by B. J Daniels
“He should come to the party,” Laci said, coming up behind them. She’d hung back to give their grandmother’s nurses the chocolate-chip cookies. Laney could feel her sister’s gaze on her, hear the humor in her voice. “Shouldn’t he, Laney?”
“Of course,” Laney said because what else could she say under the circumstances? She looked down, surprised to see he was still holding her hand.
“What kind of party is this?” he asked as he let go, as if as reluctant to break the connection as she’d been. His gaze, however, came right back to her after he shook her sister’s hand.
“It’s our cousin’s engagement party,” Laci said.
He smiled. “Thank you, but I really couldn’t intrude.”
“It’s no intrusion,” Laci said, grinning curiously from Laney to Nick. “The entire town is invited and half the county. That’s the way things are done around here. Haven’t you seen the baby shower and anniversary notices in the local newspaper inviting the whole county? Welcome to small-town America.”
“A lot different from the big city,” Nick said. “But still I don’t think I—”
“It’s for our cousin Maddie Cavanaugh and her fiancé Bo Evans,” Laci interrupted. “It would be a good time to meet more of the locals. Everyone will be there.”
Laney saw the change in Nick’s expression. “Maybe I will reconsider,” he said. “When is this party?”
“Saturday afternoon,” Laci said. “Wear your dancing boots. Gramps will be playing his fiddle as part of the Whitehorse Country Band.”
Nick met Laney’s gaze. “Save me a dance?”
She nodded, feeling sixteen again and just as foolish because she was beginning to think this engagement party for Maddie wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
* * *
ARLENE EVANS LOOKED ACROSS the table at her handsome son and smiled. She’d suggested dinner at the Hi-Line Café because she had something important to announce.
“I’m going to have the steak sandwich,” Bo said, closing his menu. He glanced toward the street and drummed his fingers on the table as if bored.
Arlene tamped down her annoyance. “Have whatever you want,” she said, feeling magnanimous. Bo was the light of her life. Her son. The one who would carry on the family name. It was especially important to have a son when you lived on a farm. Sons stayed and worked the place and, although Bo had shown little interest in farming, she knew he would once he was married.
Daughters on the other hand, well, they were supposed to get married and leave.
She let her gaze shift from her son to her youngest daughter, Charlotte. Charlotte was staring at a lank of her long straight blond hair, looking for split ends. Arlene applauded Charlotte’s interest in her looks at seventeen. At least one of her daughters understood the importance of looking her best from her hair to her prettily painted acrylic nails.
Arlene glanced at her other daughter and scowled. Violet, her unmarried daughter, was her burden to bear. Not pretty, not overly bright, certainly not ambitious, Violet was thirty-four with few prospects. No matter what Violet wore, she looked...well, frumpy.
Her hair was a dull brown and her complexion muddy, and her nails! Arlene had done everything possible to break Violet of biting her nails and it had done no good.
Arlene feared her daughter would never marry and leave home as was natural. And how would that reflect on Arlene? She couldn’t bear such a blight on her as a mother.
“I’ll have a cheeseburger with fries and a chocolate milk shake,” Violet said tentatively.
“Are you sure you don’t want a nice salad, dear? All that fried food. It isn’t a problem for the rest of us, but with you watching your weight...”
Violet closed her menu. “Why don’t you order for me, Mother?”
Arlene thought she detected an edge to her daughter’s voice, but that would be so unlike Violet that she dismissed it.
“So what’s this about?” Bo asked impatiently. “You said you had something you wanted to tell us?”
Arlene refused to be rushed. Fortunately, the waitress came to take their orders just then. A steak sandwich and jojos for Bo, the grilled chicken salad for Violet, a side salad with vinegar and oil for Charlotte and a strawberry milk shake, the fish basket with fries for Arlene.
“So did anything interesting happen last night?” she asked Violet after the waitress had gone.
Violet looked at her brother. “Well,” she said dragging out the word, “I did see Maddie at the bar last night. She was dancing with Curtis McAlheney.”
“So?” Bo snapped. “It’s not like we’re married yet. She can dance with anyone she wants.”
“Curtis McAlheney?” Violet let out that irritating loud laugh of hers. “He’s old enough to be her father!”
“Please! Could we just have one meal together without you two arguing?” Arlene glared at Violet, took a breath and let it out slowly, upset to hear about Maddie.
She wondered if Maddie had been drinking. She wouldn’t have been surprised, given that Charlotte had gotten served when the bars were really busy even though she was only seventeen. Or maybe the girls had fake IDs. That would be just like Maddie.
“You weren’t with Maddie, Bo?” Arlene asked, surprised and a little concerned. She’d thought that he was meeting Maddie when he’d left the house before his sisters last night.
“I went to Havre with some friends,” he said, obviously not happy to hear that Maddie had been at the bar—and dancing with Curtis McAlheney even though Curtis was no prize. “It’s not like Maddie and I are attached at the hip, you know.”
“You’re right,” Arlene quickly agreed. “It’s good to have friends and do things with them even after you’re married.”
“If he gets married,” Violet said under her breath.
