“Okay, but a kitten would protect me, too.” He allowed himself to be tucked under the covers.
Bree called Jinx and ordered the dog to guard Cody. He laid down in the doorway and settled his face between his paws.
Bree checked the kitchen. She was gratified to find it clean. She picked up the cups and carafe from the family room and rinsed them out.
“You know why he had a nightmare, don’t you?” Sara tracked down her stepmother. “Because you brought a man here. It upset him. Cody feels that he’s losing you.”
“Forget the psychotherapy, Sara. It wasn’t because Mr. Becker was here,” she stated. “The dreams just happen. You were there when the therapist said they wouldn’t go away by a set time, but they would diminish over time. We will do whatever is necessary to make Cody feel safe and loved. That’s the important thing.”
The girl’s delicate face tightened. “And what about the rest of us? He was our dad, too.”
Bree grabbed Sara’s hands and held on tight when she tried to pull away. “Yes, he was, and because you’re older there may be things I’ll expect of you that I won’t expect of Cody. We’ll do what we’ve been doing. Take it day by day.”
Her expression was stormy and sullen. “Out here, that’s all we can do.” She tore away and ran off to her bedroom.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell you what a horrible person you are,” David said. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen.
“Thank you for being willing to wait at least until tomorrow,” Bree replied.
She headed for her room with the intention of taking a nice long, relaxing bath. When she stepped inside, she’d started to finger the light switch when she felt that eerily familiar sensation of the hairs on the back of her neck standing straight up. Following a gut instinct that had protected her more than once, she crossed the dark room until she reached the window. By standing to the side, she could look out between the partially closed miniblinds. Her gaze swept the area beyond the backyard, tracking each shadow and mentally identifying it. Then she reached what she was looking for.
Once her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness outside, she could see the shape of a large vehicle—either a pickup truck or one of the larger sport utility vehicles. There was no way she could identify the driver.
Bree decided to forget the bath. She swiftly unlocked her gun safe and loaded her weapon. She stealthily made her way through the house to the back door and eased it open. When she looked in the direction of the shadowy vehicle, she found nothing but empty space.
She looked right and left as she crossed the backyard to the dirt area. Once there, she cursed herself for not thinking to bring a flashlight with her. With the ground so hard, she doubted she’d find any tire tracks, anyway.
She decided to come back out in the morning.
“Mom?” David stood in the open doorway. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine,” she replied. “I thought I heard an animal.”
“Big surprise when you’re living out in the wild,” he muttered, turning away.
Once back in her bedroom, Bree quickly undressed in the dark. Before she climbed into bed she tucked her weapon in the bedside table drawer. As she curled up in bed and opened her book, she wondered why someone would be out there watching her.
She was angry with herself for being unaware of being watched.
Even more so, she didn’t like that someone dared to park on her property and watch the house.
The next morning, Bree’s fears were realized.
The earth was hard because the area had had no rain for more than nine months. She found nothing to indicate that a vehicle had been there last night.
After Bree watched David drive off with Sara and Cody, she headed for the backyard and walked past Cody’s tree house. She stopped at the area where she’d seen the truck the night before. Broken branches weren’t a clue since there was nothing to guarantee they were broken the night before. No damn business card, cigarette butts from cigarettes only found at one store in the entire state, not even a discarded candy wrapper.
She muttered a few choice curses under her breath as she squatted by the trampled branches, where she knew the truck had parked. Easy enough for it to back up and head back down the dirt trail that eventually wound around to one of the back roads. She turned her head one way, then the other. She turned around so she could see what her observer had.
The windows along the rear of the house looked into the kitchen and family room downstairs, Sara’s bedroom and her own upstairs. A chill ran through Bree, although the morning air was warm.
She decided she wouldn’t tell anyone about her find. But she would make sure Sara kept her blinds closed at night. Until Bree could find the person who thought she needed to be watched, she would keep her weapon close at hand.
She sighed as she looked around in the futile hope of finding anything to help her figure things out.
“And here I thought moving here would be safer for the kids.”
“Detective Fitzpatrick!”
Bree turned when she heard her name called. She could see Renee Patterson leaving a building across the street and coming toward her.
“Mrs. Patterson, how are you?”
“Renee, please.” She smiled warmly. “How are you settling in?”
“All the boxes are unpacked and I can find everything. I see that as a plus,” she said.
“Josh was in the army for the first twenty-two years of our marriage,” Renee said. “I always felt a house was mine once everything was in its place. So I know what you mean. By the way, I want to thank you again for coming to talk to our group. They enjoyed it immensely.”
“I’m glad they did. I’ve always felt more talks about street smarts and safety are needed with our senior citizens, since they’ve become more of a target.”
Renee looked around her. “Yes, it is a shame that people our age have so much to fear,” she murmured.
Bree wondered why the older woman chose that particular word. If she’d known her better she would have questioned her about it. She already noticed that while Renee’s smile was warm and friendly, there was a hint of strain around her mouth. Even her eyes betrayed a hint of shadow.
“I’m surprised you have all those worries, since this area has such a low crime rate,” she commented.
