Jill Elizabeth Nelson

by Legacy of Lies

  He tucked his radio back into it’s belt pouch. “Follow my voice, Terry. I’ve got something you need to see.”

  Seconds later, Terry appeared and halted on a low curse. “Somebody played baseball with an old lady’s head.”

  A feminine whimper turned both their heads. Nicole stood behind them, staring at the bat. “How could anyone—” Hand clamped over her mouth, she turned and hurried away.

  Nausea rolled Rich’s gut. Too bad Nicole’s curiosity drove her to see that ugly object. Conversation from the EMTs indicated they were getting ready to move their patient. Nicole would no doubt accompany them.

  “This connected with the baby discovery, you think?” Terry claimed Rich’s attention.

  “Could be a common break-in. Maybe the thief thought no one was home after we drove away this morning.”

  Terry snorted. “And maybe I’m a monkey’s uncle.”

  “Just keeping an open mind. That MBCA tech should hit town any minute. The office’ll send him straight here. Let him collect the evidence.” He nodded toward the bat. “I’m going to call everyone in—on duty, off duty, on the moon—I don’t care. When they get here, organize a canvas of the neighborhood to see if anyone saw someone other than the residents or us enter or leave this house.”

  Terry’s shoulders squared. “Will do, Chief. Where are you going to be?”

  “At the hospital, waiting to see how things go with Jan Keller. Maybe she’ll wake up and tell us something.”

  “You might get to do some hand-holding with the granddaughter while you’re at it.”

  Rich didn’t dignify the remark with an answer as he walked away.

  Nicole paced the hospital waiting room, her stomach in knots. Under lowered brows, she eyed the hallway. No sign of medical staff. They must still be in with her grandmother. What was taking so long? She checked her watch and let out a long breath. Only three minutes had passed since they wheeled the inert form of her grandmother into the CAT scan room. The passage of time felt like an aeon.

  A solid figure blocked her view, extending a paper cup. Rich, bearing a glass of water. He’d trailed the ambulance to the hospital. Nicole took the cup and sipped. Cool moisture soothed her parched throat.

  “Thank you.” Her words came out a husky whisper.

  “Welcome.” His sober, intent gaze studied her. “Let me know when you’re ready to talk about what happened. Maybe you noticed something helpful and don’t realize it yet.”

  “Sure.” Nicole stared into her water. The liquid quivered with the tremor of her hand.

  Why was this cop being so nice to her? He must be about ready to bust wide open with the usual barrage of investigator questions. Did he think he could soften her up to betray her grandmother with some revelation, if he let her stew long enough? Or maybe he knew she was too savvy about cops’ ways to fall for the usual methods. While she couldn’t be a suspect in the baby’s death, he probably figured she was privy to her grandmother’s secrets. Whether Rich believed it or not, she was just as frustrated as he must be to figure out what her grandmother was hiding.

  There was no way Nicole could think Grandma Jan would hurt a baby. Or Grandpa Frank, either. Not the woman who baked sugar cookies for her or the man who soothed her ouchies when she came to visit. But then, hadn’t her father and her husband run into case after case of the most ordinary-seeming people—normally gentle folks—who turned out to have committed the most horrible crimes?

  Nicole sank onto a chair and downed the rest of the water. If Rich was letting her soften up by stewing in her own juices, he was doing a great job of it. His gentle gaze remained fixed on her. She looked away. If she lost Grandma Jan to death…or prison, she’d have no one.

  Except God.

  Her spine stiffened. Sure, she still uttered prayers from time to time out of lifelong habit, but she’d been struggling with her faith for years, ever since her dad died. She knew God existed. She knew He loved people—in theory. She just didn’t feel close to Him anymore, not like she had when she was a child.

  Nicole licked a trace of moisture from her upper lip. Salty. Not from the cup she held. Tears had fallen without her knowledge. A warm presence settled in the chair next to her. Nicole held herself stiff.

  “I want her to be innocent,” Rich said. “But I think you know and I know that she’s concealing something that might have put her, and possibly you, in danger.”

