by Lyn Cote
Rodd wondered what the waitress was getting at.
Ginger grinned. "Wendy was the only girl in our high school class who failed cooking class. She helps by not baking anything."
Wendy's face turned rosy pink. "So my cakes always fall. Is that my fault?"
Grinning, Penny said, "Of course it isn't, Wendy! We have to go, Zak, and let them eat breakfast." She tugged a reluctant Zak away. Ginger followed them to the front to help position the new flyer.
Rodd waved good-bye, then breathed in the heartening aroma of bacon and began enjoying his breakfast.
Wendy spent a few moments fixing her bowl of cereal, pouring the milk, sprinkling sugar over the flakes. The slim appetite Wendy had come in with deserted her when she'd seen Veda. ." Wendy's stomach clenched. Rodd's presence was a blessing and a bane. She hoped she'd helped him and the investigation here this morning. But Veda was here and she'd seen Wendy with Rodd. Veda rarely ate at the cafe so why had she picked today?
Ginger's bringing up Mom hadn't helped Wendy's digestion either. Her mother had been weeping the last time she called. What was going on with Mom and her new husband?
The bell on the front door jingled as Penny and Zak left the cafe. Penny had looked pale and tired to Wendy. Was Penny still run-down from her miscarriage last summer? Should she talk to Penny about that or keep her peace? Rodd asked her a question about Harlan and she smiled as she answered.
When Wendy and the sheriff were almost done eating, out of the corner of her eye, Wendy glimpsed Veda leave her booth and turn toward them. Wendy braced herself.
Chapter Five
"So, Sheriff, you were called out to Flanagan's the other night?" The grim-faced older woman stared at him, pointedly ignoring Wendy.
Wendy forced herself to go on chewing as though she hadn't heard anything. Ignoring Veda had evolved over the years as Wendy's only successful way of handling the argumentative woman.
Rodd rose politely. "I'm sorry; we haven't met."
"I'm Veda McCracken," the woman replied stiffly. "How come you didn't arrest Dutch Rieker and Elroy Dietz? And you let the burglar get away last night!" Without waiting for a reply, Veda plunged on. "You don't arrest deadbeats for being drunk and disorderly...."
Wendy regretted making Rodd a target for Veda by having breakfast with him here. But then Veda never needed an excuse for being rude—to anyone.
Rodd interrupted Veda's diatribe. "Ma'am, do you know firsthand of any information about criminal activity by either Rieker or Dietz?"
Wendy heard the coldness in Rodd's tone. Apparently, he didn't appreciate being put on the spot. Well, that never stopped Veda.
"I don't need to have any firsthand information. Everyone in the county heard about that brawl the other night. Just because you're trying to get on the good side of Rieker's good-for-nothing niece—"Veda glared at Wendy—"doesn't mean you should let trash like Dutch and Elroy off with just a slap on the wrist."
Rodd bristled. "You still haven't told me anything to the point—"
The cafe's door opened. Wendy glanced around to see Ma and Bruno walk in, and Wendy braced herself again. Ma never suffered Veda in silence.
The two women faced each other. Ma stared hard at Veda.
Wendy held her breath.
Veda sneered at Ma and Bruno. "Well, if it isn't love's young dream? Or are you just two old, nearsighted fools?"
Bruno tried to move forward toward Veda.
Ma lifted her chin. "Veda McCracken, you're just jealous because even if you walked down Main Street stark naked, no man would look at you twice—"
Veda's face turned red. "If Bruno knew what kind of woman you really are, would he want you?"
"I know what kind of woman Ma is and yes, I would," Bruno replied quietly. "Why don't you turn around and walk out that door? No one here is interested in anything you have to say, Veda."
With the sheriff, Bruno, and Ma staring her down, Veda humphed, turned, and walked toward the front. Wendy kept her eyes down until the door closed behind the ill-tempered woman.
"Good morning, Wendy, Sheriff." Bruno greeted them as though he hadn't even seen Veda. "As you can see, Doc just took my cast off! So Ma and I came to celebrate with a sticky roll and a good cup of coffee!"
Wendy smiled. "Wonderful!" She stood up and hugged Ma. She whispered into Ma's ear, "I'm so glad to see you looking so well. You had me scared."
Ma hugged her back and whispered, "And I'm glad to see you sitting with a handsome man."
Grimacing, Wendy shook her head. She'd have to set sweet but talkative Ginger straight before shed spread the gossip of Wendy being interested Rodd countywide.
Veda's attack proved Wendy would have to keep her distance from the sheriff—or Veda would aim her harassment toward Rodd as well as Wendy. Veda knew no shame or kindness.
Grinning, Ginger came over and cleaned off the table while Rodd helped Wendy on with her parka. He insisted on paying the check. As he walked Wendy out, everyone turned to watch them go.
Beside her Blazer, she glanced up at the long lean man gazing down at her. She cleared her tight throat. "You look like you have something on your mind."
"Are you a mind reader too?" He grinned.
She shook her head, unable to look away. "I won't badger you, but remember, I'll do anything I can to help you stop these burglaries."
