The New Deputy In Town
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“Just find my chickens,” she said and went back to hanging up her wash.
Nick followed the boy’s tracks, wondering how the kid had pulled it off. Nineteen chickens were a lot. Wouldn’t they have caused a ruckus that could be heard up at the house?
He could envision Mrs. Miller with a shotgun coming out in her flannel nightgown, blood in her eye. So why hadn’t that happened?
He glanced up at the sound of a dog growling and realized he’d reached the farm closest to the Millers’.
“Hello!” he called and eyed the dog. It wasn’t a blue heeler, but some kind of mutt, large and hairy. “Hello!” He feared the dog would key on the fear in his voice and attack. Easy, Cujo.
“The chickens aren’t hurt,” said a young voice from the back steps of the house. The kid was twelve tops, lanky with sandy-blond hair and big ears.
“That’s good,” Nick said. “Could you call off your dog?”
“Prince, no,” the boy said. The dog eyed Nick for a moment, then ambled over to the kid and sat down.
“I’m Deputy Sheriff Nick Rogers.” He’d taken the Rogers from an old western he’d seen on television the night he’d left town. “What’s your name?”
“Chaz. It’s actually Charles, but that’s what everyone calls me,” the boy said. “My aunt and uncle are in town if you’re going to arrest me. I’m not sure when they’ll be back.”
“Where are Mrs. Miller’s chickens?”
He pointed toward a shed at the back of the property. “I was going to return them. Really.”
“Why’d you take them in the first place?” Nick asked, glancing toward the house. “You need the food?”
“No,” Chaz said indignantly as they walked back to the shed. A ruckus was coming from inside. “I got plenty to eat and I didn’t take anyone’s chickens.”
Right. That was why Nick had just followed the kid’s boot prints to his house straight from the chicken coop.
At the shed, Chaz opened the door a crack so Nick could see that all nineteen chickens were there. The chickens looked a little funny to him, their feathers kind of glued to them, but what did he know about chickens other than buying cut-up fryers in plastic wrap at the grocery?
“We need to get the chickens back to Mrs. Miller,” Nick said.
“I know. I was thinking about how to get them to her,” the boy said.
“Why not take them back the same way you stole them?”
“I told you, I didn’t steal them.”
“Right.”
Just then one of the chickens made a beeline for the door, slipping through to take off at a run across the yard.
Before Nick could react, Prince darted after the chicken. “No!” Nick called to the dog. Too late. In an instant, Prince had the chicken clutched in his jaws and was prancing back toward them looking like the cat that ate the canary.
To Nick’s astonishment, the dog dropped the slobber-coated bird at Chaz’s feet, the chicken jerking to its feet unhurt. The boy grabbed the bird and tossed it back in the shed.
“See the problem?” Chaz said. “I took one back when Prince brought it home. I didn’t know he was going back last night to get them all.”
Nick stared at the dog. “Are you trying to tell me that Prince stole the chickens?”
Chaz nodded. “I told him not to, but Prince likes to collect things.” The boy shrugged. “It’s his only bad habit. Other than that, he’s a really good dog.”
Prince was leaning against the boy’s leg, looking up at him. Chaz patted the dog’s big head. The dog’s tongue lolled. He could have been smiling.
Nick swore, pulled off his hat and raked a hand through his hair. “I’ve got to tell you. I don’t know much about transporting chickens. I’d consider any idea you might have on how to get them back in Mrs. Miller’s chicken coop.”
“I’ve been thinking on it,” Chaz said. “I might have an idea.”
TWO HOURS LATER, ALL NINETEEN chickens were safely back in Mrs. Miller’s chicken coop. Nick left Chaz on the Millers’ porch eating fresh-baked apple pie and sipping a large glass of milk, Prince at his feet. Chaz had promised to keep a closer eye on his dog.
Nick was feeling good. He’d solved his first mystery in Montana. With a little help from a kid and a dog.
Back at his office, he was hoping the rest of his shift would be as uneventful when he looked up and saw a young reddish-blond woman get out of her car. As she started toward his office, another car raced up, tires screeching as the driver came to a stop and rolled down his window.
The woman turned. Clearly, the two knew each other. Nick watched from his window, not liking the change in the woman’s demeanor when she saw the young man behind the wheel. Nick had covered enough domestic-violence cases to recognize one on the street.
