by Maggie Pill
Once they’d situated the guide, Rory led Carlos to the back of the groomer, sat him down, and tied his good arm to a sidebar. “Go ahead,” he told Gabe. “We’ll follow with the others.”
With a jaunty wave, Gabe started off. Carlos huddled at the back, looking grim and hanging on for dear life.
That left Daniel—the guy who’d chased me—George, and Winston to ride with Rory, Johannsen, and me. There was one sled left. Barbara looked at it doubtfully.
“Wait here,” Rory told her. “I’ll come back for you.”
I was proud of Barbara Ann when she said, “Start that thing up and show me how it works. If I can handle shooting a man, I suppose I can drive a snowmobile.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Faye
It took so long that I was shaking for lack of a cigarette, but two Bonner County deputies arrived at Winston’s house, found their way to the barn, and took Max “Basca” Santiago into custody. One of the officers had handled horses before, so the other took Max to the car in handcuffs while we set about soothing the horses’ nerves with a lot of crooning and petting. As we worked I told the deputy, whose name was Bryce, about the book.
“If we lead them out one at a time, I could search the stalls while you keep them quiet,” he suggested. That’s what we did, though we only had to search one. Bryce slipped a rope over the red horse’s neck and I led her out of the stall, telling her non-stop what a good girl she was. I kept her head turned away while he went in, sidestepping the worst of the mess, and searched. On the back wall an old canvas bag hung on a nail, and as soon as he touched it, Bryce caught my eye and grinned. Inside the ragged bag was a sealed pouch, and inside that was the book that had caused so much trouble.
The deputies took Max to jail, and I promised to come in and give a statement when the sheriff returned. I hurried home, hoping to find my sisters or at least hear that they were on their way. Neither had happened, and Dale and I spent a long two hours waiting for word.
When the call finally came, Sheriff Idalski said his men had found them safe. I learned later it was more the other way around. First Gabe, then the rest, had reached the spot where the sheriff’s people were gathered. They’d trailered their sleds to the starting point, but no one had been able to locate their usual guide. Of course, that was because he was the man Gabe brought out on the back of his groomer. Idalski said he’d been stabilized and taken to the hospital for treatment.
An hour after the sheriff’s call, five exhausted people showed up on our doorstep. Hearing the commotion, Buddy limped out to the office, barking furiously. When I picked him up his barks turned to growls. He was learning to tolerate others, but our conversation was underscored with muted sounds of his unhappiness at the presence of so many extra people. I thought it was kind of cute.
Barb told the story, with Retta interrupting to add details. Styx became the hero when she talked, because he’d courageously attacked both George and Daniel to save her, Gabe, and Rory. Barbara rolled her eyes and I guessed she thought Styx had been looking for someone to tell him what a great dog he is. I was in no position to say which of them was correct.
Dale stood behind me, listening to the account. When they wound down, he urged, “Tell them about your day.”
All eyes turned to me, and I gave a brief version of my encounter with Santiago.
“You took down a drug lord?” Retta’s voice rang with surprise.
I grinned. “Well, Buddy and I and a couple of horses.”
Win had been talking on the phone since they walked in the door, but he’d heard parts of my story. “I told you,” he said, pocketing his phone. “Those critters hate men. I’ll have to find a woman buyer, I guess.”
“You’re going to sell them?” I asked.
“I’m going to sell everything,” he replied. “The feds will take the money, but Mr. Glass thinks they’ll let me keep the house. I mean, Stacy wasn’t a drug dealer or anything. Once it sells, I can start over.” Gesturing toward the window he added, “Somewhere warm.”
“I kind of like the cold.” We all turned to Agent Johannsen, who’d been quiet up to that point. “Now that I know someone who has snowmobiles—” He looked at Retta, “—and a cabin—” He turned to Rory, “—I wouldn’t mind coming back for a few days’ vacation.”
“That sounds great,” Retta said. Barb’s gaze met mine, and her lips twitched.
“I’ll have to clean the place up before you come.” With a glance at Barb, Rory added, “I might need help.”
“It happens I have experience as a glazier,” Barb said. “I replaced two windows in this place when I moved in, all by myself.” It was the closest I’d ever heard my sister come to bragging, and Retta and I exchanged knowing looks. If Barb was willing to return to Rory’s cabin in the woods, the reward she anticipated had to be pretty darned special.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Barb
“I have to admit,” I told Faye as we got into her car the next day, “Your sister was a welcome sight when she came roaring through on that snowmobile. Another few seconds and George would have shot me.”
“Wish I could’ve seen her,” she said with a grin.
The weather had turned mild, at least for January. Everything looked bright in the morning sun, and for once there was no biting wind. My house was encased in white, the cleared driveway wet-black against the piled banks on either side. Michigan really is a beautiful place, despite the long winters.
As she put her car into gear, Fay’s expression turned sober. “Barb, this is the third time you were nearly murdered on the job. Maybe we should stick to white-collar crime and deadbeat dads.”
“Who’d have predicted this case would be dangerous?” I searched my pocket for a tissue for my drippy nose. “Besides, we saved our client from a murder charge and sent four criminals to jail. Doesn’t that make you feel good?”
