A Stranger in Town: a Rockton novel

by Armstrong, Kelley

  Is that the scenario playing out right now? Our mystery woman escaped and others are being held captive and given that horrible choice? Or perhaps it was the men who were captured, and the women killed. Which they chose would depend entirely on what the group needed.

  What we need is answers from this woman sleeping in our clinic.

  Who did this to you?

  Did people from the forest attack you? Or was it your own companions? Or is there a chance we’re misreading the evidence, and you were in a horrible accident?

  Tell us something, anything, before we set off into that forest, chasing the wrong answer. Each potential solution to this mystery requires a very different tactic.

  I am hoping that when the woman wakes, lucid, she will speak English. Most European tourists know at least enough to communicate. In her fevered state, she’d been unable to tell that we were speaking English and had reverted to her native tongue. That’s all.

  In case that’s not all, though, I need a backup plan.

  After Maryanne leaves, I turn to Dalton.

  “Can you find me a German speaker? In the files?”

  He doesn’t even need to respond before I see the answer in his eyes.

  “And that’s a no,” I say as I slump against the counter.

  “I thought of that last night,” he says. “You’d think it’d be there, under useful skills, but . . .” He shrugs. “Residents must speak fluent English.”

  Rockton is diverse when it comes to race, religion, and sexual orientation, because none of that has any impact on your ability to survive in this environment. Otherwise, though, we’re a homogeneous bunch. Sebastian is our only resident under twenty-five and Mathias is one of the oldest at fifty-five. The most serious disability is Kenny’s—he wears leg braces after taking a bullet in the back.

  Kenny would never have been allowed in like that, though, even if he’s perfectly capable of Rockton life in his current condition. The council wants able-bodied adults. They also want English speakers, because struggling with the language would be a disability. Therefore we don’t need to know if residents speak other languages, because we’ll never require their skills for translating.

  Resident privacy comes first. Even what does make it into the files is for Dalton’s eyes only, and he can’t share it with me unless it directly impacts a case.

  “Any hints?” I ask.

  When he hesitates, I wince. “Sorry. I shouldn’t ask. If you know of any residents who lived in Germany, will you speak to them? You could conduct the witness interview to protect their privacy.”

  “Nah, it wouldn’t come to that,” Dalton says, stretching his legs. “Can’t imagine language skills being top-secret personal details. But yeah, there’s someone who mentioned being stationed in Germany during their entrance interview. I can see whether they speak the language. If that doesn’t pan out, you can call a meeting and ask for German speakers.”

  “I need to call one anyway to explain the stranger in our clinic.”

  Dalton grumbles under his breath. Before I arrived, there would have been no announcement. Not that he could keep the woman a secret. People saw Sebastian and Baptiste race into town for the doctor. They’d be asking who got hurt, and we’d need to reassure them that it wasn’t a resident, and then they’d realize the clinic is closed for a reason—because a stranger is in their midst.

  As far as Dalton is concerned, that’s “none of their damned business.” I disagree. A stranger in town is a valid concern for people who’ve been promised sanctuary. Better to explain the situation than deal with false rumors.

  I’m about to say more when the door opens and a woman says, “Did I hear you say you need someone who speaks German?”

  “Did I hear you knock on the goddamn door, Diana?” Dalton says.

  “I’m here for my shift, Sheriff. I don’t knock for that.”

  Diana walks in carrying a bag that smells like breakfast sandwiches, and my stomach grumbles. Hearing it, she laughs, walks over, and waggles it in front of me.

  “Tell me what you have here, Case.” She nods at the mystery woman. “And I’ll give you my sandwich.”

  “Deal.”

  She hesitates and slants her gaze Dalton’s way. He plucks the sandwich from her hand and passes it to me.

  “You’re actually going to tell me why there’s a stranger in Rockton?” she says.

  “Yep.” I unwrap the sandwich and take a big bite, groaning softly as hot sriracha-spiked scrambled egg fills my mouth. “Because you’re my friend, and I trust you.”

  She snorts.

