“The dogs have been going crazy. I saw a shadow moving out there, but it disappeared before you got here. Could’ve been a person crouched low…maybe even an animal. I just couldn’t tell, and it seemed foolish to go out there unarmed, just in case.”
“Absolutely right. I didn’t see anything, and all of the windows and doors appear to be shut tight, but that doesn’t mean that there wasn’t good reason to call.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed her upper arms. “Have there been any break-ins in the area lately?”
“Nope. No sighting of wolves, either, though a pack does run in the area. They’re as elusive as can be, so you might never see them.” He glanced around her kitchen. “Everything good up here at the house?”
“No problems. Everything is locked tight, and I do have a security system in place.”
“Good, good.” He grasped his service belt and adjusted its bulk. “I’m going out to check the building a little closer. You stay here.”
“Can I ask you a question first?”
“Fire away.”
“With the things going on here, I just want to know. Carrie said Thalia’s death was accidental. Is that true?”
“We found absolutely no evidence to the contrary.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“The best we could figure was that fog was rising up out of the ravines that morning.” He shook his head and sighed with obvious regret. “The morning started off cool and damp, then the temperatures dropped. Thalia probably got confused in the mist, then hit an icy patch. A terrible accident, but that’s it. End of story.”
“No foul play.”
“Thalia was the least likely target of anyone you could ever think of. She had no expensive electronics to steal, she wasn’t rich. No enemies or rivals. No family or romantic entanglements. No one tried to buy up her property after she died, so there wasn’t anyone coveting her home. Sometimes, no matter what people want to believe, accidents do happen.”
“I suppose so.”
He looked over his shoulder at the outbuildings. “The dogs are quiet, so I’d guess the intruder—whatever it was—is gone. I’ll just go on ahead and look things over. Be back in a minute.”
She watched him walk out to the cruiser and climb in, then take another slow circuit around the plowed areas by the buildings. At the kennel, he got out from behind the wheel and walked along the building holding a big flashlight in one hand, his other hand resting loosely on his holstered service revolver.
Then he went inside, and she saw all of the lights flare on. A few minutes later the lights went off and he emerged from the door. She sighed with relief.
When he came back into the house, he had Thalia’s rifle in hand. “If those dogs were raising a big ruckus, I’d guess they smelled wolves or bear. You might want to keep this handy. It would certainly stop a human or a coyote, though I don’t think this model would do more than irritate a charging grizzly.”
She managed a weak smile. “Something I’d definitely rather not do.”
“Nope. Male grizzlies tend to come out of hibernation mid to late March, and we’ve already had some sightings. Black bears wake up a little later.”
“Grumpy, I’ll bet.”
“Sure ’nuff. But just seeing one doesn’t mean you should shoot. There’s a limited season, and you need a permit—unless you’ve got one endangering livestock or human life.” He put Thalia’s rifle on the counter. “I use a .32 Remington myself, or a .30-30. But for now, at least you have this.”
“Do you think we had a bear out there?”
“There’ve been so many people tramping through the snow around the buildings that I can’t make out any new footprints in this light. Some of your little visitors have been romping in the snow clear out to the fences, and there are lots of dog tracks out there, too.”
“I tell people to go outside with their prospective pets, to get acquainted.”
“Either Sam or I will stop out tomorrow and search the perimeter of the clearing for any tracks leading in. I’m guessing you did have a bear. Maybe it was lured by the scent of pet food and your trash cans but ran off before it could get into trouble. If one starts hanging around too close, we might need to call in the DNR for a relocation.”
“I can go out and check myself, come morning.”
“We’ll be back.” He met and held her gaze. “My headlights probably scared off whatever was out there. Maybe it wasn’t really a serious threat. But if the dogs were going crazy, you were right in calling for help. Don’t ever hesitate to do that, understand? It’s when people are too brave, too reckless, that a situation can go south in a hurry.”
Kris parked at the far edge of the Battle Creek Community Church parking lot and took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Then she stepped out of her SUV and joined the last stragglers who were heading through the big oak double doors.
Some of her foster homes had been judgmental and strict. Some completely lax. Only a few had made church a strong part of their lives. With that patchwork beginning, she’d only intermittently attended and the places of worship were constantly changing, though while at the Parkers’, she’d managed to stay long enough to be confirmed.
Without strong roots, she’d drifted away as an adult.
But ever since coming to Battle Creek, a still, small voice in her heart had been urging her to make the connection again. Whether because of Carrie’s clear, strong faith or because she was completely on her own in uncharted waters, she’d thought about church every Sunday…then found an excuse to not go.
Would people stare? Ask uncomfortable questions? Even after a childhood filled with a series of family and ever changing schools, that chilling, self-conscious moment of stepping into a new place as an outsider still made her stomach clench.
She moved out of the bright sunlight and through the doors. Inside, the air had a different feel—scented by wood polish, burning candles and flowers, the light warmed by the sunshine streaming through the tall stained-glass windows in the sanctuary ahead.
