It would also be easier for him and the FBI to keep an eye on her. Now that he thought about it, it was almost his duty to spend as much time as possible with Barbara Strong.
The sheriff took a deep breath. “Sure. We could get together for dinner tomorrow night at the café and work out a campaign strategy.” His voice sounded a little strained, but he hoped Barbara wouldn’t notice. He seldom asked a woman out on a date. Not that this was a date. At least, he didn’t think it was. “I’d buy, of course.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t let you buy—”
“No, it would be official campaign business.”
Barbara pinked up for a moment and then she nodded. “Well, then, yes—I’ll ask Mrs. Hargrove to sit with the children while I step over to the café. But she might not be able to since it’s Saturday night and she needs to get ready to teach Sunday school the next morning.”
The sheriff couldn’t help but notice how pleased Barbara looked. He could hardly keep his mind on Mrs. Hargrove. He sure wondered if this was going to be a date. But in any case, Barbara was right. They needed someone to watch the children.
“I’ll talk to Mrs. Hargrove,” the sheriff said.
“That’s right—I forgot you know her pretty well. She said you fixed her roof a couple of weeks ago.”
“Just a few shingles. Nothing much,” the sheriff said. He didn’t want to derail the conversation by talking about Mrs. Hargrove’s chores. He knew there had to be a chore on her list that was worth a night’s babysitting even if it was a Saturday night. “Linda has a great steak special going on Saturday nights.”
“She might agree to let us put some of your flyers in the café, too,” Barbara said.
The sheriff swallowed. “We sort of need to make a flyer before we can pass it out.”
Barbara brightened even more at that. “You mean no one’s done a flyer yet? Would it be okay if I worked on that, too? We’ll need a slogan. Some thing catchy. Some thing that sets you apart from your competition.”
The sheriff felt his mouth go dry. He couldn’t not tell her. Not when her face was getting so excited. “About my competition…so far I don’t have any.”
The sheriff closed his eyes.
“Well, surely someone will run against you,” Barbara said. She frowned a little. “They probably just haven’t put in their name yet.”
The sheriff sat up straighter. She was right.
Someone could decide to run against him. It wasn’t likely, but it could happen. Maybe there’d even be a write-in campaign. One or two people usually wrote in a name on the ballot instead of voting for him. The name was usually Daffy Duck or Santa Claus, but legally it was a vote for another candidate. That had to mean something. He moved a couple of chairs closer to Barbara without even thinking about it. “It’s a good thing we’re going to do a campaign then.”
Barbara smiled. “It’s always good to get out the vote. It helps the whole community. We need to think of things that would rhyme with Sheriff Wall.”
“There’s all,” the sheriff said, noticing that Barbara had picked up the bouquet she’d caught and was holding it in her lap. He slipped over onto the chair next to her.
“And a button, we’ll need a button,” she said. “So me thing in blue. People trust blue. Or maybe red. Red is power.”
The sheriff nodded. He didn’t care if Barbara decided to dress him up in a clown suit and have him pass out suckers in front of the café. She was sitting next to him and talking and her hands were going a mile a minute.
Saturday night was definitely going to be a date if the sheriff had anything to say about it. He smiled his best smile. “I appreciate anything you can do—for the campaign, that is.”
“I’m handling the bakery while Lizette and Judd are gone on their honeymoon, but I can think about the slogan while I work.” Barbara held up the rose bouquet as though she was seeing it for the first time. “And, another good thing about this campaign is that it will help people forget I caught this thing.”
The sheriff couldn’t ask what the first good thing was. He had a bad enough feeling in his stomach about the second good thing. “Why is that?”
“Everyone talks during a political campaign. There’ll be issues and answers. People will forget I caught the bouquet and that I’m supposed to be the next one to marry. People think Lizette knows I’m hoping to get married again and that’s why she tossed me this bouquet. But I’ve told Lizette it’s just the opposite. I’m never going to get married again.”