  Nicole lifted her gaze to meet his. Today he wore his uniform—gun, badge and all—and looked mighty fine in it.

  “Do you think she’s protecting someone?” Nicole asked. The most obvious answer was Grandpa Frank, or at least his memory. But in light of the attack, that conclusion didn’t totally add up. “If Grandma’s trying to hide her own guilt, or Grandpa’s, then who came after her today, and why would she protect such a person?”

  “Assuming the assault is related to the baby’s remains, that’s an excellent question. We need to find the answer in order to be assured of her safety…and yours.”

  Warmth seeped into Nicole’s fear-chilled bones. He said “we,” as if he included her as a valued participant in the investigation. Maybe that was simply another clever ploy to soften her up some more, but she didn’t get the sense that Rich was playing a cop game with her. His hazel gaze was steady and sincere. If her meager tidbits of observation would help catch whoever hurt her grandmother, she had to let this man have them. She could start with a few things directly related to the attack.

  “From the way the quilt landed on me and the heaviness of the footfalls on the attic stairs as they ran away, the intruder must have been either a tallish, athletic woman or a slight man.”

  “Good observation.” Rich plucked a notebook from his shirt pocket and scribbled.

  Now she had to decide whether to tell him the rest of what she could. Exhaling a deep sigh, she arced the crumpled paper cup into the wastebasket a few feet away.

  “Two points.” A small smile spread Rich’s lips.

  She could get used to those appealing crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes. She snorted a damp chuckle. “My dad taught me to play basketball. We’d shoot a few hoops almost every day, until…” She shook her head. “Never mind. It’s a good memory. I hang on to those.”

  “Me, too.” His gaze held heart-deep understanding. “I have lots of great memories of fifteen years with my wife. She passed away three years ago. Cancer.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He shrugged and cocked his head. “Life goes on, as we both know.”

  Nicole looked away. Maybe the fellowship of shared loss was part of this man’s attraction for her. She could use a kindred spirit for a friend. Too bad this kindred spirit was also investigating a crime that implicated her last living close relative.

  “I’d like to have more good memories with my grandmother. If what little I can say will help catch her attacker, I’ll tell.” She shared her grandmother’s frantic bedroom search after the discovery of the baby’s remains and the odd incident with the garbage.

  Rich scratched the side of his neck. “So you think your grandmother might have disposed of something pertinent to the investigation?”

  “I can only tell you what I observed…and what I didn’t observe. What happened to that garbage bag? I know there’s been a series of thefts in the area, but I hardly think the culprits are digging through the trash for valuables.”

  Rich’s gaze narrowed on the opposite wall as if drilling for clues in the paint. “Apparently someone is.”

  Nicole spread her hands. “But if they found what they wanted in the garbage bag, why did they come after my grandmother? Obviously, she wasn’t planning to tell anyone anything.”

  “Good question. Maybe they didn’t want to take the chance that she would continue to keep silent. Or maybe they didn’t find what they were looking for and returned to search. Maybe they still haven’t found it.”

  “In other words, they could come back?”

  Rich nodded. “Yo
u might want to stay somewhere else until this case is solved.”

  Nicole’s insides churned. “I won’t be driven from our family’s home. I’m the only one left to protect it. Besides, I don’t have anywhere else to go.” Rich opened his mouth, but she lifted a hand. “I’ll have an alarm system installed. Grandma will squawk like a ruffled chicken when she finds out, but I’ll do it anyway.”

  Her gaze fell to her toes, and her stomach, too. Please, God! If only her grandmother would live to complain.

  A squeaky shoe tread brought both of their heads around. Dr. Mead entered the waiting area, expression grim. She stopped in front of their chairs. Nicole’s heart tried to pound right out of her rib cage.

  “It’s a good thing Jan Keller has a hard head,” the doctor said.

  “She’s alive?” Nicole clasped her hands together.

  “Is she awake?” Rich stood up.

