by Rebecca Deel
A few more weeks of sultry weather, then her favorite time of year arrived. Colorful leaves and cooler temperatures meant wearing light-weight sweaters and a burning desire to knit more.
Madison lifted the green ceramic mug to her lips. Now Josh could wear all those sweaters she knitted for him after Luke died. Her personal grief therapy left her brother with a dresser drawer full of wool sweaters, scarves, socks and hats, all unusable in desert terrain.
“Rough night. Didn’t think you’d wake before 10:00.” Josh leaned against the door frame, steaming mug in hand.
“Sorry if I kept you awake.”
“Can’t sleep on duty, Maddie.” He sat beside her on the deck stairs. “Night watch ended when you woke up. I’ll sleep this afternoon.”
They sat in silence until Josh set his empty mug on the ground. “What did Nick say that upset you so much?”
Madison drained the last of her coffee and cradled the empty mug between her hands. “It’s not what he said. Well, he admitted how close he came to dying a few weeks ago.” She stared at the tree-covered mountains rising in the distance. Some days in late fall, fog covered the mountain tops, shrouding them in a blanket of white cotton. Similar to the cotton which had encased her emotions since Luke and the baby died. Until now. “The deep emotions he stirred scared me.” She glanced at her brother. His support and strength, the desire to stand between her and danger reminded her of Nick. “This is happening too fast.” She winced at her shaky voice.
“How long have you known Nick?”
She expected him to agree with her, not ask irrelevant questions. “Ten years.”
He looked at her with hazel eyes so like her father’s. “When did he start sending flowers, calling, and mailing comic strips and cards?”
“Eighteen months ago.”
“What you feel didn’t develop in two days, sis. He romanced you long distance for months.” Josh smiled. “Anybody can see he’s crazy about you. And take it from me, no man sends a woman a dozen roses twice a month for eighteen months unless he’s serious.” He grabbed his mug and rose. “Sometimes people fall in love overnight. Don’t let fear steal a second chance at happiness, Madison.”
He walked to the door and, with his hand on the knob, grinned at her over his shoulder. “By the way, Mom called while you were in the shower. Took pity on me, since you think breakfast comes from a coffee pot. She’s cooking a feast as we speak.”
Nick strolled into Delaney’s Diner a few minutes after 7:00 and seated himself at the counter. Trixie smiled, handed him a menu, and filled his coffee cup before she hurried away to take another customer’s order.
“Nick, how are you this morning?”
He turned and smiled at the man seated to his right. Dressed in blue jeans, a skipper blue knit shirt and running shoes, the preacher held out his hand. “Pastor Lang.”
“Please, call me Marcus. Thanks for Wednesday night’s concert. I received several phone calls and voice messages already begging for a full performance.”
Nick sipped his coffee. “I’ll get back to you Sunday with a couple of potential dates.”
“Great. Did Madison visit Julia?”
He nodded. “She’s a great kid.”
“Her doctors said this type of leukemia responds well to chemotherapy. They give her an excellent chance of a full recovery.”
Trixie stopped in front of Nick, topped off his mug. She whipped out her order pad and pulled a pen from behind her ear. “What can I get you this morning?”
After Nick placed his order, Marcus pushed aside his empty plate and turned sideways to face him. His voice low, he said, “How did Madison handle the visit?”
Nick eyed the preacher over the mug’s rim. He wondered at the man’s interest. A pastor caring for one of his flock or something more personal? “She’s resilient.”
“All the Cahills are strong.”
“Known them long?”
“Five years,” he said. “I didn’t meet Madison until she moved back to Otter Creek, but I stayed in contact with Josh by email.” He grinned. “Might be interesting around here with Josh as a cop.”
Nick brows rose. The Otter Creek grapevine sizzled overnight for the news to spread so fast.
“Appreciate their faithfulness, their willingness to help” Marcus said. “I respect Aaron’s financial knowledge. He has helped the church avoid a few unwise decisions since I arrived.”
“I don’t believe I met your wife Wednesday night,” Nick said, a forced note of casualness in his voice. “Did I miss her?”