“Oh.”
Barbara stood up. “I’m going to be a good citizen though.”
“You can be a good citizen and married at the same time.” The sheriff thought he should point that out.
It was too late. Barbara was already opening the door to go back inside the barn.
Barbara looked around when she stepped back inside. She felt better than she had since she’d come to Dry Creek. This was the perfect solution to her problem. If she campaigned for the sheriff, people would surely see that she took a firm stand in favor of law and order.
Granted, it wasn’t like being asked to do a fund-raiser for the school or anything that involved money, but it was a start. The next thing she knew, she’d be asked to join the Parent-Teacher Association. Then maybe they’d ask her to pour coffee for the town at some event.
She was so excited. She really was going to make a home for herself and the children here in Dry Creek. And, maybe while she campaigned for the sheriff, she’d mention to people that the town needed a street-light. That showed even more civic spirit. Eventually, she’d have a normal life with a house of her own.
And, just so she’d know the real house was coming, she’d work on getting herself that kitchen table for her and the children. It was time she learned to cook something besides sandwiches, and time they started having Sunday dinners at their own table. Fried chicken would be good. Or maybe a pot roast. Having Sunday dinners together was something Dry Creek families did, just like they hung their sheets on the clothes lines in the summer to dry.
Barbara had noticed a clothes line behind Mr. Gossett’s old house. It had fallen down, of course, just like most of the things around the house. The good thing about the Gossett house, though, was that it had a picket fence around it. The boards weren’t white any longer and they weren’t all standing straight, but a coat of paint and a few well-placed nails would change that. She didn’t know what she’d do if Mr. Gossett wrote and said his nephew wanted the house so he couldn’t rent it out.
No, that wasn’t true. She did know what she’d do. She’d just keep looking. She was going to make a home here or, at least have the satisfaction of knowing she’d done everything possible to make it happen.
Chapter Five
Meanwhile, in the pickup truck parked in the night shadows outside the barn, Floyd Spencer had been watching Barbara and the sheriff and muttering to himself. His timing had been lousy ever since he’d robbed that bank with Neal and Harlow.
It’d been his first robbery and he’d since decided that he just didn’t have the stomach for crime. Everything had turned out badly. His two partners were behind bars and they were likely to turn informant on him next week if he couldn’t get a message to them and let them know that he needed more time to get their money into those off-shore accounts.
He had buried his own money in his backyard so deep that even his dog couldn’t find it. He was too nervous to move it inside under his bed. He didn’t know when he’d ever have the courage to dig it up.
But it was the other men’s money he had to worry about first.
Floyd had been watching Neal’s wife off and on over the past two weeks to see if she ever went to the prison to see Neal. If she did, Floyd would try to get her to take a message to her ex-husband about the additional time he needed to open those off-shore accounts. The message couldn’t be anything obvious, of course, or the people at the jail would stop it from getting to Neal.
Floyd couldn’t spend too much tim
e watching the ex-wife, however, because he didn’t dare call in sick to his job at the bank. He hadn’t planned on the whole thing taking so much time.
It had all sounded so simple when Harlow had planned it. But, these days, Floyd couldn’t even take a long lunch at the bank. It hadn’t been his bank that had been robbed; Floyd wasn’t that stupid. But it had been the bank in a nearby town, and the jittery nerves had spilled over to his bank. He hadn’t thought about that happening.
Everyone was watching everyone these days, and Floyd sure didn’t want to make anyone suspicious enough to remember that he’d called in sick on the day the other bank had been robbed. He had thought it would be easy to do everything Harlow had asked. But it wasn’t as easy as Floyd had thought it would be to transfer money into those accounts without anyone knowing about it. He’d found the instructions to make the transfer, but he didn’t see how it could be done secretly. Harlow and Neal had each set the accounts up in partnership with another person so, even in jail, they said they would be alerted when the money was in the accounts.
