Billy told his story of being on Commercial Street. He had been driving here and there in town following up on leads, talking to people, doing regular sheriff stuff, and he pulled over and parked. He had stepped out of the truck but leaned back in to get his Smokey Bear hat—Billy loves his Smokey Bear hat—and that’s when the shot rang out.
“So my hat saved me!” After taking off his hat, he kissed it and put it back on. Then he continued with his story. The shot had gone over his head and broken the opposite window of the car. Billy pushed himself into the car trying to close the door behind him. That’s when the second bullet hit his boot. He said it was a chore squeezing past all the equipment between the seats, but he moved onto his side to do it. By that time the door had closed, and the third bullet hit the door. If the shooter had been closer or had a more powerful gun, the bullet could have gone through the door. Billy had gotten lucky.
“Then I called for Nick, and we looked around, but neither of us found anything and there were no more shots.” He hugged me again and looked into my eyes. “So,” he hesitated, then continued, “this changes things. He or she has come after me. So me and mine are no longer safe. I’d like you to call Aiden’s school, and—”
“You don’t think he’ll go after Aiden, do you?” That scared me. It was bad enough he was shooting at Billy.
“No, I think it’s doubtful. But I must be getting close. So, I’d like you to call Aiden’s school, ask him to stay the weekend at Lily’s house, and then you and I are going to Coyote Moon.”
“On a date?” I asked. That was not like Billy to ignore work for a good time.
Billy laughed, and it broke the tension. While Billy told his story, Nick had come in, gone into the reception area, and hugged his sister. They heard this exchange, and they laughed, too.
“No, not on a date. We’re getting you a gun.”
I crossed my arms. “I don’t want a gun! I don’t want to kill anybody!”
Billy put his arms on my shoulders again. He has found this calms me. “Now, Lorry. I don’t want you to kill anybody, either. But if somebody comes after you, I want you to be able to stop them. That’s all. Stop them. That’s reasonable, isn’t it?”
“I guess so.” Looking down at myself, I shook my head. “A holster will ruin the line of my clothes.”
Billy laughed again. “No holster for you, Lorry. We can get you a concealed carry purse, and you can keep the gun in there until you need it.”
“I don’t know, Billy.” I could imagine some plain, unstylish purse, and I didn’t want any part of it.
He took his hands off my shoulders, took a step back, and looked more serious than I’d ever seen him. “I’m not messing around with this, Lorry. Either you get a gun, or you’re going on a cruise until the case is over.” He waited a beat and then continued, “Alaska or the Caribbean?”
Knowing he had won, I whispered or maybe I should say whimpered, “It’s too cold for Alaska. I’ll get the gun.”
Billy smiled. “Great. Call Aiden and I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
DRIVING BACK TO the historical society, I felt calmer, but the situation still bothered me. For Billy to insist that I get a gun, he must think it necessary. And for Billy to think it’s necessary, he must be scared. And for Billy to feel scared—well, it made me scared just thinking about it.
I parked; the sun was out and the snow almost gone, so I let Bingo jump out of the car, and we walked inside the back door and up to the front. “Hi, Petra,” I said as I walked by.
“Wait!” she said.
It was the most animated I had seen her in days, so I stopped. “What?” I asked.
“What was all the shooting about?”
“Someone shot at Billy. Now he wants Aiden to stay at Lily’s, and he wants to buy me a gun.”
“Yuck. You’re not going to get one, are you? My father has a gun, and I don’t even like having it in the house.”
“I have to. He said that I had to either get a gun or go on a cruise.”
“Choose the cruise, and I’ll go with you! How cool is that! Cruise. From Latin in the seventeenth century, ‘to cross, sail to and fro.’” She jumped up and clapped her hands. “C’mon, Lorry, let’s sail to and fro! What a blast that will be!”
“No, sorry, Petra. I’m getting the gun. He’s buying me a concealed carry purse to go with it—probably some drab, dull, purse that won’t go with any of my outfits. I hate the thought of that.”