The woman said something to the man, who appeared to be about her age, no more than twenty, then she turned and started walking toward the sheriff’s department again.
The man threw open his door and went after her, grabbing her arm and swinging her around to face him.
Nick shot out of his chair, hitting the door at a run. As he exited the courthouse building, he heard the raised voices.
“Let go of her,” Nick said in his calm cop voice.
“This isn’t any of your business,” the young man said. He had brown hair, brown eyes, classic good looks.
“Let go of her,” Nick repeated.
The young man did, but with obvious reluctance and definitely an attitude. “I’m not breaking any law.”
“Domestic abuse is against the law,” Nick said.
“Domestic abuse?” The young man scoffed at that. “My girlfri—fiancée and I were just having a little private disagreement.”
The young woman was rubbing her arm where the man had grabbed her. “He’s right. It’s nothing.”
“Why don’t you step inside and we can talk about it,” Nick said to the woman.
She shook her head, eyes wide. “It’s nothing, really.”
“You were headed for my office. There must be something you wanted.”
“I wasn’t. That is, I was going up to the treasury department upstairs. I got turned around.” She was lying and Nick could see that she was afraid.
“What’s your name?” he asked the young man.
“Bo Evans.” He said it as if it should mean something. It didn’t to Nick.
“You live around here?”
“Old Town Whitehorse.” Bo was giving him an are-you-stupid look. “You’re not from around here, huh?”
“What’s your name?” Nick asked the woman.
She hesitated. “Maddie Cavanaugh.”
She was edging toward her car. “I have to get to work,” she said.
“Where do you work?” Nick asked.
Maddie Cavanaugh looked around as if searching for an answer. “In Old Town Whitehorse. I just help Geraldine Shaw out.”
Nick nodded and turned to Bo Evans. “Disagreements are one thing, but you were scaring your fiancée. Keep your hands off her when you’re angry, okay?”
Bo Evans shook his head as if in disbelief. “I wouldn’t hurt Maddie. I love her. We’re getting married. What is wrong with you, man?”
Nick watched them leave in separate cars, worried about the young woman. Whatever she’d been planning to tell someone at the sheriff’s office, her fiancé had done a good job of changing her mind.
Chapter Three
Laney Cavanaugh saw him as she came out of the hospital. He stood across the street talking to her grandfather Titus.
She wasn’t sure what it was about the man that caught her attention let alone held it as she crossed the street. He wore jeans and boots, a tan short-sleeved shirt and a cowboy hat. Nothing unusual about that in Whitehorse, Montana.
He had one boot sole resting on the bumper of Titus’s pickup truck and was leaning forward, listening intently. She tried to imagine what her grandfather might be saying that would require that kind of attention as she crossed the street.
It wasn’t until she was almost to the pair that the sun glinted off the man’s silver star and she realized that the tan shirt was actually part of a uniform.
“Laney, I want you to meet the town’s new deputy sheriff, Nick Rogers,” Titus said. “This is my granddaughter Laney Cavanaugh.”
She smiled and extended her hand, which quickly disappeared into the lawman’s large sun-browned one. His handshake was firm, his skin warm and dry. His dark-eyed gaze made the already hot day sizzle. She sensed that odd expectation in the air that she’d felt earlier as if she wasn’t the only one holding her breath.
“I was just telling Nick that you and your sister are staying out at my daughter’s place,” Titus said. “Nick’s new to the area. I’m sure it’s all a bit strange after Houston.”
“I’m adjusting,” he said, never taking his eyes off Laney. He had the kind of face that she’d thought only existed in the movies. Rugged and yet as handsome as any she’d ever seen, with dark hair and eyes. But it was the way he stood, his head cocked to one side, an air of confidence about him, that drew her like a moth to a flame.
“I told Nick we’d have to get him back down our way for dinner sometime,” Titus said.
“He should come to the party,” Laci said, coming up behind them. She’d hung back to give their grandmother’s nurses the chocolate-chip cookies. Laney could feel her sister’s gaze on her, hear the humor in her voice. “Shouldn’t he, Laney?”
“Of course,” Laney said because what else could she say under the circumstances? She looked down, surprised to see he was still holding her hand.
