Saved By The Sheriff

* * *

LACY ENDED THE call from Travis and looked out the front window. The glass company had been out this morning to replace the broken pane and she had a clear view of the street. The car she had noticed earlier was still there—a faded blue sedan that had been parked in front of a vacation cottage three doors down and across the street from her parents’ house. The cottage had a For Sale sign in front, but Lacy was pretty sure no potential buyer had been inside the cottage all this time.

She retrieved her mother’s bird-watching binoculars from the bookcase by the door and returned to the window, training the glasses on the car. A man sat behind the wheel, head bent, attention on the phone in his hand. He was middle-aged, with light brown hair and narrow shoulders. He didn’t look particularly threatening, but then again, looks could be deceiving. And it wasn’t as if it would have taken that much brawn to throw that rock through the window yesterday afternoon.

She shifted the binoculars to the license plate on the car. BRH575. She’d remember the number and think about asking Travis to check it out. He owed her more than a few favors, didn’t he? She had almost mentioned the car to him while they were talking just now, but she didn’t want to give him the idea that she needed him for anything. She didn’t like to think of herself as hardened, but three years in prison had taught her to look out for herself.

She brought the glasses up to the man in the car and gasped as it registered that he had raised his own pair of binoculars and was focused on her. She took two steps back, fairly certain that he couldn’t see her inside the house, but unwilling to take chances. What was he doing out there, watching the house? Watching her? She replaced the binoculars on the shelf and headed toward the back of the house. As she passed her mother’s home office, Jeanette looked up from her computer. A former teacher, she now worked as an online tutor. “Who was that on the phone?” she asked.

Lacy started to lie, but couldn’t think of one that sounded convincing enough. “Travis canceled our meeting to go over Andy’s files,” she said. “He had to go on a call.”

“I hope everything’s all right.” Jeanette swiveled her chair around to face her daughter. “You’re okay, working with Travis?” she asked. “I know you don’t have the warmest feelings toward him, and I’ll admit, I had my doubts, too. But when I saw how hard he worked to clear your name...” She compressed her lips, struggling for control. “I really don’t think you’d be standing here right now if it wasn’t for him.”

“I wouldn’t have been in prison in the first place if it wasn’t for him, either,” Lacy said.

Jeanette said nothing, merely gave Lacy a pleading look.

“I’m okay working with him,” Lacy said. “I don’t know how much good going through those old files will do, but I’m willing to help.” She turned away again.

“Where are you going?” her mother asked.

“I thought I’d take a walk.”

“That’s nice.”

Lacy didn’t wait for more, but hurried toward the back door. All the houses on this street backed up to the river, and a public trail ran along the bank. She let herself out the back gate and followed this trail up past four houses, then slipped alongside the fourth house, crossed the street behind the blue sedan, and walked up to the passenger side of the vehicle. The driver had lowered the front windows a few inches, so Lacy leaned in and said, loudly, “What do you think you’re doing, spying on me?”

The man juggled his phone, then dropped it. “You—you startled me!” he gasped.

“I saw you watching me,” Lacy said. “I want to know why.”

“I didn’t want to intrude. I was merely trying to get a feel for the neighborhood, and see how you were doing.”

“Who are you, and why do you care how I’m doing?” She was getting more annoyed with this guy by the second.

“I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself. Alvin Exeter. I’m a writer. I specialize in true-crime stories.” He leaned across the seat and extended his hand toward her.

She ignored the outstretched hand. “I didn’t commit a crime,” she said. “Or don’t you read the papers?”

“No, of course. And that’s what I want to write about,” he said. “I’m planning a book on your wrongful conviction and its aftermath.”

“And you were planning to write about me without telling me?”

“No, no, of course not. I would love to interview you for the book, get your side of the story. I was merely looking for the right opportunity to approach you.”

“Get lost, Mr. Exeter,” she said. “And if you try to write about me, I’ll sue.”

“You could try,” he said. “But you’re a public figure now. I have every right to tell your story, based on court documents, news articles and interviews with anyone associated with you. Though, of course, the story will be more complete if you agree to cooperate with me.”

“No one I know will talk to you,” she said. Though how could she be sure of that, really?