  “Because you’re the damned nurse, Diana,” he says. “April’s going to need help, and you can’t provide that if you don’t know what happened to a patient.”

  “Wait, did you say I’m a nurse? You’re actually admitting—”

  “Health-care provider,” he says. “Providing nursing.”

  “I’ll take it. Just make sure you finally get around to officially changing my designation on the duty roster.” She turns to me as I lick my fingers. “Did you even chew that sandwich, Case?”

  “I skipped dinner last night,” I say. “Before we went to the lake, I was called out on a problem.”

  “Shit,” Dalton says. “I forgot all about that.”

  “I was counting on a late dinner of cold beer and burnt marshmallows. Instead, I got a mystery woman who doesn’t speak English.”

  “Ah,” Diana says. “So that’s why you’re looking for a German speaker. Well, here I am. Nurse, translator, and breakfast delivery all in one.”

  “Since when do you speak German?”

  Diana and I have known each other for more than half our lives. She’s the reason I came to Rockton . . . only to discover that she tricked me into it. That should have annihilated our friendship, but while we won’t ever be what we were, we can manage a comfortable level of companionship.

  “I took a year of German in high school,” she says. “Remember?”

  “Oh, right. You had a crush on that German exchange student.”

  “Two German exchange students. And it was not an unrequited crush. That summer, they taught me more than my course ever did.”

  “We’re still talking about the language, right?”

  She waggles her brows suggestively, and I can’t help laughing.

  “Fine,” I say. “You can take a shot at translating, but since our patient shows no signs of waking, we don’t need your nursing just yet. If you could grab us some breakfast with your replacement sandwich, I’d appreciate that.”

  Her gaze shoots to Dalton, and I want to say, Really, Diana?

  “Fine,” I say. “Please get my breakfast. I want two of everything.”

  Dalton pushes to his feet. “I’ll do it.”

  “Oh, sit down, Eric,” Diana says. “I’ll bring your breakfast. I was just hassling Casey.”

  “No, I gotta get to work anyway. Casey doesn’t need me here, and she might need a nurse. You stay. I’ll bring you both a sandwich.”

  He’s gone before she can argue. Not that she doesn’t want the sandwich—she just doesn’t want Dalton to bring it, which would mean she might actually need to say thank you. We may be fifteen years out of high school, but in many ways Diana never left it.

  And as soon as I think that, she proves why it’s hard to cut her loose. She pours me a fresh coffee and then pulls up a chair, eagerly awaiting my story. When I’m done, she’s full of questions, but none of them are challenges, none feel like subtle jabs, the way April’s can. Diana is genuinely interested in my case and how she can help, and she trusts that I can solve it and keep Rockton safe from whatever lurks in the forest.

  As we talk, Dalton silently delivers our breakfast, with only a squeeze on my shoulder before he’s gone again. I’m unwrapping my sandwich when I catch the smell of warm chocolate chip muffins. Diana hands me one and laughs as I devour half in a bite.

  “Didn’t your mother teach you to eat your meal before dessert?” />
  “My mother didn’t let me have dessert, as you may recall. Besides, muffins aren’t dessert.”

  “Put chocolate in them and they’re icing-free cupcakes.”

  “Then, as someone who only eats the icing, you won’t mind me having yours, too.”

  As she passes her muffin over, I notice her hot-pink nails. “Got the care package, did you?”

  “Yes, and thank you. I’ll put the hair dye in later.”

  On yesterday’s supply run, I’d bought Diana nail polish and pink dye, which she uses to streak or tip her blond hair. Cosmetics aren’t a priority here, and most women—like me—are happy for the excuse to go without. But they make Diana happy, and I don’t begrudge her that.

  “You think it’s hostiles, don’t you?” she asks as we settle in again.

  “I think everything is hostiles.” I sigh as I nibble the muffin. “The object of my obsession.”

  She pulls her feet up under her. “Your brain needs puzzles. This is a good one. You’ve already figured out how people turn into hostiles.”

  “I didn’t figure out anything. Maryanne told me.”

