by T. F. Walsh
“Have you told the important people?”
“The police know. And Daryl. Half a dozen others.” Her phrases came spaced, gentle, disconnected from normal conversation.
“I understand.” Sympathy. Pity. He’d seen so much of it from well-intentioned people. Grief took a million forms. Wounds healed one cell at a time. He pictured his own invisible ones wearing thin, fragile scabs apt to pop off at an inopportune time to damage him and anyone standing close.
“Do you . . . ” She reached out and touched his hook with one finger. “Does this haunt you? Nightmares?”
“It has.” He won a skirmish to keep his voice steady. They came less frequently now, skipped a night or two in special circumstances. His parents claimed not to hear them but he figured it came down to their way of giving him a bit of adult privacy. He lifted his prosthesis until it hovered across his chest. “Go ahead. Touch it all you want.”
“Wounds.” She slipped one hand under the metal and inspected the smooth clamp in the soft light. “Scott lost two fingertips in his dad’s woodshop. I miss . . . his unique clasp . . . and . . . Am I rambling?”
“I like the sound of your voice.” The feel of you. All of you.
He watched her fingers against metal across his lap, delicate, as if playing soft music on the piano. If he closed his eyes could he feel it? He breathed deep and captured a trace of floral shampoo. “Let’s get you inside.”
A few minutes later, he lingered on the back porch, mesmerized by her simple action of removing her coat.
“Do you want a cup of coffee? I found a jar of instant decaf. It wouldn’t take long at all.”
“Laura.” He stepped forward and caressed her cheek with his thumb. Coffee wasn’t on his mind. “May I?”
He didn’t hear any objection from her over the rush of his own blood as he leaned the final inches to her lips. Salt and promises greeted him. Could he ever get his fill?
She shifted and he backed away from the edge of an invisible whirlpool.
He glanced at the tiny space between them to see her hands wrapped in the open portion of his jacket. With one finger he touched her chin, urged her to look at him. “I’ll never hurt you. Can you believe me?”
“I want to.”
He forced the next kiss to be soft and brief. “I’ll be there when you’re ready.”
She released his coat and nodded.
Brad walked to his truck with patience and lust facing off inside his chest.
Chapter Thirteen
“Mail call!” Brad stepped into The Sunrise Café five minutes after the scheduled closing time, prepared to set today’s mail next to the cash register. His gaze skimmed over a young brunette at the counter, returned to her, and halted. “Beel?”
“In the flesh.” Kimberly Beel slid off the stool and met him in the center of the empty dining area. “You should keep better track of your friends, Asher.”
He blinked at the familiar voice. Four years of her distinct blend of Swedish German Midwest American accent swept into his ears with pleasant memories. Her presence brought images of ROTC and engaging discussions in tiny cafés along with the guilt of broken promises to keep in touch. “I got busy.”
“I heard.”
How much? Who from? He gazed into her eyes but didn’t see pity, and he smiled.
“Before you two get cozy could I have my bills and advertisements?” Amy stepped past with the condiments she collected at the close of business.
“Did you handle introductions?” Brad separated the café mail from the two pieces for Frieberg Investigations.
“Affirmative,” Kimberly replied. “Turns out I selected the right place to inquire about you. And your sister makes good coffee, too.”
“She does.” He nodded to buy a little time. The years since graduation looked kind on her. Her smooth, cheerful face contained eyes that looked back at him in a serious but friendly manner. “Sorry about dropping out of the loop a few years back. Did you come to the thriving metropolis of Crystal Springs for vacation?”
“I stopped in to check out a rumor.”
“Any particular one?” He skimmed through a mental list of mutual friends who may have been passing her information.
“Can we talk in private?” Kimberly glanced around the deserted dining area.
Running water, the clink of stoneware plates, and rattle of silverware from the kitchen area confirmed Amy and her husband, Jim, were cleaning up after a business day.
