Stalked In Conard County

He was almost positive she couldn’t identify him. She hadn’t been able to do that right after he’d kidnapped her, mostly because he’d taken care not to show his face, except once by accident when he’d returned her.

He didn’t really have a criminal nature, he assured himself. Yeah, he’d made a big mistake stealing six hundred bucks from her dad and getting himself fired. He’d known he’d been stupid, but the way Jack McKinsey had treated him—as if he were poop to be scraped off the bottom of his boot—that had rankled.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t found another job. Of course he had, up in Alberta, far away from the scene of his crimes. But McKinsey’s treatment of him had been like a constant irritation until he’d decided to teach the man a lesson.

So he’d stolen the guy’s daughter. Okay, he’d been young and stupid, and it had taken him only two days to realize just how stupid. Taking a man’s daughter and demanding a hundred thousand in ransom? Made him look like a pettier crook than he actually was and had walked him into deeper trouble than he’d even thought about until he’d done it and seen the reports on the news. Kidnapping. To this day he couldn’t figure out how he’d come to the conclusion that would be a good idea. It was like that ad he saw on TV about diamonds: kidnapping is forever.

But as soon as the light bulb had turned on, he’d dumped the evidence where he was sure she would be found and fled back to Alberta.

For a long time he’d felt safe. A quarter century safe. He’d retired from the oil fields and had been drawn here by a job teaching about drilling equipment for a vocational program at the community college. Less than two years ago.

Then he’d heard that Haley McKinsey was in town to take care of her grandmother’s house. All of a sudden he didn’t feel quite so safe. What if she remembered him even after all this time?

Going by the house last night to look in on her while she was sleeping had been a test as much as anything. Yeah, he’d wanted to scare her a bit if she woke, but mostly he’d wanted to know if he could remember her. She’d been a kid when he’d last seen her, but if he could recognize her…well, buried somewhere deep in that blond head there might be a memory of him. He’d recognized her. She was just an older version of the kid.

So she might recognize him. But apparently she hadn’t because if she had, she surely would’ve called the cops pronto. Still, that didn’t make him feel terribly safe because she hadn’t gotten a good look at him, what with it being dark, and how fast he had ducked when her eyes opened. But she’d get a really good look if she ran into him on any street in this town.

Obviously, he hadn’t learned to restrain his impulsiveness, though he’d been working on it for years. Looking in that window might have been royally stupid, might have dredged up memories. On the other hand, it might have told him that he needed to hightail it to some other part of the country.

He’d never been a settled man. Half-unpacked wherever he went, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

Regardless, he had to hurry her back to wherever she’d come from so he could bury all that stuff in the grave where he’d been keeping it for a long time. He couldn’t live on the edge of fear for long. He’d figured that out when he’d kidnapped her.

He’d also learned over the years that he was capable of a lot worse than kidnapping if his blood got riled enough, so that woman better not recognize him. She might wind up dead, and while he assured himself he wasn’t a murderer, it wouldn’t be the first time if he got upset enough. Worse, whatever he told himself about everything being the fault of circumstances and his own impulsiveness, not some rooted evil, he couldn’t escape the shiver of pleasure than ran through him when thinking about killing Haley.

She’d been stalking his nightmares and dreams for a whole bunch of years. He didn’t deserve that. He’d returned her safe and sound, after all. He deserved some peace after all this time. He’d built a respectable life for the most part. Look at him now. He didn’t need that woman’s ghost sitting on his shoulder all the time.

Word making the rounds was that she’d be here only a few weeks. Sure, so what was she doing hanging out with that saddle-making dude?

But given the assumption that she was going to clean house, put the place on the market and leave, the local “welcomers” hadn’t tried to make an appearance yet. No casseroles arriving. No pies or plates of cookies. Just the saddler who was often at that house anyway, doing odd jobs from the look of it.

Maybe that was the only reason McLeod was there now.

That didn’t make Edgar feel a whole lot better, though. Now he had to waste time figuring out if he needed to do something else, like peep in a few more windows so the attention wouldn’t be drawn to Haley and create the impression someone was interested in her especially. Someone might well put two and two together if she was the only one visited.

Hell. He rubbed his face and looked down at Puddles. Small enough to fit in his tote when needed, and about the best companion he’d ever had. He wished the dog could give him some answers.

Because if there was one thing life had taught Edgar, it was that he wasn’t much of a thinker. Plotting, planning… Damn, what a waste of time and effort. And now he might be stuck needing to do it.

“Come on, Puddles,” he said. “Let’s go home.”

