Best Laid Plans

by Abbie Zanders

  “Oh my God.”

  “Right? The woman has a gift. The only thing I can manage is a decent strawberry shortcake, but since that’s Brian’s favorite, he’s okay with it.”

  They finished their slices in silence, giving the cake the reverence it deserved, before Tori said, “So, tell me what you think about Kevin’s first week at Happy Trails. Do you think it’s going well?”

  “Honestly? I think it’s going too well.”

  Tori’s brows drew together, and Sandy hastened to explain, “Kevin is happy. I’m happy. It’s ... unnerving. Things typically don’t work out this well for me. In fact, I’m bracing myself right now, waiting for you to tell me things aren’t working out and we need to make other arrangements.”

  “Well, I’m not going to tell you that,” Tori said, looking relieved. “We’re very happy with how things are going too. Kevin is a joy to have around, and Danny adores him.”

  “See? That’s what I’m talking about,” Sandy said quietly, shaking her head.

  “Things have been that bad, huh?”

  Sandy nodded. “In a nutshell, yes.”

  “Want to talk about it? I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

  Sandy believed she was. Tori had a very real, down-to-earth air about her that put people at ease. On the other hand, she barely knew Tori and didn’t want to jeopardize a possible friendship by oversharing. Besides, she had yet to meet someone who understood her desire to move away, and since Tori seemed very happy with her life in the rural, mountain region, she probably wouldn’t either.

  “Thanks, but I’m good. Sometimes, life just has a way of throwing you some curveballs, you know?”

  Darkness clouded Tori’s eyes. “Oh, yes. That I know.”

  Sandy suddenly remembered the horrible things Tori had been through and felt awful. “That was incredibly insensitive of me. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Tori said, summoning a smile. “It’s over now, and as awful as it was, it brought me the two biggest joys in my life.”

  “Brian and Danny.”

  Tori nodded. “Yes. And to a lesser extent, this place. Owning my own hippotherapy center is a dream I never thought I’d realize, but here we are.” She tilted her head. “Do you have a dream, Sandy?”

  “I did,” Sandy admitted, “but I don’t think it’s meant to be.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Tori was looking at her so earnestly that Sandy could believe she actually cared about her answer.

  “You really want to know?”

  Tori nodded and poured them each another cup of coffee. Despite her resolve not to vent, Sandy found herself telling Tori an abbreviated version of her plans to move to the big city and how everything had changed when her father had dropped off Kevin, promising to return and then not coming back. Tori had known about Kevin’s unexpected arrival, of course, but not about the rest of it.

  When she finished, Sandy sipped her coffee and said, “This is the part where you tell me to suck it up and deal because life isn’t fair or that I should count my blessings and appreciate what I have instead of whining about what I don’t.”

  Tori’s lips quirked. “Is that what people usually tell you?”

  “To be honest, I don’t talk to many people about it,” Sandy admitted, thinking of the last time she’d tried to explain things to Lenny. “And really, it’s not all bad. Kevin and I are finding our way. This morning, he was actually humming a song I haven’t heard in years.”

  “A song from the seventies, by any chance?”

  “Yeah, how’d you know?”

  Tori laughed. “That’s Hugh’s influence. Danny knows all the words to the entire soundtrack of Saturday Night Fever.”

  “Hugh?”

  “Hugh Bradley. He helps out around here a few days a week. He’s always playing music from the seventies, everything from funk and soul to disco. I think you know him, don’t you?”

  Sandy tried to recall someone by that name and failed. “Hugh Bradley? No, I don’t think so. The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Hmm,” Tori hummed.

  “Why would you think I know him?”

  “Because he knows you. He told us you’ve been helping get paperwork pushed through for the Sanctuary and that you worked at Franco’s. That’s how Brian and I knew where to find you.”

  A telltale tingle started at the base of her spine. “What does he look like?”

