Holding Out for a Hero

by Pamela Tracy

  “I didn’t do that much math.”

  “Well,” she said, “that day back in December, after a couple of phone calls and realizing that he’d packed up the few belongings he had, I threw up. I threw up for five days straight, and then I stopped. It was a month before I figured out I was pregnant. You tell me. Was it pregnancy or stress?”

  “Both.” He helped her up, and she liked this part of him, the part that wanted to serve and protect. Maybe she could pretend that he was doing it because he liked her, not because he was getting paid for it. He guided her from the bathroom and into the living room, where Robert stood nervously waiting.

  “You okay?” Robert asked.

  It occurred to her not only that she’d never been in his house but also that she’d never seen anyone else going in or out. “I am okay. Thank you for letting me use your restroom.”

  “No problem.” He didn’t sound convinced.

  “Hmm, your state-of-the-art computer equipment is better than what we have at the station,” Oscar observed.

  “Probably,” Robert agreed, looking proud. “It’s amazing what a single chip of silicon can provide. I’ve got speech recognition, voice synthesis and my user interface...”

  Robert must have noticed her eyes glaze over as she studied all the wires tangled across the floor and leading to five desktop computers. Two laptops were open. One looked like Robert had been doing something with a webpage. The other had a Simpsons screen saver.

  “What do you do for a living?” Oscar asked. “Anything besides handle a few of the town’s websites?”

  He shrugged. “I design websites, battle viruses, help companies with security. I’m a survey taker and website tester. Things I can do from home.”

  “Could you locate private phone numbers?” Oscar asked.

  Robert blinked. “What? Of course not. That’s illegal. What made you ask that?”

  “I’m not accusing, but I want to know. Do you, or could a computer guru, find private phone numbers?”

  Robert slowly nodded. “They’d need only a smartphone. Hacking’s easy.”

  “So,” Oscar continued, “if Shelley kept changing cell phone numbers, how quickly could a good hacker get her new information?”

  “Minutes.”

  Oscar heard Shelley’s intake of breath. She was already on edge. He changed the subject. “What else do you do?”

  Robert looked relieved at the question. “Well, I collect rent not only from Shelley but also from two other properties. I sold one of my properties last year. That really put me in the black.”

  Ever the cop, Oscar asked, “Where are your rentals?”

  “The Duponts down the street. I’m amazed how long they’ve stayed, but then, I’ve not raised their rent since they moved in. Trying to give them a bit of a break.”

  It seemed to get colder in the room, but Shelley didn’t complain. She just moved closer to Oscar. He was hot enough for both of them, but that might be pregnancy hormones acting up.

  “That’s nice of you,” she said.

  “I know. First I rent to them, and the husband’s a real piece of work. He’s actually tried paying late, making it a little later each time, until he pays a month late, on the date the next payment is due, and then pretends he’s up to date.”

  “What did you do?” Oscar asked.

  “I told his wife. She straightened it out right away.”

  “Who else do you rent to?”

  Robert named a family on the next street. Shelley vaguely knew them.

  “And you say you sold a property?” Oscar encouraged him.

  “Yes, but I wish I hadn’t. I sold the Livingstons their house.”

  Shelley shivered, and this time it wasn’t from the cold.

  Oscar didn’t so much as pause. “Did you keep a spare key to their house?”

  “Of course not,” Robert sputtered.

  “Do you know how to break in?”

  Robert shifted uncomfortably. If he said no, he’d be lying. She just knew it. She switched her gaze to Oscar. Okay, she was getting good at reading him, too. His gaze dared Robert to lie.

  Robert sighed. “About Christmastime, Cody locked himself out. He came over here asking if I had a spare key. I showed him how to get in through his garage door. He never gave back the clothes hanger.”

  “That easy, eh?” Oscar said.

  Robert shrugged. “The chain on the back door is unusually long, too. If one of them forgot to turn the lock, it would be easy to break in.”

  Oscar shook his head.

  “Hey,” Robert said, “you won’t find my fingerprints inside. I just pay attention to things.”

  “If you pay attention to things, why didn’t you notice someone messing with Shelley’s car a few days ago?”

  “I avoid watching her. If I see something I shouldn’t see, it could mean trouble.”

  “From the police?” Oscar asked.

  “No. I’ve dealt with her ex-husband.”

  Surprised, Shelley asked, “When?”

  “Almost a year ago, right before Thanksgiving. I drove to Albuquerque to pick up a semiconductor and was driving back when I saw your husband on the side of the road. He had a flat.”

  “So you helped him?”

  “Yes. I can’t drive by someone I know without helping.”

  Robert Tellmaster seemed a strange, aloof man, but piece by piece, a softer side was appearing. He rented to her even though he didn’t want to—all because of her mom. He’d never raised the rent on the Duponts, even though Mr. Dupont was a jerk, and now he was talking about helping her ex-husband.

  “That was before he took advantage of half the town,” Robert reminded her.

  Okay, she thought, Robert wasn’t that soft.

  “Did you tell the police?” Oscar asked.

  “Nothing to tell. He didn’t have a spare, and we were driving the same kind of car, so I lent him mine from my trunk. He gave it back later.”