“That’s not true. Sheriff Travis Walker has already agreed to speak with me.”

“Travis is going to talk to you about my case?”

“We have an appointment in a couple days.” Alvin leaned back in his seat, relaxed. “What do you think the public will make of the man who sent you to prison speaking, while you remain silent?”

“I think you can both go to hell,” she said, and turned and walked away. She could feel his eyes on her all the way back to the house, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her turn around. She marched onto the porch and yanked at the door—but of course it was locked, and she didn’t have her key. She had to ring the doorbell and wait for her mother to answer.

“Lacy, where is your key?” Jeanette asked as she followed Lacy into the house.

“I forgot and left it in my room.” Lacy stalked into the kitchen and filled a glass of water.

“What’s wrong?” Jeanette asked. “You look all flushed. Did something happen to upset you?”

“I’ll be fine, Mother.” She would be fine as soon as she talked to Travis, and told him what he could do with Andy’s client files. Travis Walker was the last person she would ever help with anything.

Chapter Four

Travis waited while Tammy Patterson snapped another photo of the red Camry with its nose buried in the pile of crumbling brick that had once been the front wall of the Cake Walk Café. She stepped back and gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Sheriff. This is going to look great on the front page of the next issue.”

“I’ll want a copy of those pictures for my insurance company.” Iris Desmet, owner of the Cake Walk, joined Tammy and Travis on the sidewalk.

“Sure thing, Ms. Desmet,” Tammy said. “And I’m really sorry about the café. I didn’t mean to sound like this accident was good news or anything.”

“I know you didn’t, dear.” Iris patted Tammy’s shoulder. “I’m just relieved no one was hurt. It was our slow time of day and I didn’t have anyone sitting up front.”

Tammy pulled out her notebook and began scribbling away. Twenty-three but looking about fifteen, Tammy was working her very first job out of college for the tiny Eagle Mountain Examiner. What she lacked in experience, she made up for in enthusiasm. “The paramedic told me they think the driver of the car is going to be okay, too. They think he had some kind of episode with his blood sugar.”

“Better confirm that with the hospital before you go printing it,” Travis said.

“Oh, yes, sir. I sure will.” She flashed another smile and hurried away, no doubt thrilled to have something more exciting to write about than the town council’s budget meeting or the school board’s decision to remove soda machines from the lunchroom.

Iris moved closer to Travis. “Do you think the guy will lose his license over this?” she asked, nodding toward the pile of rubble.

“I don’t know,” Travis said. “Maybe. Either way, he’s probably going to have trouble finding someone to insure him.”

“I hope he’s got good insurance,” Iris said.

“I guess you’ll have to close the café for a while, to remodel,” Travis said.

“I imagine so. Then again, I’ve been thinking how nice it would be to visit my sister for a few days. She and her husband live up on Lake Coeur d’Alene, in Idaho. Pretty country up there. Still, it’ll be hard on my employees.”

“I’ll keep my ears open, let you know if I hear of anyone looking for short-term help, until you can get open again.”

“Thanks, Sheriff.” She looked him up and down. “And how are you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

“I guess it’s a load off your mind, with Lacy Milligan being home again, out of prison.”

“I’m glad she’s home,” he said, cautious.

“But now you’re back to the question you started with—who killed Andy Stenson?”

“I’m working on that,” he said. “Do you have any ideas?”

“No. But I’ve been thinking, the way you do when you live alone and wake up in the middle of the night and can’t sleep. I’ve always wondered about that woman.”

“What woman?” Travis asked.

“The dark-haired one Wade testified he saw going into Andy’s office shortly before Andy was killed,” Iris said. “If it wasn’t Lacy—and I guess it wasn’t, since she was at that basketball game—but if it wasn’t her, who was it?”

“Maybe it was Andy’s killer,” Travis said. “Or someone who saw the killer. But again—we don’t know who it was. Do you have any ideas?”

“Maybe look for a client of Andy’s who fits that description?” Iris shook her head. “I know I’m not helping, I just like to think about these things.”

“Well, if you think of anything else, let me know,” Travis said.

He walked back to his SUV and drove to the office. Adelaide rose to meet him. “Sheriff—”

“Not now, Adelaide,” he said. “I’m not in the mood to talk.”

