Priced to Kill

by Margaret Evans

  The phone calls he made the day before yesterday were very disappointing, and more so because they were meant to be the prelude to a lunch meeting which never happened. He had called two of his friends in the county, and neither had heard anything about state budget cuts or county or town budget adjustments or anything local going on anywhere. They knew absolutely nothing about the recent staff reductions in Raging Ford.

  The ignorance in itself might have been innocent and truthful, perhaps, had it not been for the fact that both of these gentlemen were suddenly busy and couldn’t make lunch. They always made time for lunch with Will, enjoyed their constituents’ stares at Will’s long braid in the middle of a nice restaurant. But both of them were too busy? His brother’s rat was showing its long, skinny tail.

  Time to get back to the brothers on this one.

  As the day was turning into an early, dark evening with clouds covering any hint of a sunset, in a far corner of the grocery store parking lot where last minute shoppers had run to get things missing for their weekend parties, bags of ice, chips, beer, and soda, a woman pulled into a parking space next to her friend’s car in the shadows of evergreens. She parked and climbed into his where they’d have more privacy than just talking through open windows. He’d been waiting for this news.

  “I knew there’d be a second store. Now, where is it?”

  His girl friend directed him through the town to what surely must be the right thrift shop where they would most certainly find the quilt they sought. At any rate, she hoped so. It just couldn’t be possible that there’d be more such stores in a town of this size, but you never knew, and she kept her fingers crossed that she’d found the right one at last. At the direction her luck seemed to have taken, there could be five or six thrift shops in Raging Ford. But she kept her thoughts to herself at this point.

  Some minutes later when the man slowed his car and saw the Closed sign on the door of Second Treasures, he took a deep breath, let it out, and continued to drive past the shop and down the street. He was angry, but it was important not to appear so where folks in the small town who were still scurrying about before the snowfall would see a car they didn’t know, being driven by someone they likewise didn’t know, and note that the unknown individual looked angry. That’s something someone would remember. And with the way things were going, they’d also be able to provide a good description of him: pale blue eyes, short-cropped dark hair, long nose, and from there to the clothes he was wearing. So he gave his companion a smile as they drove back to the grocery store parking lot.

  Inside he was seething. How could a shop with posted hours be closed during those hours? What’s wrong with the owner? Don’t they want to sell anything? He was losing time to close out this whole thing. This was unbelievable. Did everyone have it in for him? His wife had had it in for him from the beginning, right after the wedding. He recalled their honeymoon where they’d missed their flight to Baltimore because she’d left the cruise tickets in her desk at home. They’d had no end of trouble rescheduling everything to make the ship on time, not to mention the extra fees he had to pay to change the connecting flights. He could rattle off a host of things he was certain she had done deliberately to irritate him during the seven long and irksome years of their marriage.

  The steam of his anger permeated the air they breathed, sinking into the cracks and crevices of the car. The woman felt it in her hair and the pores in her skin, had seen this before, and quickly sought to dissipate it.

  “Don’t worry. I have a job here. I can keep an eye on the shop and even go inside and buy something. I’ll text you when I see they’re open.” She lightly touched his arm. “Don’t worry. I’m sure this is the right place.”

  The atmosphere in the car began to change; he was cooling off.

  “It better be. Just remember not to be too obvious. Don’t go near the quilts. Just look around and see if there are quilts. Look interested in something else entirely. I can go in later and buy something myself and I’ll know if the right quilt is there. Then we’ll figure out the next thing to do.”

  Monday morning arrived with no sun; even so, it was bright outside. Heavy snow clouds looked ready to drop their load of white starry crystals onto Minnesota once again. Connor Fitzpatrick loved the smell of snow on the way—nothing beat it. And the stillness surrounded you as if giving you a chance to take some time to get ready and hunker down.

  He looked at the clouds through his office window and hoped Laura was feeling better. Harry and Beth would take care of her in case she needed help, he knew, but he wished he could be the one to do that for her, as he had wanted to do when her parents were murdered. As with this time, others had taken on the task, but he hoped that there might come a day when he would be the one.

  Four days had passed since the call from Chief Mallory, and a decision had finally been reached. It would be one of his better trained staff that would go to Mapleton, and not either of the two rookies. It was a hard decision, but rookies were in a special class and needed to feel how the process worked to become part of a team. If they were bandied about, they might never meld into a unit or it might take a longer time resulting in lack of cohesiveness for an entire team.

  One of his regulars, as with Sven last year, knew that already and could adjust. But that left him with one fewer experienced officer at a time when Brianna would be more office-bound than field available in a few weeks; she could continue occasional routine patrols, but that was all. The union would not have allowed him to shift Brianna to another town because it would have shown discrimination against a protected class. Besides, he depended on her a lot.

