The Snow Man

by Diana Palmer

  She hid the pride the words invoked. “Just doing my job. If you’re willing to come along without making a fuss, I won’t cuff you.”

  He got up, smiling. “Thanks. That’s damned decent of you.”

  She walked out with him. “Been in trouble with the law before?”

  “Never. This new girl, she wants lots of pretty stuff.” He sighed. “Guess I should have given her up. I just work for wages, you know. Not many diamond rings lying around my old house.”

  “A woman who loves you won’t care if you’re dead broke,” she said flatly.

  “I know that. I just can’t resist bad girls.”

  “Jail may tweak that mind-set a bit,” she pointed out.

  “That’s what they say.”

  She put him in the back of the patrol car and got in under the wheel. “If you haven’t been arrested before, you can get first offender status. Keep your nose clean and they’ll wipe your record.”

  “They will?” He sounded enthusiastic. “Will I go to jail?”

  “Maybe not for long. It’s not a murder charge,” she added dryly.

  He leaned back. “Thanks,” he said. “I should have turned myself in. Thought about it, but my girl said that was a bad idea.”

  “Pardon me, but your girl is a bad idea,” she returned. “If you want to stay out of trouble, you’d do better to find someone less greedy.”

  “You may have a point.”

  * * *

  She took him to detention to be booked. Then she went back to Jeff’s office to report what happened.

  “He just came with you with no fight?” Jeff asked, stunned.

  “Yes. He was very polite.” She cocked her head. “Why do you look so surprised?”

  “Because Tuck Freeman is one of the meanest men in town,” he replied. “We’ve never locked him up, but we’ve pulled him out of a couple of nasty fights where his opponents had to go to the emergency room. He’s not known for his polite manner.”

  “Well!” she exclaimed.

  “Did he say why he went quietly?”

  She laughed. “Yes, he did. He said that Gil was fierce and he didn’t want to end up like Russell with extra felony charges from resisting arrest.”

  “He’s got a point,” he admitted. “Gil has a reputation of his own. Not many men tougher. He could have worked in any big-city department with his background, but he likes small towns. My good luck that he liked ours. The whole county could fit inside the city limits of Denver, almost.” He laughed.

  “It’s a nice place. I loved it here when I was little. I hated when my parents divorced and I had to leave. If I could have stayed with Dad, I’d know what to do with the ranch.”

  He averted his eyes. “Ever think of selling it?”

  “Every day,” she confessed, and missed the sudden light in his eyes. “But then I think of my father and how hard he worked to make it prosperous, and I realize that I can’t sell it. So my only options are to learn ranch management or hire a professional.”

  “Hiring a professional can be risky,” he said to discourage her. “You don’t know who you can trust until it’s too late, sometimes.”

  “That’s me. I don’t really trust people anymore,” she said. “Well, I’ll get back to work on the next case. That assault case . . .”

  “No.”

  She stared at him.

  “That’s Gil’s case,” he said. He smiled. “We’ll keep you out of dangerous scrapes, just for a little while. Okay?”

  He was a very nice man. “Okay.”

  “Thought any more about the dance?”

  She had. And something had happened that changed her mind. Her father had invested in an oil company, and the checks from the investment company fed directly into the joint checking account she and her father had started when they saw his health begin to fail. She had a windfall of several hundred dollars. More than enough to buy one nice dress and some shoes to match.

  “I’ll go,” she said.

  He brightened. “You will? That’s great!”

  “What’s great?” Gil asked as he walked in.

  “Meadow’s going to the Christmas party with me.”

  Gil glared at him. “No fair. I didn’t even have a chance to ask her.”

  Meadow felt valuable. She grinned at him. “I’ll still dance with you, if you come.”

  “I can do fancy dances,” Gil said, scoffing at the sheriff. “He just stands in one place and shuffles his feet.”

  Meadow laughed. “I don’t mind.”

  “You can have one dance,” Jeff told his deputy. “I’m pulling rank. Now go to work before I volunteer you to direct traffic at the high school football game.”