  “About six-two, long and dark hair, smoldering eyes,” Tori said before lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Pretty easy to look at, if I’m being honest. But don’t tell Brian I said so.”

  That tingle intensified. “Tats? Diamond stud?”

  “So, you do know him.”

  “We’ve ... met.”

  Tori’s eyebrows raised. “Uh-huh.”

  Sandy squirmed under her scrutiny. “He came into the restaurant a few times with the rest of the guys from the Sanctuary, but they called him Heff, not Hugh, so I didn’t recognize the name.”

  Tori nodded as if that made sense to her. “All those SEAL boys have nicknames.”

  “Does Brian?”

  “He was a Ranger, not a SEAL,” Tori told her, her smile fading somewhat. “And he doesn’t like to talk much about it.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. My brother Trace was in the Army too. He didn’t like to talk about it either.”

  Sandy expected Tori to ask more about Trace, but she didn’t. She was glad. She’d already shared more than usual, and she didn’t want to press her luck. She looked up at the wall clock, eyes widening when she saw the time. Several hours had passed since they sat down at the table!

  “Is that the right time?”

  “Oh my, it is.” Tori stood up. “I can’t believe the boys let us sit and talk in peace for so long.”

  They both went over to the family room, where Danny and Kevin were on the floor. What used to be a pile of plastic pieces was now a fully functioning toy roller coaster.

  “Check it out!” Danny said excitedly, loading a series of round silver balls into a chute. “It works and everything!”

  “Wow, you guys did all this?”

  “Yeah! Kevin is awesome at building stuff. He doesn’t even need to look at the instructions.”

  Tori and Sandy watched as the balls released, following their progress through a series of loops and turns and drops.

  “That’s amazing!” Tori said.

  “We’re going to build an even bigger one next week. I need more pieces though. Mom, can I do extra chores to earn enough to buy some?”

  “I think we can work something out.”

  “You guys did a great job,” Sandy praised, “but Kevin and I have to be going.”

  “Aw, can’t you stay for just a little while longer?”

  “I’m sorry, Danny. I’ve got to work tonight.”

  “Can’t you go and let Kevin stay here?”

  “Danny!” Tori chastised. “You’re being rude.”

  The boy hung his head and mumbled, “Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Miss Sandy.”

  “Start cleaning up, please,” Tori instructed, stepping back out into the hall. “Kevin is welcome to stay,” she quietly told Sandy. “Please don’t think he’s not. I just don’t like the way Danny put you on the spot like that.”

  “I appreciate that. I really do,” Sandy replied, “and I might take you up on it eventually, but honestly, I’m not sure Kevin is ready for that. He’s still getting used to things.”

  “Perfectly understandable. The offer stands, whenever you’re ready.”

  “Thank you,” Sandy said sincerely. “For everything. I really enjoyed talking to you today.”

  “Me too. Maybe we can make this a regular Friday thing.”

  “I’d like that.”

  And the really amazing part was, she really did.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Heff

  Heff’s jaw clenched as he watched the shadowy figure move across the screen of Cag
e’s laptop. At one point, the vandal turned and briefly faced the camera, but the dark, oversize hood he was wearing kept the face shielded.

  Cage sat back and raked his hand over his face in frustration. “The resolution at night is shit. Might as well not have anything.”

  “We might not have a full-frontal mug shot, but we do have something,” Heff countered.

  “Yeah? What?”

  “Play it again, slo-mo this time.”

  Cage stabbed a key, and Heff began pointing out things. “First off, we know that we’re dealing with someone tall, lean, and athletic. Probably male, mid- to late-twenties based on the way he carries himself. Well-off too.”

  Cage gaped at him. “How the hell can you get that specific based on that? We are looking at the same thing, aren’t we?”

  Heff shrugged. “Look at the way he moves. Body confident, like a jock or someone who’s had some rudimentary training, but at the same time tentative, as if he’s not sure what he’s doing.”

