The sheriff put his brush down on the rim of the paint can as he stood to stretch his back. He might just have to go back to that church next Sunday. Not that he wanted to help Mrs. Hargrove with her class again. Those little ones would cause him grief soon enough when they were teenagers. He wondered what the town would think if he deputized Mrs. Hargrove to keep them in line when the time came. She’d do it, too, he thought with a smile.
The sheriff heard the sounds of foot steps coming down the gravel road and turned to see Barbara walking toward him.
“Well, look who’s here. I was just thinking about you,” the sheriff said.
The afternoon was developing quite a chill and Barbara’s cheeks were rosy from the cold. She hugged her jacket to her, her arms crossed in the wool sleeves.
She was pretty as a picture, the sheriff thought as he took a moment to enjoy the sight of her.
“Hello, Carl,” Barbara said. “Are you the one who has been doing all this painting?”
Barbara had smelled the paint when she passed the hardware store. It was the smell that had made her look up to see that someone had been painting the fence around the old Gossett house.
“Want to help paint?” the sheriff asked. “I’ve got an extra brush and an old sweat shirt in the trunk of my car.”
Barbara took a deep breath. “I’ve thought about painting this fence my self—just in case Mr. Gossett ever decides he can rent the house to me.”
“I’ve been thinking the house would suit you,” the sheriff said. “The inside would need some painting, too, but the rooms are sound and the ceiling is tight. No leaks that I’ve seen.”
“You’ve seen inside?” Barbara asked. “I’ve been tempted to look in the windows, but the gate was locked and—”
The sheriff frowned. “I think someone broke the lock on the gate to get back in the trees.”
“I hope it’s not someone else like me who wants to rent the place,” Barbara said. “I know I’ve been tempted to tamper with the gate.”
“I don’t know of anyone else who’s thinking of renting it,” the sheriff said.
“But as long as the gate is open,” Barbara said, “I don’t suppose it would be trespassing just to take a little look in the window?”
The sheriff grinned. “I’m supposed to be checking out the place now and again, so I think we can look through a few windows.”
Barbara couldn’t help herself. When the sheriff used a handkerchief to wipe away a spot on the window so she could see inside the kitchen of the Gossett house, she knew right where she wanted to put the table.
The kitchen was a square room, with an old refrigerator and stove pushed to one wall. The window she was looking in was over the sink. A light blue linoleum covered the floor and what looked like yellow paint covered the walls. There were no curtains on the window and only a bare bulb hanging down in the center of the room
“I want a round table for the middle right there.” Barbara pointed to the place directly under the light bulb. “Maybe one of those old oak ones—you know, the ones that have leaves that you put in when you have company? I bought the classified ads so I can look and see if anyone has one to sell. It’d be perfect for Sunday dinners.”
“Tables like that are hard to find,” the sheriff said. “Even used they’re a pretty penny.”
Barbara nodded. “They’re worth it though. There’s a place to put a Tiffany-style lamp right over it. I can just see Bobby sitting there and doing his math homework. I should check the classifieds for a Tiffany-style lamp, too, although that’s not likely to be listed.”
“No, no, it’s not,” the sheriff said.
Barbara finally pulled herself away from the window. “Can we look in the living-room window too? I want to know what kind of a sofa to look for—it’ll have to be used, of course, but there’s still a pretty good selection.”
The sheriff used his handkerchief to clean a circle on the next window too.
“Oh, there’s still a rocking chair in there,” Barbara said.
The living room was also square-shaped, but it had a nice wood floor that Barbara thought would clean up nicely. With a little wax, it would even shine. The walls in this room were such a dirty mauve that she knew it had been a long time since anyone had painted or even cleaned the walls.
“There’s two fair-sized bedrooms in the back and a third one that’s pretty small off the dining room,” the sheriff said. “One of them has a bed in it. That was the room old man Gossett slept in. I don’t think there’s much in the other rooms. Maybe some old dressers.”
“I can get furniture,” Barbara said. She was filled with confidence. She had the money from the pawnshop in her pocket and she’d make every penny count. If she was buying used, she should be able to furnish the whole house with the money she had.
Barbara would have kept looking in the windows even longer, except she wanted to help finish painting the fence before the children came home from school. She was full of excitement herself, but she didn’t want to get the children’s hopes up. She didn’t know, after all, if the Gossett house would ever be avail able for her to rent.
After they walked back to where the sheriff had left the paint and brushes, he went to his car and opened the trunk. He held up two old sweat shirts. “The black one or the purple one?”
“Purple,” Barbara said as she walked over to take the sweat shirt. “It’s too nice a day to wear black.”
“It’s going to rain.”
Barbara smiled as she took off her jacket. “All the more reason to wear purple. Now, can I leave this in your trunk?”
Barbara held out her jacket to the sheriff. He took it.
“You don’t want to lose any thing,” the sheriff said as he carefully laid her jacket in the trunk. “Jackets like this should have zip pockets.”
The sheriff put his hand right over the wad of twenty-dollar bills Barbara had in her pocket, but she wasn’t sure if he saw them peeking out of the fold. He must not have, she decided, because he didn’t say anything.