“But, Sheriff—”

He walked past her, into his office, and collided with Lacy Milligan.

As collisions went, this one was more pleasurable than most, he thought, as he wrapped his arms around Lacy to steady them both. She squirmed against him, giving him plenty of opportunity to enjoy the sensation of her soft curves sliding against him. But he wasn’t the kind to take advantage of the situation. As soon as he was certain neither of them was going to fall, he released his hold on her. “What can I do for you, Lacy?” he asked.

“Do for me? You’ve done enough for me,” she said, voice rising along with the flush of pink to her cheeks. “I want you to stop. I want you to leave me alone.”

Aware of Adelaide’s sharp ears attuned to every word, Travis reached back and shut the door to his office. “Let’s sit down and you can tell me what this is about. Is there something specific I’ve done that has you so upset?”

He lowered himself into the chair behind his desk, but she remained mobile, prowling the small office like a caged animal. “Alvin Exeter,” she said. “How could you even think of talking to that man about me?”

Travis squinted, thinking. “Who is Alvin Exeter?”

“He’s a horrible man who says he’s writing a book about me—about what happened to me. He said he has an appointment to talk with you.”

Travis picked up his phone and pressed the button to ring Adelaide. She picked up right away and he put her on speaker. “Do you want me to bring in coffee for you and your guest?” she asked.

“No. Do I have an appointment with someone named Alvin Exeter tomorrow?”

“Two days from now, 9:30 a.m.”

“So you asked me if I wanted to talk to this Exeter guy and I said yes?”

He could picture her scowl as she assumed her chilliest schoolmarm tone. “I didn’t have to ask you. You have a stated open-door policy for citizens who want to speak to you.”

So he did. “What does he want to talk to me about?” Travis asked.

“He said he’s writing a human interest story on rural law enforcement.”

“Thanks.” Travis hung up the phone and looked at Lacy. “Did you get all that?”

“You really didn’t know you had an appointment with him?”

“No.” Which perhaps made him look like a poor manager in her eyes, but better than looking like a traitor. “And, apparently, Adelaide didn’t know the real reason behind the appointment. He lied about his purpose in wanting to see me.”

“Are you still going to talk to him?”

“Only to tell him to leave you alone. That’s really all I can do. I can’t keep him from approaching other people and asking them questions. Though if he bothers you again, I can arrest him for harassment.”

She dropped into a chair and glared at him. The memory of her warmth still clung to him, making him conscious of the short distance between them, of how beautiful and prickly and vulnerable she was—and how mixed up and charged his feelings for her were.

“You really are making this difficult, you know?” she said.

“Making what difficult?”

“For me to hate you. I spent the last three years building you up in my mind as this horrible monster and now that you’re here, in front of me, you insist on being so...so decent!”

He told himself he wouldn’t laugh. He wouldn’t even smile. “If anyone bothers you—Exeter or anyone else—let me know,” he said. “I’ve got your back.”

“I don’t need you to be my bodyguard,” she said.

“My job is to protect the citizens of this county, and you’re one of them.”

“So that’s what I am to you, then? Your job?”

“No.” She was his biggest regret. His responsibility, even. He’d helped ruin her life and now he felt obligated to help her put it back together. If she had asked he would have found her a job or given her money, but she wouldn’t ask for those things—she wouldn’t take them if he offered. But he could do everything in his power to protect her—to shield her from the aftereffects of the damage he’d done to her. He couldn’t tell her any of that, so instead, he tapped the badge on his chest. “You’re someone I hurt and I want to make that up to you, but mostly, I want to make sure you aren’t hurt again.”

She looked away, cheeks still flushed, then shoved out of the chair. “I’d better go. I...I’ll look at those files whenever you’re ready.”

“Iris Desmet over at the Cake Walk said something interesting to me this afternoon,” Travis said. “She said we should look for any client of Andy’s who matched the description Wade Tomlinson gave of the woman whom he saw at Andy’s office about the time Andy would have been killed.”

“I don’t remember any clients who looked like me,” she said.

“Think about it. Maybe a name will come to you.”

“So that’s your new theory about who killed Andy—this mysterious woman?”