“What is that supposed to mean?” both Arlene and Bo demanded. Charlotte hummed quietly to herself, apparently oblivious to the rest of them.
Violet only gave her brother one of her that’s-for-me-to-know-and-you-to-find-out looks.
Arlene wanted to slap her. Instead, she decided it was time to make her announcement. “I have great news. I’ve started a home business.”
Both Bo and Violet were noticeably surprised. Charlotte glanced up, but went back to her split ends; she would never need a dating service.
“What kind of business?” Violet asked as if worried she might have to work it.
“On the Internet,” Arlene said excitedly. She’d done her best to find Violet a man, throwing her together with every eligible man she could find in several counties. Now it was time to expand her territory. “It’s an Internet dating service for rural singles.”
Violet gasped.
Bo began to laugh, shaking his head as his gaze went to Violet then his mother. “This is going to be good.”
* * *
ON SATURDAY, NICK TOLD HIMSELF he had no business going to a party in Old Town Whitehorse or anywhere else. His plan had been to keep a low profile while in Montana. That meant doing his job, staying to himself, having as little contact with the locals as was necessary.
It wasn’t as if it had slipped his mind why he was here or what was at stake if he screwed up. He had to keep his head down. Dancing with a pretty young local woman with emerald-green eyes wasn’t just risky business. It could get him killed.
And yet, dancing with Laney Cavanaugh was all he could think about as he checked his messages at his office before getting ready to head to Old Town.
He told himself he was just doing his job by going to the party. That he wouldn’t have accepted the party invitation if it hadn’t been for Maddie Cavanaugh’s and Bo Evans’s engagement. He hadn’t been able to forget the fear he’d seen in Maddie’s eyes that day outside his office. Nor could he shake the instant dislike he’d felt for Bo
Evans. The kid was trouble. Nick had seen enough young men like Bo to spot his kind a mile away.
And what would just one dance hurt?
Nick looked up at the sound of a man clearing his throat.
“I—I—I was attacked.”
The man standing in his doorway was average height, average build, average in most every way. He looked vaguely familiar.
“I’m the reporter for the Milk River Examiner. I tried to do a story on you when you came to town,” the man said as if seeing Nick attempting to place him.
“Right.”
“Glen Whitaker,” the man said. He’d looked sheepish when Nick had first looked up, but now he appeared a little aggravated at not being remembered. Or maybe it was because Nick had declined to be interviewed.
“You say you were attacked?” Nick asked. The man didn’t appear to be in pain. Nor did his clothing suggest an attack. He wore dark slacks, a white shirt, loafers. He obviously was a transplant from somewhere else. His hair was slicked back in an old-fashioned cut although he appeared to be in his thirties. Hard to tell age with a man like that.
“The attack happened a month ago, right before you were hired,” Glen Whitaker said, glancing around as if he wanted to make sure no one was listening. There wasn’t anyone in the office and the dispatcher’s desk was far enough away she couldn’t have heard. Nor did she seem even interested in what the reporter was doing here.
“Sit down,” Nick said as Glen drew up a chair, pulling it close to the deputy’s desk. “You say it happened before I was hired. Did you report it?”
“No.” Glen looked nervous. “I wasn’t sure.”
“You weren’t sure you were attacked?” Nick was beginning to wonder about this guy.
“You see, I was told that I’d been down at Old Town. It’s a near ghost town south of here by the Missouri Breaks.”
Nick nodded. “I’ve been there.”
“Anyway, about a month ago I woke up beside the road, my car smashed into a fence post, miles from everything. I couldn’t remember anything. I later found out that I was in Old Town Whitehorse. I had two large bumps on my head that I thought must have caused the memory loss.”
“Were you drinking?” Nick had to ask.
“I don’t drink. Several people saw me leave the Whitehorse Community Center and can attest to the fact that I hadn’t had a thing to drink. That was the night before. I woke up beside the road the next morning feeling like I’d been run over.” Glen leaned in closer. “When I got home I found bruises all over my body as if I’d been beaten.”
Nick had been thinking the man was a nutcase. But his story was a little too much like the others Nick had been hearing. Also, the attack had been on a Saturday night.
“Would you say the bruises indicated you might have been kicked? Or beaten with a weapon of some sort?” Nick asked.
Glen Whitaker sat back, relief drowning his features. “You believe me then?”
“There have been some other reports of this sort of thing.”
“I was afraid to come in.” Glen looked away as if too upset to go on. “I was afraid you’d think I was crazy.”
Nick pulled out a report. “When exactly did this happen?”
Glen stood abruptly. “I don’t want to file a complaint.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want this all over town. That’s why I came to you. You don’t know anyone. I just needed to tell someone.”
“But don’t you want your attack on record?”
The reporter wagged his head. “And have it end up in the newspaper? No way.” He started backing toward the door.
“Okay,” Nick said putting the form away. “I won’t make out a report. But tell me when it happened. There appears to be a series of these attacks. Yours might have been the first.”
“Saturday, four weeks ago, when that Bailey woman went missing. I can’t remember the exact date.”
Nick had heard about the Bailey woman, that she’d been discovered down in the Breaks and everything that had happened because of it.