  “Sadist,” Gil muttered as he passed.

  They all laughed.

  * * *

  Meadow bought a red dress. She hadn’t meant to, but she kept recalling Dal Blake’s blistering comments about her efforts to seduce him when she was seventeen. Red dresses had played a big part in what there was of their relationship. The first red one had ended in a coal bin, the second in a punch bowl. Third time lucky, maybe, she wondered.

  But this red dress wasn’t like the one that hadn’t survived the accident with the coal bin. It was made of deep red velvet with black accents. It fell to her ankles. The bodice was ruffled, with wide shoulder straps that added to its elegance and made Meadow’s small breasts look larger. The color, against her fairness, was flattering. So was the fit that emphasized her small waist and nicely rounded hips. She bought a pair of strappy black leather high heels to wear with it. She planned to put a soft wave in her hair for the event and leave it long, around her shoulders, and put a black silk orchid in her hair. The effect would be exotic, to say the least. And hopefully it would erase Dal’s memory of the clumsy, sad young woman she’d been at seventeen.

  Also, hopefully, it would erase the memory of the second red dress that had met the punch bowl, at the Christmas party where Dal had kissed her so hungrily in front of the whole crowd. Just thinking about that kiss under the mistletoe made her tingle all over, and that would never do. She’d dance only with Jeff—and maybe Gil—and leave Dal to his florist. She knew that he’d never want to dance with her. He didn’t even like her.

  * * *

  Snow was mending nicely. She’d healed from her mishap with the wire fence, and Meadow had been meticulous about going out with her any time she had to use the bathroom during the night and early morning. When Meadow went to work, she put a pad down for accidents and bolted the dog flap shut. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it seemed to work.

  At least, Snow wasn’t up visiting Dal. But Jarvis was still making his rounds, snow and all. She wondered how the big cat even got through the snow, when it was almost a foot deep. He came in the dog flap late one afternoon and rolled around her ankles, purring like mad.

  “You bad boy,” she chided. “You’re going to get me in trouble again.”

  He just purred some more. He even rubbed up against Snow, and she liked him. Odd animals, she was thinking as she picked up her cell phone. So odd!

  The phone rang and rang. Finally, he answered it. “Hello?” he asked gruffly.

  Not a friendly greeting. He’d recognized her number. “Your cat is down here,” she said shortly.

  “Did you lure him in with chicken treats or kidnap him as an excuse to see me?” he drawled.

  She punched the red button and tossed the phone onto the sofa. A string of curses followed. She could have screamed. She only wished she had an old-fashioned telephone, one she could slam down in his ears, the pig!

  Minutes later, his truck stopped outside. She waited a few seconds after he knocked to go to the front door. She had Jarvis in her arms when she opened it.

  “Here,” she said, handing him the big cat.

  His eyebrows arched over dancing brown eyes. “No invitation to have coffee and talk?”

  “I don’t drink coffee at night, and I don’t want to talk to you. The road is that way.
” She pointed.

  “You sure got up on the wrong side of the bed,” he commented. “Jeff lacking as a lover, is he?”

  She flushed. “My private business is none of yours.”

  “Should I be crass and remind you that I saved your dog? The white one there who likes to follow me home?” He indicated Snow, who was sitting patiently in front of him, obviously in love with him.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I thanked you for that.”

  “So you did.”

  She glared at him. “All you ever do is insult me. Don’t expect a warm welcome here.”

  “It never crossed my mind,” he said, studying her angry face. “You coming with Jeff to the Christmas dance?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m bringing Dana. She can dance.”

  So could Meadow, but she wasn’t taking the time to tell him so.

  “Do you dance?” he asked. “I’ve never actually seen you do it. The punch bowl got in the way . . .”

  “I’m freezing.” She indicated the open door behind him.

  “Want me to come in and close it?” he asked in a mock tender tone.

  “How about closing it from the outside?” she retorted.

