Autumn's Shadow

by Lyn Cote

  "Since I had to stop here," his voice intruded, "mind my asking why you're here and not home?"

  "I volunteer here and have a key," she replied. I have a question for you, too, Deputy. Should she ask him the question that had troubled her since coming to on the floor at school? Would asking it be a good idea or a disastrous one? Why do I have to deal with this, Lord? Why did my father have to put me in this situation?

  She repeated his personal question to herself. If he weren't a police officer, she'd have taken umbrage. But it was probably just part of his routine. He'd stopped, and it was his duty to ask why she was here when she should have been home in bed.

  Bracing herself, she took a sip of the cool water and then held the glass against the aching bump on her forehead. Reluctance to reveal her reason for being here held her mute. But she'd glimpsed him standing outside her door last night. He probably already had an inkling of why she was hiding out here. Why beat around the bush? "You came to my door last night, didn't you?"

  After a brief hesitation, he reached into his pocket and pulled out her missing lipstick.

  "That's where that went. Thanks." She took the silvery tube from him. His fingers brushed hers, and the hair on the back of her neck prickled. Trying to ignore this, she gazed out the screen into the moonlit gray shapes of bushes and a clothesline in the yard. "Then you know why I'm not home tonight. When I called to tell my father about the window thing at school, he was still hip deep in his ongoing war with Grady. I couldn't face it."

  "That your brother's name?" He glanced at his watch and then stretched out, and undid the top button on his collar.

  Had he checked the time to see if he was off duty before officially relaxing? The action fit him so well. Then she paused to watch his hand loosen his tie, a very male movement.

  She looked away. "Yes ...and I just didn't feel like witnessing the latest skirmish. Last night Grady was grounded for the millionth time. Sorry to be so blunt, but this is a small town and you'll hear about the latest Turner family war soon enough."

  "I try not to listen to gossip."

  "Then buy a good pair of earplugs." She gave a short unamused laugh. A Turner was always on display. Like tonight, she couldn't even sit silently in the dark here all by herself without someone calling the sheriff.

  She worried her lower lip. Should she go ahead and ask him if he'd found any evidence tonight? Her brother's track record of misbehavior made it impossible for her to overlook the possibility—even though a faint one—that he might be a suspect in tonight's shooting. A recently overheard argument about Grady's lack of skill at target practice played back in her mind. Her father wanted Grady to go hunting with him this deer season, and Grady was resisting as usual, probably due to his blanket principle of non-cooperation.

  Grady was grounded. He couldn't have been out tonight. But he'd snuck out before--nothing new there. She closed her eyes. When her father had started in on Grady about learning to handle a gun, she hadn't said anything. But had putting a rifle into her rebellious brother's hands been a wise idea?

  And would it be wise to consult this officer about the possibility that Grady might have shot out the windows? Or would that only make matters worse? On the other hand, if this man had found evidence that might prove Grady was responsible, saying anything would be meaningless. She glanced at Burke sideways. He sat so very still. Did he ever get restless?

  Another worry flickered in her mind. One of the math teachers had sent her a note saying that he'd had to separate Grady and Burke's nephew earlier today. The two had been taunting each other in his class. It would be just like her brother to pick on a new kid, just to stir up trouble. A silent groan worked its way through her. But she wasn't about to burden Burke with that right now.

  Her head ached more. She drew in a hitching breath. Heavenly Father, I've prayed and prayed for Grady. Only you can change his heart. What's it going to take to get through to him? I don't know how much longer I can carry this. I'm sorry, but I want to get away from this endless wrangling. I just want to be free of it all.

  Burke took a long swallow of the cold water and let its coolness flow down inside his chest. This woman had a way of putting him on edge, not an angry edge. She just made it harder to talk to her ...without staring at her. She reclined in the Adirondack chair like a woman in a painting. Her every move was graceful. And her honesty was refreshing—to a cop. People had lied to him so many times....

