By the time she got home and walked in the kitchen door, she had a strategy all mapped out in her mind.
“Macie?” Caroline took off her jacket.
“Up here,” Macie called from upstairs.
“I’m back.” Caroline walked into the living room.
Macie came halfway down the stairs. “How’s Picasso?”
“Good. He did the most incredible mural—”
“I know. He e-mailed me pictures as he went along.”
“Oh.” Now that cut deep.
“Amazing, isn’t it? And just think, no calls from the police.” She started back upstairs.
“Yeah…” Caroline’s voice trailed off. Then she asked, “What do you want for dinner?”
“I’m not hungry. I had a salad when I got home from practice.”
“But that was four hours ago.”
Macie headed into her room, calling, “Not hungry.”
“Well, I’m starved.” When she walked into the kitchen, the mail was lying on the table. She picked it up and flipped through—advertisements, bills, a reminder card for Macie’s dental checkup, and an envelope from the registrar’s office at UK.
Good thing she had her lecture all planned out. She’d have to make the call tonight so he could start studying to dig himself out.
She tore open the envelope. “Okay, how bad is it?” she muttered.
Unfolding the paper, her mouth fell open. All B’s and one A.
She sat down hard on the kitchen chair. While he’d been home, Caroline had to ride Sam constantly about his grades, and he’d been vandalizing public property on a regular basis. Now he wouldn’t even speak to her, and he was doing well… no, better than well, great. She should be thrilled. Instead, she couldn’t help but feel both inept and useless.
Mick worked himself past the point of exhaustion. He told himself that it was to take advantage of the mild, sunny weather, cramming in more outdoor chores than any one man could expect to complete in a single day. But in reality—he was a psychiatrist, after all—he knew it was the only way that he’d be able to sleep.
He just couldn’t get Caroline Rogers out of his mind… out of his system. It was absurd. Even though the longing he’d felt in her kiss had given him hope, she’d made it clear that she wasn’t interested in wading into a long-term relationship.
Mick had seen that whole Slick McCool thing—once he figured out who this guy was—for what it truly was. There wasn’t a man on earth less suited to Caroline. Kent Davies had one attribute she currently found irresistible—he was a player; a real relationship was the farthest thing from his mind.
Even so, the fact remained, her life was taking her far from Redbud Mill.
Still, Mick recklessly clung to the hope that she’d come to her senses and realize what she was missing—a loving relationship with him… a family.
He knew better. He’d made the same mistake with Kimberly. What they’d each wanted from life was worlds apart. Yet, he knew the disintegration of their relationship had been due to more than conflicting goals. They had never been in each other’s blood. His heart had never accelerated the way it did when Caroline was near. Yearning had never kept him awake at night. He’d never been driven to protect, to smooth out the wrinkles in another person’s life the way he was with Caroline. Even though Caroline had made a point of letting him know she didn’t need protection or comfort, it didn’t make one iota of difference.
Was this what love really felt like? Was it this wild feeling that couldn’t be constrained by rational thought? Was it a heart in control and consequences be damned? It was certain, what he felt for Caroline was illogical, impractical… and undeniable.
And it was selfish. Caroline had put off her own life while she raised her siblings. She’d earned the right to pursue her career without him trying to drag her into an unwanted relationship. Caroline deserved freedom.
Still, he wanted her.
If this was love, no wonder so many people were screwed up.
Chapter 16
Unable to release the idea that someone was targeting her calendar subjects, Caroline spent the next few days trying to discover if any others had been vandalized. It was a much more productive use of her time than lamenting over how she’d messed up her brother—or mooning around about Mick Larsen.
Mick was the real dilemma at the moment. Although it pained her that she’d somehow failed Sam while he was under her constant supervision, he was doing fine now, excelling and happy. Just what she wanted for him. Just what would make it easier for her to leave Kentucky.
But Mick, now that was a horse of a different color. He was interested, and she was interested back. But there was no way the courses of their lives would ever twine themselves together in any binding manner. They would only bring each other pain. She’d seen how her mother had tried, against all odds, to make a lasting relationship out of nothing strong enough to endure beyond infatuation. Caroline was certainly smart enough to learn from it.
She had a plan. And Mick wasn’t a part of it.
So, she’d laid out her calendar and studied each photo, trying to figure out what someone could do to vandalize it. It was interesting, the vandal didn’t always go after what Caroline considered the “spirit” of the photo—the celebrating team, or the whirl and light and color and energy of the crowd beneath the Ferris wheel.
Discovering if there had been any vandalism of the Natural Bridge, her January photo, proved frustrating; partially because she had to deal with the department of parks, and partially because she didn’t really know what she was looking for. It could have been anything, maybe nothing permanent enough to last until the spring hikers passed by. She’d voice-mailed, waited for return calls, and been passed from bureaucrat to uninformed worker for the better part of two days. In the end, she hadn’t been any farther ahead than when she’d started.