“What kind of party is this?” he asked as he let go, as if as reluctant to break the connection as she’d been. His gaze, however, came right back to her after he shook her sister’s hand.
“It’s our cousin’s engagement party,” Laci said.
He smiled. “Thank you, but I really couldn’t intrude.”
“It’s no intrusion,” Laci said, grinning curiously from Laney to Nick. “The entire town is invited and half the county. That’s the way things are done around here. Haven’t you seen the baby shower and anniversary notices in the local newspaper inviting the whole county? Welcome to small-town America.”
“A lot different from the big city,” Nick said. “But still I don’t think I—”
“It’s for our cousin Maddie Cavanaugh and her fiancé Bo Evans,” Laci interrupted. “It would be a good time to meet more of the locals. Everyone will be there.”
Laney saw the change in Nick’s expression. “Maybe I will reconsider,” he said. “When is this party?”
“Saturday afternoon,” Laci said. “Wear your dancing boots. Gramps will be playing his fiddle as part of the Whitehorse Country Band.”
Nick met Laney’s gaze. “Save me a dance?”
She nodded, feeling sixteen again and just as foolish because she was beginning to think this engagement party for Maddie wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
ARLENE EVANS LOOKED ACROSS the table at her handsome son and smiled. She’d suggested dinner at the Hi-Line Café because she had something important to announce.
“I’m going to have the steak sandwich,” Bo said, closing his menu. He glanced toward the street and drummed his fingers on the table as if bored.
Arlene tamped down her annoyance. “Have whatever you want,” she said, feeling magnanimous. Bo was the light of her life. Her son. The one who would carry on the family name. It was especially important to have a son when you lived on a farm. Sons stayed and worked the place and, although Bo had shown little interest in farming, she knew he would once he was married.
Daughters on the other hand, well, they were supposed to get married and leave.
She let her gaze shift from her son to her youngest daughter, Charlotte. Charlotte was staring at a lank of her long straight blond hair, looking for split ends. Arlene applauded Charlotte’s interest in her looks at seventeen. At least one of her daughters understood the importance of looking her best from her hair to her prettily painted acrylic nails.
Arlene glanced at her other daughter and scowled. Violet, her unmarried daughter, was her burden to bear. Not pretty, not overly bright, certainly not ambitious, Violet was thirty-four with few prospects. No matter what Violet wore, she looked…well, frumpy.
Her hair was a dull brown and her complexion muddy, and her nails! Arlene had done everything possible to break Violet of biting her nails and it had done no good.
Arlene feared her daughter would never marry and leave home as was natural. And how would that reflect on Arlene? She couldn’t bear such a blight on her as a mother.
“I’ll have a cheeseburger with fries and a chocolate milk shake,” Violet said tentatively.
“Are you sure you don’t want a nice salad, dear? All that fried food. It isn’t a problem for the rest of us, but with you watching your weight…”
Violet closed her menu. “Why don’t you order for me, Mother?”
Arlene thought she detected an edge to her daughter’s voice, but that would be so unlike Violet that she dismissed it.
“So what’s this about?” Bo asked impatiently. “You said you had something you wanted to tell us?”
Arlene refused to be rushed. Fortunately, the waitress came to take their orders just then. A steak sandwich and jojos for Bo, the grilled chicken salad for Violet, a side salad with vinegar and oil for Charlotte and a strawberry milk shake, the fish basket with fries for Arlene.
“So did anything interesting happen last night?” she asked Violet after the waitress had gone.
Violet looked at her brother. “Well,” she said dragging out the word, “I did see Maddie at the bar last night. She was dancing with Curtis McAlheney.”
“So?” Bo snapped. “It’s not like we’re married yet. She can dance with anyone she wants.”
“Curtis McAlheney?” Violet let out that irritating loud laugh of hers. “He’s old enough to be her father!”
“Please! Could we just have one meal together without you two arguing?” Arlene glared at Violet, took a breath and let it out slowly, upset to hear about Maddie.
She wondered if Maddie had been drinking. She wouldn’t have been surprised, given that Charlotte had gotten served when the bars were really busy even though she was only seventeen. Or maybe the girls had fake IDs. That would be just like Maddie.
“You weren’t with Maddie, Bo?” Arlene asked, surprised and a little concerned. She’d thought that he was meeting Maddie when he’d left the house before his sisters last night.