  She should be at home by this time, not sleeping on a lawn chair. And how did Turner's daughter fit in with a resale shop anyway? "Do you come here often late at night?"

  She sighed that soft feminine sigh of hers that he'd found so intriguing last night. "I help run the Family Closet. It's a charity outreach. Since I don't have a place of my own, I come here when I want to be ... by myself. Living at home is getting old ...I'm just about to move into a new home over on Loon Lake. But there have been ...delays." Her voice became grim in the last sentence.

  "It's hard to live with family when you're used to being on your own." The truth of her statement tightened his throat. Boarding in Harlan's house and having Nick around disturbed Burke, shook up his whole routine.

  Every day he found himself wondering if he should be home for a meal or checking on where his nephew was. Worse, he found himself watching Nick, trying to figure out what the kid was thinking and if it was something Burke should be worrying about. After all, if Nick hadn't gotten into trouble in Milwaukee, he wouldn't be here finishing high school. Was it just a matter of time till...what? Nick tried to run away? start a fight at school? shoot out some windows?

  Worrying about someone else every day was wearing on Burke. His peace of mind was breaking up. He didn't feel like himself anymore. What if this started affecting his work? To be a good deputy, he had to remain cool, detached . . .

  "I've lived at home," Keely's voice intruded, "since I came back with my bachelor's degree." She stretched out on the chair and propped her bare feet up on the stool. "Then right away, I started commuting nights to do my master's. I just didn't have time to keep house. But this year, I graduated and then broke ground on my lot. My home should be done very soon."

  So she had her master's and he had two years of law enforcement. She'd probably been one of those little girls in school who had an answer for every question the teacher asked. He'd not been the studious type himself. Recess had been his favorite subject.

  He glanced at her sideways. Her pale feet fascinated him, and they looked so well cared for. He couldn't help noticing things that didn't add up. Her parents had a big house. Did that denote wealth or merely pretension? Keely Turner drove a brand-new white SUV—worth what? Around forty thousand. And now she was building a home. Teachers must make good money in this county, or did her parents provide extra for her? Questions--he couldn't ask.

  More importantly from his prospective though, he'd expected her to probe him about the crime scene. Why hadn't she?

  She glanced at him. "So am I allowed to ask what you found tonight?"

  He was relieved that she'd finally asked what any person would expect after tonight's events. Years of questioning had taught him to analyze not only what people told him but also what they chose not to say. Still, he had the feeling that she was holding back something. "You can ask," he said, without any evident emotion.

  "And what would you reply?" Her hair had come undone and lay tumbled on her shoulders. The moonlight picked up the golden highlights, inviting him to reach over and rub strands of it between his fingers.

  He forced this temptation out of his mind. "The investigation is proceeding through the normal routine," he said dryly.

  "I am the principal, remember. I'll have to know what you find out because I'll have to take the matter to the board."

  "My reply only signified that I'm just starting. If I find some hard evidence, I'll let you know."

  "Okay, Deputy. Then we won't pursue that now. Instead let's talk about Nick. I checked your nephew's file today
. I wasn't prying," she added quickly. "I wanted to see if the counselor had placed him in the right classes. Our one counselor does all the student scheduling and, at times, takes a somewhat . . .cavalier ...attitude when we get a new student. He kind of dumps them in anywhere there's an open desk."

  "I see." It irked him that she'd looked up Nick's file. Her reasoning sounded on target, but that didn't make him like it.

  He tried not to stare at her long, slender arm resting on the chair beside him. Why couldn't he ignore her? Stop noticing.

  "Your nephew is quite bright, but . . ." She paused. "I noticed that there was a pronounced downward slide in his grades last year. Is there anything that I need to know in order to help him?"

  That's a very good question. He didn't know her well enough to give her more information. He thought she would be fair, but perhaps he'd find that this woman was a stickler or prone to make snap judgments. Burke knew how kids could get branded as problems. That's one of the reasons he'd brought Nick with him.

