Lawman

by Diana Palmer

  Garon saw that reaction and was irritated by it. She’d been screaming her head off, so why was she acting as if he were trying to attack her? He got to his feet will ill-concealed impatience, glaring down at her.

  She couldn’t meet his eyes or explain or apologize. He didn’t understand. He was a handsome, sensual man who never lacked female attention. It made him angry that this frumpy little woman looked at him as if he were a rapist.

  The silence that grew between them was dark and explosive. Miss Turner broke it finally with her return. She had a whiskey jigger full of amber liquid. “Here you go, boss,” she said, handing it to Garon.

  He put it in Grace’s hand. “Drink it,” he said impatiently.

  She grimaced as she sniffed it. “I’ve never had spirits,” she tried to explain.

  “You’re having this, or Miss Turner will hold you down while I pour it in,” he said curtly, stung by her attitude when the two of them were alone together.

  She looked at him aghast. “You wouldn’t dare,” she challenged.

  “Come here, Miss Turner,” he beckoned the housekeeper. “I’ll show you a half nelson to use on her.”

  He meant business. Grace grimaced again, but she held her breath and tossed the liquor down. It burned her throat and almost came up again. She gagged.

  “Here,” Miss Turner said quickly, pouring her a glass of water.

  “Gasoline would taste better!” Grace raged, glaring at him.

  “Bite your tongue, woman,” he shot back, offended. “That’s Crown Royal!”

  “Diesel fuel,” she muttered.

  He threw up his hands and got to his feet. “You can’t share precious things with peasants,” he muttered.

  “I am not a peasant.”

  “Or lunatics,” he persisted.

  “I am not a…!”

  “You talk to rosebushes,” he pointed out.

  While she simmered, Miss Turner grinned. “Actually he does talk to tractors that won’t start. I heard him use some Spanish slang that he could be arrested for in Del Rio.”

  He glared at her, narrowing one eye. “Some profanity is occasionally necessary to teach the stupid machine that you mean business. It’s lucky it didn’t get shot, at that.”

  “If you shoot the tractor, the foreman will bury you with it,” Miss Turner replied. “He says it’s barely usable as it is, and he’s trying to get the soil ready to plant.”

  “It’s February,” he exclaimed.

  “In February we plant potatoes,” she said shortly.

  “I hate potatoes.”

  “We also plant forage grasses for the cattle,” she amended.

  He sighed. “I suppose he might need the tractor, at that.” He glanced at Grace with his hands in his pockets. “If you think you can sleep, we might all try to get back to bed. I’ve got to drive up to Lytle first thing for a meeting.”

  “I’ll be all right,” she assured him. She recalled that the next day was visitation at the funeral home, and she shuddered.

  He remembered that. Reluctant sympathy pushed his wounded ego aside. “I’ll be home by five. You aren’t having visitation until six, are you?”

  She shook her head, surprised at his sudden knowledge of what was wrong with her.

  “I’ll drive you. Miss Turner can come, too.”

  “But you don’t have to do that,” she protested weakly.

  “There isn’t anybody else to do it,” he said without rancor.

  She bit her lower lip. “Thank you.”

  Her appreciation made him uncomfortable. “You’re welcome. Let’s go, Miss Turner.”

  “Sleep well, Grace,” the housekeeper said gently.

  “You, too. I’m sorry I woke you all up.”

  “I’m used to it,” Garon said easily. “I work homicide. It isn’t exactly a nine-to-five job.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “You mean you get called out at night?”

  “Night, holidays, weekends,” he agreed. “It’s my job. In fact, it’s my life. I like catching crooks.”

  She managed a wan smile. “It must be challenging.”

  He nodded, but he wasn’t inclined to linger. She’d made her opinion of him as a man blatantly clear. “Sleep well.”

  She watched him go, followed by Miss Turner, with vague regret. He’d only been trying to comfort her, and she’d offended him. She was sorry about it. Her whole adult life had been one lonely ordeal as she met any masculine attention with rigid coldness. She wished she could sleep and escape the memories. That wasn’t possible right now. She was too wired to rest. So she didn’t lie down right away. She couldn’t bear to have the nightmare come back. She propped up in bed and found a paperback to read. Once she was really sleepy, she’d try again.