  “After you made it your mission to rescue her.”

  “Help her. She rescued herself. As for figuring out what to do about the hostiles . . .”

  I grumble under my breath. To the council, hostiles are like cult members. It doesn’t matter if they’re being brainwashed, we have no right to remove them. The fact that most are former Rockton residents? Irrelevant. The fact that most were kidnapped, which makes it 100 percent our jurisdiction? Also irrelevant, because they’d all chosen to leave Rockton before their “indoctrination” and therefore weren’t our responsibility anymore.

  The council treats our requests like we’re asking to euthanize all grizzlies. Hostiles don’t bother us any more often than brown bears, and so our request is unconscionable. These people chose to be out there, so leave them alone.

  I take a deep breath. “Yes, I think it’s possible this woman was attacked by hostiles. Possible. Not even probable.”

  “She didn’t come out here alone, right? People don’t do that.”

  “Not unless they’re paranoid gold miners, which she isn’t. Her clothing and—”

  A gasp. Both of us swivel to see the woman’s eyes open and staring at the ceiling. She blinks twice and then starts to lift her arm.

  “Hold on,” I say, leaping to my feet. “You’re—”

  Before I can get to her, she realizes she’s restrained and howls in terror, thrashing. I shout at Diana for help, and we steady the bed before the woman’s flailing tips it over.

  “It’s okay!” I shout to be heard over her screams. “You’re fine. You’re in a hospital—”

  Diana undoes the restraints on the woman’s right arm. I’m so focused on the woman’s face that I don’t see what Diana’s doing until the woman’s freed hand smacks Diana, sending her staggering backward.

  “Nein!” Diana says. “Nein!”

  Not exactly helpful. If I woke tied to a bed with strangers, I certainly wouldn’t listen if they told me no. I’d only fight harder, and that’s what she does.

  I manage to pin the woman’s free arm as I lean over her. “It’s okay. You’re hurt. We’re helping. You’re in a hospital.”

  I don’t expect her to understand, but I’m hoping my tone will calm her.

  “Hospital,” Diana says. “Krankenhaus. Klinik.” She grabs the second muffin and waves it, as if this is some kind of proof of where we are. Somehow, it works. The woman stops fighting and stares at the muffin.

  I pull the eyewash kit from the wall. On the front is a red cross. The symbol for medical care. I hold it up.

  “Hospital,” I say. “Krankenhaus.”

  The woman pauses. Then her free hand yanks from mine, and she grabs the front of my shirt instead. Her eyes round with desperation as she begins to babble, the way she had last night, the words rushing out.

  I set down the eyewash kit, wrap my hand around hers, and lean in carefully. She keeps talking, her voice barely above a whisper, words never stopping even as I glance over at Diana for a translation.

  Diana’s eyes widen in panic, and even before she gives a helpless shrug, I know she’s not catching any of this. The woman is talking too fast. I’m considered bilingual, but when Mathias gets caught up in a subject, speaking French, I need to tell him to slow down, much to his annoyance.

  “Can you tell her to speak slower?” I ask.

  Relief floods Diana’s eyes as she nods. “Kannst du bitte langsamer sprechen?” she says, several times.

  The woman doesn’t even glance Diana’s way. She just keeps frantically trying to communicate with me.

  “Do you speak any English?” I say.

  No response.

  “Parlez-vous français?” I try.

  She stops, and I think I have it, but she’s only pausing for breath, no recognition in her gaze.

  “Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” I ask.

  She’s taking deep breaths, but there’s no response.

  “Did you understand anything she said?” I ask Diana.

  “I . . . I think maybe . . . a word or two?”

  “Are we sure it’s German?”

  “I . . .”

  “Shit,” I mutter.

  The woman starts up again, frantically trying to speak as both Diana and I run through our repertoires of languages.

  “Are we sure her hearing isn’t damaged?” Diana says finally. “I do think she’s speaking German. It sounds like it, at least.”

  “It’s not,” says a voice.