Not that there was any reason he shouldn’t see the money, she told herself. She just didn’t want people to know she had sold her wedding rings. There was something so sad about it, even though, she had to admit, she’d felt pretty good since she’d sold them. Thinking of all the furniture she could buy when she moved into a house with the children made her feel as though everything was possible.
Chapter Sixteen
Floyd stopped once he arrived in Miles City, and went to the grocery store to buy graham crackers. He had seen the boy eating graham crackers one day. Floyd hoped the boy would be reason able and understand Floyd’s need to keep him for a while.
He wouldn’t hurt the boy any, Floyd told himself. Some boys would even like a little holiday away from school and their mothers. The room Floyd stayed at in the motel had a video player; maybe he should rent some cartoons for the boy or something.
It wouldn’t be so bad. Especially if Floyd didn’t need to take the girl, too.
Of course, it’d be easier if he took both children. He’d gotten a second note taped to his bathroom mirror last night. Again, all of Floyd’s windows were secure and the new lock he had on his door had not been forced open. Whoever Harlow had working for him, the man was a professional.
Floyd didn’t mind admitting he was scared.
But it would all be okay soon. Just as soon as the ex-wife got word to Neal that someone had his children, Neal would find a way to talk to Harlow. Neither of the men were in solitary confinement. They must talk. Harlow would listen to Neal, Floyd felt certain of that.
It would all work out just fine.
The sheriff wanted the night to turn to its blackest before he got up from the chair in his trailer. He’d been sitting here ever since he’d come home, trying to keep his suspicions from running around in his head. He’d seen that wad of twenties Barbara had in the pocket of her jacket.
Maybe Barbara had gotten the money some place legitimately, but th
e sheriff knew she hadn’t had that kind of money a couple of days ago. She’d had to walk over to the café to get change for the hundred dollar bills that were under that geranium planter.
It looked as if Barbara had five or six hundred dollars in her pocket now. The bills had been crisp new bills, too—just the kind of bills a bank usually had.
Barbara didn’t have a bank account, and she usually took her salary in cash. Since Lizette wasn’t back from her honeymoon, no one had been around to pay Barbara.
The sheriff hated being suspicious, but he was. He’d almost for got ten that the FBI had asked him to watch Barbara Strong for this very reason. Those bills reminded him of his duty.
The sheriff put a jacket over his uniform before he walked to the door of his trailer and stepped outside. He didn’t have a light on the outside of his trailer, so he always had to stand a bit when he first opened the door so his eyes could adjust to the dark. He shivered a little. The night air was cold and even damper than it had been earlier today. It still hadn’t rained, but the air was heavy with it.
The sheriff looked over at the trees on his left. He could see the black shapes of their branches silhouetted against the night sky. Yesterday, when he’d come back to the trailer, he’d gone over there and stood on the spot where he’d thought about building that log house. Ever since then, his eyes had been drawn to that spot when he stepped out of his trailer. He shook his head. He supposed there was just no stopping a fool from dreaming.
The sheriff could not remember a time when he’d disliked his job—until now. Even so, that wouldn’t stop him from doing it.
The first thing he needed to do was check under that planter on Barbara’s porch. He’d been thinking that maybe she’d just borrowed those hundred dollar bills and taken them some where to get them changed into twenties. He couldn’t fault her for that; in fact, he was hoping that was what had happened. If those bills were gone, he could just go home and go to sleep.
It wasn’t more than twenty minutes later that the sheriff stood in the dark on the gravel road that ran through Dry Creek. There were no lights showing from any of the houses. He’d parked his car along the side of the road a little before he got to the buildings. Now, he would walk the rest of the way into town.
The town of Dry Creek wasn’t much more than a dozen or so buildings, half on one side of the gravel road and half on the other. Not one of the buildings was anything to brag about. None of the houses had swimming pools in their back yards, in fact, they barely had back yards. Spring had not fully come to Dry Creek and there were no green lawns sprouting anywhere.
The sheriff knew Dry Creek wouldn’t make it onto most maps. But it was his town and his responsibility. He had sworn to keep it safe.
The sheriff stepped off the gravel road when he came close to the building where Barbara lived. She and the children were in the back room and should be asleep by now, but he didn’t want to make any unnecessary noise. The hardware store was across the street, but no one was there. The sheriff had never noticed how black the night could be in Dry Creek.
Barbara was right about them needing a street-light, the sheriff thought as he finished walking to the steps. The planter was close to the edge of the small porch. He lifted it easily while standing on the dirt beside the porch. The night dew had already made the wood planter cold and damp.
The sheriff had good eyes. He couldn’t miss the bills lying there on the porch. He saw the two hundred-dollar bills on the bottom and a couple of twenties on top. He put the planter back down.
There was nothing he could do tonight, the sheriff told himself as he started to walk back to his car. He wasn’t going to wake those two kids up just so he could question their mother about laundering stolen money. Not that he’d get any sleep tonight himself.
