by Lyn Cote
With her at his side, Ridge climbed the steps to Milo’s apartment. He found Milo and Ben at the kitchen table. Ben was holding a wet dishcloth against the back of Milo’s head. “Ridge, he’s hurt. He hit his head,” Ben said.
Sylvie hurried to her father’s side.
“Milo,” Ridge asked, “how bad are you?”
“It’s not just my head,” Milo admitted. “I think I may have broken some ribs and I banged up my knee pretty good. I had trouble walking up here. Ben had to help me. I don’t think I can walk.”
Ridge sank into the kitchen chair opposite Milo and called dispatch again to request medical assistance. Dispatch told him that Keir had already put in a call to Ashford Hospital. When Ridge hung up, he looked around at the disaster area which now comprised Milo’s apartment. “Did you get a good look at him?”
Ben answered, “He was wearing that snowmobile mask and was wearing dark clothing. That’s all I saw.”
“Me, too,” Milo muttered. “It all happened so fast. We were just walking up the steps…” The older man’s voice faltered.
“That’s what happened,” Ben put in. “We were just walking up the steps and he ran right at us. He knocked us clear off our feet. And then he ran away. We wanted to follow him, but Milo’s knee hurt him and I didn’t want to leave him.”
Ridge welcomed the noise of an ambulance siren in the distance. Getting Milo help, as well as Ben and Sylvie somewhere safe, was a priority. It would also free him up to get back to the hunt.
Hours later, Ridge was finally able to enter Milo’s hospital room. Had it just been a couple of days since he was here as a patient?
When he glanced at the bed, he found Milo, lying with his eyes closed. And on the bed beside Milo, curled up like a puppy, was Ben. Sitting in the chair by the bed, Sylvie opened her eyes and looked to Ridge. “How are you?” she asked in her soft voice.
Her genuine concern for him wrapped around his heart, warm and comforting. How like her to think of others before herself. “I’m fine. Just irritated that I can’t catch this guy. I can’t believe he had the nerve to break into your apartment in broad daylight.”
“It does speak of desperation. I wonder what he’s looking for.” She shook her head and grimaced as though annoyed with herself. She gave a half laugh. “Of course, if we knew that, there would be no more questions.”
He shrugged.
Welcoming the opportunity for a break, Sylvie stood. Ridge looked as though he needed one, too. “Let’s step outside for a few minutes. I need some fresh air. They’ll be fine here.” She smiled at the bed.
He walked beside her down the hall, into the elevator and then out through the emergency entrance. Tonight, a breath of spring was in the air, softening it and bringing the hope of daffodils and tulips. She breathed again deeply. Gratefully.
“Did they find out anything about the man who broke into our apartment?”
He shook his head.
She led him down the walk toward the city street and finally voiced what she was thinking though it pained her. “You still want to leave, don’t you? Can’t you persuade your boss that this is a lost cause?”
“You know why I’m staying. There’s a murderer still at large here. You’re still at risk.”
She paused beside a cement retaining wall. She leaned against it, folded her arms, crossed her ankles and gazed into his eyes. “You can’t protect me day and night. You know that, right?”
He ignored her comment. “How is Ben taking all this?”
“Ben is fine. Or will be. They’re just keeping my father overnight for observation. I’ll pick him up in the morning.”
“Good. Sylvie, I want you to take me seriously—”
The sheriff’s Jeep roared up the lane to the emergency room. Keir slammed on his brakes, got out and walked over to them. “How are you doing, Sylvie? How’s Milo?”
She smiled and nodded. “We’ll mend.” She hoped he didn’t see her lower lip tremble.
“Have you found anything new?” Ridge demanded.
Keir pulled his lips back in a silent snarl. “Not much. But we haven’t given up. Sylvie, I’m afraid you won’t be able to go home tonight. I have a deputy going over every millimeter of your apartment. That’s going to take all night. And probably most of tomorrow.”
This was not welcome news to her. But she had expected it. Crime scenes were becoming a part of her life—unfortunately.