“I went to Havre with some friends,” he said, obviously not happy to hear that Maddie had been at the bar—and dancing with Curtis McAlheney even though Curtis was no prize. “It’s not like Maddie and I are attached at the hip, you know.”
“You’re right,” Arlene quickly agreed. “It’s good to have friends and do things with them even after you’re married.”
“If he gets married,” Violet said under her breath.
“What is that supposed to mean?” both Arlene and Bo demanded. Charlotte hummed quietly to herself, apparently oblivious to the rest of them.
Violet only gave her brother one of her that’s-for-me-to-know-and-you-to-find-out looks.
Arlene wanted to slap her. Instead, she decided it was time to make her announcement. “I have great news. I’ve started a home business.”
Both Bo and Violet were noticeably surprised. Charlotte glanced up, but went back to her split ends; she would never need a dating service.
“What kind of business?” Violet asked as if worried she might have to work it.
“On the Internet,” Arlene said excitedly. She’d done her best to find Violet a man, throwing her together with every eligible man she could find in several counties. Now it was time to expand her territory. “It’s an Internet dating service for rural singles.”
Violet gasped.
Bo began to laugh, shaking his head as his gaze went to Violet then his mother. “This is going to be good.”
ON SATURDAY, NICK TOLD HIMSELF he had no business going to a party in Old Town Whitehorse or anywhere else. His plan had been to keep a low profile while in Montana. That meant doing his job, staying to himself, having as little contact with the locals as was necessary.
It wasn’t as if it had slipped his mind why he was here or what was at stake if he screwed up. He had to keep his head down. Dancing with a pretty young local woman with emerald-green eyes wasn’t just risky business. It could get him killed.
And yet, dancing with Laney Cavanaugh was all he could think about as he checked his messages at his office before getting ready to head to Old Town.
He told himself he was just doing his job by going to the party. That he wouldn’t have accepted the party invitation if it hadn’t been for Maddie Cavanaugh’s and Bo Evans’s engagement. He hadn’t been able to forget the fear he’d seen in Maddie’s eyes that day outside his office. Nor could he shake the instant dislike he’d felt for Bo Evans. The kid was trouble. Nick had seen enough young men like Bo to spot his kind a mile away.
And what would just one dance hurt?
Nick looked up at the sound of a man clearing his throat.
“I—I—I was attacked.”
The man standing in his doorway was average height, average build, average in most every way. He looked vaguely familiar.
“I’m the reporter for the Milk River Examiner. I tried to do a story on you when you came to town,” the man said as if seeing Nick attempting to place him.
“Right.”
“Glen Whitaker,” the man said. He’d looked sheepish when Nick had first looked up, but now he appeared a little aggravated at not being remembered. Or maybe it was because Nick had declined to be interviewed.
“You say you were attacked?” Nick asked. The man didn’t appear to be in pain. Nor did his clothing suggest an attack. He wore dark slacks, a white shirt, loafers. He obviously was a transplant from somewhere else. His hair was slicked back in an old-fashioned cut although he appeared to be in his thirties. Hard to tell age with a man like that.
“The attack happened a month ago, right before you were hired,” Glen Whitaker said, glancing around as if he wanted to make sure no one was listening. There wasn’t anyone in the office and the dispatcher’s desk was far enough away she couldn’t have heard. Nor did she seem even interested in what the reporter was doing here.
“Sit down,” Nick said as Glen drew up a chair, pulling it close to the deputy’s desk. “You say it happened before I was hired. Did you report it?”
“No.” Glen looked nervous. “I wasn’t sure.”
“You weren’t sure you were attacked?” Nick was beginning to wonder about this guy.
“You see, I was told that I’d been down at Old Town. It’s a near ghost town south of here by the Missouri Breaks.”
Nick nodded. “I’ve been there.”
“Anyway, about a month ago I woke up beside the road, my car smashed into a fence post, miles from everything. I couldn’t remember anything. I later found out that I was in Old Town Whitehorse. I had two large bumps on my head that I thought must have caused the memory loss.”
“Were you drinking?” Nick had to ask.
