by Lyn Cote
He barked his location and code three into his radio. Then he slammed on his brakes and shoved open the Jeep door.
He pulled his gun. "Police!" He ran toward the house, shouldered inside the demolished door. "Police! Wendy!" His heart pounded. He raced through the kitchen and burst into the living room. "Police! Wendy!"
She lay facedown at the foot of the staircase.
"Wendy!" he roared. He bent and found her carotid pulse—weak but steady. She was breathing normally. He turned her over slowly. No blood anywhere.
Rising, he made a quick search of the downstairs, checking closets and under the one bed. Then he started up the steps. "Police!" But upstairs, he also met no one.
When he trotted back down, he discovered a big dog sniffing Wendy. Holstering his gun, Rodd knelt beside her, pushing the mutt away.
She moaned.
"Wendy, it's Rodd. I'm here." His pulse pounding in his ears, he swiftly ran his hands over her limbs, looking for any wound or injury. He pulled his phone from his belt and punched the speed dial for the clinic.
Wendy's eyes fluttered open. "Rodd?"
"Where do you hurt?"
She blinked. "My head. Oh ...," she moaned again.
"Nowhere else?"
She shook her head and winced.
The clinic answered.
"Durand here. Wendy has been attacked at Kainzes'. I'm with her. She says her head hurts. I see no signs of serious injury—"
"Hit from behind," she muttered, running her hand gingerly over the back of her head.
"She says she was hit from behind. Yes, she's conscious. Right. I'll bring her in immediately."
Rodd hung the phone back on his belt and gently gathered Wendy into his arms. Her body was so light that it made the assault on her even more inexcusable. What if he hadn't come right away? Had the thief seen or heard him coming and fled?
"Wait," she murmured.
He didn't pause. "Dr. Doug says he wants you in right now."
"Shelf over sink. Need to get ...Patsy's eye drops there. Needs them."
He pressed down his impatience and his fury at whoever had hurt Wendy as he entered the kitchen. "Fine. I'll pocket them on my way out."
"I'm not critical, just headachy. Keep dog ...inside."
A dog messing around at my crime scene--just what I need. He couldn't have anything tampering with possible evidence. "No, I want the dog out of here. I'll radio the nearest deputy and he should arrive anytime. After he secures the crime scene, we'll worry about the dog later."
As he passed the sink, he grabbed the plastic eye drop bottle. He pressed his cheek against Wendy's silky hair and silently cursed the Weasel. If the thief had appeared right then, Rodd was sure he could have choked him with his bare hands.
Early the next evening, Wendy lounged in her gray sweats at her kitchen table with the Steadfast Times Extra lying in front of her. After spending twenty-four hours in the clinic for observation, she'd gotten home late this afternoon only to find the unwelcome Extra on her doorstep. She couldn't remember when Mr. Cram had last put out a special one-sheet Extra issue between regular weekly editions. His caustic prose under the headline: "Local Nurse Felled by Burglar" irritated her.
Sage opened the door to leave the trailer but turned back to Wendy. "I just wish we could do something to help the sheriff—"
The phone rang. Sage paused while Wendy picked up the receiver.
"Hello, Wendy, is that you?"
For a moment the voice on the phone disoriented Wendy, whose head still ached from the blow Then she came awake."Hi, Mom, how are you?" she asked automatically.
"Who cares about me? How are you? I just got off the phone with Harlan and he told me you'd been attacked! Jim and I are so upset." Her mother sounded worried, edgy.
"I'm fine, Mom. I asked Grandfather not to worry—"
Sage closed the door. "Does Mom want to talk to me? I've got to get going."
"Mom, Sage is about to go baby-sit Zak. Did you want to talk to her quickly?"
"Well... if she's in a hurry, tell her I'll call her tomorrow."
Wendy recognized her mother's apologetic tone and tried not to betray any emotion. This was the tone she used when she was going to do something for Sage and not Wendy. "Sage, go on. Mom'll call you tomorrow."
"I'll call you later, Sis. Try to rest," Sage urged as she left.
"Wendy," her mom began, "I wish I were there. Why would anyone hit you like that?"
"I'm fine. Old Doc said he always knew I was hardheaded." For a few minutes, Wendy let her mother fuss over her about being assaulted.
"What's wrong with that new sheriff—"
"Mom, this isn't his fault," Wendy snapped, her head throbbing. Cram's headline had continued, "New Sheriff at Fault." Now her mother's negative question ...Wendy rubbed her temples.
Silence. Then her mother said, "Dutch told me you and the sheriff have become an item of gossip. Do you have feelings for him, Wendy?"
Her emotions tangled and twisted inside her. She couldn't speak the truth to her mother: He makes me feel special and completely trusted. I think I'm in danger of falling in love with him.
Wendy sighed. "I'll be fine. You know what gossip amounts to, and the sheriff will catch whoever hit me soon enough. He's a Durand— that should tell you what kind of man he is."