“You have any idea who’s responsible for these attacks?” Glen asked.
“Not yet, but your information might prove critical to the investigation.” Nick checked his calendar. “From what I can tell, yours was the first attack.”
“No kidding.” Clearly, he was glad he wasn’t the only one. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much help. I still can’t remember anything about those lost twenty-four hours.” He paused. “There was one thing though.” He looked sheepish again. “It’s probably nothing.”
Nick smiled to himself. He’d been a cop long enough to know that whenever anyone said “it’s probably nothing,” it was usually something.
“I smelled something on my clothes afterwards,” he said, flushing a little. “I think it might have been perfume.”
Nick could see how uncomfortable this admission made the reporter. “Do you have a woman friend?”
Glen shook his head. “I like women, don’t get me wrong.”
“Of course. But you can’t recall being around a woman that day.”
“I can’t recall anything, that’s the problem.”
“Okay, this perfume. You recognize the scent?”
Another shake of his head.
“What was it like?”
“Some flower I think.”
That narrowed it down. “A flower you’d recall if you smelled it again?”
“It was an old flower, you know the kind—” he hesitated “—that older women wear.”
Nick nodded. “Okay, that could help.” He couldn’t imagine how, since Glen Whitaker had no idea who he’d come in contact with before he’d woken up beside a road in the middle of nowhere. Apparently an older woman.
“Okay,” Glen echoed. “I just thought you ought to know.”
“I’m glad you came in,” Nick said.
Glen hesitated at the door. “My editor still wants a story on you.”
“Thanks,” Nick said, “but I’ll pass. I’m shy and the story of my life would put your readers to sleep.”
Glen shook his head. “We print stories like that all the time.”
“Yeah,” Nick agreed with a laugh, “I’ve read your paper.”
As Glen left looking like a whipped puppy, Nick checked. Sure enough, there’d been an assault every Saturday night for apparently the last four weeks.
But this Saturday everyone would be in Old Town Whitehorse at Maddie Cavanaugh’s engagement party. At least this afternoon.
As he stood to leave for the party, Nick thought of Maddie. That young woman was in some kind of trouble. But he didn’t know what to do about it if she wasn’t willing to tell him.
He considered confiding in Maddie’s cousin Laney, telling her his concerns, and quickly nixed the idea. He didn’t know Laney Cavanaugh, although he felt as if he did. Crazy.
Still he couldn’t shake the thought of inviting her to town for dinner one night and seeing what he could find out about the cousin and her fiancé. Maybe he’d ask Laney at the party. Maybe while they were dancing.
Just a man doing his job.
As he started to leave his office, he glanced back at his desk. Time for a reality check, he thought as he walked back and unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk. The cell phone he’d bought when he’d left California was right where he’d put it. He only turned it on to check for messages once a day.
He hadn’t checked it yet today. Hell, he’d forgotten for a while there what he was doing in Montana. He picked up the phone and turned it on. No messages.
Nick breathed a sigh of relief although he knew it was just a matter of time before he got the call. One that would tell him it was time to return to California. Or a call that would tell him his cover was blown an
d to run.
He turned off the cell phone and put it back in the bottom drawer, locked the drawer and stood for a moment, hesitating. Just checking the phone had been a reminder how foolish it would be for him to get too involved, either in his work or with anyone while in Montana.
That was why he should just back off. If Maddie Cavanaugh really was in trouble, then let her come to him. And as for Laney Cavanaugh... He shook his head, reminding himself that his life here was one big fat lie. The closer he got to Laney Cavanaugh, the greater his chance of being found out. And if that happened, he was as good as dead.
* * *
DURING THE WEEK, news of the engagement party for Maddie Cavanaugh and Bo Evans spread like wildfire through the county. Few people were apt to turn down a party, especially one being thrown by a Cavanaugh. Some just wanted to come to critique Laci Cavanaugh’s cuisine. There was a rumor going round that she was planning to start her own catering business and was trying out recipes at the party.
Only two of the people who heard about the party were upset.
Arlene Evans was insulted that she hadn’t been asked to at least bring some of the food for the party. After all, she had taken the most blue ribbons at the Phillips County Fair and the Whitehorse Fourth of July picnic.
And in case no one had noticed, Bo was her son.
“The mother of the groom isn’t allowed to throw the engagement party,” Alice Miller told her one afternoon at the Whitehorse Sewing Circle. “Actually, you shouldn’t even be allowed to work on your daughter-in-law’s wedding quilt, but since we’re shorthanded with Lila Bailey and Pearl Cavanaugh gone...”
That had distracted Arlene. “I still can’t believe that Lila Bailey would just up and run off like she did.” She waited a moment for the other women in the circle to jump in. Arlene lowered her voice. “I always wondered about the paternity of her oldest daughter, Eve. She didn’t look anything like the rest of them.”
“Arlene,” Geraldine Shaw said impatiently and totally out of character. Pearl was the one who usually chastised Arlene for talking about anything interesting. “You missed a stitch. Perhaps you should tend to your quilting.”
Geraldine’s rebuff was so unexpected that Arlene was at a loss for words.