Strangers in the Night

by Patricia H. Rushford

  “Not a lot to go on. Did you see a vehicle?”

  “No, just the pickup that’s out there now.”

  “Which would be mine.” Travis poured them each a cup of coffee. “I was riding my bike. I didn’t pass anyone on the road when I came in. The only other way out of here is through the woods, which means the shooter is on foot.”

  A car door slammed and Travis got up to look outside. “It’s Sheriff Moore.” Travis and Meyers went out to meet him. Abbie expected them to come inside, but the men stood in the open doorway while Travis told the sheriff about the shooting.

  “I’ll get right on it,” she heard the sheriff say. “It could be too late, but we might be able to catch him.” To Meyers and Travis he said, “Why don’t you two follow the trail into town and we’ll come in from the other side? I’ll set up a roadblock at the entrance to Cold Creek.”

  “That is, if he took the normal path,” Travis said. “He could have cut through the woods to one of the old logging roads.”

  “Then we’ll have to broaden our search.”

  “What about Abbie?” Travis said. “Someone needs to stay with her—at least until Jake gets here.”

  “I’ll have one of my deputies stay here and guard the house.”

  She heard the radioing for assistance just before the men came back inside.

  “At least this time the sheriff is taking me seriously,” Abbie mumbled as she tugged the blanket closer around her. She was finally warming up, but the reality of what had happened sank in with the force of a blizzard.

  “I’ll get my gear and meet you outside,” Meyers said.

  “You’ll need to stay here, Abbie. Make yourself at home.” Travis pulled on a pair of boots. “The detective and I are going to look around here and take the trail into town.”

  Abbie nodded. “I heard.”

  “Jake will be here any minute. Lock the doors and stay put.” Travis lifted a rifle from its mounting inside the entry closet and grabbed a handful of shells then stepped outside to where Meyers stood beside his unmarked car. The detective had taken off his suit jacket and now wore a navy-blue nylon windbreaker and boots, which he apparently kept in the trunk.

  As soon as the deputy pulled into the driveway, the men jogged down the road a short distance then headed into the woods. Abbie, feeling too warm now, tossed off the blanket and reached around the chair to unplug it. Beside the chair was a basket containing a number of books and magazines. She noted a couple of art magazines she might look at later. For now, however, Abbie checked the locks on the patio door, the door at the back of the kitchen, and the front door. Then she checked them again. Checking the locks brought the realization that the shooter could still be close by and waiting for another opportunity. Even with the deputy watching the house, the idea unnerved her.

  Abbie shook the thoughts aside. At least she’d be safe in the house. Satisfied that the house was locked up, she snagged her wet clothing from the hook behind the bathroom door and tossed everything in the washing machine in a closet in the hallway. Her leg hurt. It might have been just a flesh wound, but it had begun to throb incessantly. She opened the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and found a bottle of aspirin. She shook two into her hand and hobbled to the kitchen for water. Maybe she would see a doctor later.

  She had no idea how long the search for the shooter would take, but she had to keep busy lest she think too much about the surreal incident. Unfortunately, there were no dishes to do and nothing looked as if it needed cleaning. Travis kept his house relatively clean and picked up.

  She was about to resort to looking through the magazines when she heard a noise at the front door. Fear reinserted itself, and she instinctively spun around and ducked.

  Someone knocked. “Abbie?”

  The breath she’d been holding swooshed out. “Jake.”

  Abbie hurried to the door and flung it open. She reached for Jake and pulled him in before slamming the door behind him and locking it again.

  “What’s going on? Jeff told me you’d been shot.”

  Without answering, she threw her arms around his neck and held on. Jake’s closeness and the tender way he drew her to him loosened her resolve and the tears came. “I’ll tell you in a minute. Just hold me.”

  Jake was more than happy to comply. He’d come unglued when Travis told him Abbie had been shot. He told his clients he had an emergency and took off, leaving them in the office to find their own way out. When he reached the outskirts of Cold Creek, he was stopped by a roadblock. After checking his ID, the deputy let him through.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Shh.” He pressed his fingers to her lips then lifted her into his arms and carried her to the couch.

