by Lyn Cote
Switching off the ignition, he turned to Nick, hunched on the seat beside him. "Behave yourself here."
Nick said something under his breath.
Burke didn't ask him to repeat it. He just climbed out of the Jeep, slammed the door, and stalked to the thrift shop. He knocked on the door.
Keely opened it for him. "Mother called. She said you would be stopping by."
Inside, he halted, looking around. He'd been in a few consignment shops years ago—when he and Sharon were furnishing their apartment....He shut down that line of thought—fast. He concentrated on this shop—which was so completely different than the usual thrift store. It had style. Even the used clothing and housewares looked..."This isn't so bad. It doesn't look depressing."
"Hey, thanks." Keely chuckled. "I'll tell our interior designer." She motioned him to follow her to the rear. "Come in. What brings you here?"
Keely's laughter eased his tension and just being near her warmed him like walking out into sunshine. Her presence made him want to relax, forget business, and simply experience today, the last day of summer. Listening here and there as he patrolled the county, he knew now why Keely had stayed in LaFollette—to help. People who didn't know her well resented her wealth. But those who knew her spoke of her kind and giving heart. So different from her father.
On this summery afternoon, she was wearing jean shorts and a pale blue blouse. As she preceded him, he tried not to focus on her long legs and arms. And again, she looked out of place in this setting.
"Have you found out who shot the windows?" she asked.
He realized the moment he'd hoped wouldn't come had arrived. "No, I've just found out who didn't."
In the thrift shop kitchen, Keely went straight to the ironing board, stacked with cotton shirts. Burke had shaken up the tranquility of her day. His tension was palpable. Suppressed irritation layered his final sentence. Irritation showed in his expression and more irritation in the way he moved. She looked into Burke's eyes and was caught by their intensity. Had he discovered evidence that implicated Grady or his nephew? The thought that it might be Grady made her queasy.
She wished she could find away to help ease his frustration. As for her own worries, she'd been doing what she could to relax. Listening to Mozart, letting her mind float along on the melody while ironing was a tension releaser for her. What was his? "I'm not following you. I thought you were trying to find—"
"I didn't tell you earlier, but I suspected Walachek had taken a potshot at the school that night." He looked at her, a grim twist to his mouth and chin.
That's what set him off? Did he actually think that someone had tried to shoot at her? If that's the case, I'd much rather it be Walachek than your nephew or my brother. Ignoring his gaze, she picked up the iron. "Ah." She pressed it down on a shirt sleeve and steam puffed up, hissing. She looked at him."Walachek had crossed my mind too."
He appeared disconcerted, shifting his weight to lean back against the kitchen counter. "I didn't want to worry you."
"Walachek's still in custody?" She smoothed the iron over the cotton. Burke's heated reaction to her being a target gave her an unusual feeling. She wasn't used to having someone concerned about protecting her.
"Yes, Walachek is still in jail."
"Then I'm not worried. And I don't think I was the target anyway. It's just our vandal or vandals." Which might be Nick or Grady or who? She concentrated on the shirt collar for a few moments, trying to ignore how Burke's presence filled up the small, cluttered kitchen. "So who do you suspect now? Is that what you came to tell me?"
He looked her over with a glum expression. "I'm afraid that two teens were reported driving near the school that night and both had access to guns."
She concentrated on rearranging the shirt on the padded board. He doesn't want to tell me. So that's what is bothering him—the fact that he might upset me. But she knew ignoring bad news never made it go away. "Grady and Nick?"
He stared at her. "You guessed?"
She shrugged, frustrated. "I told you a person would need earplugs to avoid gossip around here. I heard that Grady was seen in town that night—even though he was grounded. And your nephew was seen driving through town in Harlan's truck with the gun on the rack in the rear window."
Burke sat down at the cluttered kitchen table, looking disgruntled. "Well, so much for information security." His voice twisted sardonically.
