Lethal Target

by Janice Cantore

  “We should have something for you by Monday.”

  Tess hung up optimistic, feeling like she was finally closing in on a killer. If the prints belonged to Carrington or Cherry, that would bring her one step closer to closing the case for sure.

  29

  It was past lunchtime when Tess sent the prints off. Jeannie texted; she was still on track to be there at dinnertime.

  She and Tess would stay the night at the inn. Tess had reserved a room and ordered a surprise dinner set up for her friend along with a couple of movies they both liked. She reached up and rubbed a shoulder that was tense with stress. She needed to find a way to relax in spite of everything swirling around her even more than she had last week. It would be a good break to eat a tasty meal and then curl up in her jammies and watch movies. Tess wanted to zone out and forget the current nastiness with Hector, Tim’s death. She went back to her office, trying to decide what to eat for lunch.

  Pastor Mac was waiting for her at the station. “Hey, Tess, I was wondering if I could buy you lunch. Am I too late?”

  “Not at all, and I am hungry.” It was almost two—no wonder she was hungry. “But something light. I’m having dinner with my friend Jeannie tonight.”

  “Okay, I can do light or a nice bowl of soup.” He smiled. “I know you have a lot to do, and things have been stressful for you lately. We can talk about anything but Hector or the city council meeting. Maybe you’d like to cover something less contentious, like the cannabis issue?”

  Despite everything going on, Tess had to give a little grin. “You always know the right thing to say.”

  “A nonconfrontational snack is just what the pastor ordered.”

  “You’re right about that.” Tess sighed. “And today has been a good day.” She told him about Tim’s bike.

  “The prints will identify the last person to touch the bike?”

  “Hopefully, and then we’ll have a direction to go and maybe even a solid suspect.”

  “Glad to hear it. How about we eat at the inn?”

  “That works for me.”

  As they walked across the street, she worked to keep fatigue at bay. Oliver’s company was a bright spot, an encouragement. She enjoyed discussing town issues with him. She appreciated his perspective and his insight. Oliver was the most even-keeled person she knew.

  She remembered her father’s laminated Scripture card. She’d put it in her pocket, not because she believed in the sentiments on the card, but because somehow it made her feel closer to her father. Should she show it to Oliver? He might get a kick out of it.

  After all her angst about Connor-Ruiz, it was nice to be around someone who, Tess realized, had a handle on life, in the face of great loss. Oliver’s faith surprised Tess. His wife’s murder had not put a dent in it. Lately, maybe in part due to the discovery of the card among her father’s things, Tess found herself thinking more and more about God and faith, without getting ragingly angry. She wasn’t sure why, but bits and pieces of things her father had said to her while she was growing up had come back to her. In her mind’s eye, she could see him sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and reading the Bible like he did every morning before work.

  “Haven’t you finished that yet?” she’d teased one morning.

  He smiled and said, “There’s wisdom here, Tessa. A man can never have too much wisdom.”

  Was it that wisdom that helped Oliver pull it together after Anna’s death? Aside from his monthlong sabbatical home to Scotland, Oliver seemed to have weathered the storm and come back stronger. Yes, he’d been devastated by Anna’s murder, but Tess had heard talk that his preaching was better than ever. His congregation had even grown a bit. Tess knew that his ability to move forward had helped heal a town and a congregation that also felt the loss of a truly special person.

  It made her wonder if she was missing something. After all, she’d never seen her dad’s faith waver, no matter what he encountered at work. And she could never know what his last thoughts were that morning, his final day of life, when he took a bullet for an abuse victim. For some reason, after so many years had passed, she asked herself what he would think of his daughter, who had turned her back on something he thought was so important. But when her thoughts went that direction, old anger and hurt did surface. Her father was murdered, shot in the street like a dog. Where was God in that? That was the question that rose like a brick wall when she considered returning to church or to faith.

