An Angel for Dry Creek

by Janet Tronstad

  “They’re shooting at me,” Glory wailed.

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know.”

  It was the bullet. Matthew knew the bullet on Wednesday had been too close. “You’ll stay in your room. You’re not leaving this house unless I’m along. No, you’re not leaving even then. You’ll just stay here. I can bring you what you need.”

  The determination in Matthew’s voice quieted her. “Forever?”

  “If necessary.” Matthew nodded grimly. “I’ll lock you in.”

  Glory smiled. She felt much better. “But that’s kidnapping.”

  “Whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

  Strangely enough, Glory decided, she did feel safe. She’d just learned that there might be a contract out on her life, and yet, she felt safe here in this house. She’d like to pretend that had nothing to do with the man sitting beside her on the sofa worrying about her. But it wasn’t true. His fierce protection made her feel as if nothing could harm her, not while he still drew breath.

  The Bullet set down his coffee cup.

  He shouldn’t have stayed, but his phone call last night with Millie had unnerved him. She’d heard Douglas’s voice in the background and assumed Douglas was the uncle he visited.

  “Yes, I’ll invite him to visit,” the Bullet had told Millie last night after she kept insisting. “But he doesn’t travel much. He won’t come. No, not even for Christmas.”

  If the Bullet had known Millie was making Christmas plans, he would have stalled her. He’d never thought about Christmas coming. Santa stockings and roasting chestnuts were not for a man like him. He usually celebrated Christmas at an all-night bar with a bottle of tequila. That’s where a man like him spent Christmas.

  Chapter Eight

  “You’re going to call?” Matthew was making pancakes for breakfast. He had been up early worrying and had decided to stir up some batter. Glory was in trouble and he needed to find a way to keep her safe. “They must know more at the precinct than they’ve told you. And they have the photos. They might offer a clue.”

  “It’s not even morning there,” Glory said. The small Franklin stove had a fire going in it, but the air inside the house was still cold enough to make foggy breath. She rubbed her hands together. She had pulled on her jeans and a heavy sweater when she heard Matthew moving around the kitchen. They had spent time last night talking about the shooting she’d seen inside Benson’s Market. “I don’t know for sure if they’ll send me copies of the photos—it’s not exactly regulation.”

  “Forget regulation,” Matthew demanded as he poured more batter on the griddle and automatically made the batter into a snowman. “Someone’s out to get you.”

  “Only in Seattle.”

  “That’s bad enough.” Matthew reached up into the cupboard and found a small canister of raisins. He put eye, nose and button raisins on the snowman.

  Glory nodded. Matthew wasn’t even aware of what he was doing—making cute pancakes while talking about violence. He did everything a mother would do for his sons. “I’ll ask them to send copies of the photos—but I don’t know what good they’ll do.”

  “Henry’s got a fax at the store. Fax copies of them there,” Matthew said as he poured another pancake snowman. He didn’t know what good the photos would do, either. He just knew he needed to do something. “And don’t talk to anyone but that guy Frank you say you can trust.”

  “Nobody on the force would sell me out,” Glory said, and then thought a minute. She took some silverware from the drawer. The metal was cold to her touch. Maybe Matthew was right. How did she know for sure none of them would tell a hit man where she was if the price was right?

  “And you’ll work on those drawings? You must have seen something,” Matthew said.

  Glory had agreed to draw the crime scene again. The captain and she had been over this already. But Matthew sounded a lot like the captain. Both men believed she must be a target because of her trained eyes.

  “Someone’s worried you’re going to remember something.” Matthew repeated what he had said last night. “Our job is to find out what that is.”

  “I’ve been over it hundreds of times in my mind.”

  “Have you drawn out the sketches of everything?”

  “Just the face of the guy doing the shooting.” Glory had thought about that, too. Surely there wouldn’t be something in the grocery store itself. Who would leave evidence of a crime in plain sight for dozens of shoppers to see?

  “And he’s in jail?”

  Glory nodded. “And nothing to gain by killing me at this point. I did sketches, but it wasn’t necessary. He was arrested at the scene. And there were ten witnesses.”

  “Now, why would a guy shoot someone in front of ten witnesses?”

  “Poor planning,” Glory joked as she gathered four cups from the cupboard.

  “Or something was happening that required immediate action,” Matthew said as he flipped the first snowman pancake. “Something important enough to risk jail time.”

  “But that’s just it—nothing was happening. The butcher was just walking out of the meat department with a package of steak in his hands.”

  “What kind of steaks?”

  Glory looked at Matthew as if he was crazy. “What kind of steaks?”

  “Yeah, T-bone, porterhouse, cube…”

  “What difference does that make?”

  Matthew flipped the other snowman pancake. “Who knows? My guess is it’s that kind of little detail that we’re looking for, something all of the other ten people have long forgotten. But with your eye, it’s still in your head. If you draw it out, who knows? That’s what someone is worried about.”

  “Makes sense.” Glory walked toward the kitchen table and set down the cups. Matthew did make sense. If someone was out gunning for her, it was time to empty her mind of all the crime details and put them out front on paper. Maybe then they’d know who—or what—they were up against.

  Matthew looked up. He heard the sound of the twins coming down the stairs before Glory did. “Juice in the refrigerator. Apricot syrup, too. Maybe some maple, as well.”