"It's not your fault. I'm sure no one in the sheriff's office said anything." Very aware of how intensely he was watching her, she hung the shirt on a hanger and lifted another to the ironing board. His attention made her feel ...like he was noticing her—not Turner's daughter. Not Ms. Turner. A shiver trickled through her. His gaze had power.
"It's just the way a small town works," she said as naturally as she could. What would her father's reaction to Grady's being a suspect be? Whatever it was, it wouldn't be good. "Everyone's always watching and then talking about what they see. You shouldn't look so surprised. You know Veda reported me for sitting on this back porch the other night. And I was just sitting there. Remember?" She paused. "What do you do next?"
He frowned. "I've already taken a spent bullet from Harlan's gun and my hunting rifle." He looked up. "Now I'll need one from your brother's twenty-two. Rodd wants to know if you'd talk to your father about voluntarily giving us spent bullets from all his rifles."
She stilled. So that's why he'd come. He wanted her to help him get her father to cooperate. Did the sheriff think she had any real influence with her father? Grady a suspect? Dad will go ballistic. And I want to be a million miles away. "I don't think—"
Crash!
It came from the garage and caught them both by surprise. Keely turned off the iron and headed for the door."Grady! What fell?" Burke stayed at her heels through the connecting breezeway to the garage. "Grady!" she shouted.
Her brother bounced up from a pile of empty paint cans that he'd fallen backwards onto. His face twisted, he picked up the nearest object, a baby car seat. He sent it flying at Burke's nephew.
Nick caught it.
"Nick!" At her elbow, Burke yelled, "Stop!"
Nick ignored his uncle and lobbed the car seat back—hard.
Grady grabbed it.
"Grady!" she scolded.
But this time, with a glare at Keely, he slammed the car seat as hard as he could down to the cement floor. The plastic seat thudded and bounced twice before landing on its side. Between the two bounces, something small and golden flew out from under the thick padding and onto the floor.
What was it? Keely heard Burke breaking up the fight. She walked over and bent down to look at what the fight had dislodged. It was a heart-shaped pendant on a gold chain that had the look of a family heirloom. This wasn't just any car seat. This was the car seat the baby girl who the Weavers had taken in had come to Steadfast in.
Was this what Keely thought it might be—a clue to who the baby girl was? Could this possibly have been in the seat from the beginning, from that day in January when the car had exploded? She stopped herself from touching the heart pendant. There might be fingerprints.
Or could it simply be Penny's? But it didn't look like anything Penny would have handled around the baby, let alone to let it slip under the padding of the car seat. She'd never seen Penny wearing anything like it. And her friend hadn't mentioned losing anything of value. "Burke," she called.
"What?"
"Call the sheriff...now." She stared at the pendant, trying to make out the elaborate but faint engraving on it.
"What ...why?"
"There's something here—it fell from the car seat." She swallowed, trying to moisten her mouth. "Penny Weaver brought that car seat in." Keely's voice shook as she thought about how this might affect her friend. "This is the car seat that Weavers' foster daughter, the one your department has been trying to identify since January, was found in—"
Burke was at her side. "That's the car seat from the car that exploded?"
"Yes," she said, still staring at the necklace. "Maybe we should just call the Weavers."
Burke snapped open his cell phone. "We need them and Rodd. Don't touch that heart."
Chapter Five
Just over an hour later, Penny and Bruce Weaver, Rodd, Burke, and Keely sat around the oblong table in the small kitchen of the thrift shop. Keely had folded up the ironing board and poured iced tea, which no one was drinking. The softly buzzing window fan near the sink blew fresh air into the room, the atmosphere already heavy with concern.
Keely felt it inside her, a dull heavy ache in her midsection. Burke and the sheriff had donned gloves and examined the car seat thoroughly. They had found a slit on the underside of the padding. The slit had obviously been cut and then glued shut so the pendant had been concealed on purpose. The tossing of the seat, and then Grady's slamming it to the floor had broken the seal, and the necklace had flown out.