“Well, I’m glad Billy’s okay,” she said, as she sat down and turned back to her computer.
Bingo and I continued to my office, where I picked up the phone and called the school. I spoke to Pamela and explained what was going on. She had heard the shots and understood completely. A few minutes later, Aiden came on the phone.
“Hi, Sweetie . . . Yes, Daddy’s fine . . . Would you mind staying at Lily’s house for the weekend? . . . Oh, Sage. All weekend? . . . Sure, I don’t see why not. It’s okay with his mom and all? . . . Yes, you’re right, I shouldn’t have asked. Of course, it is. . . . I love you, too, sweetie. See ya in a few. Bye.”
“Lorry? Are you going to Coyote Moon to get the gun today? Because you’re still wearing those atrocious snow boots, and the sun is out.”
Looking down, I exclaimed, “Oh, no! You’re right! I forgot all about them! Luckily, I have time to run home for my heels. Billy won’t be here for another half hour. I have plenty of time to change.” Then I heard large footfalls coming from the hallway.
“Too late,” said a booming voice. “Billy came early. Forget the boots and let’s get going. I have a long night ahead of me, but I want you to have the gun now.”
His emphasis on the word now scared me even more. “All right,” I said reluctantly, forgetting all about the heels.
“Hey, Petra.”
“Hey, Billy. I’m glad you didn’t get shot.”
Billy laughed. “Yeah, thanks. Me, too.” He turned and walked toward the back. “C’mon, Lor. Let’s take your car.”
I sat in the passenger seat without fighting it. When I first got the car, I wouldn’t let Billy drive it. But it’s been a while, and at least I got to drive it first. And Billy was a good driver. Bingo sat on my lap and panted in my face, and I let him.
Billy pulled out of the alley, turned up Bridge Street and crossed the bridge to Broadway. His knitted brows made him look deep in thought. I didn’t want to disturb him. After a while, he was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and didn’t seem so self-absorbed, so I spoke up.
“So what kind of gun are you going to get me? A Colt 45? A 44 Magnum?” The only guns I knew were from the movies.
“No, Lorry, neither of those. And this is not a game. This is serious. I’m concerned and want you to be protected.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m really uncomfortable doing this.”
“You better get comfortable, Lorry. I’m too busy finishing this case right now, but as soon as I can, you’ll take a concealed carry class—either from me or someone else.”
“You can give it to me? That’s cool.”
“Sure, I became an instructor several years ago. And get used to this, Lorry, because Aiden needs to know how to use a gun, too.”
“Absolutely not. He’s only seven. He does not need to know how to use a gun. I wasn’t happy with what you’ve already showed him.”
“You mean how to check if a gun is loaded? How to unload a gun? Well, you might be interested to know, smarty-pants,” Billy smiled at me briefly, then moved his eyes back to the road, “that he has already used that information in a most positive way.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Aiden was at a friend’s house, and the friend showed him his father’s gun—which happened to be loaded. Aiden handled the situation beautifully. He unloaded the gun and when he got home, he discussed it with me. I called the parents, and it won’t happen again.”
“He never told me about that.
”
“Aiden and I agreed that you would worry too much, and it was better if you didn’t know.”
“I’m not sure I like that.” I was about to say that Aiden was my son, but he was Billy’s son now, too.
“Would you have worried or not?” asked Billy.
“Definitely worried,” I answered.
“See? We were right to keep it from you.”
“What are John and Kasey doing with a gun, anyway?”
“Lily wasn’t the friend I meant,” said Billy.
“Then who?” Aiden hung out with Lily a lot. There was no other friend except the one time he went to—oh, no! Sage’s house! And Billy had said, “his father’s” not “her father’s.”“Oh, no. Don’t tell me it was Sage! That’s where Aiden is now!” Panicked, I reached for my purse and started digging for my phone.
“Not to worry, Lorry. I told you that I talked to his parents. Both Samantha and Mark. The gun now has a gun lock and is perfectly safe.” He patted my knee. “See? Aiden and I made the right decision. You didn’t need to know.”