  “Thanks for coming.” She tipped her head back against the cushion and closed her eyes.

  Jake took in the red sweatshirt and shorts. “Why are you wearing Travis’s clothes?”

  She opened her eyes and reached for him again. “Mine were soaked. I dove into the water to keep from getting shot again.”

  He touched the bandage on her leg. “What were you doing out here?” The anger welling up inside spilled over into his voice. “With all that’s been going on, you should know better than to come out here alone.”

  “I came out to talk to Travis about the artists we’ve been talking to. I saw his pickup and thought he was here. I was walking to the house when I heard a bang and…” Abbie gripped his hand. “When I realized someone was shooting at me, I ran.” She told him about the gunman shooting at her from the deck.

  If she hadn’t been sitting there with the proof of her story on her injured leg, Jake might not have believed it. “Let’s hope they catch whoever is doing this. Maybe we need to concede. Sell Cold Creek to Perkins like he wants.”

  “I don’t think Perkins shot at me.” Abbie frowned as if trying to remember. “The gunman wasn’t that big.”

  “He could have hired someone.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” Abbie’s eyes met his, and he melted a little. “Now that I’ve come this far, I don’t want to give up my dream, but I could sell this place to Perkins and find another place. Nothing is worth endangering our lives.”

  Jake nodded. “I’ll talk to Perkins.” He sighed. “In the meantime, what say we raid Travis’s fridge and pantry? It’s after two and I haven’t eaten anything all day.”

  After eating a lunch of peanut butter sandwiches and milk, Abbie curled up on the sofa next to Jake and promptly fell asleep. She wanted to go back to Oceanside, but the detective had insisted she stay at Travis’s place until they returned.

  Detective Meyers and Travis returned at four, having given up the search. There had been no sign of the gunman and they figured that he’d gotten away, having possibly stashed a vehicle on one of the logging trails.

  Just prior to their return, Abbie had retrieved her clothes from the dryer and gotten dressed. The cotton outfit was wrinkled but dry. The skirt had a tear in it, which she’d closed with a piece of tape. She wanted to leave, but Travis asked her and Jake to stay. “Remember, Abbie, I told you Detective Meyers was here for something else? I called him this morning, and you need to hear what I have to say.”

  Meyers sat and took a couple of sips of the hot coffee Jake had made. He looked over at Travis, who had just lowered himself to another of the chairs in the grouping in front of the fireplace. “You said you might have some information on the bank robbery.”

  Travis leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Jeff, Jake, and I have been trying to make sense of Barbara’s murder. Someone put an article about the robbery in my kitchen drawer. I turned it over to Jeff.”

  “Right. I have it.”

  “The thing is, I can’t understand why someone would do that. The only thing that makes sense is that the person who killed her is connected in some way to the robbery and is trying to make it look like I killed her.”

  “I understand that.”

  Travis nodded. “Ju
st bear with me. Barbara had a connection with the property and had a buyer on the line. He lost out to Abbie and her folks. We thought that maybe Douglas Perkins was responsible for both Barbara’s death and the threats.

  “With that article showing up,” Travis went on, “we couldn’t help but wonder if Barbara had found something here in Cold Creek regarding the robbery.”

  “She was obsessed about that robbery,” Abbie ventured. “At least according to her journals.” When Meyers sent her a questioning look, she explained how she had talked with Barbara’s parents and gotten the material Barbara had been saving. “Travis and I took the boxes to Jeff, but not before reading the journals.”

  Meyers sighed. “I worked on the case. None of the tips she gave us ever panned out. Several years went by and we didn’t hear anything at all from her. Then a few weeks ago Barbara left a message saying she’d found the bank robber.

  “I tried to call her back, but never could reach her. Then, a couple of days later, she ends up dead. I’m thinking the guy recognized her and killed her before she could turn him in. Unfortunately, there’s nothing to indicate who she was talking about.”