  “Where were you when you saw him?”

  “About twenty miles past Runyan.”

  Oscar straightened. “Really? Had you seen him on the road earlier, coming back from Albuquerque, or do you think he’d been in Runyan?”

  “Oh, he was going to Runyan. Not leaving it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Well, the woman with—” Robert stopped, looking at Shelley apologetically.

  “Go on,” she said. “You’re not telling me something I don’t know.”

  “The woman with him said she needed to be home by eight, and if I remember, it was a quarter to.”

  “What did she look like?” Oscar asked.

  Robert made a face. “It’s been almost a year!”

  “Try,” Oscar pushed, his voice stern.

  “She had blond hair, down to her shoulders, shimmery, so probably a dye job.”

  “Go on,” Oscar urged.

  “I’d say she was between twenty-five and thirty and had work done. She had that plastic smile. She was thin and dressed flashy. I remember that. And she giggled a lot.”

  “Was there anything in the car that you could see?” Oscar now had his notebook out.

  Shelley took a seat in front of one of the computers. The world no longer spun, but she felt like she could sleep a week. What she didn’t feel like was going up the stairs. For the next twenty minutes, Oscar pulled details from Robert, who, after a few minutes, really got into answering. Shelley thought he felt important.

  “I didn’t want to tell you,” he said to her.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Shelley said. Actually, except for the fact that her husband was with another woman, there wasn’t much to tell. There’d been no suitcases in the backseat, no belongings that Robert saw, just two people ou
t together. Before he took advantage of Sarasota Falls, she’d have assumed he was with a client. Maybe he had been. Maybe there was some blonde somewhere who was thousands of dollars poorer. Maybe the blonde was one of the many female voices who’d called Shelley hoping to get reimbursement.

  Or Larry might have been cheating on Shelley.

  She pushed aside a keyboard and balanced her head on her hand before closing her eyes. A dull headache ebbed and flowed. She welcomed the darkness. She was just drifting off when the conversation moved back to how Robert knew to break into the Livingstons’ house.

  “If I didn’t have a key to the Duponts’, I could still get into their place. They’ve got a window on the second floor that doesn’t latch. The tree might be tricky at my age, but I could do it, especially with a ladder.”

  Oscar advised against it.

  “And,” Robert continued, “the garage apartment Shelley’s renting isn’t that tricky, either. There’s a trapdoor going into the closet. If you can get the garage door open, then all you have to do is climb.”

  Shelley sat up, glaring at Robert. Oscar didn’t look too happy, either.

  “Don’t worry,” Robert said. “No one knows about the trapdoor but me. And I’d never break in.”

  “I’m feeling better.” Shelley stood, afraid to stick around because in her mood, she might just throttle Robert. “I need to do some things upstairs.”

  To her relief, Oscar came over and helped her up. Together they left Robert’s and headed to her apartment in the back. “You learn a lot?” she asked Oscar.

  “I’m not surprised that he knows how to break into your place, the Duponts’ or Livingstons’. Like he said, he pays attention.”

  Shelley held tight to the banister and started pulling herself up. Her back protested, but she didn’t care. Twelve steps were between her and the couch.

  Oscar came up behind her, his body cushioning her. Gently he guided her up the stairs. Before they got to the door, she turned to look at him. He had a dimple. How had she missed that? And one of his eyebrows had a tiny scar running through it. She reached out without thinking and traced it with her finger.

  “How did this happen?”

  “Airport in Afghanistan. Angry mob. They weren’t angry at me.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone being angry at you.” She smiled at him, letting him know she was teasing.

  He smoothed her hair away from her forehead. “If you get angry at me, I’d enjoy the making-up part.”

  Warmth spread across her cheeks. Yes, making up would be fun. She thought about the kiss earlier, how she’d felt in his arms, how she wanted to feel that way again.

  As if sensing her thoughts, he leaned in and kissed her. It was even better than the one in front of the preschool.

  She could get used to this.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THURSDAY, OSCAR REPORTED to work, ready, willing and able, but Riley wasn’t there yet. Lucas Stillwater sipped coffee at the front desk and yawned. He wasn’t thrilled about having his hours changed to graveyard, but the guy actually was doing a pretty good job.

  “You’ve got only the one pending call,” Lucas said. “All are pretty routine. Oh, and I drove by your girlfriend’s place three or four times. Seemed quiet, no lights on or anything. I noticed the Dupont woman walking her son.”

  “Appreciate that.” Oscar didn’t bother to correct Lucas referring to Shelley as Oscar’s girlfriend. Most of the townspeople had noticed how much attention he paid to her. Small-town tongues were wagging. Luckily they were now more interested in Shelley having found Candace’s body than they were in Shelley’s ex-husband.

  “Leann’s going to be a few minutes late,” Lucas reported. “Something about waiting for a plumber.”

  “I’ll be okay on my own. Riley will be here any minute.” Oscar checked the squad car, making sure everything was in working order and double-checking that one of Stillwater’s collars—there’d been two, both public intoxication—hadn’t left contraband in the backseat.

