Crisis Shot

by Janice Cantore

  Tess had to be satisfied with that. As the sheriff’s van backed in, she left the pastor to his thoughts and went back to her homicide. She frowned when she realized that someone had died on her anniversary after all.

  17

  Del and Curtis spent two hours, until it was dark, below the Stairsteps and found nothing. Dixon was furious.

  “Waste of money! No one would survive going over the Stairsteps. And if someone had fallen in and died, the body would have been seen by now. You’re not even certain someone did fall in. You wasted their time and our money.” He continued on, repeating his lecture about public service overtime budgeting and spending.

  Tess barely listened and let him rant. In her way of thinking, money or no, it was more prudent to be safe, not sorry. Never assume.

  After he left, she and Bender went to work on the homicide. She’d given him a brief in-service on running a homicide investigation, careful with her tone and manner now that she knew at least part of what bothered him, and then left him to make sure all the evidence was sent to the state crime lab in Salem. Since she’d trusted him with that task, would he thaw?

  Sheriff’s personnel notified Glen Elders’s father in person about the death, but Tess had spoken with him by phone, as well as several other family members. She pulled a rolling whiteboard into her office to begin a murder board and started a timeline, but by 2 a.m. she was too spent to do much more and she called it a night.

  Before leaving the office, she checked her phone for text messages she’d had to ignore earlier. She and her friend Jeannie tried to text one another at least once a day and there was a Hello, how you doing? text from her. There were also a couple from Jack O’Reilly. He sent her regular updates about the search for the three individuals who’d run away the night of the shooting. He finally had at least one name, and he and Ben were confident this lead would go somewhere.

  Tess sighed after she read that, not wanting to get her hopes up. In any event, she was due to return to Long Beach in the near future. Word was that a wrongful death civil lawsuit from Cullen Hoover’s family was coming anytime now. And Tess’s lawyer had advised her to be prepared to come back and give a deposition.

  It wasn’t the deposition that worried Tess. Most nights, it was the part of her that was afraid if she did go back to Long Beach, even for a painful deposition, she’d never return to Rogue’s Hollow. She’d find some hole to crawl into and hide.

  But right now, exhausted, mind spinning with the homicide investigation, when considering a trip to Long Beach, Tess couldn’t help but think to herself, I have to solve this murder first.

  Yawning, Tess couldn’t wait to get to bed and close her eyes—when she returned to her room at the Rogue’s Hollow Inn. She hadn’t yet found a home to rent or purchase, though she hadn’t even really looked. Adeline and Klaus Getz, the couple who owned and ran the inn, had graciously offered her their best room at a reduced rate until she did find a place. They were the only other couple besides the Macphersons who’d worked to make Tess feel at home. Addie had mentioned that the old chief had been rather lazy by the end of his career.

  Klaus had muttered, “The man made donuts and police more of a truism.”

  Addie had shot her husband a glare and said, “The force will probably run a whole lot smoother now.”

  Their welcome and kindness toward Tess did take the sting out of Dixon’s pushiness and the cold shoulder she got from some of the cops who now worked for her, notably Gabe. Since the burst of anger when for some reason he’d thought she assumed him to be a backwoods hick, he’d been all cop, and for that Tess was grateful.

  She was dead on her feet when she unlocked the door to her room and switched on the light. And at the moment she was talked out and glad for the quiet, solitary room.

  All that was on her mind was a shower and bed. But an out-of-place item caught her eye right away.

  There on her nightstand sat a card with her name on it propped in front of a cupcake—her favorite, she bet, carrot cake. She dropped her bag on the floor and stepped to the bed. Picking up the cupcake, she smelled it and smiled. Addie baked the best carrot cake Tess had ever tasted, and she had told her so. She opened the card.

  Happy two-month anniversary! So glad to have you here!