  He would speak to his officer prior to the meeting, say how much he was valued and how hard the decision was, and that he would do everything in his power to get him back. He would tell his officer the situation couldn’t last forever; the people of the town wouldn’t stand for it. Secretly, he planned to talk with his father and get advice on what he should do to get all of his staffing back. It was a painful thought, but he might have to compromise a principle or two and get involved in the politics of the situation if his boss couldn’t help. A sergeant didn’t have much pull, but perhaps that sergeant’s father had something he could use for leverage.

  A beep sounded and a window popped up on his computer screen reminding him of the staff meeting in fifteen minutes. He took a deep breath, stood and opened the blinds on the windows to his office and put on his leadership mask. He called in Corporal Mauricio Sanchez.

  With his brothers having little luck with their contacts at county and state levels, Charlie Kovacs was beginning to doubt whether he’d have any better luck with his source. Ignoring his doctor’s wishes, Charlie was enjoying the best black angus steak dinner he’d had in years in downtown Minneapolis. He would have to figure out a way to get them to open another one, even a smaller, watered-down version of this restaurant, near Raging Ford. He didn’t care how many favors he’d have to do. It just had to happen.

  It turned out that Charlie’s “I know a guy” had long, silky black hair that flowed to her waist. Tonight she was dressed like a lawyer or businesswoman with that hair all pinned up in complex folds and waves that had likely cost her a small fortune. And if one looked a little more closely, they might see a few silver streaks among the black which she allowed to stay, and they might also see a few fine lines starting to creep under her eyes. With her long legs crossed and hidden under the table drape, Charlie could see what an eye-catcher she still was. He had known her for over twenty years but had only actually met and spoken with her three times. This was the fourth, and he hoped it would be the last.

  The fine gold chain around her neck bore a tiny cross which lay carefully centered in the vee of the top two undone buttons of her silk white blouse. She sipped her glass of wine and peeked over the edge of the rim at Charlie, mirth in her dark eyes.

  “The answer is no, I will not marry you, Charlie.
”

  Her voice was predictably soft and caressing.

  Charlie chuckled.

  “I never asked you to marry me. Remember, you were the one who asked me.”

  “I was only twenty years old at the time, as I recall. What a mistake that was for you to walk away. You should have taken advantage of a young woman who didn’t know her mind yet.”

  “But I did know your mind. I knew where you were headed. That’s why I ran.”

  She heaved a deep, satisfying sigh, which ended in a Mona Lisa smile.

  What is it you really want to ask me, then?”

  “I have only one question for you, and it’s a question about ripples in a pond. I noticed some ripples. I have a question about the stone that was thrown that caused those ripples.”

  She looked intrigued.

  When he asked his question, she nodded in response, and gave him her answer.

  Next he made a simple statement about the ratio of officers to civilians in Raging Ford.

  “It will be fixed,” she said quietly.

  They finished their meal in silence.

  “You should know,” he said, some time later as he paid for their meal and rose to leave, walking around the table to hold her chair, “that there are a number of others who have also seen the ripples.”

  twenty-two

  twenty-three

  Sanchez had taken the news very well, but they were all trained to hide their feelings. Sanchez spent his rookie and next two years in Raging Ford reporting to Sergeant Connor Fitzpatrick, well mentored and supported. Philadelphia and Dallas were Sanchez’s chosen “walk-a-mile” cities during his rookie year. It still amazed him how helpful that experience had been to see how others dealt with problems so similar to small town problems, just on a bigger scale.

  Sanchez had distinguished his career by coming back from the “walk-a-mile” and talking to academy officers nearing graduation, just to make sure they also took advantage of the program. The time spent in those towns gave him a perspective on peaceful and non-peaceful situations and a broader range of wisdom than he would ever get by working in just one small town. And he knew he’d be missed and hoped this trend would soon reverse itself.

  Fitzpatrick watched Sanchez leave his office, trusting he had picked the most resilient of the peace officers in his command and knowing the man would only bring honor to his future career and the team of which he was about to become a part. But it was so hard. Connor had planned this man’s career out in his head months ago after promoting him to corporal, and now he would need to hand it all over to someone else. He hoped that person would recognize the value of the newest man on their team.

  Connor stood at the door, knowing his staff understood he didn’t call meetings for everyone lightly, and greeted each one as they entered. Sanchez hadn’t said a thing to his fellow officers, realizing the integrity of a tight unit such as the Raging Ford team would need to remain tight and could only do so if they trusted and supported each other during times of most stress.

  The team stood quietly, grouped around their leader’s office and awaited the news, whatever it was. Connor gave it well, but it hurt his heart.

  About an hour later, Laura perused the Valencia Café menu. Even after a full day’s rest on Sunday, she didn’t feel one hundred percent. The man who sat across from her was the biggest boost she’d had in ages. Today he seemed focused on her and their meal.

  It was good to spend a little time with Connor. And so very convenient to have a quick lunch across the street where she could keep an eye on her shop, too, now that she was feeling better. She’d keep lunch to bland things, as Dr. Anderson told her. She decided not to mention the quilts. Or the cat. Or her dad’s gun. Or the attempted robbery. Or anything else falling into the controversial category.