  But more than Nicky's grades had gone down the tube last year. Keely's words reminded him of how inept he felt in this situation. How do I turn Nicky—his whole situation— around? It would be nice to have someone who worked with teens on a regular basis to talk over what to do with him. But would that be prejudicial to Nicky's fresh start? And how could Burke ask for her help?

  Then he was forced to face the unpleasant fact that she'd read his nephew's file. That must have included all the truancy, detentions, and suspensions Nicky had racked up in one year. No secrets left to protect.

  "You don't know me," she conceded, "but I do try to help my students."

  Burke watched her lower the glass from her forehead and take a sip. The incongruity hit him again. What was this beautiful woman doing here on the back porch of a shabby thrift shop? She belonged on a magazine cover.

  So far he'd heard only positives about Keely Turner—though a few people had made strange comments about her father, like the ones Wendy and her grandfather had made this evening. And what was with that arguing at her house last night? He went over her behavior last night and tonight and made his decision. He'd go with his gut instinct—that this woman would care and give good advice. And he needed good advice.

  "Nick's parents divorced two years ago." He hesitated, recalling the bombshell this had caused in the family. His three brothers had itched to "deal" with their erring brother-in-law. "Then Nick's dad got a new job in New York. Now he doesn't get back to Milwaukee much and couldn't have Nicky to New York last summer like he'd promised—"

  "I get the picture," she cut in. "Unfortunately, it's a common one—adults with no time for their kids. It's good Nick has a caring uncle like you."

  Her innocent words stabbed him like red hot knives. You were too busy for Nick, too, his conscience chided. This all could have been avoided if you'd . . .

  Her cell phone rang in the stillness. She put down her glass and reached for her purse on the floor by the chair. "Hello, Father." Her voice sounded tight. Pause. "Yes, I'm planning on coming home tonight." Irritation crept into her tone. "I'm just discussing what happened tonight with the new deputy. Please go to bed. I may be a little longer. Okay. Good night."

  She put the phone away and gave Burke a glance. "I guess I better get going. Usually he wouldn't worry like this."

  "After what you've been through the past two nights, he wants to make sure you're safe."

  She only nodded; then she slipped on her sandals and gathered up her things.

  He rose with her. "I'll follow you most of the way home anyway. It's on my way." But the impression that she was holding out on him still nagged him. I asked you my question, but what was it you wanted to ask me, Ms. Turner? And why didn't you ask me? What are you hiding?

  Chapter Four

  On the sunny morning after the shooting at the school, Burke jogged down the steps of the county courthouse on Main Street in Steadfast. The investigation was moving along. He had the search warrant he needed to get the rest of the evidence from last night's crime. He halted and stared at the outstretched hand in front of him.

  "You Sloan?" The man's powerful voice carried through the clear morning air, calling attention to itself. "I'm Turner, Franklin Turner."

  Though annoyed at the interruption, Burke nodded, shook the hand, and then studied Keely's father, in daylight this time. Turner was a tall, distinguished-looking man. "Nice to meet—"

  "Have you found out—" Turner's brows drew together—"who shot at my daughter last night?"

  The question hit Burke wrong. So far everyone else had jumped to the conclusion that some kid had just driven by and shot out the windows as an act of aimless vandalism. And that's what Burke wanted everyone to go on thinking until he'd solved this case. He especially didn't want his suspicion that it was Walachek who had shot out the windows getting spread around. Why worry Keely with this nasty suspicion when it might turn out to be some vandal after all? He decided to use misdirection. "Since your daughter's car was parked behind the school, the assumption is that the shooter didn't realize she was in the building."

  "Humph. There's no reason for her to be at that school. There's no need for my daughter to work at all. But Keely's always been independent."

  The man's peremptory tone and boasting made Burke bristle. So the Turners did have money—just as he'd suspected. Biting back his heated response to the man, Burke digested this information. It didn't sit well with him. But why? He'd recognized right off that Keely Turner was a step above him. Definitely a cut above.