“Yes, ma’am. I share an office two doors down.” He picked up his insulated mug of coffee from the end of the counter and pointed to her “to go” container. “Follow me.”
“Better step lively. I beat you four out of five in the three mile run.”
“Ancient history.”
Four minutes later, Brad waved her into one desk chair and settled into the other. The years without contact shrank into days. Her comments on the lack of personal touches in the office prompted his simple reply. “It’s a male thing.”
“Am I trespassing then?”
“Negative. You’re exactly where you should be.”
She set her coffee on the edge of Daryl’s desk and plowed her hands through a purse large enough to be an overnight bag. She tossed a matchbook in his direction. “Remember this place?”
Brad glanced at the logo. “Good times. We shared a lot of conversations over their pizza. How many usually? Five? Six? Couple of times the staff ran us out to clean up.”
“The group of us solved the world’s problems numerous times on State Street.”
He handed back the matches and lowered his voice to a confidential pitch. “So, Ms. Beel, what necessitated an in-person visit to Crystal Springs?”
“Do you remember my stories about Uncle James in Kenosha?”
He nodded, tucked his prosthesis close, and dangled his hand off his knee. “He sounded like the sort of lighthearted character every family should have. How is he?”
“I’ve come from his funeral.”
He closed his eyes and dipped his head in shame. Stepped in it all the up to my knee that time. The soft hum of multiple computers became obvious as the only sound. “Condolences. Can you excuse my clumsiness?”
She sighed. “That’s why I’m here. His death. Not the funeral.”
“Sudden?”
“He drowned in his hot tub New Year’s Eve. Early evening. The police are calling it an accident.”
“And you don’t believe them.” He pulled a legal pad close.
“Uncle James built apartments. He wasn’t above greasing palms to speed permits and that sort of thing. I’m ninety-nine percent sure he cheated on his taxes.” She sipped coffee and took her time to fix her gaze on his face. “It’s the nature of his business to collect enemies. I don’t know if he gathered any capable of killing him. Actually, I don’t have much.”
He waited until she turned her gaze to the door as if re-considering the entire conversation. “Tell me what you have. In certain circumstances we’ve more flexibility than the police.”
“The day before yesterday my parents and I went through his house. Something . . . the atmosphere . . . the tone . . . it was off.”
“Anything missing? Tools? Jewelry?”
“A box of candy,” she laughed. “The police inquired and inspected for all the usual valuable things. My parents are working on an inventory of James’ antique cuff link collection but the rooms weren’t tossed.” She tilted her head as if questioning her word choice.
“Go on.”
“Uncle James always took candy as a hostess gift to parties. He was due at a party an hour or less after the official time of death. He’d told Mother a few days before his gift would be maple sugar candies. Not a sign of the box.”
“Did your mother happen to see it earlier in the day?”
“Negative. Her phone conversation wasn’t enough to override the accidental drowning finding.”
“Business partner?”
“Questioned by the det
ectives. Solid alibi, in meetings with several witnesses.” She pushed one hand through sculpted mahogany hair. “Am I delusional?”
He ignored her question and pulled a case intake form out of his desk drawer. “Let’s start with the basics. I need names, dates, addresses, and everything you ever might put in an ‘after action’ report.”
A few questions sent her searching in the depths of her bag for addresses and phone numbers but for the most part she sat calm and alert, the same demeanor valued in a soldier.
“My partner will make the final decision if we can take your case. And it won’t come cheap.” Brad figured they’d take it. Their only complicated case—Carlstead—finished off clean before noon yesterday. The man was in custody and facing a list of charges by two states and the federal government.
“Sooner is better than later.” She fumbled once more in her purse and handed him a business card. “My parents have keys to his place and promised me they wouldn’t move anything out for another week.”
“We’ll get back to you within twenty-four hours.” He took a second glance at her card, tucked it under the clip holding his notes together, and pushed to his feet. “Hotel management in Bemidji. Do you like the far North?”