  The doctor shook her head. “Better for her that she’s not right now. She has a skull fracture and a grade-four concussion with evidence of subdural hematoma.”

  “She’s bleeding in the brain,” Nicole said.

  “Correct,” Dr. Mead confirmed. “And for your information,” she switched her gaze to Rich, “there are no other signs of a struggle on her body—no bruising and nothing under her fingernails.”

  Rich got busy with his pen and notebook. “So the assailant took her by surprise?”

  “Not necessarily. The shape of the head wound suggests that she was facing her attacker.”

  Nicole gripped the arms of her chair. “She knew who hit her? Maybe let him in?”

  “Not necessarily.” Rich closed his notebook. “She might have been startled by an intruder, whirled to face him, and then been struck. That’s one of the many questions she can answer when she wakes up.”

  Dr. Mead narrowed her eyes. “Even if Jan wakes up with all her faculties, she may not remember the events surrounding the attack. Amnesia related to head trauma is common.”

  Nicole rose. “You said if she wakes up.”

  The doctor’s compassionate gaze sent a shiver to Nicole’s middle. She’d seen that look of helpless sympathy directed toward her too often in her lifetime.

  “I wish I could make promises,” Dr. Mead said, “but I can’t. Her prognosis is shaky at best. We need to helicopter her to the severe head trauma unit in the Twin Cities. The chopper is on the way. Unfortunately, there won’t be room for you in the bird. You’ll have to drive.”

  Nicole bit her lip. The road trip would consume over three hours.

  “I’ll chauffeur you, cop speed,” Rich said.

  “Let’s go then.” She leaped up. “I don’t want to waste a minute.”

  On the way to her grandmother’s house to collect a few things, Nicole clutched her oversize purse like a shield on her lap. Scary how at home she felt in the front seat of a police vehicle. You’d think she’d hate everything to do with the occupation.

  She wasn’t under any illusions about the offer to follow the chopper to the Cities. Rich wasn’t being a Good Samaritan. He was still hoping for lucid words from the patient that would help him solve his case. Even so, accepting the ride was to her advantage. A police car could reach the major hospital far more quickly than a civilian vehicle following the speed limit.

  Then why did she feel like she needed to protect herself? One glance at Rich’s strong profile gave her the answer. Even in this moment of extreme stress, she found the police chief way too appealing for the safety of her broken heart.

  SIX

  “Do you have new plans for the sewing shop?” Rich glanced at the set profile of his passenger as he guided the police SUV up Highway 7 toward Minneapolis. Nicole barely batted an eyelash in response. “I mean, since you’ve been cleaning things out, I just wondered if you were making room for something.”

  “Huh?” Her head swiveled his direction. “I’m sorry. I was a million miles away.”

  “At least 120 miles anyway.”

  She gave a tired grimace. “What did you ask me?”

  “Just curious about your plans for the shop.”

  “If my grandmother has her way, it’ll be same old, same old, and that won’t cut it in today’s economy.”

  “But…” Rich prompted.

  “I want to go into machine embroidery.” Enthusiasm touched Nicole’s expression. “There’s a growing market for custom embroidered shirts, blanket throws and team apparel. The shop could turn a profit. I’ve studied the demographics, and we’d be the only supplier in the county.”

  “You’ve done your homework.”

  The light on Nicole’s face faded. “Grandma thinks I’m just grasping at straws to keep busy while I grieve. She’s afraid the machinery will keep her customers away in droves, when I believe the products would draw new customers from younger generations. My degree is in business administration, and I’ve thought this through. Grandma doesn’t want to face it, but her current clientele is petering out. They’re either going to the nursing home or…” She shook her head.

  “Change can be difficult for the elderly.” Rich nodded. “My grandmother had to be dragged practically kicking and screaming into the retirement village she thoroughly loves now.”

  Nicole chuckled. “I know Grandma would actually enjoy making the embroidered products if she’d give the idea a chance.” She halted and blinked rapidly.