Floyd didn’t know how all of that was to happen. He was a bank cashier, not a thief—well, until now, that is. All he knew was that Harlow was clever enough to do whatever he said he was going to do and Neal followed the other man’s directions. Harlow had been the one who’d talked Floyd into helping them rob the bank. He would never forgive Harlow for that. Robbing that bank had been the worst mistake of Floyd’s life.
But there was nothing to do about it now except to go forward and try to find some time alone with Neal’s wife. If she wouldn’t help him, Floyd thought he’d take a day off work and try to impersonate a clergyman going to visit Neal. It was a long shot, but who else would care about Neal except someone who was paid to care, like a minister?
Floyd didn’t know what he’d do if he couldn’t take time off work. Maybe he should leave some money for Barbara Stone at the bakery just in case he needed to go to his back-up plan.
Floyd vowed that if he got out of this mess, he’d never break any laws ever again. He wouldn’t even cross the street against the light. He’d come to the conclusion that his nerves just weren’t good enough for a life of crime. He couldn’t sleep. He’d barely eaten since he’d helped rob that bank. Once he got the money into those offshore accounts, he planned to go to a hypnotist and try to get the memory of what he’d done wiped out of his mind.
Chapter Six
Barbara’s alarm clock went off at five o’clock in the morning and she groaned as she reached over to turn it off. It was dark and her children were still asleep. Fortunately, it wasn’t cold inside the room she now called home. Not that it was warm either. She sat up on her cot and pulled a blanket around her shoulders.
Her alarm clock gave off a green hazy light so Barbara could see the two lumps in the bed next to her cot. Both Amanda and Bobby were curled in on them selves as they slept. They’d been tired enough last night that they would sleep another few hours.
Barbara yawned as she remembered last night.
The wedding reception had become more enjoy-able after she had asked to work on the sheriff’s re-election campaign and she’d spent more time talking with Mrs. Hargrove about local politics. Mrs. Hargrove had gotten so involved in the conversation, she hadn’t seemed to notice that Barbara was helping clean up the refreshment table.
The two of them had cleared off the cake crumbs and picked up empty punch cups while they talked. Barbara had learned enough about local politics to know that she probably didn’t need to campaign for the sheriff to win the election.
Of course, Mrs. Hargrove encouraged her to work on the sheriff’s campaign anyway.
“Campaigning is more like fun than work, isn’t it?” Mrs. Hargrove had anxiously asked her for the second time as she looked over to where the sheriff stood.
Barbara had nodded.
“Well, then I guess it’s okay—it’s a great way for you to meet people. Besides, it never hurts to remind people to vote,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she turned her attention back to the table and scraped some white frosting off the cake knife before wrapping the knife in a wet paper towel.
“I’d enjoy it,” Barbara said. “Really I would. I want to do something for the community.”
Mrs. Hargrove nodded. “We’ve become a little lazy around here when it comes to voting for the sheriff. And it’s an important job—we can’t have just anyone as our sheriff. I’ve known Carl Wall since he was a teenager, and he’s a good man.”
Mrs. Hargrove finished her wrapping and stood to face Barbara. “You know, now that I’m thinking about it, I’m not sure we give the man enough recognition for the job he does. And here he is risking his life day after day to see that we’re all safe. Why, he could take a bullet any time and here we sit, not even having the courtesy to go vote for the man.”
Barbara had lain awake last night trying to wrap those words of Mrs. Hargrove’s into a snappy campaign slogan—so me thing like “Vote for Carl Wall. He’d take a Bullet for Us All.” Last night she’d thought that slogan had possibilities. This morning she wasn’t so sure.
Oh, well, she thought as she stood up. Even if it was Saturday morning and Amanda and Bobby wouldn’t be getting up quite yet, she certainly needed to get moving. The first thing she needed to do was to make three dozen donuts for the display case at the Dry Creek café. Then she needed to make six dozen maple donuts for the Martin ranch, six assorted fruit pies for the café in Miles City, and—well, she’d need to check her list for the other two orders. She knew one of them was a dozen corn muffins for someone and the other was a sour cream raisin coffee cake.