“Have you found anything new?” Ridge repeated.
Keir grimaced.
“I think I should go back inside,” Sylvie said, suspecting that they would like to speak alone. She started to move away.
“Just a moment, Sylvie. I know I’ve asked you this before, but can’t you think of any hiding place in your apartment?”
“Sheriff, after the first time someone broke in and attacked Rae-Jean while she was staying with us, my dad and I went over and over this. We couldn’t think of anyplace or anything.”
Keir spread his arms wide. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”
Ridge and the sheriff watched Sylvie reenter the emergency room entrance. Then Ridge demanded, “Okay, what have you got?”
“The intruder shed his mask. Trish found it tossed under someone’s front steps only a block from Milo’s. Or we think it must be the intruder’s mask. It matched the description that you and Milo gave of the one you saw. And no one in the house where it was found or the surrounding neighbors claimed it as theirs.”
“So he shed the mask and became just somebody in town. Not our fleeing suspect.”
Keir nodded grimly, his arms folded high and tight. “You told me that you thought it might have been Doyle Keski who robbed Ollie’s convenience store.”
Ridge nodded, feeling as grim as Keir looked.
“Do you think this was Doyle Keski?”
“It’s hard to say. But I think this man was taller and had a larger build than Keski has. And the guy in the convenience store robbery wore a knit ski mask and the guy today was wearing a snowmobiling mask.”
“Yeah,” the sheriff agreed, “you’re right. This guy was wearing a snowmobiling mask that just covers the front of the face with a band around the back so it will fit under a snowmobiling helmet.”
“Right, I mean, it’s not like he couldn’t own both a knit ski mask and a snowmobiling mask, but why would he use different face coverings for different crimes?”
The sheriff shrugged. “I’m going home. I’ll have a full day tomorrow going over everything that Trish finds tonight. I don’t know if I’ll be able to shut my brain off and sleep. But I’m going to try.”
“I’m going back in. I need to take Sylvie to Shirley and Tom’s. When Sylvie called to tell them that Milo was in the hospital, they invited Sylvie and Ben to spend the night with them.”
The sheriff turned away. “Good.” Soon after a weary wave, he drove away.
Ridge stared up into the darkening sky. God, please cut us some slack. Just one break. That’s all we need to get this guy.
Ridge walked back into the hospital, wishing he was as confident as Sylvie about God’s loving care. Upstairs, he helped Sylvie into her coat. Milo said Ben wanted to sleep on a cot beside Milo’s bed instead of leaving. Ridge agreed and parked his car in the alley behind Shirley and Tom’s house. Sylvie surprised him by sending Ben ahead into the house.
“Ridge, you’ve been wanting me to go away. And I have resisted you. Because it just doesn’t feel right to leave my family at this time. But perhaps I am endangering my father and Ben.”
These were welcome words. “I’m glad you’re finally seeing sense—”
“I think I should move into the apartment above my shop. Then I wouldn’t endanger anyone else.”
Ridge slapped the steering wheel once. “Over my dead body. That would be like baiting a trap.”
“I hadn’t thought of it like that. Maybe that’s just what we should do.”
Not wishing to be rude, Ridge made no response. He got ou
t of the vehicle and went around and opened the door for Sylvie.
She looked up at him in the low light radiating from the back of Shirley’s house. “Ridge, you may not like it, but my moving to Ginger’s apartment might flush out her murderer.”
He leaned close to her face and declared, “I don’t want to hear another word about this.”
Sylvie stood up and Ridge did not step back. They were face-to-face, nose-to-nose. “I’m going to suggest it to the sheriff.”
“He will never agree to such a thing.”
“We’ll see about that.”
NINE
Sylvie stared at Ridge, her jaw set. Why couldn’t he see that this made perfect sense? “I thought you wanted to get back to Madison.”
“Do you think I want to get back to my regular job at the expense of your safety, possibly your life?”
She’d exhaled loudly in disgust. “This can’t go on unresolved. Something has to be done.”
“I don’t believe you. We just left your father at the hospital with broken ribs. Didn’t that teach you anything?”
