Sinister

by Nancy Bush

  Next she stopped in at Emma Kincaid’s dress shop, where she walked in on a discussion so heated that the three women didn’t seem to notice the bell jingling at the door or the blast of cold air.

  “I asked you if you wanted the train to snap off, and you insisted that you didn’t.” Facing Pilar with her hands on her hips, Emma Kincaid stood her ground, blue eyes sparking with controlled heat. “Honestly, I’m not interested in design number four for your wedding dress just because you don’t have a church aisle to walk down.”

  Pilar was gripping a glass of champagne with taut fingers. “Emma, please. I’m already destroyed over losing the church. I’m paying you a small fortune here. What is the big deal about coming up with another design?”

  “Because you want a dress in four days, and I’ll wager you won’t be happy with it, either. Wear one of the three I’ve already finished. Or go to a department store when you’re in Jackson and buy off the rack.”

  “Enough,” Georgina Kincaid snapped, lifting her stony gaze from Pilar’s champagne glass to glare at the bride-to-be. A tape measure dangling around her neck, she looked more like the seamstress than her daughter, who wore high-heeled boots and a tiny leather skirt that was about as practical on the plains of Wyoming as cowboy boots in New York City.

  Ricki was surprised Georgina was even helping out, especially with Pilar, as the Kincaid matriarch was as anti-Dillinger as Ira was anti-Kincaid. But then, a number of the Kincaids were on the guest list, so maybe there was a new thawing in the cold war between the two families.

  “No one can design a brand-new dress in four days, not with Christmas coming and folks up in Jackson waiting on gowns from Emma,” Georgina snarled at Pilar.

  There’s the Georgina we all know and love, Ricki thought dryly.

  Georgina shot a glance Ricki’s way. “What do you want?”

  “Mom,” Emma said, long-suffering. “Can I help you, Ricki?”

  “What about the dress?” Pilar asked woefully.

  Emma turned back to her. “I’ll cut the train for you,” she said briskly. “That’s the best I can do, though that chiffon is a bitch to hem.”

  “Could you add some beading on the back? Just give it some detail?” Pilar tried.

  Emma was firm. “Just the hem. Take it or leave it.”

  Pilar handed over the gown wrapped in pink plastic, her face set. “Fine. I need it delivered back at the lodge no later than Friday.” She turned to Ricki. “Hi and bye. I’ve got to get with my bridal consultant.”

  “Drive careful,” Ricki said, watching as the dark-haired beauty pulled on a white fur hat and strode out the door. And don’t worry about Rourke. He’ll be safe with me.

  “She doesn’t deserve Ira Dillinger,” Georgina muttered harshly, which made Ricki give her a double take. Realizing Ira’s daughter was in the room, she added, “I’m no fan of your father’s, but Pilar is vermin.”

  “Mom,” Emma warned again, then, “So, what can I help you with, Ricki?” She tossed the pink bag of gown onto a settee and approached the front of the shop, her heels clicking on the marble floor.

  “I’m working for the sheriff’s office now.” Ricki looked down at her shield. “Just wondering if I could ask you a few questions about the Pioneer Church? We’re still trying to sort out the time frame of the fire. You too, Georgina.”

  “Dying to blame it on the Kincaids, are you?” the older woman sneered.

  “I thought you and Dad were getting along better,” Ricki said. When Georgina didn’t respond, she went on, “We think you were the last people in the building before the fire started and just want to know what the sequence of events was.”

  Emma hung the pink bag on a hook, and gestured for Ricki to sit. “I hope I can help you. Anything to put that psycho behind bars. I’m afraid in my own house at night.”

  We’re all afraid, Ricki thought.

  Reluctantly, Georgina sat on the edge of a chair and eyed Ricki as if she were some dangerous reptile.

  So much for the improving relations between the Dillingers and the Kincaids.

  From the dress shop Ricki headed over to the animal clinic, where the young receptionist jumped up from her desk to unlock the door.

  “Sorry about that. With this slasher on the loose, we’re not taking any chances,” Renee said, giving voice to the fear that ran through Prairie Creek like a foul river. What had happened to her childhood home, where a kid could go off on a horse in the morning without a care in the world?