“I suppose. I’m still not happy with Aiden learning about guns, though.”
“His father’s the sheriff, Lorry.” Billy was talking about himself. “There will always be guns in our house. He needs to know.” He stopped for a second and then continued. “You know what? Let’s not talk about this now. When we get there, you can talk to Martin about when he taught his boy about guns. You’ll find what he has to say interesting.”
I didn’t know where the gun shop was, but I recognized where we were in Coyote Moon. “Turn here!” I said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
BILLY KNEW ME well enough to know that my request, while maybe not important, was at least significant. So he put on his turn signal and turned right. A block later we were face to face with Boot Barn.
“I know I need new boots, but why did we have to come now? I want to get you the gun and get back to work.”
“Oh, that’s right, you do need new boots. But…” I pointed to my snow boots—”I didn’t want to wear these galoshes in public.”
“Those aren’t galoshes, they’re snow boots. And it snowed today. They’re perfectly acceptable.”
“Not for me.”
“Oh, all right.” Irritated, he pulled into the parking lot and turned off the car. “Let’s go. Make it quick, though.”
We walked in, and I looked around. It had been a long time since I had bought a pair of cowboy boots, but I wandered over to the women’s section and had planned to wait until something caught my eye. Immediately, my eyes were drawn to a pair of high-heeled cowboy boots. They were mostly black with a brown upper. Their heels, though not my usual three inches, were respectable. And they were tall—they would fit most of the way to my knee. They were perfect. And very stylish—in a cowboy kind of way.
I found my size, sat down, and tried them on. And of course they fit like the proverbial glove. It’s a wrap! They were perfect.
I didn’t know where Billy was while I looked and tried on my boots, so I made my way over to the men’s section. Billy was nowhere to be seen. Looking toward the front of the store, I checked to see if he was waiting for me by the register. But he wasn’t there, either. Finally, I began walking up and down the aisles until I found him in the most unlikely place. The children’s section.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I found a new pair of boots for me, so I thought I’d get Aiden a matching pair.” Billy grinned. “He really liked the other pair that matched mine, so I thought I’d do it again.”
“Aiden will love that, Billy.”
“Ah, here they are. Let’s go now. We have a gun to buy!” He gathered up his boots, Aiden’s boots, and my boots, and carried them to the register. In another minute, we were back in the car. Billy had to open the boxes and admire his and Aiden’s boots. As an afterthought, he checked mine out as well. At least he looked at them. He admired them, too—I think—and then we were off.
Back on Broadway, we only drove a couple of miles before Billy pulled off onto a side street, and parked in front of a small building that looked like a converted log cabin. There was a wrought iron door that had a cowboy gunfighter group on it, including one gunned cowboy with a suit. It must have been Doc Holliday. Billy opened the iron door and the regular door and invited me in.
I walked to the counter that had guns of all sizes in a locked, glass enclosure. We heard a man’s voice in the back that sounded like he was arguing with someone. Billy scowled that no one was there to help us—because he was in a hurry—but he said nothing. So I looked around the large gun shop. On the walls were shelves full of bullets labeled Ammo and clips labeled Magazines. What—they have their own gun jargon here? Whatever. Then a rack of rifles, including some machine-gun types that looked scary, and a rack of purses. Purses! I started making my way to the purses, passing racks of bulletproof vests, gun cases, holsters, ear protection, and displays labeled Accessories, that contained knives, binoculars, and flashlights.
Then I heard Billy say, “Hey, Martin! Come on! You have customers out here!”
Martin stuck his head out, looked at Billy and said, “Be right there, Billy. Didn’t hear ya come in. Sorry.”
Before I reached the purses, Billy called to me from the counter. “Come on, Lor. Let’s get the gun first.”
Taking one last glance at the purses—which didn’t look half bad—I walked back to Billy. Martin was about to walk behind the counter where Billy waited, but his phone rang again, delaying him.
