Saved by the Sheriff

by Cindi Myers

  They waited until her mother had shut the door behind her before either of them said anything. “I talked to—” she began.

  “How are you—” he said.

  “You first,” he said, and motioned for her to continue.

  “I talked to Brenda today,” Lacy said. “She was pretty groggy, but awake. She thinks the doctors will let her go home tomorrow or the next day.”

  “That’s great news.”

  “I got some more good news,” she said. “The state is paying me a settlement. Apparently they have to, according to state law.”

  “I guess I had heard something about that,” he said. “I’m glad. You can use the money to make a fresh start.”

  “I’m still trying to decide what to do with the money, but it does feel good to know it’s there.”

  “I spoke to a friend of yours this morning,” he said, a teasing glint in his eye.

  “Oh? Who was that?”

  “Alvin Exeter. We had an appointment, remember?”

  “And what did he have to say?”

  “I told him I knew he wasn’t writing a piece on rural law enforcement and that I wouldn’t talk to him about anything else. He said I must have spoken to you, but that refusing to do an interview with him wouldn’t stop the book. He told me if I cooperated and spoke to him, he would be sure to present my side of the story. Otherwise I could come off looking like a stupid hick cop who took the easy way out on a case and got it wrong.”

  “He threatened you!” she said. “What a miserable worm. If I see him again—”

  Travis’s hand on her arm silenced her. “He isn’t that wrong, you know,” he said. “I did take the easy way out and I did get it wrong.”

  “You were inexperienced.” She said the words without thinking. But she realized they were true. She had been twenty when she was sentenced for murder, but Travis had only been twenty-three. And he had never handled a murder case before.

  “I should have done a better job,” he said. “I will this time.”

  Lacy believed him, and she vowed to do what she could to help him. After all, she would only be helping herself. “I’ve been thinking about what happened,” she said. “I have to wonder if whoever ran us off the road did so because he didn’t want us to examine those files. It wouldn’t be that difficult to figure out what we were doing out at Andy’s storage unit. If he was watching us, he would have seen us put the files in Brenda’s car.”

  Travis nodded. “I’ve thought of that, too.”

  “Where are the files now?” she asked.

  “They’re in my SUV.” He nodded toward the vehicle parked at the curb. “I’m not trying to rush you, but when you’re ready, I’d like to go through them.”

  “I’m ready now.” She stood, fighting not to show how much it hurt.

  “You just came home from the hospital,” he protested.

  “And I’m going nuts, sitting here doing nothing. Trust me, this is just what I need to distract me.”

  Chapter Seven

  Lacy waited on the porch while Travis retrieved both boxes from the car and she held the door while he carried them inside. “Go through that archway on the right,” she said. “We can use the dining table.”

  She flicked the light switch as she followed him into the room, illuminating the chandelier that cast a golden glow over the cherry dining set for eight that the family only used for holidays and formal occasions. Travis set the boxes on the table. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and went out again.

  He returned moments later, carrying a video camera on a tripod. “This is probably overkill,” he said as he positioned the camera. “But I didn’t want to take any chances.”

  Camera in place and running, he broke the seal on the first box and removed the lid. The first file he opened on the table between them was the contract Henry Hake had signed, as president and CEO of Hake Development, with Andrew Stenson as his legal representative in the matter of Eagle Mountain Resort, a high-altitude luxury resort development.

  “I remember the day Andy signed that contract,” Lacy said. “He took me and Brenda to lunch and insisted on ordering champagne. We teased him that he was going to get a reputation as a lush, drinking at noon.”

  “It was a big contract for a fairly new lawyer,” Travis said.

  “The biggest. And totally out of the blue. We couldn’t believe our luck when Mr. Hake contacted us. He said he wanted someone fresh, with new ideas, and that he believed in supporting local talent.”

  “Still, this development looks like a big deal,” Travis said. “I’m surprised he didn’t want someone who was more experienced in real estate law.” He removed a folded paper from an envelope labeled Plat and spread it across the table. “Tell me about this,” he said.

  Lacy leaned over his shoulder, the soap and starch scent of him sending a tingle through her midsection. She forced herself to focus on the plat of the development, instead of on the way his shoulders stretched tight the crisp cotton of his uniform shirt, or the way his dark hair curled up at the collar, exposing a scant half inch of skin...

  “These were all old mining claims, right?” Travis prompted.

  “Right. Mining claims.” She swallowed and shifted her gaze to the blue lines on the creamy paper. “Hake Development was able to buy up approximately fifty mining claims, all above nine thousand feet, an area that has traditionally been deemed unsuitable for development.”

  “Why is that?” Travis asked.

  “Mostly because there’s so much snow up there in the winter it makes it difficult to maintain roads,” Lacy said. “Plus, there’s a higher avalanche danger. Up at the higher elevations, above treeline, the ground is tundra, frozen year-round. That makes it unstable to build on. Hake had engineers who had devised plans for getting around those limitations—foundations anchored on rock deep in the ground, regular avalanche mitigation, roads on traditional mining trails, water piped up from far below in an elaborate network of aqueducts.”

