The man also crouched and started handing her items. “Silas French,” he said, passing Birch her wallet.
She stopped shoveling and looked at him in surprise, then took the wallet but stood up without shaking the hand he continued to extend. “Thank you, Mr. French. I’m sorry for bumping into you,” she added tightly.
“Wait,” he said, catching hold of her arm. “It’s Miss Callahan, isn’t it?”
She turned back in time to see him glance up the sidewalk. “Yes, I’m Birch Callahan. And you’re the . . . gentleman who’s staying with Logan Kent.”
He lost his smile. “It sounds as if you don’t approve of my helping Logan make repairs to his house in exchange for room and board.” He winced. “Well, Logan may be providing the food, but I’ve taken over running the gas grill,” he said, darting another quick glance up the sidewalk.
“I hear he’s also providing you with money to purchase bees. Since when, Mr. French, does a hive cost three thousand dollars?”
“Excuse me?” His eyes widened. “No, he didn’t give me the money; Logan wrote the check directly to the supply house.” He ushered them out of the stream of foot traffic. “The hives themselves and protective clothing are relatively inexpensive, but honey extraction equipment can get costly. And I told Logan it’s actually more frugal to buy a high-quality extractor, and that he would be better off getting an electric one.”
“You don’t think starting a beekeeping business is something he should have discussed with his wife before he raided their savings? Which,” she added when he tried to speak, “Logan refused to touch for a new cookstove.”
“But the bees could double his investment by this fall,” he countered, even as another grin tugged at his mouth. “Which Logan tried to explain to Noreen when she called this morning.”
“You have no business interfering in their—why do you keep looking up the sidewalk?” she asked when he did it again.
“I’ve been hoping to meet you on one of my trips to town to see if together we couldn’t find a way for Logan and Noreen to reconcile—or that was my plan before your boyfriend warned me off,” he said dryly, grinning again when Birch felt her jaw slacken. “That is definitely one man I don’t want to cross.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Tall? Green eyes? Wears a badge?” His eyes lit with amusement. “Have you told Chief MacKeage you two aren’t dating?”
“We’re not—he actually warned you off?” Birch repeated as she glanced up the sidewalk. She took a calming breath. “Look, Mr. French.”
“Please, call me Silas,” he said . . . expectantly.
She didn’t reciprocate the offer. “If you truly wish to see Noreen and Logan get back together, then I suggest you pack up and move on. Now if you will excuse me,” she said, turning away—only to nearly walk into the young girl standing directly behind her. “Oh, hey there. Are you lost?” she asked when she realized the girl couldn’t be more than eleven or twelve years old. She looked up and down the sidewalk then toward the park. “Did you get separated from your parents?”
“Are you Birch Callahan?”
“That would be me,” Birch said, smiling into her frantic brown eyes. “What can I do for you, sweetie?” Realizing Mr. French hadn’t taken her advice to move on, Birch slid her arm around the girl’s shoulders and began walking toward the Trading Post. “How about we start with your name?”
“I’m not supposed to tell you my name.” She stopped and began pulling Birch back toward the church. “I’ve been looking all over town for you, and Mom’s probably worried sick that I’ve been gone so long.”
“Where is she?” Birch asked, not fighting her.
The nameless girl stopped again and leaned closer. “She’s hiding in a gravel pit outside of town,” she said, nodding to the north.
“Who’s she hiding from?” Birch asked softly.
“My dad.” She started off again. “We gotta go get her so you can take us to that house you run, where we’ll be safe. But Mom said she won’t trust no one but you and that you gotta come alone.”
“Is there a problem?” Silas French asked from right behind them.
Ignoring him, Birch redirected the girl toward the cart and urged her into the passenger seat. “It’ll be quicker if we take the cart,” she explained when the girl started to protest. “You wait here while I run inside and get the key. I’ll just be a minute,” she added as she turned and headed for the Bottoms Up.
Silas French stepped between her and the door. “Maybe I should go with you,” he said quietly, obviously having overheard their conversation.
“Better yet, maybe you should start minding your own business.”
He caught hold of her arm again when she tried to step around him. “What if the husband shows up while you’re there? The only gravel pit I know of north of here is at least two miles away and rather isolated.”
“Le maudit tannant,” she snapped, jerking free—only to stumble back when he released her in surprise.
“Did you just cuss at me?”
“You’re lucky that’s all I did,” she growled, taking advantage of several patrons walking out of the Bottoms Up to dart around him and slip inside. She immediately ran to the window to make sure the girl was still sitting in the cart and saw Silas French jogging in the opposite direction he’d been going when she’d first bumped into him.
Or more precisely, in the direction of the police station.
“Nosy, annoying man,” she muttered, making her way to the bar as she searched for a police uniform. She veered left when she spotted Officer Sheppard heading to a recently vacated table and caught hold of his sleeve. “I need you to follow me,” she said as he cooperatively—unlike certain members of the police force—let her drag him along. “There’s a mother in trouble hiding in a gravel pit two miles north of here, and she wants me to come alone because she doesn’t trust anyone.” She hopped up onto the bar’s footrail. “Macie, I need that key back,” she called down the bar. Birch looked at Officer Sheppard. “She sent her daughter to find me, and I’m taking the girl in the cart to go get her mother. Can you follow us without being seen?”