Renee’s smile slipped a bit before she recaptured it. “The center sets up group trips to San Diego for plays and concerts and to Laughlin for gambling and shows. Talks like yours help us remember to be alert when we’re away from Warm Springs. As you said, we have a low crime rate here, so we don’t need to worry. Would you have time for a cup of coffee?” she asked suddenly.
“I’d like that,” Bree replied.
“If I know Greta, she has just what we need.”
Greta welcomed them with steaming cups of coffee with the rich taste of hot buttered rum, and freshly made caramel rolls. Not wanting to miss out on anything, she poured a cup for herself and joined them.
“Now tell me what you think about Cole,” Renee said.
Greta grinned. “Yes, Bree, please tell us.”
Bree could feel a faint blush staining her cheeks. “I don’t know the man well enough to say too much.”
“He had dinner at your house the other night.” Renee chuckled at Bree’s surprise. “Mamie, his assistant, said she was glad to see him getting out more. He tends to hole up in his office. For a man who’s traveled all over the world and met world figures, he’s practically turned into a homebody.”
“Excuse me?” Bree said, putting down the roll. “What do you mean?”
The two women looked at her strangely.
“You can’t tell us you don’t know?” Greta asked.
“Know what?”
“Before Cole took over his uncle’s newspaper, he was a journalist for Today’s View.” Renee named a well-known news magazine.
“C. Becker,” Bree murmured. “A few years ago, there was an article about the leader of that
new oil-rich nation in the Middle East. The man refused to be interviewed, but somehow C. Becker got the story of how the man came into power.” She felt a falling sensation in the middle of her stomach.
“I gather he never mentioned it to you,” Greta said, exchanging glances with Renee.
“No,” Bree said calmly. “In fact, he let me believe he’d always been nothing more than a small-town news hack.” She picked up her roll and bit down, tearing off a bite in a savage motion.
“Obviously, she spoke the truth about not knowing him well,” Renee said to Greta. A smile played about her lips, as if she knew something Bree did not.
“He let me think he was a two-bit hack who had crazy ideas about…” Bree halted. Both women looked expectant as they leaned in, eager to hear more.
“Crazy ideas about what?” Renee probed.
Bree thought about telling her exactly what. With Renee being such an active member at the senior center, she might have her own opinion about the high number of deaths. But Bree didn’t want to start gossip. And she especially didn’t want Roy Holloway knowing Cole was trying to interest her in his conspiracy theories. So far, she was getting along with her boss, and she wanted it to stay that way.
“Cole is a charmer few women can resist,” Greta said when Bree didn’t answer. “I swear he’s like a lovable disease.”
“Sounds as if a vaccine is in order,” Bree stated dryly.
“Oh, hon, no one cares that there isn’t a cure.” Greta laughed. “They’d rather let it run its course.”
“I always wondered why his wife left him,” Renee mused.
Bree’s ears perked up at that piece of information. “He’s been married? He seems like the confirmed bachelor type.” Admittedly, she didn’t expect to know everything about the man, but it seemed she knew absolutely nothing about him.
Renee shook his head. “He got his divorce about eight years ago. His uncle, who owned the newspaper before him, said it wasn’t easy on Cole. Following that, he went after the most dangerous stories he could find. Not so much as a death wish, but to keep himself fully immersed in his work, so he wouldn’t have to think about anything else.”
Bree had trouble equating the cocky man loaded with charm who filled her thoughts more than she liked to the man Renee and Greta talked about.
“So now he plays the field and breaks more than a few hearts along the way,” she said.
“I’m not sure he breaks them,” Greta told her. “Cracks them a little is more like it. They always seem to heal, because he keeps the ladies as friends. More than one of them has shown up here in hopes of running into him. Probably thinking the relationship can be rekindled.”
“They’ve come to understand it’s easier to be his friend than hope for more.” Renee added her opinion.
“I’ve met a few reporters like C. Becker. Going after that next story is an addiction for them. They’re adrenaline junkies. Without it, they can’t function.” Bree shook her head.
“Cole used to be that way. Then he changed. Came out here after his uncle’s death and decided to take over running the newspaper,” Renee said. “I don’t think he’s looked back since that day.”
Bree glanced from one woman to the other. They both gazed at her speculatively.
“Oh no,” she protested. “I have enough trouble in my life, thank you very much.”
“Easier said than done,” Greta teased.
By the time Bree left the shop she felt as if the other two women were planning her love life for her.
Cole Becker was an award-winning investigative journalist. He’d gone after stories braver souls would have turned down.
Cole Becker was divorced. He rarely dated a woman more than three times, and most of those dates were with women out of town. And the women he’d dated in the past remained friends with him.
According to Greta and Renee, the man was considerate of others, was a great listener, never did anything wrong, was beloved by all, and for all Bree knew, he probably helped little old ladies across the street. In general, the perfect man.
Damn if that didn’t make him more appealing.
“Your son has a problem with his temper, Mrs. Fitzpatrick,” Principal Vickers said, sounding as pompous as he looked. “I’m sure you understand that if something isn’t done about it as soon as possible, it can only get worse.”