  Tess had to sit down and read all the names on the card. Some of them she couldn’t put a face to, had only heard the name before. A quilting club met in the inn restaurant every Monday morning and they’d all signed it. A couple of people in the city council signed it, and a couple of cops, notably Martin Getz and Becky Jonkey. So had Oliver and Anna Macpherson. She was touched and a lump rose in her throat. At least a few people trusted her; they believed in her. The last thing Tess wanted to do was let them down. But as always when she got back to her room at night and sat by herself, the specter of the shooting would rise up and bite her in the throat. It still scorched that she’d been run out of town.

  You can’t do this job. What if it happens again?

  You were only a commander. What makes you think you can be chief?

  Something will happen; you’ll blow it eventually.

  You’re only running away.

  Tess sniffled and wiped her nose. She rose from the bed and began to shed her clothes to take a shower. I did nothing wrong, she insisted to herself while she let the water warm up, trying to ignore how that fact hadn’t helped her case. She stepped under the stream of warm water, letting it run over her tired and aching shoulder. She even noticed a few bruises from tackling Bubba.

  “You won’t last two weeks in that hick town,” Paul had said. She could still hear his taunting voice in her head. “You’ll be begging for a spot parking cars somewhere back here before long. I know you.”

  “You don’t know me as well as you think you do,” she muttered out loud, though the argument was months ago and Paul was miles away.

  Now, even as she fought the desire to run back home and never return to this Rogue River town, she thought, I’d tell him. I’d show him. I’ve been here two months and at least some people like me, support me. I’m not going to beg for anything.

  18

  When he got home and had a strong signal, Oliver left a voice mail message for Anna, asking her to call, saying it was urgent and it concerned Glen. Then he barely slept. Friday morning, after tossing and turning, he finally gave up and got out of bed in predawn darkness, memories of Anna, and of her unfortunate cousin, shredding his thoughts. He would call the chief, make a report. This was too unlike his wife. Then he finally got a text from Anna.

  Will call you soon was all it said, but it did Oliver’s heart good.

  He texted back, Please hurry, I miss you, and stared at the phone, hoping for more from her, but nothing else came.

  Keeping the phone near, he spent the next hour in prayer. But by the time the early morning sun was bright in the sky, he’d heard no more from Anna. He had a men’s Bible study to lead that morning, so he couldn’t stay in prayer by the phone for the whole day, which was what he wanted to do. It was a relief that she’d finally contacted him and he understood Anna’s need for private prayer on one hand, but on the other hand, wasn’t this a point in their lives where they needed to pray together? He pleaded with God for an answer. Where was his wife?

  “God has turned a deaf ear.”

  Why was God so silent lately? The answer to that question was not forthcoming.

  At least it was Friday and he wouldn’t be headed into the church office right away and have to answer questions about where Anna was. On Fridays his day started with a men’s breakfast and study that was held in the fellowship hall. Klaus Getz cooked for the thirty-five or so regulars who attended, and Oliver already had a message written. If Anna called, he’d answer, even if it meant stopping his message in the middle.

  As he showered and dressed, checking the phone over and over, he began to wonder at the text. Anna would know that he had the breakfast to lead. Why send a cryptic message like that? It wasn’t l
ike her to text instead of call in the first place. By the time he was ready to leave, the text gave him more anxiety than peace. She’d not acknowledged the message he left about Glen. True, he hadn’t told her about the murder, but why not respond concerning her cousin?

  Oliver decided that if he could make it through this breakfast, he would call Chief O’Rourke and talk to her about the text—if Anna hadn’t called by then.

  His chest was tight with emotion as he crossed a path he’d walked so many times over the years. The river, the church, the town—all played a part in the life they’d built here. He and Anna had shepherded this church their whole married life. It was more than home, more than just work. It was a large, diverse extended family. He prayed as he walked through the property he loved, flashes of events over the years that he and Anna had been part of. They’d grown up here. Happy events, weddings, baby showers; and sad events, funerals, memorial services. He laid his fears out in his prayers, asking for clarity for whatever actually came.