Puddles wagged her tail happily and continued to trot at Edgar’s side. Why couldn’t everything be as easy as this dog?

Ridiculously—or so Haley told herself—being alone in the house after Roger left really bothered her. She’d been alone here for most of the last two days, working her way through mementos, treasures and trash, and thinking almost constantly of her grandmother. She’d felt comforted then by being so close to the woman she had loved as only a child can love.

Now she was uncomfortable?

She shook herself and gathered some boxes she’d purchased two days ago, spending a few minutes to fold them into shape. Most of her grandmother’s clothes would have to be donated, at least the ones in good enough condition. It seemed she, like her granddaughter, occasionally like to wear a pair of pants or a shirt until it was just shy of falling apart.

Slowly she began to empty drawers, first from Grandma’s bedroom. Later she’d gather from upstairs, where a whole lot seemed to have accumulated. Proof, she supposed, that stuff filled the space available. Then she’d have to start on the books. Maybe she ought to call the local librarian—Miss Emma, she recalled—and ask if she wanted donations, possibly for a fund-raising sale. To judge by the creaking and overflowing bookcases upstairs, Flora had bought nearly as many books as she’d read.

That made Haley smile at last. She had the book bug, too, but avoided needing yards of shelf space with her e-reader. Great invention, especially for someone living in a small apartment.

She did, however, miss the smell and feel of books. Her memory reached into her younger days, summoning the remembrance of getting a new book, opening it, smelling the ink and feeling the paper, seeing those tightly bound pages as a mystery to be explored. The e-reader just didn’t give her those tactile sensations, nor quite the sense of adventure. Once in a while she went to the library just so she could feel the weight of a book in her hands.

Flora had never wanted to give up on that from the looks of the upstairs.

But first the clothes. Undergarments went into the first box. Most of what she found approached pristine condition, almost as if Flora had bought it all then had scant opportunity to use it. Or maybe when she’d grown ill, she had started to wonder what her granddaughter would find in these drawers and had replaced the most intimate items. That would be like her, all right. She wouldn’t want to leave anything tattered or stained behind her.

In the next drawer she found neatly folded nightgowns, but one in particular caused her breath to catch and her throat to tighten. It was almost threadbare now, but the pale green flowers stamped on the white background, an old-fashioned look, carried her back to her visits. Grandma had often worn that when Haley stayed with her and, holding it now close to her face, Haley could almost feel her presence.

That one was not going to charity. It was too old and worn to begin with, but it was also loaded with memories. Little Haley had loved it and Grandma knew it, which was probably the only reason she’d kept it all this time.

Blinking back tears, Haley folded it carefully and put it on the end of the bed. For now, at least, it was a treasure she would keep.

She paused, looking out the open window to see that the day had begun to dim. Where had all the time gone? She glanced at the digital alarm clock beside the bed and saw that it was still early. Then she remembered. When the sun fell behind the mountains, the light changed, not exactly darkening, but losing some of its depth and brightness. A long twilight had just begun. Only slowly, and much later, would real darkness begin to approach. She had hours left.

She released a sigh and got back to work. It didn’t take long to finish emptying the bureau drawers. Next came the closet. Flora had church clothes in there and two heavy winter coats. Someone would be happy to receive them.

As she finished folding dresses into a box and started on the hats on the top shelf, she wondered how many dressers upstairs held more clothing. She hadn’t really looked closely, and while Flora had never been a hoarder, who knew how many generations had been carefully laid away up there? If only because no one had looked for many years.

She guessed she was going to find out.

She glanced at the clock again and wondered where Roger was. That peeper last night had left an impression she just couldn’t shake. The sooner she got done here, the sooner she could escape back to Baltimore and forget that voyeur.

She paused as she stacked the last hatbox on top of the boxes full of clothes. Had she made up her mind? Just like that? All because of some creep?

That didn’t sit well with her. Not at all. Not since childhood had she allowed fear to drive her decisions. She was no coward. Not like that.

But now, as she stood in a bedroom that had once been full of cherished memories, feeling as if someone had flung dirt all over the place, she wondered.

After Grandpa’s death, when Haley had been too young to have more than the vaguest memory of the man, Grandma’s life had become limited to the bottom floor of this house, almost as if she had cut something off. Yeah, on the occasions when Haley’s dad came to visit, he’d taken an upstairs bedroom. Other than that, however, those rooms had remained untouched.

Maybe as a result of heartbreak, Flora had narrowed her life down to one floor of this house and her church. Haley, who would have been too young to know this, had heard her father talking about it once with her mother. How they should insist Flora sell the house and come to live with them.