  “Okay, I can see that,” Cage agreed. “But how do you know he’s well off?”

  “The shoes, man. They’re expensive trail runners—two hundred bucks a pop, easy.”

  Cage paused the video and zoomed in on the feet. “Fuck.”

  Heff smirked. As a sniper, it was his job to notice the little things. Even the slightest movement could broadcast someone’s intent. Being able to analyze a target and predict what they were going to do next could mean the difference between a clean op and a shitshow all around.

  “He’s not the brightest bulb in the box though. See how he keeps pausing and looking toward the woods? Someone’s telling him what to do.”

  “Fucking A, you’re right. So, what are you thinking? Are we dealing with an adrenaline junkie who gets off by pretending he’s on some kind of sabotage mission? Maybe some wannabe with a beef against the military?”

  Heff shook his head. “I don’t know, man. Could be personal.”

  “Personal, as in a bunch of locals who don’t like being shown up?”

  “Maybe,” Heff said. “It might just be a general statement.”

  “Church will want to see this when he gets back. Maybe he’ll have some insight since this is his home turf.”

  “Maybe,” Heff said again, but he had his doubts.

  Church might be a local, but he didn’t act like one of them. He kept his distance, and other than occasional acknowledgments here and there, he didn’t seem to have close ties to anyone. Whether that was his doing or theirs was unclear.

  Heff sat back and stretched some of the kinks out of his back and shoulders. Doing double duty at the Sanctuary and at Happy Trails was taking a toll. On the plus side, the physical labor was keeping him in good shape and provided a much-needed outlet.

  “In the meantime, maybe we should think about installing some motion-sensor floodlights around the active work areas,” he suggested.

  “They’ll be going off all the time with the wildlife around here,” Cage grumbled. “Just this week, I saw a bear, two coyotes, and about a hundred deer outside my trailer, give or take. But it might be worth it—at least until we figure out who’s behind all this shit and what their beef is.”

  Heff left Cage and went into the dining room area in search of Smoke. That was where he was most days because that was where Sam was. Church had put her in charge of the kitchen and dining room renovation after learning she’d been managing a place in town for a couple of years.

  Heff had been a little concerned about how she’d handle living and working with a bunch of former SEALs, but she was fitting in just fine. She and Smoke were the real deal, and it was kind of nice, having her around. She worked just as hard as everyone else, and bonus, she made excellent coffee and outstanding muffins.

  He found her standing in the middle of the torn-up floor, staring out at what would eventually be floor-to-ceiling glass panels with a great view.

  “Hey, Sam. Smoke around?”

  “He’s up on the roof. I swear, that man isn’t even fazed by the fact that he almost died this morning.” She rolled her eyes and huffed, but he could see the morning’s events had shaken her. Smoke was just doing what he had, what they had all, been trained to do—to keep moving forward—but she was still learning that.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I am. I just don’t understand. Is this place cursed, or does someone have it in for you guys?”

  His respect for her went up another notch. “That’s the question.”

  She shook her head. “Did you find anything on the video?”

  “Nothing conclusive.”

  She frowned. After a brief internal debate, he decided to share what he and Cage had seen. Sam was a townie, but there was no love lost between her and the locals in power. And unlike Church, she didn’t have a problem saying so.

  After he finished relaying what they’d found, she nodded thoughtfully. Her brows pulled together. “That’s good, but I’m afraid that doesn’t really narrow down the list of possible suspects. There are lots of athletic types around, and everyone and their mother wears trail boots, although the politically correct local term is shitkickers.”

  Heff’s lips quirked. He really did like Sam and her down-to-earth vibe. She reminded him of another local who seemed to have a similarly honest but guarded personality. For a brief, crazy moment, he wondered if Sandy would fit in around the place as well as Sam had, and then he realized just how insane that was. Sam had a reason to be here, and Sandy ... didn’t.

  “I’m familiar with the term, but these aren’t your standard hikers. We’re talking big bucks.”