He grinned. “You won’t even know I’m there,” he said, turning away.
She caught hold of his sleeve again. “Wait. Call your boss and tell him to ignore whatever the man coming to the station says, and explain that you’re with me.”
He gave a nod and headed for the door that connected the Bottoms Up to the Drunken Moose—so the girl wouldn’t see his uniform, Birch realized. Oh, she really liked these new police officers, since they seemed to take her concerns seriously.
Well, okay; Niall had taken her getting run off the road seriously, to the point he’d turned into a caveman and actually forbidden her to go anywhere alone.
Not that she wanted to go anywhere alone while someone was trying to kill her.
“Thanks, Macie,” she said, taking the key and hopping down off the footrail. “If I don’t get the cart back to you later today, someone will pick you up at nine,” she added with a wave as she headed for the door.
This time Birch checked up and down the sidewalk to make sure the coast was clear, then walked over and got in the cart and shoved the key in the ignition. She patted the young girl’s knee, giving her a brilliant smile. “You leave everything to me, sweetie. I’ll have you and your mom safely settled at the shelter before supper,” she promised, glancing over her shoulder and backing into the road when a hole opened in the traffic. “And I hope you both brought your appetites, because I’m pretty sure I saw Noreen putting a huge turkey in the oven this afternoon.”
Chapter Fifteen
Niall stopped at the bottom of his station stairs and tapped the notes icon on his phone, opened the list of vehicles he intended to ask Sam to check out, and added the Quebec plate number of the L
exus parked at the top of the lane. He was likely more optimistic than efficient for noting all the Canadian plates he came across, but the only way he knew to find a needle in a haystack was to roll up his sleeves and start looking. Quebec and New Brunswick were neighboring provinces, and Hazel had said Leonard had an Ontario driver’s license, but he wasn’t ruling out vehicles from any provinces.
Not that Birch’s attacker couldn’t have already ditched the white car and simply gotten a rental in Maine. Hell, half the vehicles in town belonged to overseas tourists who had flown into Bangor International Airport and rented cars to make the three-hour drive into the wilderness.
“Chief MacKeage,” a man called out, making Niall look up to see Silas French loping down the lane. “I happened to run into Miss Callahan coming out of the Bottoms Up,” Silas said when he reached him, “and thought you might like to know she’s leaving town in that golf cart with a young girl. From what I overheard, the girl’s mother is hiding in a gravel pit north of here.” A terse grin lifted one side of his mouth. “My offer to accompany them was answered with a French cuss and the suggestion that I mind my own business.” He sobered. “The reason I’m telling you is that I heard what happened with the Vaughns, and it occurred to me things could get ugly if this woman’s husband suddenly showed up.”
Well, so much for not going anywhere alone—although Niall wasn’t surprised Birch had grown tired of behaving herself, considering five entire days had passed with no one trying to kill her. Nay, he wasn’t surprised, but he definitely intended to go after her. “I thank you for your concern, Mr. French,” he said as he slipped his phone in his pocket, figuring he could catch the cart within a mile. But even before he took a step, Niall felt his phone vibrate and pulled it out to find Jake’s name on the screen. “MacKeage,” he said, only to slowly relax as the man filled him in on what was going on. “I trust ye can keep an eye on them without being seen? Okay, call me if you need backup,” he added when Jake promised even the squirrels wouldn’t see him.
“I thank you for your concern, Mr. French,” Niall repeated as he mounted the station steps. “One of my officers is with Birch.”
“That’s it?” Silas said, making Niall turn and look down at him. “Logan told me word in town is your two new officers aren’t from around here and that no one knows anything about them. Are you really going to leave your girlfriend’s welfare in the hands of a man you met less than a week ago?”
Niall found himself wondering if Mr. French simply had a bad habit of sticking his nose in other people’s business or if the overly concerned idiot hadn’t taken his warning about Birch seriously. “I didn’t hire Jake and Cole for their looks. Good luck negotiating with Titus,” he added over his shoulder as he strode into the station.
But Niall didn’t make it two steps inside before he was brought to a halt by a silence thick enough to taste as Hazel pulled her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk and stood up. He didn’t believe the possibility she’d overheard his conversation with French had anything to do with the decidedly awkward silence, but more likely the gentleman sitting in a chair across the room.
“Niall,” Hazel said as the man also stood up and approached them. “This is Claude St. Germaine. Ah . . . Birch’s father.”
She needn’t have bothered with the clarification, as the resemblance was undeniable. Other than his height and age, Claude St. Germaine could be a male version of Birch—right down to his eyes, hair color, and several defining facial features. Hell, there certainly wasn’t any question which parent had given Birch her direct stare. “Mr. St. Germaine,” Niall said as he shook his hand, pleased to note the man’s firm grip.
“I respond well to Claude, Chief MacKeage.”