“Not necessarily. But if she was around near the time when Andy was killed, maybe she saw something or remembers something.” He frowned. “I should have followed up on that when Wade first mentioned her.”

“But you didn’t, because you thought he was talking about me,” she said.

“That was a mistake. A big one on my part.” One he wouldn’t make again.

She turned to leave. “Let me know how it goes with Alvin Exeter,” she said. “I’m curious to know what he has to say.”

He walked her to the door. Even with her bad prison haircut and too-pale skin she was beautiful. The kind of woman a lot of men might underestimate, but not him. He would never underestimate Lacy Milligan again.

* * *

“IT’S SO GOOD to see you.” Brenda greeted Lacy on the front porch of the Milligans’ house the next morning with these words and a hug that surprised her with its fierceness. When Brenda pulled away, her eyes glinted with unshed tears. “I’m sorrier than you can know that I didn’t contact you while you were in prison,” she said. “I started to write more than once, but I just couldn’t think what to say.”

“I wouldn’t have known what to say, either,” Lacy said. After all, she had been convicted of murdering Brenda’s husband. That went far beyond merely awkward. “I’m just really glad you don’t have any hard feelings now.”

“I’m thrilled you’re home,” Brenda said. “I could never accept that you had anything to do with Andy’s death. When Travis told me he had found evidence that proved you were innocent, I was so relieved.”

“Even though it means the real killer is still out there?” Lacy asked.

“I didn’t think of that until later.”

“So Travis told you he was going to try to free me?” Lacy asked.

“He told me before he told the press. He wanted to make sure I was prepared.” Brenda touched Lacy’s arm. “He told me you still have bad feelings toward him, and I don’t blame you. But he really is a good man—one of the best men I know.”

Lacy nodded. She might not be ready to forgive Travis Walker for stealing three years of her life, but she was woman enough to see the good in him, in spite of his mistakes. “I guess he told you why we’re looking through Andy’s files,” she said.

“Yes. I don’t think you’ll find anything useful, but I guess we can hope.” She pulled her keys from her purse. “Are you ready to go get the boxes? I would have swung by the storage unit and picked them up myself, but Travis said it was better to do things this way.”

“After the mistakes he made at my trial, I guess he’s being extra cautious,” Lacy said.

“I can’t help but hope that this time he finds the real murderer,” Brenda said. “I think it would help all of us put this behind us.” She climbed into the driver’s seat of her car, while Lacy slid into the passenger seat.

“I do want to put this behind me,” Lacy said. “I’m still adjusting to the idea that I’m really free.”

“Do you think you’ll stay in Eagle Mountain?” Brenda asked.

“I don’t know,” Lacy said. “This is my home, but even in three years, things have changed.”

“Not that much, surely,” Brenda said. She turned the car onto Main.

“There are new houses, new businesses, new people I don’t know. We even have a new mayor.” Lacy gestured toward the banner that hung over the street. “And what’s this Pioneer Days Festival?” she asked. “That wasn’t around when I left.”

“It’s a whole weekend of events celebrating local history,” Brenda said. “Jan came up with the idea when she was mayor and it’s really been a boon for the town coffers.” Jan Selkirk had been mayor when Lacy had left town, and, after leaving office, had taken over management of the history museum where Brenda worked.

“I guess I remember some talk about a local celebration to commemorate the town’s founding,” Lacy said. “I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”

“I guess it morphed over time into a really big deal,” Brenda said. “Tourists come and stay all weekend. All the local motels and inns are sold out, and we have all kinds of special events at the museum.”

“Sounds like fun.” Lacy swiveled in her seat as they passed a pile of wreckage. “What happened to the Cake Walk?” she asked.

“You didn’t hear?” Brenda slowed as they passed the rubble, which was cordoned off with orange tape. “That was why Travis had to leave without picking up the file boxes. A guy ran his car right into it yesterday afternoon. Jan told me she heard the poor man had a stroke. They ended up taking him to the hospital. Fortunately, no one inside was hurt.”

“I was at the sheriff’s office yesterday afternoon and Travis never said a word about it,” Lacy said.

“Oh? Why were you at the sheriff’s office?” Brenda didn’t try to hide her curiosity.