His undeniable concern flowed through her like July sunshine. But she couldn’t let that sway her. “We can’t go on like this. The tension is getting to all of us. And there was too much going on already.”
“What do you mean by that?”
They were so close that his warm breath fanned against her cheek. “I mean that Tom and Shirley lost Ginger. I mean that Chaney and Rae-Jean have to decide what to do about their marriage. I mean Ben is just now getting settled with us. And you want to take him away.” Reciting the litany of all the things that hurt her family this month hit her afresh. Embarrassing tears filled her eyes. She turned her head away quickly so he wouldn’t see them.
His strong hands gripped her shoulders once again. “You need to listen to me. You don’t know murderers. I do.”
Facing him again, she leaned her head against his broad, reassuring shoulder. “Ridge, I’m just so tired. I want to end this. I’m willing to do anything to make that happen.” Her agitation drained away; all she wanted was to stand here close to Ridge. Here she was safe. But that was an illusion.
He made a hissing sound of disapproval. “Let’s get you inside. You’re dead on your feet.” He pulled her forward, shut and locked the car door behind her.
Sylvie let him lead her up the back walk with his hand under her elbow. Her head ached. Her hip ached. She felt a little dizzy.
At the top of the back steps, Shirley threw the door wide-open. “We’ve been waiting for you. How is Milo?”
“He’ll be home tomorrow.” Sylvie let Ridge help her up the steps into the warm, bright kitchen.
Though she longed for Ridge’s embrace, she went right into her aunt Shirley’s arms.
“Are you sure Milo’s all right?” Shirley asked again, holding Sylvie close. Aunt Shirley’s fragrance, lily of the valley, further calmed Sylvie, filled her with memories of protection.
Ridge answered for her, “He’ll be released tomorrow. Shirley, Sylvie is exhausted.”
Shirley said nothing but took Sylvie’s hand and led her toward the hallway.
Sylvie halted, looking back at Ridge, taking in the way he watched her with such concern. But she couldn’t give in. “I am going to talk to the sheriff about my idea. He might have a different opinion than yours.”
Ridge frowned at her and waved a hand. “Go to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”
Looking at him was risky. He’d claimed some of her heart again. So after one last reluctant glance at Ridge, Sylvie followed Shirley into the hallway.
Ridge stepped closer to Tom and in an undertone said, “I’m going to sleep on your sofa tonight.”
Tom gazed at him. “Do you think that’s necessary?”
Ridge nodded, his lips tight. “I wish it weren’t.”
“You and me both.” Tom turned and over his shoulder, motioned Ridge to follow him. In the dimly lit living room, Tom waved Ridge to the sofa. “I’d give you a bed if we had one left. I’ll go get you a pillow.”
Tom delivered the pillow and a blanket and left Ridge alone. Divested of his outercoat, Ridge stood in the darkened living room alone. He listened to the sounds of the house and neighborhood. A dog barking in the distance. The creaking of the old floor as someone moved overhead. The loud ticking of the mantel clock. Nothing could have been more peaceful than this setting.
He unhooked his shoulder holster and took it off. Following routine, he checked his gun. Then he slipped the Glock underneath the pillow where he could reach it within seconds. Sitting down on the couch, he unlaced his shoes and slipped them off. After stretching his arms overhead, loosening his tense neck and shoulders and gently probing the tender spot on the back of his head, he lay down and stared up at the ceiling.
Just like this quiet home, Winfield was deceptively peaceful tonight. But evil prowled in the shadows. He had to come up with some way to protect Sylvie. From the murderer. From her own reckless idea.
Several miles away at Bugsy’s, the barkeep, Joe Novinsky, locked the last customer out. If it had been a hot summer night, he would have stayed open until 2:00 a.m. But in the late winter, he usually closed up well before midnight. He shuffled back toward the bar to wash up the last few glasses. He’d clean up the rest in the morning.