  Oliver had never found it easy to let go, usually struggled to lay his petitions before God and move on, but still he tried. Letting his worry for Anna go and trusting the Lord was like cutting off his own arm with a dull knife.

  As he stopped at a point next to the river, before he’d turn away onto the path for the fellowship hall, he gazed out at the powerful, rolling river. The sight calmed him, strengthened him. He could always trust the river to do that. And he knew he could always trust God to order his life. It all came down to simple trust. His whole life would be a lie if he couldn’t trust God at this most painful and personal part of it.

  Rogue’s Hollow Community Church had a storied history. The main sanctuary was one of the oldest buildings in town, and it occupied the town center on a choice piece of land with river frontage. The church maintained a beautiful park on its section of the mighty Rogue River. This portion of the river, thick with the confluence of Midas Creek, was calm and steady. People came from all over Oregon in the summer to hold weddings and other outdoor events in the park.

  Originally a sawmill, the main structure had been turned into a church in the late 1960s, several years after a big flood had washed away a good portion of the mill and damaged the rest, effectively putting it out of business. The fellowship hall was a newer structure, something Oliver added during his tenure as head pastor. The church offices were all above the hall. The small house Oliver and Anna shared was originally the mill office and had been spared by the flood because it sat on higher ground. It was protected by a retaining wall, but since the dam went in at Lost Creek in 1977, the flood threat had been lessened, if not solved completely. Only twice since the dam was built had there been high waters, but they’d done no damage.

  The office was renovated into a parsonage in the seventies. Oliver and Anna had extensively remodeled the home when they first arrived at the church to make it more comfortable and homey for the children that never came.

  Feeling stronger, Oliver continued on. As he reached the fellowship hall, he could see by the number of vehicles in the parking lot that many men had already arrived. It was a good group. A few came all the way from Medford for this Friday breakfast and study. He loved the mixture of people and personalities in his congregation. From a wealthy business owner to a disabled Vietnam veteran and everything in between attended on Sundays, and it was Oliver’s passion to deliver the full counsel of God and truly shepherd his flock.

  The smell of bacon tickled his nostrils as he opened the back door of the hall to enter through the kitchen. There bacon was sizzling, eggs cooking, and hash browns frying, a regular artery-clogging, wonderfully tasting old-fashioned breakfast.

  “Morning, Klaus. It smells delicious.”

  The big German turned and flashed a grin, waving his spatula. “Good morning, Pastor Mac! I hope you brought a good appetite today.”

  “You bet.” He clapped Klaus on the shoulder and continued into the hall, where tables were filling up. All the regulars were here and one or two who weren’t so regular. Mayor Dixon walked in with a stride that told Oliver he was going to get an earful.

  “Oliver, can I have a word with you, please?”

  Not knowing how to avoid the man, Oliver nodded. “Only have a minute before Klaus puts breakfast on the table.”

  Dixon pulled him out the side door. “I don’t think it’s fitting for you to undermine my authority in front of the new police chief.” He pursed his lips like he always did when he was upset.

  “I don’t believe that I did undermine your authority. I simply pointed out that we hired the woman to do a job and we have to let her do it.” Dismayed, Oliver shoved his hands in his pockets. Cocking his head, he said, “You pushed for her hire, telling us she was the most qualified candidate. Have you changed your mind?”

  “No, I haven’t. But there is a learning curve to the way we do things here—you know that. She needs to follow the procedures outlined by the council.” He punctuated almost every word by pointing his index finger. “That includes notifying me of major incidents.”

  “I’m not a cop or a mayor, but it seems to me the first thing you’d want her to do is her job, which is to handle law enforcement issues. That’s what she was doing. I’m sure she would have notified you in due course.”

  “Due course? What if she misses something or makes a bad decision? That reflects on the entire council—why, on the whole town, for heaven’s sake. I stuck my neck out. Besides, maybe if they’d watched her more closely in Long Beach, what happened there would not have happened.”