  Ricki met with Antonia and Sabrina, who showed her the mutilated coyote kept in cold storage. After viewing the carcass, Ricki agreed with Sam: one killer. Neither Antonia nor Sabrina was able to offer up any real information apart from what she already knew. She made notes on their overall impressions to add to her report.

  It was still snowing when she left the clinic a half hour later and headed back to the precinct. It was a good six-block trek, but the walkway in front of the shops had been cleared, and the air smelled of snow and pine, probably from the fresh-cut evergreens lined up outside Handy Hardware.

  Halfway down the street, she spotted the sheriff’s department Jeep a few seconds before she heard Sam calling to her from the door of the hardware store.

  “Hey. How’s it going?” he asked.

  Her heart lifted. This was her boss; she shouldn’t be so ridiculously happy to see him for the second time this morning. “Just heading back to the station house to write up my reports.”

  “You can give me a preview in the Jeep. I could use your help with an errand for the party.”

  “Sure.” Once inside the Jeep she told him what she had learned from Sally about Mia dating Dodge Miller.

  “That’s news to me. I’m going to head out his way tonight and track him down,” Sam said.

  Ricki then told him about her interview with Georgina and Emma—no surprises there—and her conversations with the two veterinarians who had showed her the coyote carcass. “I’ve never seen this town so scared, Sam. Shop owners are keeping their doors locked, and when I passed by the barber shop, Slim came out to remind me to be careful.”

  “Glad people are taking this seriously, but I hate it. It’s like the whole town is being held hostage.”

  “How’d your morning go?”

  “Doc’s being evasive,” he said. “He was definitely with a ‘friend’ the night Barstow was last seen, but he won’t give up a name yet.” As he spoke, he backed his Jeep into the alley behind Menlo’s Market, parking at the loading dock.

  “What are we doing?” she asked.

  “Just picking up some giveaways for the party.”

  As they climbed out of the truck, the large door rolled open, revealing two men with a handful of shopping carts.

  “Sam!” Donald Menlo called, his round cheeks tinged with red. “It’s about time. I got them all ready for you.” He gestured to the shopping carts full of turkeys. “Two dozen.”

  “Good enough. I’ll give you a call if we run out.” Sam extracted a credit card from his wallet and handed it to Donald.

  “We have plenty more if you need ’em. I’ll be right back with your receipt.”

  “This is a lot of turkeys, Sam.” Ricki grunted as she hoisted a twenty-pounder out of the cart. “You selling them at the party?”

  “We give them away to people in need. Started it a few years back, and it’s been a big hit.”

  “I bet. Sounds like a good idea.”

  The teenaged clerk lifted a fat frozen turkey as if it were light as a football. Swiftly he moved it to the back of the Jeep.

  “You coming to the party, Brian?” Sam asked the kid.

  “I have to work. But my mom will be there. She never misses it.”

  Ricki grabbed another turkey and felt the skin of her hand stick to the plastic wrap. “These are so frozen.”

  Brian took the turkey from her. “That’s how they stay fresh.”

  “Well, I knew that,” Ricki said. “They’re just like blocks of ice.
I think my fingers are frostbitten already.”

  “I got gloves in the Jeep,” Sam offered.

  “We got this,” Brian said as he carried two turkeys to the Jeep. “See? Almost done.”

  Cargo loaded, Sam thanked the young man, who wheeled the carts away.

  “I can’t believe I was bested by a teenage boy,” Ricki said, blowing into her aching hands.

  “Every kid wants to be tougher than a cop. Especially a female cop,” Sam said.

  Ricki grunted an assent.

  “Come here.” He unzipped his jacket, took her hands and pressed them inside his coat where it was warm. The ache was excruciating for a moment as her hands began to thaw, the numbness fading. But the close proximity to Sam was the true dichotomy of ecstatic and torturous, bitter and sweet. Palms against the wall of his chest, she could feel his heartbeat.

  Caught by the intensity in his dark eyes, she murmured, “What are you doing to me, Sam?”

  “No more than you’re doing to me.”