The preacher grinned. “Not married. Schedule’s too erratic. Serena keeps me fed, though, and I take care of everything else myself.” He leveled an amused look at Nick. “I understand you and Madison are an item. Is it too early to offer congratulations?”
His face burning, Nick smiled. “Sorry. My interrogation skills must be rusty.”
“No problem.” Marcus chuckled. “You’re not the first man to check me out regarding those Cahill ladies. Ethan Blackhawk zeroed in on me pretty fast about Serena.”
Nick laughed. “Is that right?”
“Women say they’re always a bridesmaid, but never a bride. Well, I’m always the groomsman, but never a groom when it comes to the Cahill triplets.” He slid off the stool and clapped Nick on the shoulder. “Got an appointment in five minutes. See you Sunday, Nick.”
Another wave of breakfast eaters crowded the diner after Lang left. While he ate, Nick tuned in to conversations swirling around him. Two retirement-age men on his left mentioned a familiar name.
“Wonder what Howard will do now? Bet he’s fit to be tied about the knitting place burning down.” Wearing a Braves baseball cap, the old man emphasized his last statement with a wave of his butter knife.
“Yeah. Sure puts a monkey wrench in his plans.” The second man noticed Nick sitting on the other side of his friend. His eyes lit. “Say, mister, ain’t you the guy staying with the Cahills?”
Nick put his coffee mug on the counter. “Yes, sir. I’m Nick.”
“Name’s Russ,” the bald-headed man said. He nodded at his companion. “This here’s Dan.” The Braves fan saluted Nick with his mug. Russ leaned in, peering around his friend with a curious stare. “Sure was sorry to hear about Madison’s shop.”
“Yeah, she took it hard,” Nick said. Time to drop bait in the water, see if the fish bit. “Her landlord didn’t seem happy about it, either.”
Dan sneered. “Hard to sell a place when it’s a pile of charred matchsticks. Howard’s real estate agent ain’t none too happy either. He wanted to sell the knitting place and the hardware store together.” He spread a pat of butter on a biscuit.
Sell? Howard had said he wanted to expand, not sell. Nick sipped his coffee. “Seems like business is good at his store. Why’s he selling?”
Russ leaned in a little more. “Oh, the hardware store’s doing all right.” He glanced around to be sure no one listened. “Old Chuck’s trying to scare up some money, though. Nobody knows why.” He shrugged. “Heard Madison had an air-tight lease, and he couldn’t sell until her lease ended.”
So, Howard needed money. The story he told Madison about needing more space rang hollow. From his observations in the last few days, Otter Creek Hardware didn’t need twice the inventory space. How much money did Howard need and why? Was he desperate enough to try insurance fraud?
Stepping into her mother’s kitchen, Madison sniffed. Blueberry pancakes, bacon, coffee, and something sweet with cinnamon. Cinnamon rolls? Her stomach rumbled.
“Morning, sweetheart.” Liz turned with a spatula in her hand, a smile perched on her mouth.
Madison kissed her mother’s flour-dusted cheek. “Everything smells wonderful, Mom. Can I help?”
“Everything’s ready except for these last two pancakes.”
She envied her mother’s skill. She and Serena both made cooking look as simple as tying shoe laces. Maybe that was why Madison couldn’t cook. She remembered long hours with her father, repeati
ng the “rabbit running around the tree and jumping down the hole” rhyme as he demonstrated with his own shoes.
“You can set the table.” Liz said.
The back door opened again and Liz’s face beamed. “Josh!”
He swept her into a bear hug, lifting her off the ground. “You look great, Mom.” He brushed the flour off her cheek with a grin. “Who’s your new make-up artist?”
Madison opened the cabinet. “How many places do I set, Mom?”
“Three.”
She froze, four plates in her hand. Madison replaced one plate. “Where’s Nick?”
“Not sure, honey. He left a couple of hours ago.”
Madison finished setting the dining table, all the while racking her brain to figure out where he went. He didn’t seem upset when he left her last night, but he masked his feelings like a pro.
She climbed the stairs and walked down the hall to Josh’s old room. Madison pushed the door open. Nick’s guitar leaned on a stand in the corner, his suitcase flush against the wall. Her tight muscles relaxed.