  Funny how quickly he’d settled into a routine with the Sarasota Falls police.

  Then he drove by Shelley’s, slowing to watch her walk with Ryan. He really wanted to pull up and open the passenger door, give them a ride. But he was on duty, and yesterday he’d overstepped.

  Twice.

  It might have only been a kiss—okay, two—but she’d sighed and leaned into him. It had taken all his willpower to not kiss her more.

  He’d stopped seeing her as an assignment, and that put her in danger because his number one job, besides finding Larry Wagner, was keeping her safe. Wanting to kiss her kept distracting him. So he watched as she and Ryan made their way down the sidewalk.

  She made him think seriously about what it would be like to be a police officer in Sarasota Falls, with a wife and family to come home to. There wouldn’t be the adventure, not like when he’d been in the military or the last few years working for the FBI.

  But the fringe benefit? He’d take one of her kisses over a high-stakes collar any day.

  Worry gnawed at him, a sense of doubt that he often pushed away.

  If he settled down, would there come a day when he walked away from it all?

  Was he capable of turning his back on family like his dad had done?

  Better not to risk it.

  Instead, he’d always chosen to concentrate on the job.

  His only call had to do with the alarm going off at the Sarasota Falls Medical Center. He’d been there not long ago with Shelley when she found out she was due any day now.

  Any day now?

  He pulled out his phone, texted her a How are you doing? and headed for his destination, arriving to a waiting room filled with people, mostly pregnant women, and an annoyed receptionist who didn’t like the ceiling panels hanging down as if they would fall.

  “It’s not like they could get any medicine,” she told Oscar. “It’s locked up.”

  “Anything missing?”

  The doctor on call had met Lucas last night. According to the report, tired and angry, he’d walked through the premises, but once the drug cabinet proved to be intact, he put off the report until morning.

  “At first,” the receptionist said, “I didn’t think anything had been disturbed, but my computer is acting funny, so I went to the event log, and sure enough, about one this morning, someone logged on to my computer.”

  “Actually signed on?”

  “As a guest, but that wouldn’t allow them to access anything important.”

  “What else?”

  “I went into the search engine and tried to track their activity. I found only one patient referenced.”

  “Who was the patient?” Oscar figured he already knew.

  “Shelley Brubaker.”

  Not surprised, Oscar asked, “What kind of information could they learn?”

  “I’m not sure they found out anything. We’ve got password protection. But the file they attempted to hijack had the medication she’s on, her blood-pressure readings, the sex of her baby, the estimated delivery date and the type of birth.”

  “Type of birth?”

  “Whether she’s having a C-section or a vaginal birth.”

  “Which is it?”

  “Can’t tell you,” the receptionist said. “That’s patient-doctor privilege.”

  Oscar’s phone pinged, and he checked his text messages. Shelley’d sent back an I’m good.

  “I suppose you’ve already touched everything around your desk?” Oscar queried.

  She looked guilty. “I put everything back in order, like my keyboard and the tilt of my screen. But, in my defense, I didn’t even know there’d been a break-in until the doctor showed up, ten minutes late.”

  “Is there an alternate co
mputer you can use until I can get some prints?”

  “Sure, I’ll use the doctor’s. It’s his fault for not telling me.”

  Oscar spoke to the doctor, mostly about how long it had taken him to get to the clinic and if he’d noticed anything unusual once there. Nothing looked out of place or missing.

  This was Larry Wagner or someone he knew. What it meant, Oscar wasn’t sure. Except that for some reason, Larry wanted details concerning his and Shelley’s baby.

  Shelley’s baby, who Oscar intended to keep safe.

  If Larry Wagner showed his face, he’d be arrested on the spot. So maybe the man wanted something he could use to blackmail Shelley.

  The man was scum.

  The morning continued with Oscar finishing the report and emailing it to Riley.

  Within a second, he had a return text:

  Meet me at the diner for lunch in five minutes.

  For the month he’d been working with Riley, this was the only meal he’d been invited to share, and Oscar got the idea this wasn’t a casual kind of meeting.

  Oscar radioed Leann that he was taking a code seven and drove the squad car to the diner. The Station Diner, housed in what used to be the railroad station, definitely had ambience, from the animal heads fastened to its walls to the leftover railroad paraphernalia that took up all the other decorative space.

  Jimmy Walker, the owner Oscar met when he’d shared a meal with Shelley, used to be a conductor. Once a day, when the train traveled through, he blew a special whistle he’d designed and hung by the cashier stand. People loved him but hated the whistle, which sounded around ten in the morning some days and eight at night on others—depending on whether the train was coming or going. Jimmy didn’t get paid for blowing the whistle. His real job now was sitting behind a cash register with oxygen resting on one side of him and an order pad on the other.

  It felt good to be off night shift and eating meals when they were supposed to be eaten.

  “Oscar,” Riley greeted him as he entered the diner and joined Oscar at the cash stand.

  “Don’t hold up the line, Tom.” Jimmy Walker easily addressed Riley by his first name and ignored the fact that there wasn’t a line. “You know you’re going to have the chicken-fried steak, green beans and mashed potatoes. Why bother coming over?”