When her eyes adjusted, she realized that an elderly, overweight woman stood to her right, her face wreathed in a gentle smile, her hand extended.
“Hello, dearie. So glad you’re here.” She leaned forward with a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t forget the coffee hour afterward. I brought a pan of my pecan caramel rolls—so you’ll want to get in line quick or they’ll be gone. Especially if my grandson gets at ’em first.”
The woman was all silver hair, wrinkles and softness, like the grandmother Kris had never had, and she felt a tug of longing in her heart. Family. Lifelong friends. The tightly woven relationships of a small town, where everyone knew everyone else and even knew what their best friend’s sister’s boyfriend had done in second grade. Connections that went deep.
If she stayed here for good, would she ever become a part of that fabric? Was it even possible?
She accepted a bulletin from the usher standing at the door of the sanctuary, scanned the pews uncertainly, then slipped into an empty one just a few rows up.
The back of her neck prickled, and she knew people were staring at this stranger in their midst. Uncomfortable, she slipped a little lower in her seat.
A moment later, someone slid in next to her…and then several others, too, until she’d had to slide halfway down the long pew.
The person next to her leaned close and jostled her shoulder. “Hey!”
Startled by the familiar voice, she lifted her frozen gaze from the bulletin in her hands. “Carrie?”
“And Trace and our grandma Betsy,” Carrie whispered. “Trace and I had some loose calves to catch, so we’re a little late. Grandma, however, has never been late for anything in her life.”
Kris leaned forward and found Trace sitting next to his sister. She nodded at him, feeling a little rush of pleasure as she took in his thick dark hair—for once, without a Stetson covering it—and his black leather blazer and pressed jeans.
He n
odded, then tipped his head to his other side where Kris found the sweet old woman from the doorway beaming at her. She hid a grin, realizing that Trace was probably the caramel roll addict.
No longer feeling as conspicuous and alone, Kris settled back in her seat. Prisms of jewel-colored light sparkled in the windows, casting a soft glow over the congregation. An organist up in the loft began to play “Beautiful Savior,” and she felt a warm, gentle sense of peace flood through her.
She’d felt a moment of tension, walking through the doors, but this place wasn’t vibrating with the harsh judgment she’d felt—or perhaps just imagined—as a child.
A few pews ahead, she noticed familiar faces…Ray, the Kitten Man, with his wife and three little girls. An elderly gentleman who had come to the shelter in tears to leave his beloved old Brittany spaniel, Lucy, because he was growing too frail to care for her. A dog that would stay with Kris for the rest of its days unless she found the perfect forever home.
Farther up, Deputy Ken Gardner and Polly and others whom Kris had seen in town. And—her heart took an extra beat. Erin? Her old childhood friend? She was sitting with a handsome man and a young boy, her arm draped around the child’s shoulders as she bent down to whisper something in his ear. She looked so content, so happy, that Kris smiled to herself.
Apparently life had been good to her.
After the liturgy and several hymns, the pastor moved to the pulpit. Surprisingly young, he exuded enthusiasm and warmth as he smiled and read the lesson from the twenty-third Psalm. “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me…”
Her thoughts slipped back to Laura’s death. For years, she’d been so angry, so devastated. So overwhelmed with the injustice of it all. A child herself, she’d been angry with God for allowing her friend to die. Her own faith had faltered amidst the fear that God wouldn’t protect her from the monsters in the night, either.
In time she’d understood, at least on an intellectual level. Bad things could happen to innocent people. It wasn’t punishment or heavenly retribution. It was just the vagaries of nature, the evil of men and their freedom of choice. Sheer physics, like Thalia falling from that mountain trail.
Maybe there were no promises of safety and happiness and good health, but she felt a deeper sense of peace slip around her heart—as if God held it in His loving hands and promised to be with her, no matter what life brought her way.
Both deputies had stopped by on Tuesday morning to search for bear tracks. They’d walked around the perimeter of the property, but found nothing more than countless footprints, probably all from shelter visitors. Some of them trailed off into government land, but then she’d seen plenty of kids playing tag and straying far over the fences while their parents were mulling over adoption forms, so that didn’t mean anything.
But knowing there hadn’t been a bear close by didn’t make her feel any safer. Instead, her uneasiness had grown with each passing night. Was someone still out there, roaming the woods? Watching and waiting?
For what?
The message in today’s sermon was the kind of reassurance she needed more than ever. She only hoped it could help calm her racing heart once night fell and the dogs started barking again.
ELEVEN
On Monday, Carrie sent Trace over with a meat loaf, creamy garlic mashed potatoes and French silk frosted brownies because she’d “inadvertently” made too much for just Trace and herself. On Tuesday, she sent him over with a large stack of newspapers for a pen of abandoned puppies that had come into the shelter the night before.
On Wednesday, he arrived in the late afternoon with a load of dry cat and dog food that had been left in the donation box at the feed store in town…again, at Carrie’s request.
“I’m afraid,” he said with a weary laugh, “that Carrie is on a mission.”
