Marla Jo Maynard had her office chair reclined as far as it would safely go without tipping over. She had her feet propped on the desk, and the pencil she was rhythmically tapping on the blotter/calendar showed teeth marks from her absent-minded attempts at stress relief.
She couldn’t concentrate on the security of the good citizens of Warm Springs Village this evening, because her brain was fully engaged in a swirling firestorm of many years making.
Chief Middler had been off for a couple of months to use up his accrued leave. Then, he would retire and open up a shooting range like he had dreamed of for so long. His absence had put Marla Jo in the position of Acting Chief. She loved it.
The lack of supervision had afforded Marla Jo free rein to work out her schemes unhampered. She chuckled when she thought how she had pulled the wool over the eyes of every member of the “Largest Gated Community in the United States.”
Police access to many databases and all kinds of privileged information on people had laid the lives of the citizens at least partially bare to the prying eyes of “Acting Chief Maynard.”
Marla ambled over to the vending machine in the hallway and put in four quarters. By sheer force of habit, she selected a Dr. Pepper. She twisted the cap open and took a long swig of the tasty corn syrup and caffeine mixture as she walked back to her desk.
Nobody was in the holding cell tonight, and not a single call had come in to report trouble of any kind for several hours. Even the village deer population seemed to be on good behavior, not jumping out in front of cars on the village’s miles and miles of winding roads.
There should have been a blanket of peace and serenity covering Marla Jo’s mind tonight, but instead, she could hear the imaginary rumble of an oncoming train bearing down on her. She thought briefly of Nell Fenwick being tied to the railroad track by Snidely Whiplash in the old Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons. She knew that there would be no Dudley Do-Right coming to rescue her. To make matters worse, the oncoming train had been set in motion by Marla Jo’s own actions.
Having decided quite some time ago to burst through the glass ceiling of promotion and power in the police world, Marla Jo had seen Chief Middler’s absence as the perfect opportunity to begin her triumphant ascent. After becoming chief of Warm Springs Village PD, she would apply for a supervisory position with the State Police or perhaps even the FBI. She intended to make her mark.
Seeing those old-fashioned tactics would never get her to the top in a timely manner, Marla Jo had plotted her own pathway to power. Her clandestine meetings with virtually every person who had run afoul of the law in Warm Springs Village had become a somewhat lucrative stream of easy money for her. The money didn’t stop when she had it in her pocket, though. Oh, no. There were private investigators to pay for digging up the secrets of certain Villagers who could contribute to her treasure chest. From there, the funds would be used to bribe whoever it took to secure the position Marla Jo was determined to have.
As if all that wasn’t bad enough, there were numerous bank accounts that the WSVPD had for training expenses, equipment, repairs, improvements, and so on. The Chief, or Acting Chief, had sole access to those. Marla Jo had drained them nearly dry. The members of the force had begun noticing that nothing got repaired, no one received advanced training, and even the essential supplies sometimes ran out – right down to toilet paper in the restroom.
Well, the walls on Marla Jo’s castle of dreams were about to collapse. Tomorrow morning an auditor was due to arrive. All the accounts would be examined. There would be no way to keep up the façade and nowhere to hide from the consequences.
Soon, the very people that Marla Jo had secretly laughed at as she milked them for money, would be laughing at her as she was led away in handcuffs to spend long, lonely days and nights on the other side of the bars in a small cell with a cot, a sink, a toilet, and nobody to call her “Acting Chief.”
She tried to calm her mind enough to be able to intelligently weigh her options, if she indeed had any options.
No matter how it all played out, she knew that the Warm Springs Village Gazette would have a big, bold headline and a humiliating story all about how Marla Jo had scammed the whole community and was now shot down from her high horse. It would likely be the best-selling edition of the paper since the “Village Marauder” had struck months earlier.
Emptying the last ounce of Dr. Pepper from the bottle and letting out a loud belch, Marla Jo tossed the empty bottle into the trash can. Then she heaved a long sigh and stood up. She patted her gun and snatched up her patrol car keys from the desk. “This old gal is not going down without a fight,” she said, with a defiant edge to her voice. Out the door she went and straight to her patrol car. She slammed the car door shut and started the engine. She spun the tires leaving the parking lot. She didn’t even look in the rearview mirror as she left the station for the last time.
At Missy Master’s house, nearly a dozen guests were assembled in the living room. The buzz of gossip had been non-stop in the village lately, and as word had begun to leak out about villagers being blackmailed and extorted by the Acting Chief, eventually enough of the victims had come forward to form a small resistance group. Missy had been made the unofficial president of the group, which was typical of most organizations she had been affiliated with.
Word had gone out through direct messages on social media to anyone known to any other victim of the scams – down to second- and third-hand contact. Folks were being reached that would have ordinarily been beyond the reach of anyone seeking them.
Norman and Ruston were in attendance. Susan Croissant and Kay-Renee were actually sitting next to each other. Lance and Jezebel showed up. Joe and Lena Crafts were settled on the loveseat. Maureen Morgan and Audrey Younger had been invited as advisors and had shown up ready to help in any way they could. There were several hapless citizens in attendance who had been stopped for speeding or reckless driving. These were particularly shocked to have been approached by Marla Jo later for money to expunge their record.
Missy had the floor at the moment and addressed the visitors: Well, as you all know, there has been a Master Scammer at work in our village, and she was in the most powerful law enforcement position we have.
Marla Jo Maynard has dug up private information on villagers who are just trying to live their lives in peace. She has apparently used taxpayer money to have us investigated. She has uncovered parts of our private lives from the past that we had put behind us and had more than lived down. In some cases, we had managed to make meaningful contributions to society.
When pieces of our past lives were dredged up, Marla Jo assumed we would all pay her to keep our secrets, and she was right in some cases. She could not have dreamed that we would all come together, united in purpose, and refuse to remain her victims.
We have been forced to play along, financing Marla Jo’s plans, and hiding the truth from each other and the community. Well, that all ends tonight. Every secret we paid for, every wall between us and each other, falls tonight. We tell each other what she had on us, then we lay it to rest, once and for all.
Then, we call the state police and report the village’s ‘Arch-Criminal – Acting-Chief.’ Agreed?”
“Agreed!” came the shouts from all around the room.
Then, one by one, the neighbors and friends, even the ones who had been the transgressors, spilled out the secrets that had caused pain and cost money. There were tears and there was laughter. There was forgiveness, and there was love.
And Warm Springs Village was able to settle into their beds later that night with renewed peace. They dreamed sweet dreams.
Marla Jo was hundreds of miles away before midnight, and the villagers never saw nor heard from her again.
THE END
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Note from Cheryl: I would like to thank Nancy for sharing her beautiful writing talents with the community. She put a lot of time and hard work into this endeavor. She was always sweet and patient with me, and it meant a lot to me to be able to publish her work.