“I don’t drink. Several people saw me leave the Whitehorse Community Center and can attest to the fact that I hadn’t had a thing to drink. That was the night before. I woke up beside the road the next morning feeling like I’d been run over.” Glen leaned in closer. “When I got home I found bruises all over my body as if I’d been beaten.”
Nick had been thinking the man was a nutcase. But his story was a little too much like the others Nick had been hearing. Also, the attack had been on a Saturday night.
“Would you say the bruises indicated you might have been kicked? Or beaten with a weapon of some sort?” Nick asked.
Glen Whitaker sat back, relief drowning his features. “You believe me then?”
“There have been some other reports of this sort of thing.”
“I was afraid to come in.” Glen looked away as if too upset to go on. “I was afraid you’d think I was crazy.”
Nick pulled out a report. “When exactly did this happen?”
Glen stood abruptly. “I don’t want to file a complaint.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want this all over town. That’s why I came to you. You don’t know anyone. I just needed to tell someone.”
“But don’t you want your attack on record?”
The reporter wagged his head. “And have it end up in the newspaper? No way.” He started backing toward the door.
“Okay,” Nick said putting the form away. “I won’t make out a report. But tell me when it happened. There appears to be a series of these attacks. Yours might have been the first.”
“Saturday, four weeks ago, when that Bailey woman went missing. I can’t remember the exact date.”
Nick had heard about the Bailey woman, that she’d been discovered down in the Breaks and everything that had happened because of it.
“You have any idea who’s responsible for these attacks?” Glen asked.
“Not yet, but your information might prove critical to the investigation.” Nick checked his calendar. “From what I can tell, yours was the first attack.”
“No kidding.” Clearly, he was glad he wasn’t the only one. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much help. I still can’t remember anything about those lost twenty-four hours.” He paused. “There was one thing though.” He looked sheepish again. “It’s probably nothing.”
Nick smiled to himself. He’d been a cop long enough to know that whenever anyone said “it’s probably nothing,” it was usually something.
“I smelled something on my clothes afterwards,” he said, flushing a little. “I think it might have been perfume.”
Nick could see how uncomfortable this admission made the reporter. “Do you have a woman friend?”
Glen shook his head. “I like women, don’t get me wrong.”
“Of course. But you can’t recall being around a woman that day.”
“I can’t recall anything, that’s the problem.”
“Okay, this perfume. You recognize the scent?”
Another shake of his head.
“What was it like?”
“Some flower I think.”
That narrowed it down. “A flower you’d recall if you smelled it again?”
“It was an old flower, you know the kind—” he hesitated “—that older women wear.”
Nick nodded. “Okay, that could help.” He couldn’t imagine how, since Glen Whitaker had no idea who he’d come in contact with before he’d woken up beside a road in the middle of nowhere. Apparently an older woman.
“Okay,” Glen echoed. “I just thought you ought to know.”
“I’m glad you came in,” Nick said.
Glen hesitated at the door. “My editor still wants a story on you.”
“Thanks,” Nick said, “but I’ll pass. I’m shy and the story of my life would put your readers to sleep.”
Glen shook his head. “We print stories like that all the time.”
“Yeah,” Nick agreed with a laugh, “I’ve read your paper.”
As Glen left looking like a whipped puppy, Nick checked. Sure enough, there’d been an assault every Saturday night for apparently the last four weeks.
But this Saturday everyone would be in Old Town Whitehorse at Maddie Cavanaugh’s engagement party. At least this afternoon.
As he stood to leave for the party, Nick thought of Maddie. That young woman was in some kind of trouble. But he didn’t know what to do about it if she wasn’t willing to tell him.
He considered confiding in Maddie’s cousin Laney, telling her his concerns, and quickly nixed the idea. He didn’t know Laney Cavanaugh, although he felt as if he did. Crazy.
Still he couldn’t shake the thought of inviting her to town for dinner one night and seeing what he could find out about the cousin and her fiancé. Maybe he’d ask Laney at the party. Maybe while they were dancing.
Just a man doing his job.
As he started to leave his office, he glanced back at his desk. Time for a reality check, he thought as he walked back and unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk. The cell phone he’d bought when he’d left California was right where he’d put it. He only turned it on to check for messages once a day.
He hadn’t checked it yet today. Hell, he’d forgotten for a while there what he was doing in Montana. He picked up the phone and turned it on. No messages.