SHERIFF WARREN ROBERTS

Sheriff Warren Roberts had been working in Austin for ten years. Twenty people worked under him. Crime was down. That day he had been parked at a large convenience store studying the traffic flow when suddenly a woman sped past him in a sports car. He followed her, finally pulled beside her, siren on. “Pull over,” he motioned as he said it.
She did so. The Sheriff got out of his car, he was tall and slender, auburn colored short hair, moustache and goatee.
She rolled down her window. “Ma’am, I need to see your license and registration.”
“I’m Marilyn Grant and my license and registration are at my house.”She was about 5'6", petite, medium brown shoulder length hair today worn in a French twist.
“You ran a stop sign, going sixty in a forty.”
“Please, can’t you just . . . I could . . .”
“Offering me a bribe Ma’am?”
“Certainly not. Follow me to my house and I’ll find both.”
The Sheriff thought for a moment, “All right.”
When they got there she produced her license and registration. “And I would like to offer you a bribe,” she said in a sexy voice.
She walked him to her bedroom and then . . .
An hour later, “We definitely need to talk Darlin’,” he said.
“One more kiss,” she said as many times before when they acted out this charade.
“Marry me,” he said to her over dinner. “I’m taking a job offered to me as Sheriff with Houston’s High Crimes Bureau. Police, Sheriff ’s departments working together, starting $80,000.”
Marilyn looked at him, “Still dangerous.”
“Crossing the street is dangerous,” he laughed. He hesitated for a moment then, “We’ve been at this crossroads now for two years, known each other forever . . . do you love me?”
“Yes, I love you.”
“Something is different, what is it?”
She stood up, “I’m not big on commitments.”
“You’re not kidding.”
“You do all these impressive things, two degrees from Stanford.”
“You have the museum, working on a doctorate in art, the exhibits, what are you getting at?”
“I can’t settle down with someone in a dangerous job who might never come home.” She was serious about the dangers in his line of work.
“Any excuse will do?” Warren was puzzled. “If you’ve met someone, have the courage to be honest with me.”
“Plans change Warren, my plans have changed.”
“Then there’s no reason to keep hoping?” He got up, dressed, “Let me know how you’re doing, I’ll be at the Bureau.” He kissed her bye and left.
She loved him but the security of a much older wealthy husband, a philanthropist appealed to her needs more than her love for Warren.
A month later she became Mrs. Giles Macfarland. Warren knew about the wedding but didn’t attend.
A year passed.
[“Giles Macfarland, Houston Philanthropist dies under mysterious circumstances. The funeral will be held at the Macfarland mansion.”] a news report said. Warren wondered about Marilyn, had she gotten what she wanted and found happiness?

Marilyn began planning her deceased husband’s funeral along with Max Fogel who had known him for twenty years. Marilyn’s eyes were swollen from crying, he comforted her.
“I loved him,” she said.
“He knew that Miss.” Max sat with her in the smaller kitchen, the mansion had three.
“We’ll get through this, although I don’t know how . . . and you are like a son to him. How are you holding up?”
“Not very well, I’m trying to keep it together.”
“This is your house for as long as you want to stay.”
“Dante wants me to go, I heard him.”
“It’s obvious he wants to make life miserable, I should have never done what I did when I was married to Giles.”
“Put that behind you now.” He sat facing her, took her hands in his as she cried. “He is an abuser, I could throttle that guy and he would never bother you again.”
“Max don’t, please, he’s dangerous and capable of anything . . . it would only make things worse.”
“You are bruised.” “I don’t believe he murdered Giles,” she said, “I can cover the bruises.”
“Do you need him enough to put up with this?”
Suddenly Dante walked in. “Marilyn, Max, how are the arrangements going?” He asked this unmoved and uncaring.
“Slowly,” Marilyn said.
Max started writing on his notepad anything pertinent to the funeral as he tried to ignore Dante. Dante then left for business in town.
“Excuse me Miss, I have calls to make, write down anything you need to discuss with me.”
Max left. He felt a part of himself die that day; he mourned for Mr. Giles but kept his emotions in check for now.