  It surprised Tess that despite her inner struggles with the topic, Oliver’s genuine, sincere faith impressed her. In a small way, he reminded her of her father. Daniel O’Rourke had been a faithful churchgoer. Tess went with him, and he’d told her often, “We get our strength from God, Tess. He is who it is that gives us the ability to live a good and righteous life, and to be fair and firm with the people we serve. We need that touchstone; I need that touchstone.”

  At one point, Tess thought she knew what he meant; she thought she shared his faith and embraced the touchstone that faith was. But when he was murdered, she lost her faith and her touchstone.

  Now, with Oliver Macpherson and his example, she often found her thoughts drifting to church and the message of faith in God that her father had embraced. But she’d yet to take a step forward and attend a service.

  The inn was cool and smelled wonderful as they waited to be seated. Since Tess had lived here for so many months, it was almost like coming home.

  They were given a table by the window with a view of the water. The dining room was crowded because a local quilting group was meeting. Several tables had been pushed together and the room resonated with the sound of the ladies’ chatter and occasional laughter.

  Tess decided on the clam chowder. It was Friday and that was the inn’s specialty, but she opted for a cup rather than the house-baked sourdough bowl because that would be too filling.

  “Ah, that sounds great. I’ll have the same.”

  They chatted a bit, and after the food was served, Oliver said, “I hope I’m not crossing any line, but I haven’t seen Sergeant Logan around lately. I wondered if you’re still seeing him.”

  “We’re taking a break. I talked to him the other day.” She shrugged, realizing that with all the turmoil in her life right now, she felt more comfortable with Oliver than she ever had with Steve. Was that a good thing?

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “I’m okay. My divorce still stings. I’m probably not ready for anything serious right now.”

  “Understandable. Have you met the interim sheriff yet?” The sheriff of Jackson County had resigned two years into his four-year term because of health problems. The county had just picked an interim sheriff to serve out the remaining two years of the term.

  Tess shook her head. “I haven’t. They picked him so fast, he must be a good guy.”

  “I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s got a big job. There are a lot more pot farms in all of Jackson County. I imagine that the problems we’ve seen here are multiplied in the whole county.”

  Tess considered that, feeling truly fortunate that there were only three farms in Rogue’s Hollow. “Are you still mediating disputes between pot and non-pot people?”

  “Here and there. I’ve tried to get Don to tell me what they really think they can accomplish by being so pushy—”

  “Don? As in Don Cherry?” Tess stiffened, wondering what on earth Oliver and the ex-con would be doing talking.

  “Yes. He stops by from time to time to talk to me.”

  “About what?”

  Oliver rubbed his chin. “Everything. And nothing. I’m not really sure what he’s after. But it bothers you?”

  “It’s not that. It’s, uh . . . He’s a dangerous guy. Has he suddenly gotten religious?”

  Oliver shook his head. “We just chat. I’ve told him that you get more bees with honey than vinegar, and if he and his crew would just be nice to people, they’d make more headway. It always seems as though if there is
a problem in town, one of Haywood’s crew is behind it.”

  “True,” Tess said, still trying to get past the idea of that monster of a man and Oliver chatting. “Cherry is scary standing still.”

  “He can be. But something else is going on with him; I’m just not sure what it is yet.”

  Frowning, Tess said, “Has he confessed something to you? Something illegal?” Did he kill Tim Harper?

  “No, not at all. He just talk—”

  Before Oliver could finish his sentence, they were interrupted by someone’s presence at the table.

  “Asking the priest to absolve you of your sins?” Hector Connor-Ruiz sneered.

  Oliver responded calmly and smoothly while Tess was still gathering her thoughts. “I’m not a priest, and this isn’t a confessional.”

  Sitting back, Tess worked hard to be as calm as Oliver. “Mr. Connor-Ruiz, this is really getting old. You’re being a nuisance to interrupt not only my meal but Pastor Macpherson’s.”

  “That a menace would call me a nuisance. Ha.” He raised his voice, did a 360. “I’m just making sure everyone here knows what a fake you are. What a stealer of human rights. What a menace. It’s America. I have the right to free speech.”