  HE WAS ALREADY GONE when she got up the next morning. She and Miss Turner had a small breakfast and then Miss Turner drove Grace home.

  “I don’t like leaving you here alone,” the older woman said.

  “I’m not, really,” Grace told her with a smile. “The house is warm and kind. Three generations of my family lived and died here.” She looked around, her eyes lingering on the huge maple tree in the front yard, bare now because it was still winter. In the autumn it was glorious, a symphony in red and gold. Cold winds made it shed its leaves in what Grace always called a rain of leaves. She loved to run through it, with her arms outstretched, and feel the nip of the first cold air on her face.

  “That tree is going to come down one day and crush the house,” Miss Turner mentioned.

  “No, it won’t,” Grace assured her. “It’s sturdy, and very long lived. It’s the most beautiful tree in this area, in autumn.”

  “I’ll reserve judgment until I see it,” Miss Turner chuckled. “I’ll come back for you about six. Okay?”

  “If you’re sure,” Grace replied.

  “I am.”

  She watched the older woman drive away and wondered again at the closeness she felt to Garon Grier and his housekeeper. They were all three misfits, in a way. She didn’t know Garon very well, but she knew that he didn’t socialize much and that he was a workaholic. So was Miss Turner, apparently. Grace had to admit that she did her own share of work, at two jobs plus her after hours project that never seemed to get finished.

  She went through the closet, hoping for one decent black dress. Her spare cash for months had gone to augment her grandmother’s social security and pay for medicines that the old lady needed. Mrs. Collier didn’t have much of a drug benefit, certainly not enough to cover drugs that cost over a hundred dollars a bottle. Often, Grace did without her own full prescription to cover her grandmother’s. Coltrain said that was risky, but Grace figured what he didn’t know wouldn’t worry him.

  “Wilbur!” she called loudly. There was a muffled answer as her old cat came out from under a discarded window box that was propped on a step. “What are you doing there?” she asked, bending to pet him. “Something scare you, baby?”

  He only meowed. She didn’t see anything near the house, but she’d heard one of Garon’s men mention they’d seen coyotes in the area. She hoped none of them showed up at her house. She’d heard they killed cats and dogs. She was fond of Wilbur. He was twelve now, and the two of them had shared some traumatic times. Old Mrs. Collier hadn’t tolerated Wilbur in the house, although Grace had sneaked him in during bouts of bad weather without the old lady knowing. Now, it didn’t matter anymore. Grace decided that he was going to live inside now and keep her company. It would make her solitude less lonely.

  That afternoon, the community came to her door with bowls of salad and platters of meat and cakes and pies. Someone even brought her four pounds of coffee, which she wasn’t allowed to drink. But she made a pot, for the visitors.

  It was the custom in small towns, bringing food for the family when there was a death. It was a way of showing sympathy. This way, the bereaved wouldn’t have to prepare meals while they were going back and forth to the funeral home. Of course, there was only Grace
in the family locally. But that didn’t stop people from bringing food. Barbara, who owned the local café, brought meats and vegetables. Two sheriff’s deputies and their wives came along with cakes and pies. The Ballenger brothers sent two of their sons along with homemade bread, and Leo Hart’s wife Tess brought a Crock-Pot full of chicken and dumplings. It fascinated her that some of the town’s leading lights thought so much of old Mrs. Collier, and she mentioned it to Barbara.

  “Don’t be silly,” she chuckled. “It’s you they’re fond of, Grace,” she added. “You used to baby-sit Calhoun Ballenger’s kids, something Abby’s never forgotten, and you helped Tess Hart with her rose garden. You should remember that you’ve always been one of the first to take food to other families, and none of the new rich families in town are snobs—unlike some of the older monied generation.”