  “I may have something.” Travis leaned back. “I may have found the bank robber and the missing money.”

  “What?” Meyers uncrossed his legs and leaned forward.

  “Keith Morgan has been working on the old Victorian here in town.” Travis hauled in a long breath. “I could be wrong, and I hope I am, but last night, I was driving back from Oceanside and saw a light on at the house and noticed someone poking around. It was Keith, and he was digging under the porch. When he saw my headlights, he threw the shovel. I parked and went over to ask what he was doing. He told me he’d dropped his cigarette lighter and had come back to retrieve it. I didn’t believe him, but I helped him look anyway. A few minutes later he lifted it up to show me he’d found it.

  “He headed back to the B&B and I went to my truck. I was going to go back to see what he was doing, but figured it could wait till morning. Then this morning I saw that he’d dug a good-sized hole under there. Now I could be wrong, but you have to admit the guy in the sketch does look a little like Keith, and he fits the description. He and Dawn have only lived in Cold Creek for about four years.”

  Meyers cleared his throat. “I hate to tell you this, Travis, but your suspicions aren’t enough to arrest the guy.”

  “I know, but this morning he was acting strange. Antsy. I noticed he had something in the back of his truck. It was covered and…” Travis shrugged. “I lifted the canvas to have a look and saw an old dirt-covered suitcase. I think he went back to dig it up.”

  “And you think it contains the money from the bank robbery.”

  “You have to admit it makes sense.”

  Abbie couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  “Frankly, I didn’t connect Keith or the trunk to the bank robbery until this morning. I called you as soon as I figured it out. When I said I may have found something, I meant it. I could be wrong and in fact, I hope I am, but I thought you’d want to have a look.”

  “And you’re right. Let’s just hope it’s still there.”

  They all headed for the B&B. Could Travis be right? Could Keith be the bank robber? She had thought he resembled the sketch of the man, but she’d thought the same about Travis. Another thought struck her. What if Travis had lied about the old suitcase? What if he had been the one to dig it up and then put it in Keith’s truck?

  If Travis was right, then Keith might have killed Barbara, fearing that she would expose him. He probably wanted Abbie out of the way as well for fear the remodeling efforts might unearth the money, or worse, the body of the woman who’d been taken hostage. Come to think of it, before Brent was hurt, he’d been working with Keith on the Victorian. Had Keith run Brent off the road to slow down the remodel and get him out of the way too?

  Keith seemed surprised when Detective Meyers asked him about the trunk. He narrowed his eyes at Travis. “You called the cops?”

  “Never mind that.” The detective nodded toward the satchel. “I’d appreciate it if you’d open it. Since you found it on Abbie’s property it belongs to her.”

  Keith shook his head. “Open it yourself.”

  Dawn came outside and demanded to know what was going on. “Oh for heaven’s sake, Keith. Whatever is in it belongs to Abbie.” She hoisted herself up onto the truck bed and flipped open the case. It was empty.

  Keith folded his arms, indignant at being accused. The question remained. Had Keith already taken the money out of it? Or had there been anything in it in the first place? How had he known the suitcase was under the porch?

  “I discovered it yesterday,” Keith told them when the detective asked him that question. “I was digging out a rotten beam under the porch and hit something hard. I guess I should have told you all about it right away, but I thought there might be something in it—like that old buried treasure we’ve heard so much about. I though I’d take it home and see if there was anything of value. I hadn’t had a chance to look inside. I don’t know anything about a bank robbery or missing money. I was just curious.”

  Abbie found it hard to believe that he hadn’t already opened it. Maybe he had done so and stashed whatever was in it somewhere else. One thing was certain, though: he had not been the one to shoot at her. When the detective questioned him about the shooting, he admitted to hearing gunshots. “I was helping Brent over at the hotel at the time.”

  Brent backed his story up, saying Keith had been with him when they heard the shots.