Lacy leaned back in the seat and sighed. “There’s a man in town who says he’s writing a book about me. I complained to Travis about him.” No point in going into her accusations that Travis was selling her out to this writer.

“Oh, dear. I suppose that was bound to happen,” Brenda said.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t gotten in touch with you yet.”

“When he does, I’ll tell him what he can do with his book project,” Brenda said.

“He said he was going to write about me, whether I cooperate or not. I guess I’ll have to get used to that kind of thing. He said I was a public figure now.”

“Oh, Lacy.” Brenda reached over and rubbed her arm. “I’m sorry.”

Lacy straightened and forced a smile onto her lips. “It’ll be okay. What’s one lousy book in the scheme of things?”

For the next twenty minutes, the two friends discussed the Pioneer Days Festival, new businesses that had moved to town in Lacy’s absence and a new television series they were both watching. By the time they reached the storage facility, they had relaxed into the easy banter of old friends.

“I remember this place,” Lacy said as she climbed out of the car at the storage unit. “I used to give Andy a hard time about it being so far out here on the edge of town.”

“I guess nobody really wants a place like this in their backyard,” Brenda said. “Plus, the land is cheaper out here.” She undid the lock and pulled up the door.

The first thing Lacy spotted was a Victorian lamp that had sat on her desk in the front office of Andy Stenson’s law practice. Seeing it now, shade crooked and grayed with dust, gave her a jolt. Her gaze shifted to the big walnut desk where Andy had sat. It had usually been covered in papers, but she recognized the lovely dark finish. So odd to see these familiar things out of context.

“After Andy died, I was such a wreck,” Brenda said, as if reading Lacy’s mind. “I hired a couple of guys to clean out the office and put everything here. I hadn’t even looked at any of it until I was out here with Travis yesterday.”

“There was no reason you should have had to look at it,” Lacy said. “I hope Travis is right, and we find something useful in all these papers.”

“These are the two boxes he wants to start with.” Brenda pointed to two white file boxes, their tops crisscrossed with red and white tape. “All the files for Hake Development.”

“I was surprised when my mom told me Mr. Hake still hasn’t done anything with that property,” Lacy said. “I remember he had big plans for a bunch of luxury homes—even a golf course.”

“An environmental group successfully got an injunction to delay construction,” Brenda said. “I’m not sure what’s going on with it now. Maybe Henry Hake changed his mind.”

“Maybe.” Lacy picked up one box, while Brenda carried the other to the car. Boxes safely in the back seat, Brenda locked up again and the two friends set out once more.

“They haven’t done much to fix this road,” Lacy said as they bumped over a series of ruts on the gravel track that led away from the storage units.

“I guess with no one living out this way, it’s not a priority,” Brenda said.

“Right.” Lacy looked over her shoulder to make sure the file boxes hadn’t slid off the seat, and was surprised to see a pickup truck following them. “If no one lives out here, I wonder who that is?” she asked.

Brenda glanced in the rearview mirror. “I don’t recognize the truck,” she said.

“Maybe it’s a tourist,” Lacy said. “He could be looking for somewhere to hike. Or maybe it’s someone else with a storage unit.”

“It looks like a ranch truck, with that brush guard on the front.” The heavy pipe, gate-like structure attached to the front bumper would protect the headlights and grill from being damaged by brush when a rancher drove through the fields.

“I didn’t see any other vehicles there,” Lacy said. “And we didn’t pass anyone on our way out here.”

“Whoever he is, he’s driving way too fast for this road,” Brenda said.

Lacy glanced over her shoulder again. The truck was gaining on them, a great plume of dust rising up in its wake. “He’s going to have to slow down,” she said. “Or run us off the road.”

Even as she spoke, the truck zoomed up, its front bumper almost touching the rear bumper of Brenda’s car. The lone occupant wore a ball cap pulled low on his forehead, a black bandanna tied over his mouth and nose.

“What does he think he’s doing?” Brenda’s voice rose in alarm. The car lurched as she tapped the brakes and Lacy grabbed on to the door for support. The screech of metal on metal filled the vehicle, which jolted again as the bumpers connected.

Brenda cursed, and struggled to hold on to the wheel. Lacy wrenched around to stare at the driver once more, but she could make out nothing of his face. He backed off and she sagged back into her seat once more.