  Donald Menlo returned, interrupting their moment, and Ricki quickly extracted her hands and got into the Jeep. There wasn’t much conversation after that because it didn’t seem necessary. She and Sam were riding the same wave, swimming toward impossible possibilities, forgetting the very real threat of drowning.

  Sam left his truck parked illegally, right in front of town hall. The perk of being sheriff. “What if someone steals a turkey?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Then I guess they need it more than I do.”

  The Christmas party was the quaint, sweet celebration Ricki remembered from her childhood. She watched as Rourke helped little kids who were waiting in line for a pony ride. That boy was a quick learner. At one point Sam steered him away to show him some rodeo photos of Colton among the “Prairie Creek Wall of Fame” in the lobby. Rourke stared hard at his father’s pictures as if he were imprinting the images on his brain.

  Moving from one table to another, sampling wassail and cider, Ricki looked around for Brook. This was the sort of thing she wished she could deliver to her daughter, all wrapped up in a Christmas bow: the sights and sounds of Christmas. The foundation of a community with backbone and heart. The carefree laughter and conversation that filled the air, along with the song of wandering carolers.

  She spotted Brooklyn over at the cupcake stand with her friend, Sara. From here, she couldn’t read her reaction, and she knew it wouldn’t be cool to rush over there in a burst of enthusiasm. No, Brook would have to accept Prairie Creek on her own terms, in her own good time. She hoped that would happen before she jumped on a bus back to her dad in New York.

  Outside, the trees decorated for the competition brought a smile to Ricki’s face. One was covered in real candy canes, white lights and red ribbons. Blue lights and sliced-up Pepsi cans adorned another. A third was decked in colored lights and miniature elf figurines. The trees surrounded a hut decorated like a gingerbread house, where Chet Norcross sat in a Santa suit—the role he’d been training to play since retirement from the school district. Kids were happy to pose for a photo with Santa or listen to his recitation of The Night Before Christmas.

  As the party began to wind down, Sam directed guests out to his Jeep. “If you need a Christmas turkey, be sure to grab one from the Jeep out front.”

  “Thank you, Sam.” A short woman with dark hair shook his hand. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas,” Sam told her. “But thank Menlo’s Market. They provided the turkeys.”

  It was a lie, but Ricki would give him that one. ’Twas the season of love and generosity, and she knew Sam didn’t want anyone to suspect he was the one playing Santa.

  Chapter Nineteen

  As her plane landed beside the majestic Teton Mountains and taxied up to the rectangular terminal framed by rustic-looking timbers, Delilah Dillinger did a quick inner assessment of her feelings. It felt good to be back for Christmas, yes, but she was still ambivalent about returning home to Prairie Creek. Still, it was great to be greeted by her oldest brother, who updated her on recent news.

  “Did they find that killer?” Delilah asked.

  Colton’s brow was set beneath the brim of his Stetson. “Not yet.”

  “I’ve got to be nuts, coming back now, while Prairie Creek has its own roving serial killer.”

  “You can take that up with Deputy Ricki,” Colt said.

  “Deputy Ricki,” she repeated with a smile as they climbed into Ira’s Jeep, which Colton had brought to the airport rather than his truck to stow Delilah’s luggage. “Didn’t know you’d just have one bag,” he observed, then added that the Jeep would be available for Delilah’s use during her stay, as Ira preferred his Dodge Ram truck.

  “There’s something else you need to know,” Colton said. “Better for you to hear it from me first.”

  “Uh-oh.” Delilah didn’t like the sound of that. “What?”

  As they drove into Prairie Creek, Colton explained that Rourke was his kid. Hard to believe, but his half-drunk relationship with Pilar all those years ago had produced a son. “I just found out about it recently,” Colt admitted.

  “Good. God.” Delilah stared at her brother’s profile, the hard line of his jaw. Her own biological clock had been making noise for a while inside her head, but to hear that Colton and Pilar had a son together made its insistent tick, tick, tick sound like a roaring freight train bearing down on her. “That adds a new level of ick to this relationship Dad’s gotten himself into,” Delilah said.