Now the car seat sat in the middle of the table and beside it on an envelope lay the vintage golden pendant. The name Maria was engraved faintly on the heart.
Both Penny and her husband, an attractive couple in their early thirties, looked subdued. Their dour expressions belied the fact that they were dressed for a picnic, for fun. They held hands.
After Burke's call, Rodd had come straight from his farm. He looked grim. Keely's heart went out to him too. No doubt he was remembering the day in January when he'd lifted this car seat with the baby in it out of the car. And then as he carried the baby to safety, behind him the car had exploded into flames.
Keely glanced across at Burke. His eyes had that shuttered look she'd begun to recognize. That look signaled that his mind was turning, turning, examining events and he didn't want to be disturbed.
Somehow having his fight with Nick overshadowed had irritated Grady. Her brother had driven off in a huff. And Grady's rude words upon leaving still grated on her. What had Burke thought of her brother and his nephew fighting with each other? It could only lower his opinion of her brother. But then her brother had inherited her father's attitude--what others thought of a Turner didn't matter.
A muffled whistling came from the garage. Grady's departure had left Nick alone, whom Burke had then ordered to sort clothing as punishment for fighting with her brother. Keely hoped Nick wouldn't take a dislike to the Family Closet over this. It was the kind of place he needed to volunteer at, a place that could show him how much worse life could be if one didn't count the cost. Nick had shown himself to be a better sport than her brother. He'd appeared chasened by the breaking of the car seat and the appearance of the necklace. Now Nick's insouciant whistling contrasted sharply with the somber mood of the five around the table.
"The waiting," Penny, looking crushed, began, "has been the worst."
"Don't jump to conclusions," Keely said. "You might end up keeping Rachel."
"I don't want to keep her from her birth mother. And the pendant isn't mine." Penny brushed the sheen of tears from her eyes. "It must belong to Rachel, to her mother...."
"The car seat might have been borrowed," Burke cut in, "or Rachel's mother might have bought it at another thrift shop and never knew the necklace was there. This might lead us to your foster child's parents or it might be another dead end."
Burke's logic was irrefutable. This might not give them the answer. It might only add another question to the unsolved mystery of who baby Rachel belonged to. This further lowered the mood around the table.
Keely longed to leave this serious scene. Just an hour ago, she'd looked forward to a quiet day here, peacefully sheltered in this, her second home. But now she wanted to escape. Sunshine pouring through the windows and the warm breezes beckoned her.
Keely looked at the grave faces around her. "What do we do now?"
"First, we have to find out if anyone around here recognizes this necklace." Rodd pointed to it. "It's distinctive, obviously old, and engraved with the name Maria, so it should be easily identified. And second, the fact is the car was in this county when the accident happened."
He looked around, his jaw line jutting out as though he expected an argument. "This county isn't a destination anyone would just casually choose, especially in January. Especially last January, the coldest and snowiest recorded in nearly fifty years. If the couple who died . . ." Rodd took a deep breath. "If little Rachel is connected with anyone around here, this could be the link we've been hoping for."
"The couple might have been driving through here on their way somewhere north or west," Bruce offered, lifting one hand in obvious frustration.
Rodd nodded. "That means I'll need to get this story out to the papers—first to Cram for the Steadfast Times but also as far north as Duluth, west to Minneapolis, east to Green Bay, and everywhere in between. I'll take a digital photo of it and fax it out. It's the kind of mystery most small-town papers like to run, and I'll ask for information about it. I won't mention the baby angle the first time around."
"You think it's best to see what pops up first?" Burke asked.
Rodd nodded again. "Right."
"You never know what something like this can stir up," Burke agreed. "We'll probably end up with a lot of false leads. But that's all we can do now."
"That's not all we can do now," Bruce said. "God brought us little Rachel and he knows where she belongs. Let's pray." He took his wife's hand and bowed his head.