He opened her door for her. "When's your next day off?"
Sliding past him and trying not to touch him, she got in, then glanced up. He looked like his question wasn't an idle one. "Day after tomorrow."
"Keep it open—please?" He leaned closer. "I have something to think over. You might be able to help me out." He paused, leaving only inches between them.
"Fine." Finally, she eased the door shut, forcing herself to break away. But she couldn't stop herself from watching him walk toward Cram's newspaper office.
Sheriff Rodd Durand was tall, handsome, and smart. But would he succeed? Some matters only God could handle. Did the sheriff realize that?
Two days later, Rodd walked into Harlan's kitchen. He smiled at Wendy sitting at the table. Morning sunshine glinted in her gold brown hair, and her kind face lifted in welcome. How could he tell her that her smile boosted his spirits? He couldn't, so he smiled in return, hoping she understood.
Grinning as though reading Rodd's thoughts, Harlan stood up, his sheltie Lady at his side, wagging her tail. "Morning, Rodd. Hear you're going on a snowmobile shopping trip to Duluth."
"Yes. Thanks for letting us meet here." Suddenly restless, Rodd reached for Wendy's parka, which hung on the back of a kitchen chair, and held it open for her. Now that he was here he wanted them to be off. This was just the first step in his next move against the Weasel. And he wanted Wendy alone for the day. He had a lot of questions and she'd have the answers he needed.
Turning her back to him, she slipped her arms into the sleeves. "Has it started snowing again?"
Intensely aware of her, Rodd covered this by glancing out the window. Snow was the furthest thing from his mind. "Frankly, it's snowed so much already this year I just expected it to snow today."
Harlan nodded toward the muted TV in the corner. "You're right. We've only had one snowless day since late October, but a front is moving in from the west."
"A front moves in from the west every day." Rodd shrugged. Spending a day away from the county with an interesting woman like Wendy—while getting started again on solving the burglaries—was worth a little slippery driving.
"Well, they say it's just a weak one," Harlan conceded. Then, grinning, he shook his finger at Rodd. "If it weren't, I'd make you two postpone this trip. Winter driving is nothing to take for granted."
Rodd took a step toward the door, but Wendy hung back.
She patted Harlan's shoulder. "Don't worry, Grandfather. I have everything I need for a winter emergency in the old Blazer."
"But you don't have four-wheel drive," Harlan said.
"We'll be back before nightfall, safe
and sound." Rodd touched Wendy's delicate shoulder, pointing toward the door. He wanted her sitting beside him in the Blazer, putting miles between them and Steadfast.
After kissing his granddaughter, Harlan waved them on. "Okay! Have fun, kids!"
Outside, Rodd helped Wendy into her Blazer, which had Harlan's empty trailer hitched to its rear. As Rodd drove away, she waved good-bye to Harlan while snowflakes drifted against the windshield. She drew her legs up under her and turned toward him with an eager grin. "I feel like we're escaping."
Happy to see her relaxing, he smiled and cocked his head toward her. "I couldn't agree more."
She sighed a happy sigh. "I did feel funny asking Grandfather to let us leave from his place. It felt like we were sneaking out of town."
Recalling the confrontations with Cram and Veda McCracken at the cafe, he'd decided that leaving from Harlan's—so far out of town—would be best for his investigation and for Wendy. "There's no reason for us to advertise what we're doing."
Wendy agreed. "And I told only Grandfather that this new snowmobile is really for you, not me. But since it would be natural for me to keep it at Grandfather's place, we'll let everyone else assume it's mine."
"Thanks. It probably is a good idea." Rodd shook his head over the necessary deception. With a snowmobile of his own, he wouldn't be left standing in the thief's dust again. "If there's any chance after the Olson stakeout that the burglar will try again, I can't afford to let him find out I'm buying a snowmobile right now. I want him to think he still has that edge."
Wendy nodded. "The sheriff's old 'bile was wrecked before he passed away. Your department needs a new one."
Her understanding bolstered his mood and gave him a confidence he hadn't felt lately. "That's what I want everyone to think—that the department snowmobile is still out of commission."
"Do you think the burglar will try again after he saw you at Olie's?"
Noting the snowfall intensifying, Rodd gripped the wheel, mastering his lingering reluctance. Under ordinary circumstances, he'd never discuss ongoing investigations with a civilian. But Wendy had become enmeshed in this one. And she knew the county better than he did. He needed her information in order to catch the thief. "My biggest problem has been the lack of witnesses and no physical evidence to link anyone to the burglaries—no fingerprints, nothing left at the scenes." The criminal's snowmobile's tread he'd cast had no distinctive differences from a dozen others he had examined, and the nick on the tree trunk had led him nowhere."The first four burglaries appeared to me to be the work of an opportunist. Someone saw an easy, safe way to pick up quick cash."
Eyeing the heavy snow clouds, Wendy nodded, a lump lodged in her throat. Her unknowing role in the string of crimes still depressed her. And the way the sky looked didn't help.
"When an opportunist's easy way is detected, he usually comes up with a new MO. Or quits."