  “We’re also talking about people running around with thousand-dollar-plus phones sticking out of their back pockets.”

  “True enough.” Heff exhaled and shook his head. “I couldn’t afford stuff like that when I was that age.”

  Her lips quirked. “You’re not exactly over the hill, but I know what you mean. Sometimes, I feel a lot older than I actually am.” She sighed. “But I was never into brand madness either.” She lifted up her foot and waved it in a small circle, showcasing her sensible footwear. “Personally, I can think of better things to spend my money on. But there are those who like to think that wearing expensive brands makes them superior somehow. If these shoes are as expensive as you say, it could narrow the scope to the upper crust.”

  “Sumneyville has an upper crust, does it?”

  “Absolutely.” She nodded emphatically in mock seriousness, but her eyes were twinkling with amusement. “At least, in their minds. Local politicians and successful business owners, most of whose families have been living here for generations. In fact, anyone who can’t claim their grandparents lived here are considered outsiders.”

  “So, we’re outsiders?”

  She grinned. “Not even. You haven’t been here long enough. Anything under twenty years is considered transient.”

  He chuckled and then exhaled. “Now that we can prove vandalism was involved, maybe the police will at least take it seriously.”

  “I doubt it,” Sam said, her amusement fading. “Don’t expect any help from Chief Freed. He might come off as a bumpkin, but he’s a lot sharper than people give him credit for. If it is someone local behind the things happening around here, he probably already knows about it. They protect their own.”

  “Isn’t Church one of their own?”

  “Yes,” she said, drawing the word out slowly. “In fact, he could be the poster child for the Sumneyville elite. His family was probably the wealthiest in the county, and as some of the original settlers, the Winston name had tremendous clout.”

  “You said had.”

  Sam chewed her lip, shifting her weight. “I don’t mean to make it sound like it doesn’t mean anything anymore because it does. A lot of people remember Matt’s family. His father and his grandfather before him were pillars of the community.”

  “But ...” Heff prompted, sensing there was more she wasn’t saying.

  “But
... they’re gone now, and it left cracks in the local foundation, if you know what I mean. Those cracks were filled by others, but a patch job is never quite as good as the original, and they know it. Now, Matt’s back, and even though he’s not the type to throw his weight around and take advantage of his family name, some of those crack-fillers are bound to feel threatened by that.”

  “And Freed is one of them.”

  Sam nodded. “He and his brother-in-law, the fire chief, are not big fans of Matt’s. The whole thing with me and my stalker didn’t help. They didn’t take it seriously, and the only reason I’m even here right now is because of you guys. That made them look bad, and they don’t like when that happens.” She paused, wrapping her arms around herself, her expression darkening at the memory before clearing again. “Anyway, you’d be hard-pressed to get any help from the police—unless you know someone on the inside.”

  An image of golden-brown hair and melted chocolate eyes flashed in his mind. Sandy worked in the township office, openly supported the Sanctuary project, and shared a duplex with one of the local cops. She might have access to inside information. The question was, would she be willing to share it?

  “Thanks, Sam.”

  “You’re welcome, though I’m not sure I helped at all.”

  “You did.”

  Smoke reappeared at the back of the kitchen, presumably from the staircase that had once led to the servants’ quarters when the place was originally built centuries earlier. “Church texted. He’s on his way back with Doc, and he wants to see everyone in the war room.”

  The war room was a large ballroom where wedding receptions and other events had once taken place. It was in a section of the resort that had remained mostly intact. Large, intricate chandeliers still hung from the ceiling, their beauty tarnished by time and neglect. Once-elegant wallpaper was now faded, peeling away in sections.

  Someday, they’d restore it, but for the time being, it was a working shop. A dizzying assortment of power tools, hand-held to refrigerator-sized, took up a good part of the space as well as industrial-sized buckets of spackle and primer and other renovation necessities.