“Where’s your purse, Lor?”
“I left it in the car.”
He put his hands on my shoulders. “When you get this gun and have it in the purse, you need to keep it with you at all times. All right? I don’t want to worry about you not having it. Promise me that you’ll always keep it with you.”
Martin came out then saving me from making the promise. You know, considering what happened later.
“Martin, I’d like you to meet my wife, Lorry. Lorry, this is my friend, Martin.”
“Hi, Martin.” He was broad and solid, with a crew cut, and a military demeanor. But he was friendly, and I liked him.
“Hello, Lorry,” he said, smiling. Then he turned to Billy. “What can I do for you today, sir?”
I drew my head back and raised my eyebrows at Billy. “Ahem,” I said.
Billy and Martin both laughed. “Don’t let him fool you, Lor. Martin and I go way back. When we’re alone, he calls me other names.”
“Shhhh!” said Martin. “Don’t tell her our secrets!”
Billy looked at his watch. “Anyway, back to business—I need to get back. I came to get Lorry a gun.”
“Ah,” said Martin. “A lady’s gun. One without much recoil.”
“Exactly,” said Billy.
“These right here are good ones,” Martin said while motioning with his hands to the guns in the cabinet by where we were standing.
Looking in, I saw pink guns, blue paisley guns, a gun with some kind of animal print on it, plain gun-looking guns, and then the one I had set my heart on. Yes, already. It had a rosewood handle. It was beautiful and classy, and I wanted it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“I WANT THAT one, Billy.” I pointed to the beauty I was looking at. “The one with the rosewood handle. It’s mine.”
Billy and Martin both laughed. “Don’t you want to hear about the qualities of each?” Billy asked.
“That’s what I like. A woman who knows her own mind,” said Martin.
“I don’t even want a gun!” I said. “But if I have to have one, it’s that one.”
Martin looked at Billy. “She doesn’t want one? Who doesn’t want a gun?” The two men shared another laugh.
“I got shot at today, Martin. She needs one whether she wants it or not.”
“They must have missed, though, right?” Martin inspected Billy head to foot, but he missed the boot.
Billy held up the injured
item. “They nicked me right here.”
“Oh, that’s a close one. I’m glad you’re okay, Billy. You wouldn’t think that sort of thing happens in Rutledge, though it happens here all the time. Not to change the subject, but did you hear about the fire?”
“What fire?”
“Oh—the fire isn’t the real story. A guy’s house had a bad fire, and insurance wouldn’t let him go in there to get his guns. So what happens? It gets robbed. The guy had a ton of guns—one of my best customers—and they all got stolen. Now they’ve been showing up in crimes all over Coyote Moon.”
Billy shook his head. “I don’t suppose you have ballistics on any of them, do you?”
“Naw.”
“Too bad,” said Billy, holding up a bullet.
That made me look up from admiring my new gun. “You got it!” I said.
“That’s not the one from your boot is it?” Martin asked.
“The one from the door of the car.” He slipped it back into his pocket. “Tell me about this gun.” Billy pointed to my new gun.
Martin unlocked the cabinet, pulled it out, and handed it to Billy. “Lady Smith model 60. It’s a J frame. Comes with or without a hammer. 5 shot revolver. Uses .38 Specials or .357 Magnum. Less recoil with the .38 Specials.”
It seemed time for me to speak up. Less recoil? What if I wanted more of it? Maybe this wasn’t the gun for me. “What’s recoil?” I asked.
“The backward movement of the gun after it’s discharged. It goes up into your arms and pushes on your shoulders.”
“Less recoil is a good thing, Lorry. It’s definitely what you want.”
That is, if I wanted a gun at all. Which I didn’t. But I kept quiet. This time. “Ok, that’s the one I want.” This gun conversation could go on forever if I didn’t step in. It was worse than sports talk.
Knowing I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, Martin addressed the next question to Billy. “Do you want one with a hammer or without? I should have both in stock.” He turned toward the computer that was to his right on the counter.
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