  Travis whistled. “Sounds expensive.”

  “Oh, it was. But Hake swore he knew plenty of people who would pay a premium price to live with the kind of views and privacy you get at those elevations.”

  “Not everyone was thrilled about his plans, I’m sure.”

  “Oh, no. The Ute Indian tribe objected because some of that terrain overlaps areas they deem sacred. And the environmentalists were in an uproar over the potential damage to fragile tundra. They succeeded in getting an injunction to stop the development until environmental studies could be done.”

  “And were the studies done?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But we could probably find out.” The idea excited her. She had missed this—working on something constructive, researching and finding out things, instead of simply sitting back and letting each day stretch forward with no goal or purpose.

  “You find out what you can about the injunction and any studies,” Travis said. “Meanwhile, I’ll talk to Henry Hake, and ask him to update us on the project.”

  “My mom said they haven’t built anything up there,” Lacy said. “Maybe he couldn’t beat the injunction. Or he decided the project was too expensive to pursue. He supposedly had a lot of investors who wanted to put money into the resort, but maybe the injunction caused them to change their minds.”

  “I’ll find out.” He pulled another stack of files from the box and handed her half. “Let’s see if anything stands out in these.”

  As Lacy read through the contents, it was as if she was sitting back in the little office on Fourth Street, twenty years old and ready to take on the world, excited to have found interesting work right here in Eagle Mountain, the place she loved best in the world. From the window by her desk she could look up and see Dakota Ridge, and the road leading out of town, Mount Rayford peeking up over the ridge, snowcapped year-roun
d.

  As she flipped through the files, she remembered typing memos and motions, and discussing the work with Andy over sandwiches at their desks. Sometimes Brenda would stop by to say hello and share a story about her work at the history museum. Though the world hadn’t been perfect back then, it had sure seemed so at times.

  “Find anything interesting?” Travis asked after they had been reading silently for almost an hour.

  “Not really,” she said. “Most of it is just routine stuff—surveyor’s reports and court motions, tax paperwork—nothing out of the ordinary. How about you?”

  “I found this.” He pushed a piece of paper across to her. “Any idea what it means?”

  The note was written on the blank side of a “While You Were Out” message slip. Ask Hake about notes.

  Lacy made a face. “This is Andy’s handwriting, but I don’t know what notes he’s referring to.”

  Travis set the paper aside and they searched through the rest of the first box. Lacy could tell when her pain medication wore off, as her head began to throb, her vision blurring from the pain. She put a hand to her temple, grimacing. “We should stop now,” Travis said. “We can do the other box later.”

  “I guess you’re right.” Fatigue dragged at her—she could have put her head down and gone to sleep right there beside him.

  “I appreciate your help,” Travis said. “But don’t overdo it.”

  She nodded. “What will you do now?” she asked.

  Travis picked up the slip of paper he had set aside earlier. “I think I’ll start by asking Hake about this.”

  * * *

  GETTING AN INTERVIEW with Henry Hake proved to be more difficult than Travis had expected. When he had telephoned the number for Hake Development yesterday, a brisk-sounding woman informed him that Mr. Hake was out of town. “I can ask him to call you when he returns,” she said. “But it may be some time before you hear from him.”

  “This is a police matter. I need to hear from him sooner, rather than later.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ll certainly let him know.”

  “So you’re sure you don’t know when he’ll be back in town.”

  The silence on the other end of the line went on so long Travis wondered if they had lost their connection. “Are you still there?” he asked.

  “Mr. Hake may be back tomorrow—but you didn’t hear that from me.”

  “What’s the status of the Eagle Mountain Resort development?” Travis asked.

  “I don’t have any information on that to give you,” she said.

  “Is that because you don’t know or because the official policy is to keep silent?” he asked.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “No, thank you.” He ended the call, then called Adelaide. “I need you to track down Henry Hake’s personal number and address.”

  “Will do, Sheriff.”

  Travis turned to his computer and found a report from the county’s arson investigator in his inbox. He settled back to read, finding no surprises. The truck was a standard model, probably from the last two or three years, judging by what little remained of the frame and engine. No VIN, no plates. The only nonstandard feature was the brush guard, which had been welded of heavy pipe and wasn’t the sort of thing that could be ordered from a catalog. Travis called Adelaide again. “Who’s on shift right now?” he asked.

  “Dwight just came on. He’s probably still in the parking lot, if you need him for something.”

  “See if you can grab him and tell him I want to talk to him for a minute.”

  A few minutes later, Dwight entered Travis’s office. “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

  “I need you to check with any metal fabricators or welders around here, see if any of them made a brush guard like this for a guy with a black Chevy pickup.” He slid a note across the desk with the description and dimensions of the brush guard.

  “Sure.” Dwight pocketed the note. “This have anything to do with the guy that ran Lacy Milligan and Brenda Stenson off Fireline Road?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’m hoping we’ll get lucky and turn up a lead, but it’s a long shot.”