  “I suppose so,” Grace replied with a smile. She’d noticed that Mrs. Tabor, a leading light of the old money crowd, had actually sent a tray of finger foods, although she didn’t mix much with common people. Her niece, who worked at Andy Webb’s realty company, had already made a reputation as the worst of the local wild women. In fact, it was she who brought the tray.

  “Thank you,” Grace had told her, uneasy at the older woman’s piercing scrutiny as she put the food on the dining room table alongside all the other platters.

  “I just wanted a look at you,” the woman chided. She was wearing jeans that must have been sprayed on, with a deeply low cut red blouse and sweater. She gave Grace’s loose jeans and pink sweatshirt a mocking glance. “Well, it can’t be your looks that fascinate Garon. I wondered why he’d be helping you out. I suppose it really is a case of just being neighborly.” She laughed coldly. “I can’t believe I was worried about the competition,” she added carelessly, and walked out without another word.

  Grace stared after her, speechless. She couldn’t imagine her taciturn neighbor being interested in herself, of course, but she could see why he might go after Mrs. Tabor’s niece. Oddly the thought hurt. Garon had never mentioned the flashy woman. Was he seeing her? She shouldn’t care. She couldn’t care. But it hurt to think of him with someone like that, who was self-centered and cruel. It seemed to Grace, without knowing why, that life had been cruel enough to Garon already.

  SHE INVITED MISS TURNER and Garon over to eat with her that evening before they went to the funeral home. They protested, but she reasoned with them that she wasn’t going to be able to eat it all herself. It would only go to waste.

  She had paper plates and napkins ready when they drove up. It was a short, silent meal, but very enjoyable. Jacobsville boasted some of the best cooks in the county. There were homemade rolls, spice breads, baked ham and broiled chicken and all sorts of salads and side dishes.

  “I know who made this chocolate cake,” Miss Turner murmured with a smile as she savored her slice. “Barbara did this.”

  Grace laughed. “It’s the only thing she can cook,” she confided.

  “Well, it’s a good thing she doesn’t have to depend on her skills to keep the café afloat, I suppose,” came the reply. “Although she could certainly fill the tables with people eating chocolate cake. This is wonderful.”

  “I’ll pack some for you to take home, when we get back from the funeral home,” Grace said. “I hate to waste food.”

  “So do I,” Miss Turner agreed.

  “Mrs. Tabor’s niece brought the snack platter,” Grace told Miss Turner without looking at Garon.

  Miss Turner didn’t say anything, but her glance was eloquent.

  Garon heard the comment. It surprised him. He hadn’t spoken to the woman since she’d turned up in his driveway. He’d better call her about that party she’d invited him to, he supposed. She wasn’t bad looking, and he was feeling his job lately.

  He didn’t say it aloud, but his face mirrored it. He and his task force had spent the morning looking over crime scene photos. He couldn’t get them out of his mind. No homicides were pleasant to look at, but those with children were particularly disturbing.

  “You’re very quiet,” Miss Turner remarked when Garon was pushing apple pie around on a saucer and sipping coffee.

  “It was a long day,” he said, without elaborating.

  But Grace recalled that he’d been working on a task force, and she knew what it was about. She glanced at his set features with sympathy.

  “You really don’t have to go with us tonight,” Grace began.

  He looked up. “I don’t mind.”

  “There will be a lot of people there,” she continued without looking at him. “There might be some gossip…”

  “I’m not worried about it,” he said nonchalantly. He checked his watch. “We need to get moving pretty soon.”

  Grace got up. “I’ll cover everything, and put the food in the refrigerator.”

  “I’ll help,” Miss Turner volunteered.

  GRACE HAD KNOWN it would be an ordeal, but it wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. Mrs. Collier was in a purple dress, her favorite church dress, and she looked very peaceful. Tears prickled at Grace’s eyes and she dabbed them with a handkerchief. It would be lonely without the old lady, even with her constant criticism.

  Grace’s cousin, Bob Collier, came in a wheelchair, pushed by Tina, his caregiver. Tina was Miss Turner’s age, dark haired and eyed, with a thick Spanish accent. She took good care of the elderly gentleman, and she was fond of Grace, as well.