Kris smiled back at him, thankful that they’d finally become more comfortable with each other. And who wouldn’t be, after fighting over the last incredible caramel roll at church last Sunday? They’d ended up sharing it, of course, under his grandmother’s watchful eye…with Carrie laughing and insisting that it was actually hers.
The speculative looks Carrie directed between Kris and Trace as they all finished their coffee had been a definite hint of what was to come.
“She’s one of the most delightful people I know.”
“And the most determined.” He hefted the last bag of dog kibble from the back of his truck to the waiting wheelbarrow, then leaned against the open tailgate. “We could drive her mad, by completely ignoring her ploys.”
“That would do it, I think.”
“Or we could go out for dinner just once and make her a happy woman.”
A little rush of anticipation made Kris feel giddy. How long had it been since she’d actually been out for an evening with a nice, attractive guy? She couldn’t even remember. “I suppose that depends on how much you want to pay her back for all of these errands.”
“Good point.” He gazed out across the meadow, where four inches of new snow had turned drab grass and dirty, melting snowdrifts back into a pristine wonderland. “So what do you think?” When she didn’t answer right away, he looked back at her, his eyes dark and gentle, quietly waiting.
“If that’s an invitation to dinner, then I guess we ought to make Carrie happy.”
“Saturday—say, eight o’clock?”
“It’s a deal.”
Kris followed him as he pushed away from the tailgate, moved the dog food into the storeroom, then propped the wheelbarrow against the wall and closed the door.
All up and down the aisle, a chorus of dogs yelped and barked and jumped at the front of their cages, vying for attention as they walked past.
“Thanks for all your help. And the meat loaf. And the newspapers.” She bit her lower lip. “But if something comes up…or you have second thoughts about Saturday, just let me know. I’ll be cool either way.”
He hesitated at the door. Bowed his head, then turned to face her with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll be here, though maybe you should be the one to call it off.”
The prospect of going on a date made Kris feel she was once again a giddy, unpolished girl of seventeen. What did people wear on a date, these days? There were swanky supper clubs open during tourist season, but off-season those were surely closed.
Casual slacks? Dressy?
A basic little black dress?
Did she have anything that even came close? Probably not.
Recalling a little consignment shop tucked between a pizza parlor and barbershop on the main drag through town, she put a “back in two hours” sign on the kennel door and headed into Battle Creek, praying that the store hadn’t been a figment of her imagination. And that it was open.
Off-season many of the businesses had limited hours. Some were closed on certain days. She held her breath as she pulled to a stop in front, then heaved a sigh of relief at the open sign in the window.
Inside circular racks were crammed with clothing, as were the racks lining each wall. A bored thirtysomething brunette looked up from polishing her nails at the register.
“Looking for something special?”
“Just…something for church. Or maybe an evening dinner out.”
The woman offered a vague wave of her hand. “Racks are set up by size. Take your pick. Fitting rooms are in the back. If you need any help, I’m Janet. Oh—and the pink tags are fifty percent off.”
At least she wasn’t going to hover.
Kris worked her way through the possibilities, holding first one outfit and then another in front of herself at the big mirror on the wall.
Too formal.
Too flouncy.
Too I’m-so-desperate.
Too I’m-over-the-hill and out-of-date.
With a sigh, she put each of them back, then gathered others until she couldn’t stand another minute
of frustration. On her way to the door she stopped. “What about this outfit on the mannequin? Is it for sale?”
“Everything’s for sale in here. You want it, it’s yours.”
Kris studied the ivory silk slacks and matching pullover sweater for a long moment, then caressed the soft weave of the sweater. It looked comfortable.
Elegant. Adult without being dowdy. It probably cost the earth.
“How much?”
The clerk blew at her nails without looking up. “Check the sticker underneath the label.”
It read fifty dollars…but the tag was pink.
Feeling as if she’d just embarked on a treasure hunt, Kris carefully slipped the garments off the mannequin and tried them on in the dressing room.
With her blond hair and pale ivory skin, she’d never thought she could pull off a such a light, neutral color, but this shade and fabric seemed to make her skin glow, while bringing up the highlights in her hair.
“I’ll take it,” she called out, feeling girlish and extravagant all at once.
At the cash register, she carefully folded the clothing and set it on the counter, then pulled her checkbook out, her pen poised while the clerk figured out the total with tax.
The woman’s gaze slid over the blank check, her neck craning around to read Kris’s name upside down. “You’re the gal who’s out at the animal shelter.”
Kris smiled at her. “That’s right.”
A ruddy wash of color crawled up the woman’s neck. “I…uh…can only take cash.”
“But…what about this sign?” Right on the counter, taped to the glass, a green square of paper announced that any returned checks would incur a $50.00 penalty by the store, plus any other charges by the bank.
“Cash, ma’am.” The woman’s voice held a thread of steel. “Only cash.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Look, I don’t want trouble. I just can’t afford bad checks or bad credit cards. If you’ve got the money, you can go on down to the bank and get some cash, but I can’t afford to lose out.” Her gaze skated away and her blush deepened. “I…I changed my policy this month. Guess I just didn’t get the sign down.”
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