Just before he went behind the bar again, he heard movement behind him. He swung around. Some guy with a knit ski mask over his face was pointing a sawed-off shotgun at Joe’s chest. In forty years of bartending, Joe had only been in this situation twice before. He hadn’t wanted to make it three. Especially, he hoped, not if three strikes meant he would be out.
“Open the cash register!” the robber shouted in the quiet room. “Move it. Move it.”
Joe didn’t argue. His life was worth more than the lousy till. He pushed a key and the cash register drawer popped open.
“Put it in this!” The robber shoved a paper bag at Joe.
Joe quickly emptied the till into the bag and handed it over.
“Get down on the floor! Facedown! Put your hands behind your neck! Stay that way!”
Joe obeyed and then heard the sound of footsteps running away. He felt the rush of cold air when the door opened and closed. He lay there for several more minutes listening to the sound of a rough motor roaring to life and then racing away at high speed.
Finally, he pushed himself up onto his knees, grabbed the seat of a nearby chair and pushed himself up straight. His old bones sure ached tonight. He cursed quietly. After looking outside, he walked over to the telephone and dialed 911. How dumb could the guy with the gun be? The answer was painfully obvious.
Ridge blinked his eyes. He rubbed them with the heels of his hands. Then he heard it again. His cell phone was ringing. He pulled it off the coffee table and flipped it open. He glanced at the luminous dial of his watch. It was nearly twelve-thirty at night.
“Sorry to bother you so late,” the sheriff apologized. “But there’s been a holdup at Bugsy’s. It might be the guy who robbed Ollie’s convenience store.”
“Did you nab him?” Ridge swallowed a yawn.
“No, but the barkeep says he thinks he knows who it is. Do you want to come with me to question the barkeep and maybe pick up the suspect?”
Ridge hesitated, again fighting the deceptive peace of this place. “I’m sleeping at Tom and Shirley’s house. If I come out to you, would you have a deputy come and sit outside in the alley behind Shirley’s while I’m gone?”
“No problem. See you there.” The sheriff hung up.
When Ridge arrived, the sheriff’s Jeep was already parked beside Bugsy’s door. Yawning, Ridge got out and let himself into the tavern. The sheriff and an older guy with a bald head and gray stubble on his chin sat at one of the small tables. Ridge wondered if this was a worthless trip or if this might connect with Ginger’s murder. But then most of police work was comprised of worthless trips, endless questions and general frustration.
The sheri
ff greeted Ridge laconically. “Joe here says he thinks he knows who the robber is.”
“Yeah—” Joe nodded at Ridge “—the guy could star on the Stupid Thieves show. Or is it Stupid Criminals—that special they do sometimes on TV.”
Ridge slumped into the chair between the two men. “Let me guess. Doyle Keski.”
“Not bad,” the older guy said.
“How did you come up with that one?” Keir asked, sounding impressed.
Ridge shrugged. “We went to high school together. Doyle hasn’t changed much. Did you see his face?”
“No, he was wearing a ski mask.”
Ridge sat up straighter. “A ski mask or a snowmobile mask?”
“A ski mask—a knitted hat with holes for eyes and mouth. Not a snowmobile mask with a strap around the head that fits under the helmet.” Joe showed the difference with his hands.
Interesting. Was this two men or one man with two kinds of masks? “Okay. Go on.”
“Doyle was in here tonight drinking,” the old guy said with a half smile. “He must have gone into the bathroom right before closing and just stayed in there. In the summer tourist season, I usually check the restrooms before shutting down for the night. But not in the winter months with just locals. I mean, the snowmobiling season is even over. It’s been dead around here.”
Ridge wished the guy would get to the point. So far none of this had anything to do with the case he’d stayed in Winfield to solve.
“Anyway, when I locked the door tonight,” Joe continued, “I noticed that old rust bucket Keski calls a truck was out in the parking lot. And after the robber left and I got up, I looked out and the truck was gone. Unbelievable.” The older guy shook his head.
That sounded to Ridge like the kind of thing the teenage Keski, whom he recalled from high school, would’ve done. Obviously, he hadn’t expanded brainwise since he left high school.