She watched the play of emotion over the sheriff's face. The desire to trace the hard line of his jaw shook her. She clasped her unruly hands in her lap. "So we just have to wait and see what he does next?"
He shook his head. "I drew up a list of suspects—"
"I didn't know you had any." Wendy's stomach tightened. The snow fell steadily now. The increasing wind swayed the roadside maples' naked branches. Even the tips of the tall evergreens bowed in the west wind.
"It wasn't easy to come up with any. Late Sheriff Capshaw didn't bring any new blood into the Sheriff's Department for a long time. And his files became thin as he worked harder."
Every fact he shared with her heartened her. The sheriff did trust her. That felt wonderful. Unable and unwilling to express this, Wendy remarked, "Grandfather said the county should have seen that they needed a few young deputies coming in."
He dismissed this with a lift of his shoulders. "My dispatcher has worked for the department for over ten years. She gave me a rundown of the most likely suspects in the county; then I pinpointed which ones had means, motive, and opportunity." He spoke with cool authority.
Sliding her freshly manicured hands under her, Wendy didn't want to ask who was on the list. She had to assume her uncle and Trav's uncle were both on it. Both had been arrested before.
Rodd slowed as he negotiated a narrow curve. The empty trailer rattled behind them. The wind buffeted the Blazer.
Wendy decided to broach her fears. "Trav's uncle Elroy Dietz is on that list and my Uncle Dutch too, right?"
Rodd hesitated.
His regard for her feelings warmed her, straight through, top to bottom. She was able to go on. "Both have snowmobiles, both are out of work, and both could have kept an eye on me without my being aware of it." What would he say?
"Yes, on all three counts. But it fits many others too. That's what's so maddening about this thief. He's come up with a way to pick up easy money and get away with it—so far."
The wiper blades batted the wet snow, while a layer of slush piled up at the bottom of the windshield. Ignoring the worsening weather, she paused, dragging her mind back to the burglaries and the danger they brought. "Should I warn my patients to not keep cash on hand?"
He let out air. "I was surprised that some of them have had way more than a hundred dollars in the house."
Her grandfather's caution came back to her mind: "That front is moving in." Though distracted, she went on. "Remember, most of my clients were influenced by the Depression. They like to deal in cash. They definitely aren't the plastic generation."
He nodded.
She studied his determined expression from the corner of her eye. She shivered once—for the burglar. "You really think he's going to steal again?" She watched for Rodd's reaction.
"I can only assume he will." The sheriff sounded matter-of-fact. "My task now is to make him strike where I want him to."
Wendy glanced at him sideways. "How do you do that—make him come to you?"
He thought for a moment. "I have to make someone a really attractive target."
She didn't like the sound of that. "What do you mean?"
"The burglar wants cash. I need to find someone with a lot of it who will cooperate with me in setting a trap."
"Not too many of my patients have more than a spare hundred or two."
"Zak's mentioning the Senior Bazaar and Bake Sale at the cafe made me think that whoever takes the proceeds home from a fund-raiser might tempt the burglar."
"The bazaar will bring in around three hundred—"
"Is there another fund-raiser that would bring in a larger sum?"
Wendy worried her lower lip. "The only other one I can think of in the near future is the Bingo Fund-raiser at the VFW in LaFollette."
"Our thief hasn't gone that far from Steadfast."
"Yes, but the one who'd have the money from Sunday till Monday would be Gus Feeney. Gus is an old army friend of my grandfather's. And he lives out in the country closer to Steadfast than LaFollette."
"How much money are we talking about?"
"At least six hundred dollars or more," she replied.
"That's a lot of bingo."
"It's a big deal—a meal is served, snacks, drinks. People line up to get good seats and play six cards at a time. It's like a noon to midnight shindig. People from all over the county go."
"You said Gus lives out in the country—is his place isolated like the other victims'?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Then I guess I better talk to Gus Feeney."
Wendy turned over in her mind the three burglaries and the one attempted. "I wish I could be of more help." And I wish the snowfall wasn't getting worse each mile we drive west into the front.
Rodd grinned suddenly. "Just help me get a good deal on a snowmobile. And I could use a great late lunch. I'm counting on you to make this easier for me. I know Milwaukee—"
'And I know Duluth." She grinned, enjoying the moment of being a valued confidante. A day with Rodd without anyone trying to make something out of it—priceless. After all, what was anoth
er snowstorm?
Rodd bought his snowmobile at the third dealership they shopped at. By then, the snow—heavy moist clumps of flakes—pelted the showroom windows.
Wendy stared out at the leaden sky. "I thought the front coming in was supposed to be a weak one." Her tone carried worry.
Rodd glanced over at her as the salesman handed him the sales slip and the key to the new snowmobile, which was being loaded onto the trailer outside the door.
"Lake-effect snow," the salesman offhandedly reassured them. "The front has passed and its winds changed direction. They're blowing off Superior right onto us. Ten miles from here, it probably isn't snowing at all. It's early yet for a real storm, but you people drive carefully anyway, okay?"