  The clanging bell that signaled breakfast was ready rang out loud and clear, and Oliver praised God silently. Placing a hand on Dixon’s shoulder, he said, “Now, we hired the woman because she was qualified. We owe her the chance to show her stuff, do her job. Why don’t we let her? Breakfast is ready. You joining us?”

  The mayor’s expression went petulant. “I’ve business to attend to this morning.”

  Dixon turned on his heel and left Oliver standing by the side door, scratching his head over one of Dixon’s comments. “If they’d watched her more closely”?

  He realized that Tess had better be good because the mayor would not allow any room for error. But when he considered how she had handled herself yesterday, he decided Dixon was the one who needed to watch his step.

  19

  Tess tried to slip out of the inn quietly, without breakfast, but she wasn’t quick enough. Addie caught her. The feminine half of the innkeeping team was a large, big-boned woman, gray-blonde hair always pulled back neatly into a bun and covered with a net or a scarf. She smiled easily and often, not at all concerned about the large gap between her front teeth. Her eyes were a pale, washed-out blue but nonetheless sharp. Tess got the impression that nothing got past Addie.

  “Make you an omelet this morning?”

  Hand on the doorknob, Tess turned. “Aw, Addie, I hate to put you to any trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble. This is a restaurant, for heaven’s sake. Now come find a table and I’ll get you some coffee. You’re too thin to be skipping breakfast.”

  Tess sighed and did as she was told. Though physically very different, Addie reminded her of her own mother, and Mom never took no for an answer. Tess headed toward a table on the waterside so she could watch the river. The one place she could look when the desire to run back to Long Beach hit. Something about watching the strong current, the smooth and continuously rolling river, calmed Tess, mesmerized her. The view from her room at the inn was spectacular. It was no small thing to her that Addie and Klaus gave her their best room during the height of tourist season.

  If Addie and Klaus were special, so was the inn itself. Built in the late 1960s, it was a rustic structure, part log and part plank with big picture windows in the dining room overlooking the water. There were a few tourists and several regulars already seated in the dining room. Victor Camus was one face she recognized right away. He was an outdoor guide specializing in hunting and probably the
only man she’d met so far who intimidated her. He wasn’t a tall man, but he was broad and rough edged like an old-fashioned mountain man. A deep scar on the left side of his chin gave him a dangerous air. His steel-gray hair was kept short and neat. It wasn’t that he’d ever been mean or rude; it was just obvious he was a no-nonsense, don’t-mess-with-me kind of guy. He reminded her of a sergeant she’d had in the academy, a Vietnam vet, a man who had pushed her to her absolute limit, and someone she would always respect. Victor certainly had a sterling reputation as a hunter’s hunter. Groups he led always came back with a deer or an elk or whatever it was they were seeking.

  At least that’s what Tess had been told. Hunting was a new aspect to consider here, something just not talked about in California, but very popular in southern Oregon. Tess got a little queasy when she considered killing deer or elk and then cutting them up to bring home. And she’d already responded to several vehicle versus deer or elk or cow calls, which were always bloody messes. No, she might fit in eventually, but not by becoming a hunter.

  She nodded Victor’s way as she sat down and got an almost-imperceptible solemn nod in return.

  At the other occupied table was the group of regulars Tess knew made up the quilting club. She gave them a smile and worked to remember their names. Gladys, Alana, Linda, Helen, and Ruby. She couldn’t clearly remember who was who, but she was sure those were the names because they’d been on her card, so her smile was heartfelt.

  Addie soon arrived at her table with coffee. “You got in late last night. I hear we had a murder. Glen Elders.”

  Tess sipped her coffee, working to get used to the light-speed fashion in which news traveled around this small town. What was it Anna had called it? The Rogue telegraph? But then her youngest officer, Martin Getz, was Addie’s nephew, so it was no secret where Addie had heard the news.