On the nightstand, a note pad with his strong slanting handwriting caught her eye. She maneuvered closer, tilted her head to read his words. Nick’s list of things and people to check today. She frowned. He promised they would work together, except for checking with the people in the bar, and she didn’t think Hank’s opened until 11:00. Was he nosing around without her?
She knew Nick was a trained professional, but the second name on his list struck an uneasy chord inside her. If he felt it necessary to talk to Bates again, he wouldn’t let her within 100 yards of the man.
“Madison, we’re ready to eat.”
“Okay, Mom.” She hurried downstairs.
Nick parked in the Churchill fitness trail lot and glanced at the clock. Right on time. No other cars in the lot, though. He locked the Jeep, tugged on a light-weight jacket to cover his weapon and set off down the trail.
Mockingbirds sang, a few fluttering between trees on either side of the track. A muggy breeze spoke of the humidity to come by afternoon’s end. The diner’s coffee, a brew tasting like boiled combat boots, weighed heavy on his stomach.
He learned a few interesting information nuggets at Delaney’s. He grinned. Madison wouldn’t like knowing the old fishermen wagered on an end-of-the-year marriage for her. Too young and beautiful to stay single. He couldn’t argue with that so long as he was the groom.
He neared the rendezvous point and his thoughts veered from the deli to Bates. He sounded tense when he asked Nick to meet him. No matter how much Nick pressured, Bates refused to discuss anything over the phone.
He rounded the curve. Bates paced in front of a bench on the right side of the trail. The middle-aged man drew up short. Nick’s gaze swept the heavy underbrush and the dark wall of trees and bushes close to the trail. Nice place for an ambush.
“Santana.”
“What do you want?”
Bates sat on the bench. “Called my old man last night. Said to tell you thanks.”
The sadness pooled in his eyes touched a sympathetic chord in Nick. “I’m sorry about your father.” He waited, confident Bates called him out here for more than passing on a message.
He rose, resumed pacing. “Look, I know Blackhawk thinks I’m responsible for what’s happening around here.”
Nick shrugged. “The cops know you blamed me and my partner for your marriage breakup. After you left prison, someone stalked Madison, then killed my partner and his son, and injured his wife. Now she’s being stalked again the same time you arrive in town. You telling me that’s a coincidence?”
Bates scowled. “Wasn’t me.” He shoved his fists into his pockets. “It’s no secret I hated you and your partner. Shot my mouth off to anybody who’d listen. But that’s it. I didn’t kill Ryder or go after his wife.”
“How did a sniper rifle end up in your trunk?”
He swung away from Nick. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, man,” Nick said. “You expect me to believe that? You bought the rifle on the street and tried to finish the job you started when you killed Luke. Need more practice, Bates.” He spread his hands. “You missed.”
Bates spun around, yanked his fists from his pockets and advanced.
Nick balanced his weight on the balls of his feet and waited for a lunge, a punch.
Bates stopped a couple of feet in front of him, face stained with color over the beard. “It wasn’t me.” He opened his mouth to say more, but glanced over Nick’s shoulder. He clamped his jaws shut. Color leached from his face.
The skin on the back of Nick’s neck prickled. He reached for his gun and started to turn. A blinding explosion of pain at the back of his head sent him to his knees and into darkness.
Ethan hung up the phone, shook his head. Three calls in the last hour to report a camel on the loose. He sighed. The guys in the Las Vegas PD kidded him about his skills rusting. Crime hubs didn’t thrive in small towns. He’d never hear the end of the camel jokes if they caught wind of this.
His office door flew open. Rod’s grim expression brought Ethan to his feet. “A jogger just reported two bodies on the Churchill trail.”
Ethan’s heart raced like a runaway locomotive. Nick’s Jeep. He slammed on the brakes, parked behind the glittering vehicle, and bolted down the trail without waiting for Rod to get out of his SUV. He ignored the heat from the outdoor oven. According to the jogger, the vics lay about a quarter-mile down the trail.
A distant siren grew louder. The EMTs. An eerie silence accompanied him down the trail. When he rounded a curve, a jogger rushed to him, pale and shaky. “In front of the bench,” she said, pointing.
