she’d found herself wondering what the pet bird population might be in other towns. That could become a deciding factor for her future.