"I just never imagined ...," her mother went on, then finally came to the point she'd really called to discuss. "Wendy, I was able to get a ticket for Sage to fly to Florida for Christmas. Jim saw a classified ad in the paper...."
Her mother's voice rushed on, but Wendy only half listened to the words. Mom was going to fly Sage to Florida for Christmas. Wendy felt tears come to her eyes, but she fought them off.
"Anyway," her mom finished, "we got it for only one hundred dollars. And I know Sage will have two full weeks off this Christmas. Wendy, I wanted both of you to come, but I know you can't get two weeks off so sudden, and you're always so busy around the holidays—"
"It's all right, Mom," Wendy said. "I couldn't leave Grandfather alone anyway." And you might need Sage Maybe she can help you and Jim have a good holiday and that will help ...everyone.
"I had thought of that too, dear. Next year Jim promised me we'll drive up and stay with Harlan for the holidays. But we've just moved here and Jim says if we go home before we're completely settled in, I'll only get more homesick."
The headache, a tight band around her forehead that had been with Wendy since yesterday, worsened. She fought the urge to bite her thumbnail. "I think he's right." This sounded hopeful. At least Mom and Jim were talking and trying to make their new marriage and move to Florida work.
"Do you think Sage will want to come down?"
Wendy sighed. "I don't see her turning down two weeks in the sun—"
"But she's ... I know she's serious about Travis. She may not want to leave him for Christmas."
"Don't worry. I think Trav will insist on her flying down. He wouldn't want Sage to miss out on something good like this."
"You think so? This isn't upsetting you? I—"
Wincing from the pain in her head, Wendy interrupted, "Mom, it's fine. I'll have Sage call you back tomorrow so you two can take care of all the details."
"Wendy, how are she and Travis? They're not staying out late—"
"No, she's abided by your curfew and she's doing well in school—"
"I just feel so guilty sometimes for leaving you two—"
"Mom, just be happy." Wendy cut in, too tired and hurt to continue reassuring her mother. If you're happy and settled, Mom, we can all breathe easier.
"I'm trying, dear."
"Good. Bye, Mom."
"Bye, honey. I'll call tomorrow to see if your head is better."
Wendy hung up. She pictured in her mind the photo her mom had sent of her new Florida house, with its sparkly white-and-peach stucco exterior and the palm trees in the yard. It was a house her mom could be happy in. . After all the years of pain, her mother deserve
d a happy ending.
Wendy sat down on the couch and closed her eyes. She prayed for the grace to let Sage go to Florida and not resent staying home alone.
A knock sounded at the door.
Wendy woke up. She'd fallen asleep on the couch. She rose to answer it.
"Hi." Looking very neat and professional, the sheriff stood on her steps in the still night. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine." His crisp appearance made her self-conscious. Her gray sweats were baggy, and her flyaway hair needed cutting. She folded her arms against the chill and hoped she didn't have some crease or something imprinted on her cheek from falling asleep with her face flat on the couch pillows. I must look a sight.
"Did I wake you up?"
"I fell asleep on the sofa." She ruffled a hand through her messy hair. "Come on in." A momentary thought of Miss Frantz watching from across the street flitted through her mind, but she opened the door wide to let the sheriff in. Then she remembered Cram's Extra lying on her table. Had Rodd seen that?
"I'm going to your grandfather's to take out the snowmobile again. I'm trying to learn the terrain and trails. But I wanted to see you first," he explained.
Intensely aware of him, she shut the door behind him and walked to the couch, steering him away from the table and Cram's scathing accusations and blame. She sat down and motioned him to sit next to her. Should she say something about the Extra? No. She couldn't talk about that. Rodd had suffered enough because of her foolish, impetuous act at the Kainzes'.
Bringing her mind back to snowmobiles, she said, "If you leave the groomed trails, you know there are danger spots, hidden boulders, thin ice over lake springs—"
"I'm going to stick to marked trails again tonight," he reassured her.
"Good. Be sure you heed the speed limit," she scolded him with a mock scowl, glad to have some way to show concern for him. "No more than fifty miles an hour after dark."
"Don't worry." He raised his hand as though taking an oath. "I never overdrive my headlights."
She gazed at him in the low light. Having him here beside her eased the odd feeling of being unprotected and exposed that she'd suffered since being struck from behind. The impulse to slip her arms around his chest and ask him to hold her swept through her like a whirlwind. She fought it, but inside her strength had shriveled up. Tears hovered just beneath her control and she couldn't keep silent. "Rodd, I'm so sorry I went into Patsy's—" With her words, something like a sob slipped out.
Fierce anger at the Weasel—anger that Rodd had banked down for the past twenty-four hours—flared hot. "You shouldn't have run inside like that." He stopped the flow of words, which had come out accusatory when he didn't mean that. He took her hand. How he wished he could hold her, comfort her. For her sake, he tried to keep his voice even. "I know you probably didn't mean—" But his own passion broke through. "Anything could have happened to you!" He pulled her nearer him.
