Maya read the correction once, then put her phone away. She did not open the comments beneath the county's announcement. She knew some people would call the appointment vindication, others would describe it as favoritism, and still others would insist that a lack of final criminal findings left every question unresolved. None of those reactions would help the department complete the work waiting the following morning.
That evening, she returned to Isaiah's house before going back to the sheriff's office. Jordan was standing at the stove trying to warm leftovers without drying them out. He turned when she entered, saw the appointment folder under her arm, and stared.
"So it's true?" he asked.
"I'm serving as interim sheriff while the county completes its process."
"They fired you, and now you're running the place?"
Maya set the folder down. "They corrected an unsupported allegation. Then the sheriff resigned and the county needed someone to manage the department. Those are separate decisions."
Jordan laughed in disbelief. "You know what I mean."
She did. For days he had wanted one clear action that proved somebody finally believed his mother. The interim appointment was visible enough to supply that feeling, but she could not let it become the only story he heard. She asked him to finish his coursework before worrying about a newspaper headline, and he promised he would, though the smile on his face suggested he intended to tell at least one friend what had happened.
Isaiah waited until Jordan went to retrieve the iced tea before speaking. "You could have come home with the correction and left the department behind."
"I know."
"The new office won't make you immune to what happened."
"I know that, too."
He studied her face. "Then make sure the first person who questions one of your decisions gets a better answer than the one you got."
Maya looked at him for a moment. "That's the plan."
The next morning, she walked through the main entrance of the Pinebridge County Sheriff's Office carrying her appointment papers and the yellow legal pad. The receptionist recognized her, then looked from the folder to the security desk as though uncertain which greeting was appropriate. An older administrative employee stood first.
"Morning, Sheriff Williams."
Maya paused. The title sounded unfamiliar in the building where she had spent eighteen years working toward service rather than the highest office. "Morning," she replied. "Please make sure operations knows I'm here. I want to begin with the current staffing and outstanding service issues."
There was no applause. She was grateful for that. Applause could make people imagine the work had already been accomplished, and she had spent enough time being turned into a public symbol for one week. Deputies stepped aside as she walked past, some looking relieved, others cautious, a few clearly uncomfortable. She nodded to each without stopping to solicit an opinion about her return.
Owen stood near the operations desk. He did not approach until she had passed, and she did not stop to speak to him in the hallway. Their conversation would take place later in an office, with a record of what had been said. It was a habit she intended to apply to everyone, not a punishment reserved for him.