Haley had no idea why her mother had opposed the idea. Maybe because her mother hadn’t been happy living in the oil fields. Or maybe whatever her mother had thought hadn’t mattered. Maybe Flora had just refused to give up her home.

Shaking her head at the way her thoughts were wandering, realizing she was trying to avoid thinking about the fact that another night was approaching, she carried the boxes into the foyer. She needed to call around to find who might want them and would pick them up. Her little rental car wasn’t really designed to carry much beyond her and a couple of suitcases.

Just then, much to her relief, the front door opened, revealing Roger with his arms full of ducting and a paper bag with handles hanging from his arm.

“Need help?” she asked swiftly.

“Grab the plastic bag?” he asked. “I thought salad would go well with our leftovers for dinner.”

So he was planning to be here at least that long. Her heart lifted for the first time all afternoon. Smiling, she took the bag from him and carried it into the kitchen. Inside she found not only two containers holding chef salads, but two tall lattes, still piping hot.

Roger was already clattering down the basement steps with his armload of galvanized steel, or whatever it was, and she hurried after him. “Do you want me to bring down the coffee?”

“Nah. Thanks. I’ll be up just as soon as I unload.”

She placed the coffee cups side by side on the table, unsure if he wanted both himself, and set the containers with salad beside them. She glanced at the clock, surprised to see it was nearly five.

Man, she must have gotten lost in memories, or even her fearful thoughts. It felt as if one second she had hours of the day ahead of her and the next the afternoon was gone.

Roger emerged at the top of the basement stairs and closed the door behind him. “I didn’t expect to be gone so long,” he said. “I know I told you just a few minutes, but I always underestimate.” He flashed a grin. “Besides, I ran into one of my customers and he wants an adjustment to the saddle I made for him a couple of years ago.”

He stepped to the table, passing her one of the coffees before pulling out a chair and sitting. She liked the way he settled into this house as if he belonged. After all these years, he probably belonged here more than she did. “What was wrong?”

“That remains to be seen.” Again another grin. “He may have lost his own padding. The saddle sure shouldn’t have broken down, but as we get older…” He winked at her.

Haley laughed. “I keep hearing that. My dad started carrying a pillow with him a few years ago. He swears they don’t make a chair soft enough.”

“He might be right.” He snapped open the lid on his coffee and took a sip. “Ahh. Maude, when you learn to do something new, you learn to do it right.”

She had to agree. “I’ve never had a better latte.”

He leaned back in his chair, holding his cup. “You can tell me to skedaddle if you want some private time. I’m done with the basement for today.”

Private time. No, she didn’t want any. At this moment she wondered how she was going to handle the evening and mostly the night. “You know,” she said slowly, “closed curtains have two purposes.”

“Yes?”

“They keep anyone from looking in, but they also keep me from looking out.”

He sipped his coffee and she could tell he was thinking. “I understand,” he said after a minute or so. “You’re going to be wondering if that Peeping Tom is creeping around the house out there tonight.”

Haley hated to admit it, but it was true, so she nodded. She couldn’t lie to herself and could see no reason to lie to him. “It’s stupid.”

“I don’t think so. You’re alone here and that would scare the bejesus out of just about anyone, having someone peer through their window in the middle of the night. I know I wouldn’t like it.”

She thought that was very generous of him. She somehow had the feeling that little would scare this man. Too big, too competent. She sipped more of the coffee he’d generously provided and wondered if she could change the subject to something that sounded more rational than she was feeling right then. Her next words told her she couldn’t.

“Something happened to me today,” she offered honestly. “And I don’t like it. Today this house became less welcoming and warm. Just now, as I was packing things, I realized that the charm I’d always felt here in Conard City was evaporating. That’s what I mean by stupid. One creep shouldn’t be able to change my feelings about this whole town. I used to love to play out in front, you remember?”

“I remember.”

“The streets, in my memory at least, are always warm and friendly. Not so much this afternoon. And the house is full of some of my best childhood memories. I love it. But now I no longer feel comfortable here. A huge part of me just wants to call someone in to empty out the house while I go back to Baltimore.”

He looked down at his lap, nodding slowly. “If that’s what you want to do, I can take care of the house. But I wish you wouldn’t, Haley.”

“Why?”

“Because I’d hate for you to leave here with a bad taste instead of those warm memories.”

He had a point. She didn’t think of herself as someone who ran from things, but maybe some vestiges of that five-year-old kidnapping victim remained in her. Some deep-seated fear she didn’t often have to face, if ever. At work, she was fearless. Among her friends at home, she was fearless.