There was really no one she could call about the rural Appalachian cemetery. That would require a day on the road. Even then, she’d have to track down someone who might know if anything troublesome had happened last March. There were easier fish to catch. All she needed was one incident; then she’d head back to the police. More than three occurrences of targeted vandalism should be enough to indicate it was not coincidence.
As the days rushed by, she grew increasingly nervous. If in fact her wild idea was true, the Perryville Civil War Reenactment would be next—and that event was this coming weekend.
Wednesday morning, she tried calling the owners of the Lexington horse farm again. This time she got a real human instead of voice mail. Problem was, that human was the new hired help. After she had convinced him she really wasn’t casing the place for a robbery, he told her that the family had gone to the Caribbean for ten days. He said he had no knowledge of any vandalism last June, but then again, he’d only been on board for six weeks. He promised to ask the owners if they called and get back to her.
“How about neighbors?” Caroline pressed. “Could you check and see if any of them know if there was a problem?”
He sighed. “Really, ma’am, I have my hands full taking care of the place. But if I happen to see one of them, I’ll be sure and ask.”
“If you could give me their names, I’d be happy to make the calls.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, it’s not my place to do that.”
Well, it wasn’t your place to tell me the house was empty for ten days either, but that didn’t stop you. She kept the thought to herself. After giving him her number, she hung up.
If there had been a complaint filed, it would be public record. She tried the local sheriff’s department and got an overworked clerk who said their computer with the database of logged complaints was down.
That left Crystal Onyx Cave, the Morgan County courthouse, and a nature shot at Kingdom Come State Park. All public places. She decided to try her luck with searching newspaper archives. Unfortunately, most newspapers only offered the past seven days’ news online. She’d have to go to th
e library.
She looked at her watch. She should have just enough time before Macie’s volleyball game at four-thirty.
When she sat down at one of the library computers, she decided to bypass the most recent month, which would have been the Kingdom Come State Park. That was a photo of a black bear—how could anyone vandalize a bear?
She focused on the Morgan County courthouse; it was in the National Register of Historic Places. If anything had happened to it, surely there would have been some sort of coverage. She began with Lexington’s papers, but found nothing. Then she moved on to the place she probably should have started to begin with, the Licking Valley Courier, a weekly Morgan County newspaper.
She found what she was looking for in the third issue in May. The front-page headline was: VANDALS DESECRATE HISTORIC STRUCTURE. Below it were three black-and-white photos, one of the two-story brick courthouse taken in the thirties and two close-ups. One close-up showed the damage to the double doors of the entrance; the glass panes in the upper half of the doors had been broken and the wooden dividers between the panes hacked out. It appeared that someone had thrown a can of paint, marring the doors, their surrounding windows, and the threshold. The article said that the newspaper would not publish a photo of the graffiti that had been randomly placed around the building because of its offensive nature. There were no suspects at the time.
She checked the next six weeks’ papers. None of them had mention of a lead or an arrest.
After making a copy of the paper, she headed back to the police station.
Chief Marker actually moaned when she walked through the door. He was out in the lobby in plain sight, so there was no way he could have his secretary give her the runaround.
She waved the copy of the article in the air. “Now I have proof. That explosion did have something to do with my calendar.”
“Best bring that proof into my office,” he said as he headed in that direction.
She laid out the article and he read it. When he looked up, he asked, “So, were any arrests made after this vandalism?”
“I couldn’t find anything in the paper. But the damage was done in May, the same month that the courthouse is featured in my calendar. I figured you could check with the local police and see if they have any leads.”
He raised his brows. “You did, did you?”
Sliding forward in her seat, she said, “I didn’t come here to butt heads with you, or tell you how to do your job. But if this person is vandalizing the things in my calendar, the Perryville Reenactment is this weekend. Shouldn’t we at least call the Boyle County sheriff and give him a heads-up?”
“That reenactment takes place at the state historic site. Be state police jurisdiction.” His brow creased and he tilted his head. “Or maybe park ranger—”
“Whoever!” Caroline threw up her hands. “They need to know.”
“Hundreds of people go to that thing.”
“Which is why it’s so important that they watch for suspicious behavior before someone is hurt.” She’d studied the calendar photo again—she’d even gone over it with a magnifier. The only things in the photo were the reenactors, a couple of horses, and the weaponry, flags, trees, and grass. “I expect it’ll be something with the reenactment itself.”
He shook his head, rubbing his hand over his chin and mouth. “Suppose I should call—even though I don’t really believe there’s anything to this theory of yours.” He waved his hand between them. “Coincidence occasionally looks like something more.”
“You’ll call?” She wanted a definite answer.
“Yeah. I’ll sound like a blithering idiot, but I’ll call.”
“Thank you.” She got up. “Does this give you more to go on for the bombing of the scoreboard?”
He stood behind his desk. “Don’t see how. Nobody was arrested in t’other case.”
Caroline left, counting her visit a success, small as it was. If someone was attacking her subjects, of course she wanted it stopped—but she had a bigger worry. The December photo had Macie in it. She wasn’t identified, yet if this person was local… Caroline had to get this solved before December.