  6

  I look over to see a stranger, and I give a start. With under two hundred people, Rockton is community policing at its purest, where there’s no excuse for me not to know everyone’s name. Okay, occasionally I’ll blank, but even when I substitute “Hey, there” for “Good morning, Heather,” I still recognize the person as a resident of Rockton. And here, standing in the doorway, is a stranger. Male, white, mid-thirties, light-haired, blue-eyed, taller than average, lean build. That could describe a half dozen residents, but my mind screams an alarm, telling me I don’t—

  Oh, shit. Yes, I do.

  “Hey, Jay,” I say, putting out a hand. I turn to Diana. “Diana, this is Jay. We brought him in yesterday.”

  I’ll blame the chaos of the last twelve hours, which had me forgetting that we hadn’t just been getting supplies in Dawson City. We’d flown three residents to the airport and picked up Jay.

  Residents coming and going has become routine in Rockton. Most of those who were here when I arrived are now gone. We lost one of our core militia—Sam—in this round.

  As callous as it sounds, I’ve learned not to pay too much notice to the new arrivals until they make themselves noteworthy, for better or worse. I don’t know who Jay was or what he did for a living down south, but whatever skills he possesses, they aren’t critical up here, so he’s been assigned to general duty, meaning I’m unlikely to have much contact with him unless he turns out to be a troublemaker. Jay’s pressed clothing and quiet demeanor, though, set my threat rating at low.

  Escorting them to Rockton is the extent of law enforcement’s initial involvement with newcomers. With Phil—our council liaison before being exiled to Rockton last year—we have a quasi leader for the first time in over a decade. I say “quasi” because Dalton is still the guy in charge. Phil doesn’t even take second place. That goes to the woman he’s currently sleeping with: Isabel, whose power comes from controlling sex, alcohol, and secrets, the most potent currency in town.

  “I was told to come by for a physical,” he says as he turns to Diana. “You’re not Dr. Butler, are you?”

  “I’m her assistant. I can perform the physical basics, but I think Casey is a little more interested in what you said when you walked in.”

  Diana turns to the woman in the bed, who’s whispering to herself. “That’s not German?”

  Jay offers a half smile. “No, sorry. Close
, though. It’s Danish.”

  “Please tell us you know Danish. Please, please, please . . .”

  Jay’s smile widens, and in that moment, with this champagne-bubbly blonde pleading with him to know Danish, I think if he didn’t, he’d promise to run out and learn it for her.

  He gives an awkward chuckle. “You’re in luck. I’m not fluent, but my mom is Danish, and she taught me enough to carry on a conversation. I’m presuming she”—a nod toward the woman—“doesn’t speak English. That’s unusual for a Dane.”

  “Her injury led to some mental confusion,” I say.

  If he interprets this to mean she’s a resident who temporarily lost a language, I’m okay with that. I’m not eager to tell Jay that the place where he was promised privacy and security has admitted an outsider.

  I continue, “We’re trying to figure out exactly what happened, and she’s eager to tell us but . . .”

  “You need a translator. Guess I came by at the right time.” He looks at the patient. “She seems to be asking about someone. I can’t quite make it out though.”

  I turn to the woman. She’s whispering under her breath, eyelids sagging, as if her violent outburst sapped her energy.

  “Hey,” I say, clasping her hand. “We have someone who can talk to you.”

  “Jeg snakker dansk,” Jay says, walking over.

  The woman levers up, her still-bound left hand snapping against the restraint. Jay jumps back, but she grabs his sleeve and hauls him to her, fever-bright eyes burning.

  I catch her hand, but Jay shakes his head. “It’s okay. She just startled me. I’m guessing those . . .” He looks at the restraints and gives a soft, strained laugh. “No violent criminals in Rockton, right? That’s what the brochure said.” His laugh turns awkward again as he adds, “Not that there was a brochure,” as if we might not get the joke.

  “I totally got the brochure,” Diana says. “Full-color. Glossy. It promised a hot tub.” She turns to me. “You know anything about a hot tub here, Case?”