“Stay here.” Ethan sped past her, scanned the scene. No question that Bates was dead. He knelt beside Nick, heart in his throat. So much blood. He checked for a pulse. The tight band around his chest eased.
“Oh, man.” Rod dropped to his knees beside Ethan. “Is he dead?”
“Unconscious. Where’s that ambulance?”
“Right behind me.”
He glanced up and motioned to the EMTs on the trail. “Over here. The other one’s dead.”
“Ethan.” Rod nodded at Nick’s hand, hidden until the medical personnel shifted his body to work on him.
Ethan pulled on the pair of rubber gloves Rod passed him and removed the gun from Nick’s hand. In silence, he handed the gun to the detective, who bagged it.
While the EMTs prepared Nick for transport to the hospital, Ethan examined the body of Scott Bates. Sunlight streamed through leaves and left flickering streaks of light on his blood-stained white shirt and blue jeans.
“Single gunshot wound to the chest,” Rod said. “Maybe a .40 caliber. Like Nick’s.”
Ethan stood. The sun warmed his head as he stared at the victim’s slack face and sightless eyes. One shot right to center mass. Frustrated, he watched the EMTs lift the injured private detective onto a stretcher and hurry toward the waiting ambulance. Bates’ murder put a whole new spin on things.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Madison cranked her car, turned the air conditioner on full blast and drove toward town. Ten o’clock and still no word from Nick. When she called his cell phone, she reached his voice mail. He turned off his phone? Just wait until she caught up with him. He’d throw a fit if she turned off her phone.
She turned left at the Cherry Street and Vine Road intersection and proceeded through a new residential area. The Oakdale subdivision had sprung up almost overnight. Twelve months earlier, a grassy meadow lay where the subdivision mushroomed.
On impulse, she turned onto Churchill Road. If she stopped by the house, she could pick up the yarn orders and deliver them while looking for Nick.
In the distance, flashing blue-and-red lights from the Otter Creek police and an ambulance snagged her attention. She slowed for a better look, drew in a ragged breath when she recognized the only civilian car in the fitness trail parking lot, a familiar red Jeep.
Madison jerked
the steering wheel hard to the left and turned off the engine. Hands shaking, she wrestled the key from the ignition. She threw open her door and slid to the ground.
She dashed to the trail, but hesitated at the circular entrance. Which way? A man’s voice and the crackle of a police radio sounded to her left. She hurried down the paved path.
A policeman blocked the path ahead. She skidded to an abrupt stop, racking her brain for the man’s name. When he drew near, she almost cried. Hernandez, Meg’s favorite cop.
“You can’t come this way, Ms. Ryder. This is a crime scene.”
“Where’s Ethan?”
“With the body, ma’am. You’ll have to go back.”
Blood drained from Madison’s face so fast her vision grew fuzzy. “Body?” She bit her lip, forced herself to focus hard on Hernandez’s face. If she lost it now, she wouldn’t find out anything. “I need to talk to Ethan. Now.”
“I’ll pass on the message, ma’am.”
The radio on Hernandez’s shoulder crackled, followed by words which sounded like jibberish to her. The patrolman seemed to recognize something in all the garble because he turned away to mumble into his radio.
Madison darted behind him and raced down the path. She had to know if Nick was . . . Bile rose in her throat. She hurried around the corner, heard a shout, footsteps running behind her. All noise faded into the distance as she saw the running shoes on the body. Ethan’s large frame hid the rest from her sight.
Ethan spun around, his hard gaze assessing her at a glance. He strode toward her, his body between her and the gruesome sight behind him. “Madison.” He grasped her upper arms with a firm grip. “You shouldn’t be here. This is a crime scene.”
She craned her neck to peer around him, but he moved to block her line of sight once again. “Get out of the way,” she said, furious. “I have to . . .”
“No.”
Stunned, she stared up into his grim, determined face, immovable as a mountain. She tilted her head, lips pressed. “He doesn’t have anyone else. I’m not leaving him. Don’t you understand?” Her voice broke as a tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away.