  When everyone had compared notes and gone their separate ways, Dawn took Abbie aside. “I can’t believe someone actually shot at you.”

  “Neither can I.”

  “You must be terrified.”

  “I was.”

  Dawn herded Abbie toward the B&B. “Come on in and I’ll make you some coffee.”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  Once inside, Dawn poured a cup and handed it to Abbie. “What’s worse is that whoever did it is still out there. What if he tries again?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I just want this craziness to stop. Travis just accused my husband of being a bank robber.” She waved her hand. “Okay, he shouldn’t have dug up the stupid satchel without telling anyone. But Keith is a good man.”

  Abbie smiled. “I’m sure he is.” But was he? He could have easily removed whatever had been in the trunk. Still, he had seemed genuinely surprised that it was empty. That thought led her back to Travis. Could he have taken the money and placed the empty satchel in Keith’s truck? But no, that didn’t work. Keith admitted to digging it up.

  “I’m just glad you’re okay,” Dawn said.

  After finishing off the coffee, Dawn excused herself, saying she had some gardening to do. Abbie followed her out and headed for her car. Her heart quickened. Though Travis and Meyers had reassured her, she couldn’t dispel the fear that the shooter was out there somewhere.

  She’d just reached her car when Jake came up behind her. He’d apparently been talking to the men. “Let me drive you back to Oceanside. You shouldn’t be driving with that leg wound.”

  Abbie thought for a moment. Her leg was painful but not bad enough that she couldn’t drive. “I’ll be all right. I managed to drive myself from the lake into town. Besides, you’ll need your car.”

  “That was different. We’re talking about a twenty-minute drive on the highway. I can have someone bring me back out here.” Worry filled his blue eyes as he reached for her keys. “I don’t feel comfortable with you driving by yourself.”

  “Thanks, Jake, but it makes more sense for me to drive. You can follow me all the way to the house if it makes you feel better.”

  He finally gave in and followed almost too close as they drove through Cold Creek and out onto the highway. She eyed the white caddy in her rearview mirror and waved at him through her open window then returned her concentration to the road and on getting to Oce
anside safely.

  Abbie used the driving time to pray and think. She felt heartsick at the thought of walking away from Cold Creek. The little town tucked into the mountain so near the coast seemed a perfect place for the artists’ colony. Yet what else was she to do? Continuing on with her plans was proving too dangerous. Threats were one thing, but gunshots were still another.

  Why would anyone go to these lengths to keep her from fixing up this deteriorating town? Obviously, someone didn’t want her there. Perkins wanted the place for himself, everyone knew that. Had the same person who shot at her killed Barbara? Was all of this connected to the bank robbery?

  Abbie tried to put herself in Barbara’s place for a moment. The woman had watched the gunman rob the bank where she worked. She had seen him escape with her friend. What a horrific thing to go through. Barbara’s journals had been painful to read. She’d talked with the police and thought she had spotted the culprit time and again. So often that the police had stopped taking her seriously.

  Apparently that hadn’t deterred Barbara. She saved everything pertaining to the case. At one point she’d written that she would never stop looking. Her writing reflected her obsession and determination. Then she’d moved to the coast. Abbie suspected that Barbara had continued the journals, but according to Jeff, they hadn’t found anything like that. Abbie doubted that Barbara would stop writing—especially since her reason for coming to the area had been to find the bank robber. Abbie felt certain any journal she’d kept since she moved had been stolen, and Jeff agreed. Had Barbara found the man who had kidnapped her friend? And where was this friend? She’d never surfaced, and police suspected that the bank robber had killed her. But had he?

  What if he hadn’t really kidnapped the woman? What if she knew the bank robber and was in on the heist? Abbie wondered if the authorities had considered this. Probably. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to talk with Jeff.

  She brushed aside the idea. “You’re not a detective, Abbie Campbell,” she muttered to herself. “Not even close.” She needed to stop trying to solve the puzzle and focus on keeping her family safe.