  Tina hugged her warmly. “You come see your cousin sometimes, huh?” she invited. “He gets lonely.”

  “I will.” Grace bent and hugged Bob, who was dark-eyed with silver hair.

  He chuckled. “You get prettier every year, girl,” he teased. The smile faded. “I’m sorry about your grandmother. She and I didn’t get along, but she was still family.”

  “That’s what I always thought.”

  “Who’s the man in the gray suit?” he added, nodding toward Garon.

  “My next door neighbor,” she said. “He’s been very kind. So has his housekeeper, Miss Turner. She’s standing next to him.”

  “You’re lucky to have someone close to you,” he said. “Tina and I are miles off the road. It gets lonely.”

  “I’ll visit you more. I promise,” she said gently.

  He held her hand between both of his. “Had a hard life, haven’t you, girl? You’re due a little happiness. Maybe it’s standing over there in a gray suit, huh?”

  She laughed and flushed. “It’s not like that. He’s in law enforcement.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Grace, have you been doing something illegal?” he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

  She laughed again. “I wouldn’t know how.”

  Garon was watching her with the old man in the wheelchair. She had a caring nature, a nurturing personality that made him uncomfortable. He knew the old man was curious about his place in Grace’s life. He was sure she’d tell him the truth. He wasn’t interested in a relationship with his neighbor. He’d have to find a way to get that across, but not tonight. Grace needed a little support, to get her through this bad time.

  Cash Grier, Jacobsville’s police chief, walked into the funeral home and stopped to extend his sympathy to Grace. He noted his brother near the casket and joined him.

  “I thought you didn’t go to funerals,” he mused.

  Garon shrugged. “She was all alone. Miss Turner and I have been looking out for her.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Garon glared at him. “I’m not in the market for a frumpy girlfriend.”

  Cash’s smile faded and he gave his brother a hard glare. “That was uncalled for. Grace doesn’t have the sort of money she’d need to dress for every occasion.”

  Garon shifted his weight, his eyes going reluctantly to Grace’s trim figure in the slightly too large black dress she was wearing. It did nothing for her and looked as if it had come from a yard sale.

  “You’d think the old lady could have afforded one good dress for her,” Garon mutt
ered.

  Cash frowned. “You haven’t got a clue, have you?” he asked. “Mrs. Collier had several prescriptions that she was required to take. She and Grace had to choose between medicine and food, never mind dressy clothing. I’d lay odds that dress is one of the old lady’s. Until tonight, I’ve never even seen Grace Carver in a dress.”

  “You’re kidding,” Garon returned.

  “I’m not,” his brother said firmly. “Old people in this town sometimes do without groceries to pay drug bills. Health care is expensive. People living on social security don’t have a lot of options. Grace worked two part-time jobs to help pay for the old lady’s medicines. She may be poor, but she’s proud.”

  Garon averted his eyes. “Now that the old woman’s gone, maybe she can get a good paying job, or go back to school and finish her education.”

  Cash studied the other man quietly. “Not all women have a yen to start international corporations,” he pointed out.

  Garon had to admit that Cash was right. He couldn’t see Grace in a power suit throwing out orders to a cadre of underlings.

  “What’s eating you?” Cash persisted, because the man he was beginning to know wasn’t petty or critical.

  Garon’s mouth pulled down. “We’re investigating a homicide. A ten-year-old girl.”

  “Ah. That one.” Cash shifted his weight. “We’ve heard about the case, even down here. Brutal.”

  “Very. And it looks as if it might not be the only one,” he added with a quick glance. “That’s between you and me.”

  “Of course. Any leads?”

  Garon shook his head. “It’s early days.”

  “Some cases are harder than others to work,” his brother agreed.

  Garon was watching as Grace spoke to citizens who came by to offer their condolences. She was friendly, warm, welcoming, grateful. She was completely natural. He knew she must be cut up inside, but she wasn’t letting it show.

  “Do you know what happened to her mother?” Garon asked Cash.