“Well, yes, but if you’d died, or Retta—” Turning into the parking lot of The Meadows, she squeezed her car into the last spot. A hand-lettered sign stapled to a light post proclaimed, “Musick this Sunday. Friends and family member’s welcome.”
We were in Faye’s car, so I didn’t have the tools to correct the errors, even if I’d been brave enough to attempt it in broad daylight. I turned sideways in the seat so I didn’t have to look at it, but it felt like that misused apostrophe was tapping me on the shoulder while the misspelled word tittered in my ear.
Faye didn’t appear to notice. “We’ll talk after I straighten out Harriet’s latest mess.”
She went off, skirting slushy patches on the sidewalk with small, careful steps. I watched, wondering what it was like to deal with Harriet the Harrier on a daily basis. Today the old lady refused to participate in physical therapy, and they’d called Faye, hoping she could talk sense to her. A phone conversation had gone nowhere, so Faye had come to listen to Harriet’s latest complaint.
Faye would handle it, like she handled everything else, with understanding, intelligence, and good humor. Now that we lived in the same house, I saw how often her boys came to her for advice and help, how much the nursing home depended on her to handle the irascible Harriet, and how much Dale relied on her. She responded lovingly and patiently to all those demands, but it had to be a drain.
Thoughts of Dale’s clinginess diverted my mind to Rory. As we aged, would he drive me half crazy with his old-man ways? I wasn’t nearly as patient as Faye. And what if he had a senile mother somewhere who’d demand I dance attendance on her, as Faye was doing for her mother-in-law at this moment?
The night before, after all the stories were told, Rory had tilted his head toward the back door, indicating we should go outside together. I left the others repeating their favorite bits and followed him onto the back porch. Taking a seat on the swing that was Faye’s usual smoking spot, he patted the boards next to him.
I moved a coffee can of butts to a spot where I couldn’t smell it. “How long before they come looking for us?”
He put an arm around my shoulders. “Not long, but I’ve wanted to hug you since I saw you scrunched behind that snowmobile,” he replied. “You looked so scared.”
“I was scared.”
“We all were. Retta was shaking like a leaf, but she did what had to be done, and so did you.” We were silent for a while as I enjoyed the feeling of his arm around my shoulders. “What’s next for us, Barb?”
Having no answer, I changed the subject. “Did they call your daughter when you got hurt?”
His mouth quirked with humor at my avoidance of his question, but he said, “She’s in Venezuela, doing research on their legal system. By the time they reached her, I was out of the hospital. I called and told her it was no big deal.”
“She’s a lawyer?”
He shrugged. “Almost. Two semesters, maybe three, and she’ll be eligible for the bar.”
“Excellent.”
“It is. Now answer my question.”
I sighed. “I really like you, Rory. You must know that.”
“But—?” There was a question in his tone.
“I’m used to living alone, used to doing as I please.”
“And you think I’d interfere with that?”
“Not you personally,” I said miserably. “Anyone. I like my own schedule.” Groping for an example, I said, “There are times when I resent that Faye wants me to share three meals a week with them. It shouldn’t feel like a duty, but somehow it does.”
He was quiet for a long time, and I thought about how weird I sounded. What kind of person doesn’t look forward to daily contact with others?
As the silence stretched, I concluded there was no hope for a relationship between us. I’d go back to calling him Chief Neuencamp. We’d pretend we’d never kissed, never exchanged confidences, never felt tender feelings stirring. Maybe I really was as cold as Retta and several men in my past had called me.
When Rory spoke, I was ready for anything but what he said. “Well, then, that’s perfect.”
“Perfect?” I repeated.
Turning to me, he said, “I lost my wife because being a cop is the most important thing in the world to me. My hours are horrible. My mind is usually on something related to my job. I forget birthdays, anniversaries, dinner dates.” He grinned. “Any woman would hate living with me, including you.”
“I would?”
“Yes. But that doesn’t mean we can’t make this work.”
“This?”
“Us.” He touched my hand gently. “We like each other, right? We want to be together, just not all the time. What if we go with that?”
It was the kind of speech that bothered me: “be together,” “go with it.” Vague and imprecise. Still, I got the gist. “Don’t they call that friends with benefits?”
Rory shook his head. “You know we’re more than that, but we’re also adults who can think independently. A lot of stuff people insist is necessary for a happy relationship is pure garbage. I don’t need you to cook my breakfast or watch football with me on Sunday afternoons.” A little embarrassed, he paused. “I like you, Barb. I don’t care about the details if you and I get to be together when the time is right for us both.”
I sat in silence for a moment. “You’re saying we can have a relationship that nobody but us will understand.”
“Exactly. I won’t smother you with attention. You’ll accept there’ll be times when I’m not available, maybe physically, maybe emotionally.” He grinned again. “I will try to show up when your job gets you into trouble.”
We left it at that—well, except for some kissing.
When Faye came out of The Meadows, she lit a cigarette before reaching the twenty-foot limit decreed by a sign in the lobby window. “We struck a deal,” she told me as I exited the car and joined her on the sidewalk.
“What did you promise the old bat?”