There were few things Bree hated. Brussels sprouts headed the list and men who felt they could patronize any member of the opposite sex ran a close second.
Principal Everett Vickers was a good two inches shorter than Bree, and she silently bet the man had a Napoleon complex to go along with his less than engaging personality. Right now, he was edging out brussels sprouts.
Receiving a call from the high school with the message that David had been fighting wasn’t her idea of fun. She’d spent the past hour seeing if there was anything written up on the deaths Cole’s notes listed. It hadn’t been easy for her to do this since she didn’t want Sheriff Holloway to know what she was doing. She didn’t think her superior would be happy she was investigating cases not in her care.
Receiving the call merely increased her frustration.
She stared at her stepson, who sat slumped in a chair. David’s shirt was torn and there was a nasty-looking bruise on his cheek.
“Who started it?” she asked David.
He shrugged.
“Does it matter who started the fight?” Principal Vickers asked. “It doesn’t detract from the fact the boy was fighting. We have zero tolerance for fighting in our school. Naturally, David will be expelled.”
“No way!” David snarled, starting to jump up out of the chair.
“Shut up and sit down,” Bree ordered. She didn’t bother to see if he obeyed her command as she turned back to the principal. “What about the other boy? Have his parents been called? He will also be expelled, won’t he?”
The man looked away. “The matter is being dealt with. He will be suitably disciplined.”
Bree’s temper started to rise. “Disciplined? Are you telling me he won’t be expelled, while David will be? Who is the other boy?”
“That has nothing to do with this matter,” Principal Vickers argued.
“It has everything to do with it.” She spun around, bearing down on her stepson. “Who was the other boy?”
He knew her temper well. Bree could flay strips off his hide with words alone. He raised his head and kept his gaze trained on her.
“Tim Holloway,” he said sullenly.
“Holloway,” she murmured. “As in—?”
A bare nod of the head was his answer.
Bree turned back to the principal. “I appreciate that you have a zero tolerance policy, and it’s understandable in several situations. Fighting, for any reason, is not good. It does nothing but promote violence, which we’re trying to get out of the schools. But there’s something just as bad, and that’s citing policy for one student and not for another. I have never believed kicking a child out of school was a suitable punishment. Not when kids could see it as a reward. I would think it would be more beneficial to keep them under your thumb, so to speak. True?”
The man realized he didn’t have a chance with her.
“Perhaps.”
“What used to be the punishment for fighting?” She kept her voice low, which didn’t diminish any of its power.
“Five-day suspension and two months detention,” the man muttered.
Bree nodded. “That sounds adequate for a first offense. I’m sure both boys will be better behaved when they return after their suspension.” She jerked her head in David’s direction, indicating he should follow her. “Good day, Principal Vickers.” With her stepson in tow, she left the office.
“You sure haven’t lost your touch. He’s probably in there singing soprano,” David muttered, following her outside.
Bree looked around. “Do yourself a favor and don’t say another word. I want you to drive straight home. Once you’re there,
I want you to start clearing out the bushes from the backyard that have been affecting Sara’s allergies. If you get right to it, you’ll probably have the job done by the time the five days are up. You’ll also have to be back here in time to pick up Sara and then Cody.”
David’s jaw dropped. “What the hell?”
“And five dollars in the Cuss Jar,” she stated. “You don’t fight. You know better.”
“I had a good reason.”
“There is no good reason for fighting.” She noticed that the anger written on his face warred with sorrow. She knew better than to hug him. She knew he’d only reject any comfort she offered. Her voice softened. “Whether you believe me or not, I do know where you’re coming from. You’re still angry with your dad for dying.”
He pulled his keys out of his jeans pocket, acting as if she hadn’t spoken. “Since I have five days of work ahead of me, I better get to it.” He walked off toward the school parking lot.
“Damn,” she murmured, watching him leave. “It’s days like this I hate being a mother. No matter what I do or say, I’m automatically wrong.”
When Bree arrived at the house, she found Cole seated on the front steps. She ignored the little thrill she felt at seeing him. The silent reminder that a good cop wouldn’t have this reaction was completely ignored. It was easier when she recalled everything Greta and Renee had told her.
She parked in the driveway and got out. She opened the back door and signaled for Jinx to jump out. She stayed by her vehicle with the dog by her side and waited until David drove into the garage. He didn’t speak a word as he pulled off his jacket and threw it on his truck’s hood. He gathered up a rake and hoe, tossed them into a wheelbarrow and pushed it toward the backyard.
“I see David came up against the school’s zero tolerance policy regarding fighting,” Cole said.
Bree looked amused. “What was your first clue?”
“Torn shirt, beginnings of a black eye. Pissed-off look when he got out of his truck. Takes me back to my high school days,” he mused. “’Course, I didn’t have Principal Vickers to make my life miserable. I had Mrs. Benjamin. Some of us swore she was a drill instructor in the marines. Even the toughest guy in school was afraid of her.”
Small-Town Secrets Page 11