With her free hand, she wiped away tears. "I know, but ...I've heard of people seeing red. I just thought that happened in books. But I think it really happened to me. I was just so angry and wasn't thinking—"
"Never do that again." He tugged her closer to him. Still fighting the urge to wrap her in his arms, he cradled her hand. "I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you."
"I just ran in shouting—I don't know what. I was just shouting. Anyway, I sensed someone behind me—and that's the last thing I remember." She tucked her stocking feet up under her, then rested the side of her head on the sofa back.
Rodd moved even nearer. An invisible thread seemed to be drawing him to her. His attraction to her and his desire to protect her became entwined. He leaned forward. "Whenever I think of him striking you ..."
Her straightforward face looked up into his. "I never would have gone in if I'd had the slightest idea that the thief would break in during daylight. Patsy needed her eye drops, and I didn't even consider that the snowmobile could belong to the thief." She searched Rodd's eyes. "That changes the MO, doesn't it?"
Rodd let out a ragged breath. At this point, what did he know? "I don't think we can even guess what this burglar's MO is. It's whatever he wants it to be, day by day. The opportunist I thought I was dealing with at the start was just a cover, too. But he must still be keeping track of you. Did you notice anyone, tell anyone you were going back to the Kainzes'?"
"Just Old Doc." She started to shake her head, but stopped herself as though it pained her.
This cut him to the quick. I should have been there to protect her.
"There were snowmobiles out riding—plenty of them," she continued. "But I didn't take notice of them. I guess since it was daylight, I didn't think any of them would be the thief."
"Understandable." He was also guilty of not considering that the thief would work in the daytime. But how does one catch a quick minded thief who leaves no physical evidence, no traceable loot, and no witnesses?
"Did you find anything at the crime scene?" Wendy asked.
He let out a sound of disgust. "Nothing. The thief never leaves so much as a hair behind."
"It's the snowmobile suit. He's covered from top to bottom. And you said before, he takes off his boots just outside the door."
Rodd nodded, his mind engrossed in awful possibilities. Now his fear that someone might get in the burglar's way had come true.
What if the Weasel started hitting houses with senior citizens at home? Wendy was young, in good health, and Rodd had found her immediately. What if an older person with health problems were injured and no one discovered him or her for hours, even days? What if being assaulted brought on a stroke or heart attack? The possibility of a tragedy hung over Rodd like a sword. He knew the only way he'd be able to end this case was to catch the Weasel red-handed. And what were the chances of that?
God, what do you want from me? Is this some kind of test? Why did you let Wendy get hurt? Just let me do my job. Give me some clues. I can't make bricks without straw.
"Well, one thing this proves: it couldn't be my uncle. He's got a broken wrist and he would never strike me. He never even spanked me when I was little!"
Rodd didn't contradict her, but he still considered Rieker a suspect. Though Rieker's left wrist was in a rigid cast, he was right-handed. He could still steer a snowmobile and batter in a door. And though it wouldn't occur to Wendy, Rodd believed Dutch would rather knock his niece unconscious than let her find out that he was the Weasel.
Chapter Ten
A week later, at just before ten in the morning, Rodd walked into the brightly lit, hollow-feeling Steadfast VFW hall to redeem his promise to Zak that he'd help set up the Senior Bazaar.
"Sheriff!" Zak, dressed in blue corduroy overalls, barreled straight for Rodd.
Rodd bent and scooped up the little guy, swung him in a circle, then set him down. "You, mister, have too much energy. We need to work that off."
"I'm helping," Zak declared. "I—"
"Zachary," Miss Frantz, the woman who'd just greeted Rodd, said in a sugary voice, "your mother needs you."
"Yes, Zak, please come back!" Penny called from the kitchen doorway.
"Okay, Mom!" Zak turned, and with his arms outstretched like Superman, he "flew" back to his mother.
Rodd got the strong impression that Penny wanted Zak with her to keep him out of Miss Frantz's way. He didn't think he liked that. It was certainly unusual. Zak always evoked smiles from the people he was around. What kind of woman was Miss Frantz?
"Now, Sheriff, we need you to help Harlan put out the tables." Miss Frantz gestured toward the kitchen just as Harlan sauntered out of it with his sheltie Lady at his side.
Rodd and Harlan began stretching open and locking the folded legs under the tables, then righting and arranging them around the walls of the long rectangular room. A knot of three older women hovered near the coffeepot, chattering. Occasionally, they would consult a stack of papers on a clipboard.
Wendy walked in and headed straight for Harlan
. "Hi, Grandpa. I'm here to pick up Lady." She knelt down to greet the frisky sheltie. "I hear you need a bath and your nails trimmed, Lady."
A loud, sharp voice sounded from the main doorway—Veda McCracken. "Is that all you people have got done this late in the morning?"