“Actually, I was on her side on this one. Physical therapy at ninety? Really?” She took a long drag. “I spoke to the doctor, who agreed to leave Harriet alone.”
It made sense to me. “If you make it to ninety, you should have choices.”
“And get to die on your own terms.” Faye stubbed out the cigarette in a small metal ashtray she carried in her purse. “Know what she said when I told her?”
In a parody of Harriet’s voice and increasing deafness I said, “What? What was that?”
Faye gave me her patient smile. “She said, ‘Faye, you get it, and you’re the only one.’”
“Wow! She acknowledged you by name and gave you a compliment, all in one sentence?”
“It was kind of sweet.”
An old biddy like Harriet sweet? Only my sister Faye can think like that.
We started for the car, and she returned to our earlier conversation. “Are you sure you want to continue the agency?”
“Are you saying you might want to give it up?”
Faye tossed her purse onto the back seat. “You know I hate the prospect of ending up somewhere like this.” She nodded toward the long, low building before us. “Life isn’t worth it if you don’t do something worthwhile.”
“Like being private investigators?”
“It’s worth it to me,” she said firmly. “I just want to know if it’s worth it to you.”
Starting the agency had been Faye’s idea. She’d imagined helping people in crisis, but she hadn’t been able to imagine the risks. Now she was willing to give it up, but it was because of fears for me and Retta, not for herself.
“We don’t need to close the agency, Faye. We’ll just get serious about safety.”
“How?”
I thought about that. “Well, we can hire some help. If you’d had someone with you at Darrow’s house the other day, Santiago would probably have run.”
“And who would we hire?”
”I told you we might be able to use Gabe.”
“No, you didn’t.”
I realized it was Retta I’d mentioned it to. It was weird to think I’d mentioned something about the business to her before I told Faye.
Faye asked, “What possible use could Gabe be?”
I shrugged. “He could be trained to do some of the legwork, I think.”
She rolled her eyes. “Gabe?” Softly she repeated in a disbelieving tone, “Gabe.”
“And we’ve got Rory,” I said to get her mind off Gabe.
“Who has a full-time job.”
I floundered a little. “Well, there’s Retta.”
“Retta?”
“Maybe it’s time we let her be part of the agency…as an auxiliary investigator.”
“And what in the world is that?”
I grinned. “One who does what we say and has no vote on anything important.”
Faye chuckled. “How long will she stand for that?”
“It’s better than giving up the agency entirely.”
With a sigh, Faye started back to the car. “I guess more staff might help, but—”
“Look.” I waved a hand toward the nursing home. “I’d rather George had killed me than end up like poor old Harriet. How about you?”
“Well, yes.”
“Then let’s stop worrying about what might happen. We could get hit by a train on our way back home—at least we might if Allport had a train.”
She grinned, and the worried look left her eyes. “I get it. We don’t have to do this by ourselves.”
“Right,” I said. “I’ll talk with Gabe. You can explain to Retta that she’s—a tiny little part of the Smart Detective Agency. Tell her: No rearranging the office, no redesigning the letterhead, no telling us what to do.” I added in a mutter, “Not that it will work.”
“And Dale,” Faye said.
“What?”
“We need to find something he can do.”
Big sigh. I’d begun this enterprise in large part because I cared about Faye, who longed for adventure and the chance to help others. Now, it seemed, I’d be dealing with both my sisters, a sometime boyfrie
nd, a petty criminal turned hero, a disabled brother-in-law, and even Buddy the dog. “Okay,” I told Faye. “We’ll get it all moving forward—somehow.”
She smiled. “You and me against the world, right?”
I couldn’t let that pass. “You and I, but yes, that’s exactly it.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Retta
If you ask me, things worked out really well. Basca and his men went to jail, and from there they would no doubt go on to prison. The detective agency was featured in the paper as a pivotal force in capturing several hardened criminals who invaded little Allport. I felt a tiny bit guilty for not calling in the state police when Faye wanted to, but if I had, the agency wouldn’t have gotten such great publicity. In addition, I might never have met Lars, who is a very, very attractive man. These things have a way of working themselves out.
I’m more likely to be a real partner in the agency now that I’ve proven I can handle danger without going all freaky. I was really scared, I’ll admit that, but it didn’t keep me from doing what had to be done. Barbara said in front of Rory and everyone that she’d probably have died if I hadn’t acted as I did.
On the minus side, I might have messed up my chances by moving too quickly. The three of us had lunch the day after Basca’s arrest, following the taking of our statements at the sheriff’s office. It was nice to be three sisters doing things together, and we chatted happily about our adventures. Faye made a big deal out of Buddy’s part in her ordeal, and I was polite. Apparently no one had called in response to her ad, so he was now a permanent part of the household. I wondered how Barbara felt about that, but she, too, was polite.
In a situation like that one topic leads to another, and soon we were talking about the agency’s future. Though I didn’t mean to approach the subject so soon, the idea I’d had for some time just popped out. Right away I knew I’d slipped up.
Barbara’s face got that hard look, and Faye said, “The Sleuth Sisters? You want to change the name of the agency to The Sleuth Sisters?”