  This was supposed to be their time for catching up on lost years, sparse and infrequent as these chances were turning out to be. Connor was always cancelling, pulled by the eternal job of a peace officer. She stared at him while he checked his phone and thought about this. She wondered what it had been like for him during the eleven years she had been in Maryland.

  Connor put his phone in his pocket, decided on his luncheon choice without looking at the menu, and glanced over at Laura, her eyes now turned downward in what he knew was a complicated and logical decision-making exercise. Today, he was determined to press her about the years in Maryland. He desperately needed the distraction, and this was a rare opportunity for him to find out what went on after her parents’ deaths. She’d said very little about her life away from Raging Ford. She also looked better than Harry had described the other day, no dark circles under her eyes, so he figured she was over whatever illness she’d had.

  “So tell me one thing you remember about high school that was so boring you wanted to stop.”

  Laura looked up from her menu. She’d been fearful he would focus on her and continue not to share his own eleven years with her, but she caught something in his manner that she hadn’t seen before. Maybe she could deflect him.

  “Well, off the top of my head, I remember the thirty pages of description of the knights’ tournament in Ivanhoe. That might have done it.”

  “Nope. You read that here in ninth grade. Something you read later. In Maryland.”

  Now she knew where he was headed and that nothing would deter him. She could still win, however, by driving him crazy with one of her specialties: a logical diatribe that could go on forever.

  “Ever have one of those books you had to start reading a hundred times and still just couldn’t get into it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, my assignment when I lived with Rose,” she worded carefully, figuring he was lying about not being able to get into a book but playing the game with him, “was to read Lord Jim. Now I’m sure lots of people loved that book and there must be a really good reason it’s always assigned to read and more good reasons it’s considered a classic. I just couldn’t read it.”

  The conversation paused while Marie Vandergard swung by the table and took their orders.

  “And?”

  “And I started reading it about seven or eight times before giving up. Just couldn’t get past the heavy, many-pages-long descriptions of things. It bored me to tears, and I got to a point where I couldn’t care less who Lord Jim was or what he did. Who on earth can survive anything like that, I ask you?”

  “What did your teacher say about that?”

  “Well, Rose was on my side,” she said, again choosing her response carefully. “She bought me the Cliff’s Notes for it and then explained the whole storyline to me, when I had trouble with the Cliff’s Notes. Hey, remember the time I rewrote your book report for Ethan Frome and you got a ‘D’ on it? Did your teacher ever tell you why? Didn’t you have Mrs. Blaise? It was a dynamite report. I got an ‘A’ on it when I submitted it. And you know I can write a report.”

  He thought for a moment.

  “Yeah. She told me it sounded just like one she’d seen before.”

  “But I didn’t have the same teacher as you did. I had Mr. Case.”

  “Apparently, they shared.”

  “Jenna told me they shared more than book reports.”

  Connor smiled without comment and realized he wasn’t going to get any more out of her about Maryland when she was hungry, so they both dove into their lunches. He’d find out, one way or another, what she was hiding from him. He might have to wait until she felt ready to share, but he’d find out eventually. The lunch with Laura was proving the exact diversion he needed. Reality would hit again, back at work, but right now he needed this break with her. He was relieved when she had texted him to remind him.

  “You can pick up your dad’s Glock any time. It’s been cleared. Let’s try to get it into that safe deposit box in the bank this time.”

  “And hope nobo
dy else tries to rob my store?”

  At his scolding frown, she continued. “I’ll get it sometime in the next week. I’ve had a few more tax customers line up,” she said, unconsciously scratching a little at her arm. The rash hadn’t completely vanished, although the cortisone cream had helped.

  “You get bitten by a poisonous spider or something?”

  She stopped scratching, looked embarrassed.

  That’s when he noticed the dullness still in her eyes, her lack of excitement. The illness wasn’t over.

  “Oh, no,” she said, waving it away. “Just an allergy or something.”

  “I heard you weren’t well earlier this week. I couldn’t stop by; had an issue at work. Everything okay?”

  “I think I had a bug or something.”

  “Did you go to the doctor for the bug ‘or something’?”

  Connor had resented what he considered Anderson’s excessive attention to Laura last fall, so she seized an opportunity to tease.

  “Yes, I saw that nice Dr. Anderson. He agreed it was probably a bug ‘or something.’ ”

  “Well, he should know about bugs ‘or somethings.’ He is a doctor,” Connor returned, giving her an even look, not biting.

  “He told me to take it easy and take better care of myself.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  It would have been more fun if he’d risen to the bait. Something was surely on his mind that was more important. She wondered if she should be worried about it.

  “I went to the clinic; he was the one on call.”

  “You feeling better?” he inquired, a little surprised she had switched off the jealousy taunt so quickly and wondering just how ill she had been. Regardless of his unbelievable schedule, he’d have to make more time for her, even a ten-minute swing-by at the shop. He’d found out second-hand she had been ill, common in a small town like this one, but nevertheless, he should have found out by being with her or being told by her directly.