“It’s good.” She stepped through the front area of the building. “My fiancé works with Minnesota Forestry.”
“Anyone I know?”
She shook her head and launched into a brief description of when and where she’d met Benjamin Larson.
They stood in front of her car, the years without contact evaporated. Brad could still picture her at the end of an exercise keeping up with the best.
“Call me.” She reached up and pulled him into a warm hug. “Don’t lose any more body parts.”
“Tried it. Didn’t like it.” He wrapped his good arm around her for a farewell squeeze.
Her hands held his face for a kiss before he could blink.
• • •
“One more trip might finish this project.” Laura eased down one end of three long metal shelves to the pile already on the tarp. “You’ve saved me a lot of time.”
“Avoiding strained muscles was one intention. Although I’ll be quick to admit the chance of legal action reduces with moving inanimate objects instead of patients.” Kathy Miller released her hold and stood. “Have you met your upstairs neighbors yet?”
Laura flexed her back at the reference to proper lifting, a theme Kathy returned to several times during their trips between Roger’s truck and the main display area of her shop. Soon the used shelving she’d purchased from a computer ad directing her east of Eau Claire would all be inside the display area. Thanks to Kathy’s timely phone call and willingness to assist, she would have everything tidied up and be back to the farm before dark. “I crossed paths with the mother and daughter in the front unit late yesterday. I think we’ll see more of each other when I start regular hours.”
“I think,” Kathy trailed Laura across the back porch, “you need to find local women friends.”
“I’ve only been here a week. And I’ve not exactly been hiding.” She pulled a bundle of short supports toward her. “I’ve met Amy at the café, Marge at the library, sampled Jack’s fish fry, and attended the charity basketball game. Pardon me if I hibernated with a movie last night.”
“Sorry. I’m not in the forgiveness business.”
Public relations, she remembered the mayor’s description of her office. “One of these days I’d love to have you up to the farm for coffee. Maybe we can figure out Daryl if we both work at it.”
“You better invite more than me to that party.” Kathy slammed the tailgate and picked up the plastic bucket of nuts, bolts, and washers. “He’s always been on the quiet side. Guess you knew that. Now that he’s got this investigation business going it’s even more difficult to get a response to anything that matters.”
“For a full year I’ve been hinting—make that closer to pleading—for him to work on Scott’s case. Only since I’ve arrived has he admitted to being in touch with the St. Louis Police.”
“That’s a start.” Kathy surveyed the collection of shelves awaiting assembly. “He’s very successful when he goes after missing persons. I have managed to get him to celebrate the end of cases. A couple of times he’s even talked more than three sentences about them. After it’s all over, of course.”
“Wouldn’t expect less.” Laura pulled two bottles of water from the fridge and offered one to Kathy. After opening her own she took a deep breath and mixed it with courage. “May I ask you something? From one widow to another?”
She waited only long enough for a nod before hurrying on. “Does it ever heal? Or will I have a raw hole in my heart forever?”
“Work won’t fill it.” Kathy rested both elbows on the counter. “I tried. Came close to a physical breakdown. Our children almost kidnapped me for a long weekend to break me off my frantic little hamster wheel. I don’t think other things will ever change. Maybe I don’t want them to. Six years later now and I still make his favorite foods on birthdays and holidays.”
“And the nights?” Laura spoke two steps above a whisper.
Kathy’s mouth curved into a silent laugh. “Daryl’s retirement helped immensely. Let’s leave it at that.”
Laura hid her face by looking at the floor. Her uncle in bed with Kathy? The idea flooded her body with embarrassing heat. Almost as shocking as the first time she’d imagined her parents having sex. “Sorry I asked.”
“We’re consenting adults. Thanks for the workout and the conversation.” The mayor claimed her coat and waved on her way out the front door.
Roger’s truck started on the first turn of the key five minutes later. Laura backed out of the parking space and punched the radio button.