  Dwight hesitated in the doorway. “Is there something else?” Travis asked.

  “I was just wondering how Mrs. Stenson is doing?” Dwight said. “I heard she was hurt pretty bad in the accident.”

  “She’s doing much better,” Travis said. “She should get to come home in a few days.”

  Dwight nodded, his expression solemn. “I’m glad to hear it. She and I were in school together. She was always a real sweet girl.”

  Dwight left and Travis sat back in his chair, staring at the computer, wondering what he should do next. He was tempted to call Lacy and brainstorm with her about the case—or better yet, go by and see her. He discarded the idea immediately. Though she had seemed to enjoy the time they had spent together, he wasn’t going to delude himself into thinking she was helping him out of anything other than self-interest. Maybe once upon a time the two of them could have hit it off and been a couple. But too much had come between them now.

  “Why are you sitting there with that moony look on your face?”

  Travis looked up to find his brother standing in the doorway of his office. He sat up straight and assumed his best all-business expression. “I just sent Dwight out to try to track down the welder who made the brush guard on that burned-out truck,” he said. “And I’ve got a call in to Henry Hake, trying to find out about a note we found in Andy Stenson’s files.”

  “I thought Hake was out of town,” Gage said.

  “When I pressed his assistant, she admitted that he’s supposed to return today.”

  “So you’ve been busy.” Gage crossed to the visitor’s chair across from the desk and sat. “When this is all over—when we’ve closed the case—are you going to ask her out?”

  “Ask who out?” Travis stared at his computer screen, the words of the arson investigator’s report blurring together.

  “Lacy. And don’t lie to me and say you aren’t gone over her. You acted this same way about Didi Samuelson. I recognize the signs.”

  “Didi Samuelson was in eighth grade,” Travis protested.

  “Which only proves that love reduces all of us to immature shadows of ourselves,” Gage said.

  “And you know this because you’ve been in love so much.”

  Gage stretched his arms over his head. “I know this because I’ve studied how to successfully avoid falling victim to the dreaded love disease,” he said. “And stop trying to change the subject. We’re talking about you here, not me.”

  “I am not in love with Lacy Milligan.” Travis kept his voice down, hoping Adelaide wasn’t listening in, but doubting he would be so lucky. The woman had ears like a cat’s. “I hardly know her.”

  “Right. So you only tied yourself in knots and practically killed yourself clearing her name because you wanted to do the right thing.”

  “Yes. Of course. I would have done that for anyone.”

  Gage laughed. “Pardon me if I have a hard time believing you would have gotten quite so worked up about some ugly guy with tattoos and a rap sheet as long as my arm.”

  “I made a mistake arresting her and I had to make up for it.”

  Gage leaned forward, his expression no longer mocking. “You did your job,” he said. “You arrested her because the evidence pointed to her as the perpetrator of the crime.”

  “It was a sloppy investigation. The follow-up proved that. The money missing from the business account was a bookkeeping error. The money in Lacy’s account really was from selling her grandmother’s ring. She really wasn’t in town at the time Andy was killed. If I had done my job and taken a closer look at the evidence, I would have found that out.”

 
“You know what they say—hindsight is twenty-twenty. You could have looked at that evidence ten times back then and you might not have seen anything different.”

  “But I might have,” Travis said. That knowledge would haunt him for the rest of his life. It had changed the way he looked at every case now.

  “I know one thing,” Gage said. “This whole situation has made you a better cop. And it’s made all of us who work under you better cops.”

  “Yeah, it taught you not to make the mistakes I did,” Travis said.

  Gage sat back again. “And it taught us to man up and admit it when we do make a mistake, and to do what we can to right the wrong.”

  “Glad I could be such a shining example,” Travis said sourly.

  Gage stood and hitched up his utility belt. “Lacy is still speaking to you, in spite of everything,” he said. “That has to be a good sign.”

  “She’s a good person.”

  “And so are you. Don’t sell yourself short. I’m not saying you have to rush things, but don’t give up before you start.” He pointed a finger at Travis. “You taught me that, too.”

  He left the office. Travis stared after him, an unsettled feeling in his chest he wasn’t sure he wanted to examine too closely. It could be his brother had stirred up something inside him—something like hope.

  * * *

  BRENDA CAME HOME from the hospital the next day, and the day after that Lacy delivered a box of fancy chocolates and a chicken casserole to her friend’s door. “The casserole is from my mom, but the chocolates are from me,” Lacy said as she carried her gifts into Brenda’s house. It was the same house she and Andy had purchased shortly after moving to Eagle Mountain—a former forest ranger’s residence originally built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s, constructed of native stone and cedar, with hand-carved shutters and door lintels. They had updated the house with new windows and roof and a new heating system, part of the improvements paid for with money from Henry Hake’s retainer.

  “Thank you for both,” Brenda said, gingerly lowering herself to the sofa.