  “Yeah, well …”

  Delilah’s misgivings multiplied when they arrived at the lodge and Pilar grabbed her arm as if they were long-lost friends rather than classmates who ran in opposite circles. She could do little more than drop the handle of her rolling bag and let Pilar propel her toward the living room.

  “Thank God you’re here,” Pilar said on a huge sigh. “I only have an hour or so before I have to take off, and I’ve got a million questions for you. Let me show you the mantel first. The flowers aren’t here yet, but you can get a sense of it from the Christmas lights. I think this should be the backdrop for the actual wedding ceremony, but I’m afraid it’s lacking the charm I was hoping for.”

  “I’ll be out in the stables,” Colt said, faint amusement in his eyes. The traitor. “Want me to take your bag upstairs first?”

  “Uh, sure,” Delilah said as Pilar waved him off.

  “Just leave it,” she ordered. “We’ve got a big crew coming in and I don’t know who is staying where. Now, Delilah …” Pilar turned away from Colton and immediately switched the topic back to the nuptial arrangements. “I’m thinking we should line the stairs with a hundred tiny votive candles …”

  As Delilah unbuttoned her coat, she forced herself not to stare at the doughy look of Pilar’s lips, the tightness around her eyes. Plastic surgery. Delilah knew all the signs from living in Southern California. Not that she minded, but what in God’s name was her father thinking?

  Though wedding planning wasn’t on her résumé, Delilah let Pilar go through her wish list. Half of Pilar’s ideas just weren’t going to work, but Delilah could see solutions to the big issues. And although Delilah really didn’t want this wedding to come off, from her conversations with her father, it was clear that he did. Ricki had been right on that.

  So, fine. She would keep this wedding moving forward. She could do that for her dad.

  Within half an hour, she had convinced Pilar to put on one of the rejected wedding bridal gowns to do a run-through procession down the front staircase. Delilah wanted to see how the staircase worked, and she thought the rehearsal would help put Pilar at ease. While Pilar was upstairs changing, Delilah paced across the vestibule, measuring its width. She was sketching out a schematic on her notepad when the front door opened and in came her niece, Brook, along with a younger boy.

  “Aunt Delilah! Thank God!” Brooklyn hugged Delilah tight and pressed her head against her aunt’s chest. “Everyone else here is clueless.”

/>   “I missed you, too,” Delilah said, though she was surprised by her niece’s wholehearted reaction. From everything she’d heard, Brooklyn had been withdrawn since she’d moved here, and though Delilah had always gotten along with Brook, they didn’t see each other that often.

  Over Brook’s shoulder she saw Ricki clamber through the front door behind them, stomping the snow from her boots. “I told you guys, either take your boots off or go around back,” Ricki said, then smiled up at her sister. “You made it.”

  Delilah hugged her sister, then was introduced to Rourke. So … this was Colt’s boy, she thought, trying not to stare. Delilah wondered why things in her family had to be so complicated. She watched as Rourke went off to the stables to help Colt with the horses.

  “Uncle Colt is Rourke’s father,” Brook said. “Isn’t that weird?”

  “Brook,” Ricki intoned. “Don’t talk about your cousin that way.”

  “It was a surprise, for sure,” Delilah agreed.

  “I think it’s weird. This whole family is weird. Is that your luggage?” Brook stepped away to examine the shiny silver luggage. “It’s so retro! What room are you in?”

  “I don’t know, but I hear it’s going to get tight here with Nell on her way and Tyler’s family driving up. Everyone’s going to be here.”

  “I have to stay here, too. Maybe we can share a room?” Brook suggested.

  Delilah shot a look at Ricki, who asked, “Would that be okay?”

  “It’d be great,” Delilah said.

  “I’ll take your bag,” Brook said, grabbing the handle. “There are two single beds in the room I’m staying in.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks, Brook.”

  Delilah and Ricki watched as Brooklyn lugged the shiny suitcase up the stairs.

  “Nice kid you got there,” Delilah said casually. “What the hell have you been complaining about?”

  “That’s the good Brooklyn. You don’t want to meet her alter ego.”

  “She’s a teenager. No worse than we were, I’m sure.”

  “Don’t remind me. So how was your flight?”