“Stock up on the basics, listeners. The leading edge of the storm we’ve been tracking is tickling the western edge of the metro area. This system has packed high winds and ten inches of snow in a path from Bismarck to central Minnesota.” The announcer completed the segment with numbers to call for updated road conditions.
Laura glanced at the gas gauge, less than half a tank with a storm on the way. She turned toward Harter’s to fill it on her way home. Front Street businesses and half a dozen students walking away from St. Mathias filled her view.
Who? What? She held her breath and halted her foot before it hit the brake.
Brad stood on the sidewalk close to a small woman wearing a bright blue puffy jacket. Very close. Embracing.
All moisture fled from Laura’s mouth as her mind registered the kiss. A public display of affection with one half of the pair the very same man who held and kissed her last night. He whispered such comforting things mere hours ago.
Liar. Trickster. He was nothing more than another untrustworthy male with a smile.
She kept her hands firm on the steering wheel, and turned at the next cross street. Her throat spasmed and she blinked at threatening tears while driving to her next errand. For a long moment she remained in the cab after stopping at the gas pump.
“Grow up, girl. His older sister said he liked multiples. Scott’s the one who deserves your deepest emotions. All that touchy, sweet word stuff comes at a steep price. Protect your heart.”
Several minutes later, Laura returned the gas pump handle to the holder. The first flakes of the forecasted storm drifted down against the black and gold sign Harter’s Essentials over the door. With a deep breath she turned toward the small, general purpose store, determined to stock up on some basics.
“Do you have tea bags?” Laura selected a package of gum from the display.
“Second aisle, toward the back.”
“Thanks.”
“Greetings, Mrs. Tanner.”
Laura halted, searching for the words to answer that now familiar voice. “Mr. Wilcox. This is a surprise.”
He closed the freezer door on the meat display before facing her directly. “We’re in a small town. Or have you forgotten?”
&
nbsp; “Not at all. Merely thinking of other things.” She advanced half a step and reached for a box of assorted herbal teas. She retreated deep into the collar of her parka as the skin on her neck quivered under his stare. With more poise than she’d imagined possible, she gestured to the package in his hand. “Buying your supper?”
“Something like that. And you?”
“In case I get snowed in,” she held up the bright colored box. “Is that your Jeep? The red one at the end of the building.”
“Yes, matter of fact. Last year’s model. Are you a car aficionado?”
“That’s too strong a term. It’s more like a casual interest. Thought I’d get a start on learning people by their vehicles. Isn’t that the local custom?”
He laughed short. “The valley has all sorts of unique customs. The hills and ridges hide all sorts of peculiarities.”
“I understand you live on Robert’s Ridge, near the tree farm.”
“Is that a problem?”
She walked to the cashier and set her items down. “No. You get to live where you decide. So do I.”
On Scott’s face that triple blink meant surprise. Is it the same for his double?
A minute later, Laura concentrated on making a casual departure from the store. Even as she overheard portions of the exchange between Myles and clerk, her skin prickled, signaling that she remained under the man’s inspection.
• • •
“Get, beastie!” Laura yelled at the final steer in the yard, the one standing as calm as a six hundred pound statue. “Don’t you know there’s a storm coming?”
Taffy and Cocoa trotted large arcs behind the stubborn animal in their imitation of cattle herding while light, wind-driven snow swirled across the ground. Cocoa darted in, nipped at the steer’s left heel, and flattened before the reflexive kick could connect with her head.
“Move!” Laura pulled a damaged leather leash from her coat pocket and flicked it against the animal’s black hip. All her hustle and rushing after leaving Harter’s weighed on her like leaden waste. Was this a mysterious bovine idea of a reward for changing into a barn jacket and boots after her full day away from the farm? The wind picked up even as she stood there in an unsatisfactory stare down with an Angus. “Don’t look at me for sympathy. Go inside before your friends get all the grain.”