  Tess was acutely aware that the quilting group had gone silent. She felt as if every woman at the large table turned their way. Many were locals, but some were from other parts of the valley and probably had no idea about the conflict raging in the Hollow. It was paralyzing. She turned in her chair, not sure how to handle this, but Hector wasn’t finished.

  “All of you people, this woman is a criminal. That you pay her to be chief of police is a joke, a farce, a—”

  Oliver stood and faced Connor-Ruiz. “Excuse me, but you’re not exercising free speech; you’re being rude. You’re interrupting my meal and the meal of every other diner here using a basic right as an excuse to be abusive.”

  “Hear, hear,” a diner at another table chimed in. Tess turned to see Victor Camus, local hunting guide, watching Oliver and Hector. He was sitting with his sister, Helen. Tess hadn’t known that she was back in town. “You need to find another place to be a jerk, friend,” he said, tone dangerous.

  The defense for her was nearly as paralyzing as the bullying. In Long Beach only Ronnie Riggs had stood up so vocally, but would he have done it in a crowded restaurant?

  Connor-Ruiz turned toward Victor, and some of his bluster faded. Victor was an intimidating person. The hunting guide had a Clint Eastwood stare going on.

  Stepping back, Hector got chicken-chested. “Look, boyfriend.” Hector jammed his index finger into Oliver’s chest. “Mark my words! She’s a menace, you’ll see. Death follows her—innocent death. Come to the council meeting next month. Force your council to take action.” With that he turned on his heel and left the restaurant.

  Tess brought a hand to her forehead as Oliver sat. The fatigue and frustration of the day came to a head. Her throat clogged, and all she could croak out was “I’m so sorry—”

  “Don’t.” Oliver reached across the table and grasped her hand. Tess squeezed back, needing someone else’s strength because it felt as if hers was draining away.

  “Don’t apologize. That guy is the problem, not you.”

  Tess sucked in a breath, the awful memories of what drove her from Long Beach suffocating her at the same time the strength and defense Oliver offered bolstered her. It was his stormy gray eyes—they always reminded her of the mighty Rogue River, and she felt strength and comfort that doused the burning embarrassment brought on by Hector’s tirade.

  It was a minute before she could speak.

  “Hector Connor-Ruiz—he has no life other than to attack me. He wants people to hate me, to mistrust me.”

  Pulling his hand back, Oliver shook his head. “He’s making waves, that’s for sure. But he’ll fail. No one who knows you will believe him. You’ve proved to us that you’re genuine and good; you’ve proved your quality.” He grinned.

  “My quality? That sounds like something from a movie.”

  “It is. I’m a Tolkien fan. Did you see the movies?”

  “Ah, Lord of the Rings. Yes, a long time ago.”

  “Yeah.” He chuckled, a rich, masculine sound. “I guess I’m a bit dated, but it’s a classic. And in The Two Towers there’s an exchange between Faramir and Samwise. Faramir was always struggling to prove his quality to his father.”

  “That’s right, I remember. And when he let Frodo and Sam go, Sam tells him that he’s proved his quality.” She smiled, the discomfort from the confrontation with Hector fading away as she and Oliver connected on the bit of movie nostalgia.

  “So you are a fan. My point is, we know you here, your integrity and courage. The fact that you are a dragon slayer.”

  That made Tess laugh, and all the stress was gone.

  “So don’t worry. That guy is not going to tarnish you in our eyes in the least. I’ve said it before—don’t let him get in your head.”

  “Thank you, Oliver. I won’t.”

  “Good. Now let’s finish our lunch and move on to solve all the world’s problems.”

  30

  Hector bounced out of the inn with a smirk on his face. This had been easier than he thought it would be. He was getting to the woman, he was certain. In fact, he laughed when he reached his car because he believed that he’d already won. The Red Menace was stuck here in the third circle of hell—that was what he thought of Rogue’s Hollow. It had surprised him when he got here how primitive the place was. Locals called it rustic, code for boring.