  “Heartless woman. If you didn’t want me here, why did you lure my cat in?”

  “I don’t have to lure your cat, he thinks he lives here!”

  “Your dog thinks she’s mine.” He indicated Snow licking the hand that wasn’t holding Jarvis.

  “I’ll speak to her firmly,” she said. “Now, good night.”

  He chuckled softly. “You improve with age.”

  “Do I really? Sorry, but your opinion is way down on my list of things that matter.”

  “Probably so.” His dark eyes slid over her face and down to her soft mouth. “They’ll have mistletoe at the dance.”

  She flushed, remembering. “Then I’m sure you and Dana will give it a workout,” she said sarcastically, almost ushering him out the door.

  “I might let you kiss me,” he taunted.

  “Never in a million years,” she retorted. “I have no idea where you’ve been!”

  And before he could reply, she shut the door in his face, despite Snow’s protests. She could hear soft laughter outside before she left the room.

  Chapter Seven

  The really interesting thing about working in law enforcement, Meadow thought, was the endless variety of incidents that went with each new day. You never knew what might come up. There might be a vandalism charge to investigate, a complaint about a business refusing to make good on a defective product, a shooting, a domestic disturbance, a speeder. So much variety made the job interesting. And sometimes, dangerous.

  As most law enforcement people knew, domestic disturbances were the things most likely to get an officer killed. From time to time, even the person who called 911 in the first place might be armed and out for revenge if the person they reported was then arrested. Shootings were not infrequent, and fatalities often ensued.

  But not in Raven Springs. Nobody could remember the last time anybody local got shot. The only close call any law enforcement person had ever had, except for Jeff’s shooting incident, was when Bobby Gardner ran his patrol car off the road into a snowbank and broke the windshield. Considering the tragic shootings nationally just lately involving policemen, it was a miracle that local law enforcement had remained safe.

  Meadow was still working the theft of the Victorian lamp. She’d sent the photo of it out to several auction houses, but with no responses so far.

  Gil said that wasn’t surprising. “The pipe organ went missing here,” he reminded her. “And it’s just turned up at that big auction house back east. Obviously the thief hoped that nobody local would notice. He felt safe to try and sell it.” He pursed his lips. “Interesting, though, the way he covered his tracks. Using a dead man’s identity on the bill of sale is cagey. If we hadn’t investigated, it might have gone unnoticed. The bill of sale looked legit.”

  “Yes, it did,” she agreed. “Two antiques, which originally belonged to famous people, both stolen locally. One turns up back east, the other is still missing.”

  “Well, we know that whoever took both items knew their worth.” He grimaced. “Problem is, we hardly ever have any such thefts here. I mean, people break in and steal money and guns, mostly. Not a lot of folks would even know the value of antiques like those.”

  She nodded. “How long has Mr. Markson been here?”

  “He came with the town.” He laughed. “He’s been here a long time, and he’s as honest as the day is long. And if you’re thinking Gary was responsible, the boy’s barely got enough energy to put gas in his truck. He isn’t the breaking and entering sort. He’s too lazy.”

  “I guess you’re right,” she agreed. “He’d have been my first suspect.”

  He studied her with a smile. “He knows antiques, and he does have ties to auction houses back east. Maybe he’d be into something like that fancy table Dal Blake owns. It’s got a history that makes it priceless. There’s an item that a seller could ask his own price for and get it.” He frowned. “Like the Victorian lamp and the pipe organ. It isn’t their antique status that makes them valuable—it’s who owned them originally. Both belonged to former presidents. But Dal’s table—now that’s real history.”

  “On the other hand,” she laughed, “if it went missing, it would be almost impossible to fence it without giving its history.”

  “True,” he agreed. “But there are private collectors, you know. The sort who buy priceless antiquities and keep them in personal vaults, behind closed doors. Millionaires who can afford any amount of money.”