Everyone followed his lead. Keely's hand itched to reach out and take Burke's. She remembered how his strong hand had felt when he led her away from the Walachek mobile home. She folded hers together in her lap. The desire to hold the deputy's hand had caught her off guard. She rarely had these flashes of attraction to someone. But that shouldn't surprise her. She spent her life surrounded by adolescents. No attraction there.
"Dear Father," Bruce prayed, "you know how much we have loved having Rachel with us. We are willing to keep this sweet child the rest of our lives, if that's your will. But if she belongs with someone else, if someone else is grieving over losing her, let us find that person, that mother or father. God, we want what you want, the very best for Rachel."
Yes, Lord, Keely prayed, we do. God, this isn't up to us alone. You are acting in this situation and we're grateful.
"Let word of this evidence find the person who needs it. In Christ's name, amen," Bruce finished.
Each of them looked up. The prayer should have eased Keely's tension, but she felt a restlessness, unusual for her. She saw this reflected on Burke's face as he looked back at her. Was it because he suspected her brother of shooting out the school windows? Whether Grady was guilty or not, her brother knew how to push all of her buttons and had done so today. This is all too much for me and too much for Burke. He needs a break. I need a break.
Rodd grinned, showing how his spirit had lightened."Thanks, Bruce. With God, we can't go wrong."
Nick sauntered in, slouching to show he didn't care that he'd been forced to work. "Hey," he grumbled, "I sorted that stuff and I need to go."
The aggrieved voice tightened Keely's neck muscles. Could I have one day off from teenagers?
"Harlan wanted me to drive him to the VFW Labor Day picnic." Nick glared at the adults.
Rodd stood up. "I'll drop you at Harlan's. It's on my way to Cram's." Rodd looked at Burke. "I'll take the photo of the necklace right away and get busy on the fax machine. But I don't want you working on this. Today." He gave Burke a pointed look. "You're not the sheriff and this is your day off. You've worked enough overtime since you arrived in Steadfast to finally make even me feel guilty. Take this lady—" he nodded toward Keely—"out for a bite of lunch." Rodd departed with Nick beside him.
Bewildered by the sheriff's announcement, Keely turned to Penny and hugged her close. "Penny, I'll be praying for you."
Looking close to tears again, Penny nodded. Bruce squeezed Keely's upper arm affectionately and the couple left.
The Weavers' sadness had communicated, spread to her. Keely was so tired of worrying. I need to
do something completely unexpected—something that would let me shed all this worry, tension. But what? She closed her eyes and an image came to her. Yes. That's exactly where I want to be.
Now all alone in the little kitchen, Keely and Burke looked at each other.
The deputy looked tense, uneasy, ready to explode with frustration. He looked like a man who wanted to be doing, not waiting. Why had Rodd suggested that Burke take her to lunch? Had Rodd caught the matchmaking virus? He didn't seem the type for that. Maybe he just thought she'd keep Burke from spending his day off working on this case in spite of the sheriff's orders. He should know Burke better than anyone else. And it would be nice to . . .
She leaned back against the counter, trying to figure out how to let Burke know that she didn't want to spend this beautiful afternoon alone, but that she didn't consider this a date. Saying that was impossible. Stop thinking and just ask him. "I don't know about you but I can't be serious one more minute."
He studied her and then nodded.
When he made no move or further comment, she decided to take action. And there was only one place to go. If he bowed out, so be it. "Let's get out of here." Without waiting for a reply, she reached for her purse, locked the back door, and headed toward the front. She switched off lights and fans as she went. "Coming?"
"Where are you going?" Burke followed her outside.
She closed and locked the door behind them. "I need something to cheer me up. And so do you. If you're coming, come on."
She jumped into her white SUV. Burke hovered at the passenger door with a show of reluctance.
"I know you'd rather take your vehicle," she said, "but I'm driving 'cause I know the way."
He seemed to consider this. "Okay." He got inside beside and shut the door.
In all their conversations, Burke Sloan had never said a word he didn't need—so unlike her father who liked to hear his own voice--and often.