The sheriff had to walk past the church to get to his car and he had a sudden urge to sit for a while on the steps of the church. He lowered himself until he was doing just that. Then he put his head in his hands. He figured it was as close to praying as he knew how to get. He hoped that God knew what he was so stirred up about, even if he couldn’t seem to put it into words himself. The sheriff sat there for a good half hour before standing up and walking to his car. It was going to be a long night, he thought, as he slid into the driver’s side of his car and turned on the heater.
Barbara woke up early. It was five o’clock in the morning and she couldn’t lie in bed any longer, so she hugged her robe around her and pulled one of the folding chairs up to the folding table. She didn’t want to turn a light on and wake up the children, so she reached for the classified ads section of the newspaper she had bought yesterday.
There wasn’t enough light filtering in through the curtains for her to actually read the classifieds, but Barbara liked holding the pages anyway. She was as excited as the children were at Christmas, maybe more so. After she got the bakery orders out, Barbara planned to sit down with the telephone and make a few calls on items in those ads.
The children wouldn’t get back from school until four o’clock this afternoon. A person could set their watch by the school bus and Barbara knew she’d be able to make a lot of calls before then. If everything went her way, she might even be able to arrange for delivery of some of the things she was buying.
Barbara smiled just thinking of the squeals the children would make when they saw real furniture in this place.
Barbara went to the stove and turned on a burner under the teakettle. She’d boil some water for tea and instant oatmeal for break fast. Maybe she’d even make some French toast as well. It was, after all, a special morning. Who knew what delights the day could bring?
Unfortunately, after break fast it took an extra long time for the children to get dressed because Bobby had lost a button on the shirt he wanted to wear. Barbara knew she had a needle and thread in a small tin box, but it took her a while to find the box. When they had a real house, she told herself, she’d have everything in its appointed place so she’d always know where to find anything at any time. That alone would be a luxury.
In the meantime, she was fortunate to have found the sewing tin in the suitcase with the winter coats. She’d packed up those coats a week ago when spring seemed so close. The weather now was overcast, though, and Barbara wondered if she shouldn’t bring the heavy coats back out for another week or two.
She pulled Bobby’s coat out of the suitcase. “Maybe you should take this coat today.”
She gave Amanda her coat as well. “It’s a cold day today.”
Twenty minutes later, Barbara stood on the porch and watched the children climb into the school bus. The bus held about thirty passengers, and all of the children from Dry Creek rode it to go to school in Miles City. At first, Barbara had been doubtful about leaving her children with the bus driver, but she soon saw that Bobby and Amanda made friends with the other children on the bus. Some times, she thought riding the bus was the best part of the day for them.
Barbara watched the school bus as it drove down the road out of Dry Creek and then she turned to go back into the building that was as much dance studio as it was bakery. Lizette had opened the dance studio before she had the bakery, so Barbara always thought of the space as a studio first and foremost.
The counter in the back room helped with the bakery operations and Barbara had three final pies in the oven. Linda said the café could use two pies regularly now that business was growing. Barbara had made an apple and a blue berry.
She smiled a little bit to herself, wondering if the sheriff would have a piece of the blue berry pie when it was at the café later. The man sure did enjoy his food.
The telephone call came just as Barbara picked up her classified ads again. She’d sat down at the folding table not two minutes earlier. It was almost eight o’clock, and the work of the day was already done.
“Hello,” Barbara said as she pulled the telephone over to the table.
Barbara heard the man’s breathing before he began to speak. She k
new then that it was the same man who had called about the cake. She was going to hang up when the man spoke.
“I have your kids.” The man’s voice was low and thick, as if he was trying to disguise it.
“Amanda and Bobby!”
“Called them over, right off the bus stop. Said I had word from their father.”
“That’s impossible,” Barbara said. Whoever that man was, he was a sick, sick individual.
“Listen,” the man said.
“Mommy?”
Barbara would know Bobby’s voice anywhere. “Where are you?”
“He doesn’t know,” the man said with a chuckle. “But don’t worry about it. You’ll have them both back soon enough if you do what I say.”
“I’ll do any thing,” Barbara whispered. She knew that wasn’t a good negotiating tactic, but she wanted the man to know she would do whatever he asked. “I have a few hundred dollars—”
The man laughed louder. “That’s nothing.”
“I could borrow—”
“Lady, I’m not asking for money. All I want is for you to go to your ex-husband and tell him he’s got to get Harlow to give me more time. Tell him to stop whoever is leaving those notes for me. But first call the school and tell them your kids are out sick.”
The man was crazy, Barbara thought, but at least he asked for something she could do. “I can take that message to Neal.”
“Oh, and don’t tell anyone. You understand me? No cops. And call the school.”
Barbara nodded. “Yes, of course.”
“Just tell Neal I’ve got his kids.”
The man hung up before Barbara could say anything else.
Barbara sat at the table, frozen with the telephone in her hand. Please, don’t let her children’s fate rest with Neal, she thought to herself. She had no idea if Neal would care enough to do anything for the children.
Sugar Plums for Dry Creek & At Home in Dry Creek Page 29