  Rich looked away, respecting Nicole’s emotional space. She had to be wondering if her grandmother would have the opportunity to try a new thing. This lady impressed him more every time he talked to her. He hadn’t known she had a college degree.

  “So what about you?” Her light tone was forced. “I checked in the phone book, and there are no other Hendricks families in Ellington. Where are you from?”

  “Grew up on a farm about an hour away from Ellington. There weren’t any other Hendricks families there, either. Holidays were quiet. Sure enjoyed Big Stone Lake though.”

  Nicole shuddered and let out a small laugh. “It’s a big lake, for sure. I nearly drowned in it once. I was seven and my parents and grandparents took me on a picnic in a park there.”

  “Really?” Rich shot her a strong look. “That must have been scary.”

  “I ventured outside the marked boundaries of the swimming area and tumbled over an unexpected drop-off. I was sure my days were over. Then this bigger boy grabbed me by the hair and hauled me to the surface.”

  “Wow! Your folks must’ve been happy with that kid.”

  Nicole shrugged. “I don’t think they got to meet him. I was bawling and screaming and choking so bad, my grandpa swooped me out of the boy’s arms. By the time they got me calmed down so I could tell them what happened, the boy was gone.”

  Rich’s throat tightened. It couldn’t be! But maybe…“Were you wearing a blue one-piece swimsuit with a yellow starfish on it?”

  Nicole gaped at him. “You’re a good cop, but don’t tell me you found that out on a background check.”

  “When I was a young teenager, I hauled this dark-haired little girl out of the drink and didn’t get her quite onto the shore when this big guy grabbed her from me and knocked me down. I think he thought I was hurting you. I was pretty scared myself and ran off.”

  “You’re kidding!” Nicole’s brown eyes popped wide. “If that was me, I had no idea Grandpa hit you.”

  Rich laughed. “Well, if my granddaughter was howling and kicking and clawing in some stranger’s arms, I’d do the same thing.”

  “Clawing?”

  He rubbed his right arm. “Still have a couple of scars on my forearm. I don’t think you liked having your hair pulled, and boy, did you have fingernails.”

  Nicole pressed her hands to her chest. “I can hardly believe it! You saved my life, got scratched and beaten up for your efforts, and now, here we are, grown up and driving down the road together. That’s got to be more than a coincidence.” She gazed at him with deep warm eyes. “It’s my opportunity to say what should have been said
then. Thank you soooo much! If Grandpa were here, he’d shake your hand and slap you on the back so hard your teeth would rattle.”

  Rich grinned and shook his head. “I’ll pass. He already made my teeth rattle once.” He rubbed his jaw.

  Nicole’s soft giggle did crazy wonderful things to Rich’s insides. So did the memory of her Grandpa Frank’s right hook. He had proven capable of violence back then, but Rich would think less of the man if he hadn’t been quick to defend his granddaughter, even if it was a misunderstanding. If Frank was involved in the death of the baby in his backyard, maybe what happened was an accident. Could the Kellers have kidnapped Samuel for the money, fully intending to return him, but then the child died, and they had to bury him instead?

  The dispatcher’s voice came over his radio, jerking Rich out of speculation. He answered the call.

  “Hey, Chief,” the day dispatcher greeted him. “You wanted to be informed of any developments in the rose garden baby case. The medical examiner and the forensics tech agree that cause of death on the child was a broken spine. They say the injuries are consistent with shaken baby syndrome.”

  Nicole’s face went ashen. Rich opened his mouth to chew on the dispatcher for talking case details with a civilian on board, but Nicole stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “You know I’ll keep it under my hat. Besides, now I’m beyond sure that my grandparents had nothing to do with that baby’s death. They would never shake a child. Never!”

  Rich lifted an eyebrow. But Grandpa would punch a teenager. He thanked the dispatcher and replaced the radio in its holder. “If so, that leaves us at square one with loads of questions.”

  “Maybe not.” Nicole angled toward him. “The most common culprit in shaken baby syndrome is a parent or a family member.”

  “Are you suggesting someone in the Elling family killed the precious heir?”