“And Niall works for me,” Niall offered, turning and walking behind his desk. He picked up the small pile of memos on his blotter and shuffled through them. “Would that be your red Lexus parked at the top of the lane?”
“Yes. It probably looks familiar because it was purchased at the same time as my daughter’s,” Claude said, making Niall lift his gaze at the amusement in the man’s voice. “Birch insisted mine also be red, and since she was buying, I didn’t argue.”
A soft snort sounded off to his right, and Niall looked over to see Hazel’s nose all but buried in her purse as she industriously searched for something. “Don’t feel ye have to stay glued to the office when I’m not here, Hazel. Just lock the door and go sit in the park or out on the docks to eat your lunch, if ye wish.”
She lowered her purse with a quick glance at Claude before looking at Niall. “I wasn’t waiting for you; I’m waiting for Sam. He’s taking me to Turtleback this afternoon so I can check out station sites several business owners have generously offered.”
Instead of being amazed that in five days Hazel had accomplished what he hadn’t been able to in three months, Niall honed in on the fact Sam was taking her. “Does Birch know you’re going?” he asked. Just you and Sam, he refrained from adding. Alone. For an entire afternoon and likely most of the evening.
After another glance at Claude, Hazel gave Niall an impressively militant look as her chin lifted. “No, she doesn’t. I intend to call Birch from Turtleback and let her know I’m away on business and won’t be home for dinner.”
Niall caught himself also glancing at Mr. St. Germaine, apparently hoping for some sort of help, only to see the man lower his head on what appeared to be a sigh—but not quickly enough for Niall to miss his grin.
“Yes. Well,” Hazel said when an awkward silence filled the station again. “I guess I’ll go see what’s keeping Sam.” She opened the door but stopped and looked back at Niall. “Are you comfortable letting me choose the station site?”
“Aye, if you promise to consider Sam’s advice on the matter.”
That militant look was replaced by a twinkle. “He will have my undivided attention,” she said deadpan, striding outside and closing the door behind her.
“How well do you know Sam?” Claude asked as Hazel’s steps faded away.
Niall sat down and gestured at the chair opposite his desk. “Well enough to assure you he’s not interested in her money.”
That got him a chuckle. “It’s not me you need to assure, but my daughter,” Claude said, also sitting down. “You might want to warn your friend that Hazel comes with a formidable watchdog.”
“I believe Sam is aware of Hazel’s . . . history with men.” Niall leaned back in his chair. “Can I ask why ye came to see the chief of police upon arriving in town rather than your daughter?”
“Before I answer that, I have the same question as Mr. French, only instead of a concerned citizen, I’m asking as her father. Is Birch really in good hands right now?”
“I wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t. Jake is more than capable of getting everyone back to town safely.”
His visitor’s eyes narrowed. “I heard French call Birch your girlfriend, yet not once in our recent phone conversations did my daughter mention she was seeing anyone.”
Niall decided he liked Claude St. Germaine. Not only did the man obviously love his daughter enough to travel from Montreal to see her; it was equally obvious he was Birch’s formidable watchdog. Niall answered the unspoken challenge with a shrug. “I imagine she didn’t say anything because she’s still getting used to the notion.” He tossed the memos down on the desk and folded his arms over his chest. “So if sizing up your daughter’s new boyfriend isn’t the reason you’re here, what is?”
Claude also leaned back and propped an ankle on one of his knees. “Actually, I am here to size you up,” he admitted. “But as a cop. I wanted to meet you in person to decide if you have what it takes to protect my daughter and Hazel from the bastards who are after them, or if I’ll have to break a few American laws and do it myself.”
“There’s more than one?” Niall asked, not knowing which alarmed him more—that the man had just c
onfirmed someone truly had tried to kill Birch or the fact there were several people involved. “Are ye saying it’s not Leonard Struthers?”
“Leonard Struthers is dead.” Claude gave a soft snort. “For the second time. They fished his body out of the Saint Lawrence some thirty miles upriver of Quebec City the same day as Birch’s accident. It was decided he’d been in the water over a week, which means it wasn’t Hazel’s fourth husband driving that white car.”
“Birch told you about the accident?”
“She called me the next evening and told me what had happened and who she suspected. But then she told me not to worry, because there were three badass police officers protecting her.” Claude’s eyes filled with amusement. “And that one officer in particular had gotten really good at saving her butt.”
Which told Niall that Birch had called her father after she’d spent the night in his bed. “Did she also mention that I threatened to hunt her down if she left town without one of us accompanying her?”
Claude nodded. “That was the reason I didn’t tell her about the body in the river until I had a positive ID, and also why I didn’t show up here the next morning.” His grin finally broke free. “I figured any man brave enough to order Birch not to do something was more than capable of protecting her.”
“Exactly what have I been protecting her from?” Niall asked.
His visitor’s amusement vanished. “I don’t know exactly; at this point I’m only speculating, based on what I’ve pieced together since Birch told me Leonard Struthers had tried to mortgage their house.” Claude dropped his foot and leaned forward. “His real name was Jacques Rabideu, and he’d assumed six identities that I know of over the last twenty years—likely taken from recently deceased men in other provinces.”
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