  Though he’d only been in residence for a little over a week, Hector hated this place as much if not more than he hated Tess O’Rourke. He’d made so much headway in a short amount of time, he had a feeling the city council might remove her from her job before the beginning of next week. But it couldn’t balance out how much he hated living in the country.

  This town, this backward, boring place, was suffocating. The only thing it had going for it was a good coffee shop. The one bar here sucked, and there wasn’t even a McDonald’s close by. And there were no other entertainment venues unless you wanted to drive all the way to Medford, and Medford was no Long Beach. Happy but frustrated as well, he slowly made his way to his new home, not wanting to get a ticket like that stupid Carr.

  His moron surfer roommate and partner wasn’t home, and for that he was glad. The big, scary guy was there watching TV. Hector kind of wished the big guy had been arrested instead of Carr. He didn’t know Carr, but nobody could be as scary as Cherry. Hector always gave him a wide berth.

  He opened the fridge and grabbed a beer. He thought getting the chief fired would be his big life achievement. He opened his beer and was about to take a drink when a disturbing thought struck. If he got the chief fired, then he’d be stuck here in this dull town and she wouldn’t even be around to harass.

  What would he do then?

  The thought paralyzed him. To be stranded here would be worse than enduring Chinese water torture.

  So what if it had only been a week? So what if it was a lot of money? Hector considered quitting, going back to California. As soon as the chief was bounced, he’d leave, get out of Dodge and back to the crowded busyness of California. After downing a six-pack, he called his benefactor.

  “Hey, man, I hate this place. It’s Deliverance here. Banjo players on every corner. I’m quitting, heading back to LB.”

  “We had an agreement.”

  “Yeah, well, I delivered. Bet the woman is fired in a week. I fulfilled the bargain. This place sucks.”

  “If that’s true, you stay put until she’s gone. You owe me. I bailed you out.”

  “I didn’t ask you to.”

  “That’s not the point. You leave, you pay me back. Every cent.”

  “When I get back on my feet.”

  “The minute you leave. I’m not a charitable organization.”

  “I can’t stay here. I’ll pay you back when I can.”

&nb
sp; “I’m warning you—”

  Hector disconnected. Drunk, feeling brave, he cursed his benefactor and Tess O’Rourke and went into his room to pack. He’d show them. He’d hit it big with news somehow, in a civilized city with a nightlife and a million people hanging on every word of his blog.

  31

  After Oliver left, Tess checked the time. Jeannie should be in soon. She contemplated going home; she lived five minutes away. Then she decided against it. While she hadn’t picked up her overnight bag, Tess had a change of clothes in the car, a vestige of preparedness left over from her time in Long Beach, when she’d taught disaster preparedness and the worry was earthquakes. She’d considered staying at the inn for the whole weekend, even after Jeannie left, but still hadn’t decided.

  She drank another glass of iced tea and watched the river out the big picture windows in the dining room, a view she never tired of. A drift boat passed by, followed by a raft filled with people. Summer, the busy season on the river, had barely started, but Tess was ready for winter and cooler weather. She’d never been a beach girl. Her fair skin burned too easily, and she enjoyed the snow more than the sand. The first winter she’d spent in Oregon had been snowy and very cold, but she hadn’t minded. She’d found that the four-wheel-drive vehicle the city provided was more than adequate to get her where she needed to go.

  Next year she’d be even better prepared.

  Thinking about next year gave her pause for a moment. The contentious city council meeting was seared in her mind. She’d been trying to forget all she’d heard from people in the community she served, especially Drake in his grief. It was easy not to like the cop. She remembered what an old training officer used to say: “If you want to be popular, be a fireman.” For Tess that was never an option.

  If Cole won the election for mayor, she wouldn’t have a job here next year.

  Would she stay in Oregon? Tess thought of Oliver, Casey, Addie, Steve—all people she considered friends. The pain at the thought of leaving friends again so soon took her by surprise. But then, this was home now.