As Caroline was leaving the gym after Macie’s volleyball game, she ran into Mick. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
He held up a coat on a hanger inside a dry-cleaning bag. “Coach Handelman has called me four times to pick this up; I finally remembered.”
“Oh.” The reminder of the night of the explosion gave her a chill. The police wouldn’t listen; she decided to take a chance on Mick. “How about I buy you a soda at the vending machine? I want to ask your opinion on something.”
He nodded and followed her into the cafeteria.
Once in front of the vending machine, Caroline jingled several quarters in her hand. “Name your poison.”
“I see they haven’t gotten so ‘progressive’ as to include Budweiser in the selections, so I’ll go for Diet Coke.”
Caroline bought the drinks and they wandered back out to the lobby where there were some benches. Sitting down, she said, “I’ve been trying to think of a way not to sound like a wacko when I tell you this, but no matter how I phrase it in my mind, it sounds a little nuts.”
He stood in front of the bench and put his foot up on it. “Then just spit it out. We’ll sort out the crazy parts afterward.”
She explained her theory about the organized attack on her calendar subjects.
He listened without interrupting, then said, “I assume you’ve told the authorities.”
“More than once. I just left the police station before I came here. The chief still thinks it’s a coincidence.”
“A coincidence of four?” He sounded doubtful.
Emphasizing her words by pointing at Mick, she said, “That’s what I said! The chief doesn’t buy it—still insists the scoreboard bombing was kids from Springdale. At least he’s notifying the authorities before the Perryville reenactment this weekend.”
Mick rested his elbow on his knee. “That’s good. I don’t know what else you can do. It’s a shame, but maybe if they’re alert, they’ll catch them.”
“I don’t think it’s a them. I think it’s a him.” She told him of her encounter with the guy in the hoodie. “I thought maybe, with your background, you could help me figure out why somebody would target these things, and maybe come up with a profile—”
“Un-uh. Nope.” He straightened up and put his foot back on the floor. “This is something for the authorities. I don’t have the expertise for profiling.”
“I’m running out of time—and I’m not even able to convince the police that there is a connection.” She grabbed his hand. “Mick, Macie is in the December photo. I have to figure this out fast.”
He wrapped both of his hands around hers. “That’s why you need to leave this with the people who are trained in this sort of thing.” He straightened and let go of her hands. “Really, Caroline, I can’t help you. If you can’t convince the locals, call the state police or the Kentucky Bureau of Investigation. Somebody is sure to see the logic and investigate.”
“Of course I’ll make the calls, but can’t you at least think about it? Time is short, and they’ll probably put this on the back burner.” She stood and faced him. “Mick, I need your help.”
Mick nearly succumbed to her plea. She needed him. Those were words he’d thought he would rejoice over. But not now, not this way. He couldn’t do it; there was too much at stake. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
She stiffened. “Can’t? Or won’t?”
He swallowed his words of defense. If she knew how incompetent he was, she wouldn’t have asked. “Does it matter?”
She stared at him for a moment. “I think it does.”
“Both.”
He reached for the dry-cleaning bag.
Caroline grabbed his arm. “Just because you made one mistake in Chicago—”
He closed his eyes for a brief moment. “Caroline, you have no idea what you’re tal
king about.” And you made it clear that you don’t want to step into my mudhole with me. “You don’t want my help. You need someone competent. Go to the authorities.”
He picked up his coat without looking in her eyes; he couldn’t allow himself to change his mind.
As Caroline came in the back door, the telephone was ringing.
“Hello?”
“Is this Caroline Rogers?” a woman asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m Debra Larsen, Mick’s mother.”
“Oh, hello.” How did Mrs. Larsen know Caroline even knew Mick?
“I’d like to book a family portrait. My children are going to be here for Thanksgiving… We’re rarely together, so I’d like something special. Would it be possible for you to photograph us at our house?” She was speaking quickly, almost sounding nervous.
“Um, yes.” Did Mick put her up to this? “Would you like to schedule it on Friday after Thanksgiving?”
“Well, with a family of doctors, we’re not assured that everyone will still be here on Friday. Would it be too much of an imposition to do it sometime on Thanksgiving Day?” She rushed on, “I supposed that would be too much; I’m sure you have family obligations.”
“We’re flexible. There’s just my brother, sister, and I. When would you like to do it?”
“Let’s see. Perhaps you’d like to come around four and bring your brother and sister for dessert?”
A real family holiday, with lots of voices carrying on multiple conversations…
Debra Larsen didn’t pause long enough for her to decline. “We’ll see you at four on Thanksgiving Day, then.”
“Mrs. Larsen,” Caroline said just before the woman hung up.
“Yes?”
“Don’t you want to discuss options and my fee?”
“You’re so talented; I’ll leave the artistic options to you. And as for your fee, it really doesn’t matter; this is a special occasion. See you then.”
Debra Larsen hung up before Caroline could say anything else. She didn’t really know the woman, other than by sight. She’d never have pegged her to be so… fast talking. Caroline felt like she’d just had a conversation with a whirlwind.
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