  And evidently Turner didn't require a reply to continue with his speech on the superiority of his family. "But if a Turner was going to waste her life at that blasted school, I told the school board chairman that since she'd do a better job than anyone else she might as well replace the retiring principal." He somehow combined a glare and a half -smile.

  Why are you telling me all this? If the man was trying to impress Burke, he'd failed—miserably. Another thought hit Burke. Was this bragger warning him to stay away from his daughter? Save your breath, Turner. I already get the picture. Steaming inside, Burke took a step away.

  Then Turner leaned closer. "She knows how to run a taut ship. I taught her that much. Now if I could just whip her brother into shape." A frown drew the man's whole face downward.

  Burke nodded noncommittally and distanced himself with another step. He wondered if Keely had any idea her father had pressured the school board into naming her principal and was going around bragging about it. He doubted it. She struck him as a straight arrow. But it explained the mystery of how such a young woman filled that position—and at a school where her younger brother was a student. Not a good position to be in, he thought with sympathy. And her own father had engineered that awkward position for her. What a jerk.

  Burke had met Keely only two days ago, but he already knew how embarrassed she'd be if she'd overheard her father's speech. While working on a case, it wasn't like him to focus on a woman, let his feelings get involved. But Keely Turner wasn't like any woman he'd ever met. Burke took another step down. "If you'll excuse me, I've got places I have to be."

  "Right." Turner looked surprised as though he wasn't used to others ending conversations with him. "Don't waste any time wrapping up this investigation. I want whoever took potshots at my daughter caught ASAP."

  We are in complete agreement there, Turner. But he repeated in a firm tone, "We are investigating all possibilities, but your assumption doesn't seem likely." Burke ended with a curt nod. He headed for his Jeep, going over a second time what Keely's father had said and wondering why the man had taken the time to stop and talk to him. Maybe Turner was just an over-protective father. Or was he checking Burke out?

  Turner knew that Burke had been with Keely late last night, so was he laying down the groundwork to tell Burke that he wasn't good enough for his daughter? Unnecessary. Then the memory of Keely's slender form reclining in the—

  Burke's cell phone rang. It w
as Rodd. "We've received two anonymous phone calls about the shooting. One caller said that he'd seen Grady Turner in LaFollette last night about the time of the shooting."

  Keely had said her brother was grounded last night. Had she said that on purpose? He didn't think so. "Why would he shoot at his sister's windows?"

  "According to the caller, everyone knows that Grady has a chip on his shoulder about his sister and . . ."

  "And?" Had this been on Keely's mind last night? She d mentioned friction at home.

  "And he has a twenty-two rifle. That's what you're looking to match, right?"

  "Right. Did the second caller say the same or something different?"

  Rodd paused before replying. "I didn't mention this before, but two people from the neighborhood whom I questioned said they saw Harlan's truck near the high school right before the shooting."

  Burke's stomach clenched. That meant Nick had been in the vicinity of the shooting last night. Again, he heard Nick's lame excuse for not showing up for dinner: "I wasn't hungry. I just drove around and came home. What's the big deal?"

  Was Nick capable of shooting out school windows? God, forgive me. How could I have been so blind to the fact that my sister and Nick needed me? Now even his recent target practice with Nick—something he'd thought would bring them together—now took on the appearance of further negligence on his part. I never thought . . .

  If this accusation proved to be true, how would he explain this to his sister? Burke cleared his throat. "Do you want me to pursue these leads, get bullets from both kids' guns? Do you think Turner would make us get a search—"

  "Hold up. This is a small town. I don't want to damage either kid's reputation by casting suspicion his way on the basis of anonymous calls. There's no rush. After Walachek's recent gaff, the judge has decided this time to keep Walachek in jail on charges so we have time. Before we ask for any more search warrants, let's check out the most obvious suspect, Walachek. You still going to send Walachek's bullets to Hansen at MPD?"