The bakery business was booming in Dry Creek.
Lizette was starting out small. She was only taking direct orders and she advertised that they’d fill any order as long as it met the minimum order amount of fifteen dollars. Delivery was an extra charge, but it was small enough to encourage business.
All of the items were made fresh every day. The only things a person could buy without a pre-order were the donuts that Linda stocked in the café. Every morning, the bakery sent three dozen donuts over to the café. Lately, if they had time, they’d added a pie or two as well.
The bakery was building up a steady stream of regular customers, and Barbara was pleased that Lizette had felt comfort able leaving the business in Barbara’s hands during Lizette’s honeymoon. When she returned from her honeymoon, she had said she planned to devote most of her time to her small dance studio and turn most of the bakery duties over to Barbara.
As Barbara wrapped herself in her robe and walked to the bathroom, she planned her day. If she started now, she should have the bakery orders done by nine-thirty this morning. Mrs. Hargrove had volunteered to go with her as she delivered the orders since Barbara didn’t know her way around some of the back roads yet and didn’t have a car to drive anyway. Neal had seen to that.
Barbara told herself she wasn’t going to think about Neal today. She’d enjoy the drive with Mrs. Hargrove. Amanda and Bobby would both enjoy a ride out to some of the ranches as much as Barbara would.
If she got a minute, Barbara decided she’d even take a few of the flowers from that bouquet she’d caught and press them between two boxes of sugar. It wasn’t a book, but the boxes should give enough weight so the roses would press down good.
The sheriff always checked Mrs. Hargrove’s house as he drove into Dry Creek in the early morning. He didn’t have to go out of his way, because Dry Creek only had the one main gravel road that went through the little town and he went straight down it. Mrs. Hargrove’s house was on the left, a few houses down from the café. The sheriff checked to see that her kitchen light was on when he looked at her house.
The sheriff knew the older woman would be indignant if she knew about his daily checks, but he’d started to worry a few years ago about her living alone. Seeing a light on in the kitchen eased his worries. He figured that if Mrs. Hargrove could get down stairs to the kitchen, she was doing all right. If
the light wasn’t on when he drove by at seven o’clock, he’d make a swing back around nine o’clock. If it wasn’t on then, he’d call her on the telephone with some question or another.
It wasn’t often that Mrs. Hargrove’s light didn’t come on before nine. This morning, though, there wasn’t a light on anywhere in her house when he drove by at nine. The sheriff figured she was just tired from the wedding reception last night, so he decided to wait another half hour before he called her. This time he even had a good excuse. He needed to ask her what chore he could do in exchange for a Saturday-night babysitter.
In the meantime, he should call and check in with the FBI.
Not that there was ever anything new with the FBI. He’d report that there’d been no suspicious activity from Barbara Strong and they’d report that Neal and Harlow were still in jail and looking more hopeful than they had any right to be. Neal had even asked for a calendar yesterday. There’d been some debate about whether or not having access to the correct date was a constitutional right, but, in the end, it had seemed harmless to give him a calendar.
The sheriff shook his head. He knew about people’s rights and he was all in favor of respecting them, but he wasn’t inclined to do any favors for a man like Neal Strong. A man that would hurt a good woman like Barbara and the two little ones…well, a man like that didn’t need to know what day of the month it was.
Barbara had the maple bars all boxed up and the pies cooling on the table next to the triple batch of choc o late chip cookies the Elkton Ranch had ordered. It was nine-thirty in the morning and she was ready to start her deliveries. She’d thought Mrs. Hargrove had said she would drive by the bakery and pick her up at nine o’clock. Barbara took another look at the street in front of the bakery. There was still no sign of the older woman.
“Can I take my bear with me?” Amanda asked as she came out of the back room.
Sugar Plums for Dry Creek & At Home in Dry Creek Page 20