Or so she had believed. She remembered how her mother had taken her to Michigan after the kidnapping, to get her away from reminders. Maybe she’d learned the wrong lesson from that: run.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Roger asked. “Or has inflation raised it to a buck?”

She had to laugh, disturbed as she felt. “I was just thinking. They teach you to do that in therapy, you know, and I had lots of therapy after I was kidnapped.”

“I should hope so.”

She half smiled. “I learned not to lie to myself, for one thing. Which doesn’t mean I never do. I’ve built quite a sense of my own strength and the belief in my ability to handle anything. Then I come here and discover I can’t handle a Peeping Tom because the child is still alive and well inside this adult, and she still remembers the stark terror of a man coming through her window and carrying her away. That child isn’t fearless.”

Something in Roger’s face gentled. He had a man’s face, marked by sun and wind, with a square jaw and crinkles around his green eyes, but right then it looked less like granite and more like something far softer. “I’d be shocked if that child weren’t still with you.”

“I thought she’d given up her grip.”

“She probably has, mostly. Then this. How could it not stir things up?”

She gave a wan, mirthless smile. “Resurrection?”

“Not completely. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten all the things you learned and practiced over the years. But a whisper? A ghostly reminder? Hell, yeah. Who wouldn’t be disturbed?”

She sipped more of the coffee, savoring its milky, bitter heat, and thought over what he’d said. She reached one conclusion swiftly, however. “I can’t give in to it.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

She raised her gaze to his. “Meaning?”

“How important is it to you to fight it? I mean, there’s no reason to face it down all over again, is there?”

That hardened her resolve. “Sure there is. That man soiled my memories of this house and this town. They were good memories, all of them. I don’t want to let him taint them.”

He tipped his head back to drink more coffee, then he gave her a heart-melting smile. “You’re tough, Haley. Know that?”

She blinked. “I don’t think so. I’ve been thinking about turning tail for hours now.”

“That makes you all the tougher. You’re refusing to give ground to your past. As for this creep…” He shrugged. “I don’t know the stats, but I imagine Peeping Toms don’t often do more than look. Want me to check that out online?”

She had to laugh. “Would you believe the first thing I really noticed when I got here was that Grandma didn’t have a computer and doesn’t have internet? I may start suffering withdrawal soon.”

“Your smartphone can pick up some of the slack if you want. We have good reception here in town.”

She shook her head a little. “I think it’ll do me good to break the habit.” Then her stomach rumbled, startling her. She glanced at the clock. “Has it really been that long since lunch?”

“We ate early,” he reminded her.

“Well, if you’re hungry, I’ll get out the leftovers.”

She even went as far as to bring out the crockery. Flora would never have considered serving anything in containers, not even leftovers. A nice touch. Also another journey down memory lane.

She skipped serving it in the dining room, however. Grandma considered the kitchen table to be for working on, not eating on, but Haley changed all that in just a few minutes. She’d never had a separate dining room in all her life except when she was here.

Inevitably, though, night drew close and Roger, nice as he’d been all day, had to get home. He had stuff in his own life to take care of.

He stayed long enough, however, to help her draw all the curtains once again and to check all the locks.

Then she was alone with the ticking Regulator, the otherwise silent house, and memories she wished would return to their mausoleums.

They were just memories now, she reminded herself. They’d lost the power to hurt her unless she let them.

The guy at the window was another matter, but he wouldn’t even be able to peek in tonight, if he bothered to return.

With that in mind, she determined she’d spend the night in Grandma’s room. It was where she wanted to be, and it even had a small television on the bureau, something that had surprised her. Maybe an addition when her grandmother had started to become ill.

Soon she was settled in, wrapped comfortably in blankets and surrounded by good memories. The best memories.

To hell with the creep.

Chapter 3

The church ladies started to show up, casseroles in hand, Edgar noticed. Hell. Nearly a week had passed and Haley showed no sign of heading back to wherever she’d come from. Boxes had been picked up by charities and carted away, but still the woman remained.

He tried to tell himself he was getting wound up for no reason, but that didn’t help. He was seldom successful at calming his own anxieties, and this one was growing.

He told himself if he just stayed out of Haley’s way, she never had to see him, and there’d be no risk that she’d recognize him. He couldn’t make himself believe it, most especially if she decided to stay.

He could stay out of her sight line for another week or two, but not indefinitely. He reminded himself that he could always pack up and leave—his usual method for dealing with matters he couldn’t control—but a couple of things made him truly reluctant to do that now.

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