  “Let’s hope Mr. Blake never has to worry about someone stealing it, then,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t want to try and break into Dal’s house,” Gil chuckled, “not with that big cat in there. He actually attacked one of Dal’s own cowboys who walked inside in the dark without turning on a light. It was sort of an emergency, but Jarvis didn’t care. The cowboy had scratches from stem to stern. He was yelling his head off for Dal to save him, at the last.”

  “Jarvis is very big,” she agreed. She laughed. “I guess he’s ferocious enough to qualify as a watchcat, but he likes me.”

  “We heard about that. Spends his life at your place, like your dog hangs out at Dal’s. Strange animals.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  A phone rang in the outer office and the clerk, old Mrs. Pitts, stuck her head around the door a minute later. “Somebody ran through a red light and broadsided old man Barkley’s Lincoln. Who wants to save the driver from him?”

  It was a well known fact locally that Barkley had bought the Lincoln new and polished it by hand. It was his baby. The other driver would be running for his life.

  “I’ll go,” Gil said. “I may have to run down the other driver.” He chuckled.

  “Good luck,” Meadow called after him.

  “That’s one nice young man,” Mrs. Pitts remarked as Meadow followed her into the outer office. “You going to the Christmas dance with him?”

  “No,” Meadow said. “With Jeff.”

  She laughed. “The sheriff doesn’t get out much. He was going with Dana Conyers until she set her cap at Dal Blake.” She grimaced. “Jeff’s got a nice ranch, but he can’t match bankbooks with Dal. Nasty piece of work, that woman. She puts on a good act—goes to church, teaches Sunday School, does volunteer work. She sells flowers, but she doesn’t like them, you know?” she added suddenly.

  Meadow frowned.

  “You don’t understand, do you?” Mrs. Pitts asked kindly. “You see, people who grow flowers fall into sort of a category. They’re nurturing people, the sort who would stop to save a drowning person or help a little animal out of the road. Dana inherited the shop from her aunt. She overprices everything and cheats on vases and substitutes less expensive flowers when people call in something exotic. Got called down for it by the pastor of our Methodi
st church after the patron who bought the flowers told him that Dana hadn’t delivered what he ordered.”

  “She doesn’t strike me as a typical florist,” Meadow had to admit. “But she’s very pretty.”

  “Pretty on the outside, I guess,” the older woman agreed. “I’d rather have pretty on the inside. A kind heart is more important than the packaging it comes in, you know.”

  She smiled. “I guess.”

  “You’ve known Dal Blake a long time.”

  “Since I was about thirteen,” she agreed. “He and my dad shared bulls. He came over to the house sometimes when I was visiting.”

  “Your dad liked him,” she said. “But he didn’t want him around you when you were in high school. Even in college. He said you could do a lot better than a man who collected hearts.”

  “You knew Dad?”

  She nodded, smiling. “We went through school together. He was a fine man. Your mother wasn’t from here. We hoped she’d settle and stay with him, but we were too rural to suit her. Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”

  “You didn’t,” Meadow replied. “I loved my mother, but she really was something of a snob.”

  “Your dad wasn’t. He never judged people by what they had. Hurt us all to lose him,” she added. “We were glad when you moved back here. The ranch has been part of our community since his own dad founded it, way back when.”

  “I wish I knew how to run it properly,” Meadow confessed. “I wasn’t around enough to learn the ropes. Now it’s too late. I have to depend on the men to know what to do. But that won’t save it. We need an experienced manager. Those are thin on the ground.”

  “You should marry Jeff and let him manage it for you,” Mrs. Pitts said wickedly.

  She laughed. “He’s a very nice man, but . . .” She shrugged.

  “I know what you mean. He’s still stuck on Dana, regardless.” She shook her head. “Never ceases to amaze me how much some men love being badly treated by a woman. She snapped at him, stood him up, called him names, and he kept going back.” She sat down at her desk. “That won’t work with Dal Blake. He’ll set her down and walk out the door. Never has been a woman he couldn’t walk away from. Not even when he was younger.”