  Glory nodded and went back to the cupboard to collect plates.

  “And butter,” Matthew said. “Joey won’t eat pancakes without butter.”

  Once the plates were on the table, Glory went to the refrigerator.

  Glory turned when she heard the twins enter the kitchen. They were in slippers and pajamas with sweatshirts pulled over them. Their hair was mussed and their eyes were still sleepy. Joey, in particular, looked as if he was still dreaming.

  “Hi, sport,” Glory said softly as she put the juice on the table and walked over to Joey, lifting him up. He looked as if he needed a little bit more time to wake up.

  Joey snuggled into her shoulder with a sigh.

  “Mommy.” Joey whispered the word so softly Glory wasn’t sure she’d heard it right. But she knew by the look of pain on Matthew’s face that he had.

  “He’s still dreaming,” she whispered to Matthew. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

  “I know,” Matthew said quietly. Some days he could convince himself he could give his sons everything they needed. Today, apparently, was not going to be one of those days.

  “It’s Glory, honey,” she whispered in Joey’s ear.

  His eyes opened, and he smiled contentedly. “You’re still here. You didn’t go back to heaven. I dreamed you were still here.”

  “I wouldn’t go anywhere without saying goodbye.”

  Joey nodded. “Not even to heaven?”

  Glory shook her head. “Not even there.”

  Joey put his head back on her shoulder and put his thin arms around her neck in a tight hug.

  Glory wondered how she was ever going to say goodbye to the twins.

  It was midmorning before Glory relaxed her fingers. She was holding her sketch pencil too tight, as though she could force some memory out through her fingers. At first her fingers had been
too cold to sketch, but Matthew had taken a pair of women’s knit gloves off the shelf and cut the fingers out of them. That kept her hands warm while letting her fingers be free.

  “You remember the clock?” Elmer had walked over to where she sat with her sketch pad.

  “I remember everything,” Glory said as she set her fifth sketch aside. Matthew had fixed up a table for her to work at. By now it was covered with sketches.

  “Not quite everything,” Elmer said as he looked closely at the sketch she had made of the manager lying on the floor, a bullet through his stomach and the things in his hands scattered. The time card was halfway out of the dead man’s pocket. The package of steaks was near his left shoulder.

  “What do you mean?”

  “That.” Elmer pointed at the sketch. “On that package of steaks. That isn’t packed right. A T-bone and a cube together. Who’d do that?”

  Glory looked at the sketch. She must have made a mistake. Odd, though.

  A harsh scraping sound from the storeroom distracted them.

  “Matthew.” Glory had told Matthew she would help him move any stock he needed to relocate. Elmer had told him the same thing. Even Jacob had appeared eager to pitch in and help. “Stubborn man.”

  “Found the garland,” Matthew announced triumphantly as he hobbled into the main part of the store. A trail of gold-and-white garland followed him and he had a cape of garland wrapped around his shoulders.

  “You risked falling to get some garland?”

  Matthew grinned. “I didn’t know you cared if I fell.”

  “Of course I care if you fall,” Glory said softly. The fool man. “I’m the one that has to pick you up and get you to the clinic.”

  Matthew’s grin disappeared. “Did I ever thank you for that?”

  The bell over the door rang. Glory looked up in time to see the deputy sheriff, Carl Wall, walk into the store.

  Glory bit back her groan.

  “Expected everyone to be out working on the pageant,” the deputy said. He looked slowly around the store and his eyes rested on Glory’s worktable. He walked over and picked up one of her sketches of the victim after the shooting. “Hmm, not exactly scenery.” He looked at Glory.

  Glory was leaning against the counter. “I told you I worked for the police.”

  The deputy grunted. “Maybe you do, at that.”

  “Want some coffee?” Matthew offered. “You public officials never seem to take time for breaks.”

  “Some folks say all we do is sit around drinking coffee and eating doughnuts.”

  “Well, I’m not one of them,” Matthew said staunchly. “You have a lot to do making sure there are no undesirables coming into town.”

  Carl Wall looked puzzled. “I thought you were on the side of the angel.”

  “The angel—no, no, I don’t mean her. I mean any undesirables asking about her.”

  “Who’d be asking about her?”

  “I don’t know. Just keep an eye out, all right?”

  The deputy shrugged. “Most folks have accepted her. They kind of like someone who might be an angel. Makes them think the Man upstairs cares.”

  “God can care about Dry Creek without sending an angel,” Glory said as she walked back toward her worktable. “Maybe God sent you to Dry Creek instead.”

  The deputy grunted and rolled his eyes. “Now don’t go getting funny on me. I wasn’t thinking of me. But at least I’d remember the Price boy.”

  “Billy Price?” Elmer looked up from the checker game.

  “Yeah, I got to thinking. No one would remember him, and he’d like a visit from the angel—maybe a sack of the candy I hear is coming.”

  “Well, I’ll add him to the list.”

  Glory could hear the silence in Matthew’s house. A clock ticked in the kitchen and the water heater gurgled in the distance. She was making her Christmas list and checking it twice. She’d decided to order six extra basketballs and ten extra painting sets plus a couple of additional teddy bears. She wanted to be sure there were enough presents to go around.

  With her list in hand, Glory called Sylvia.

  The phone rang five times before Sylvia’s breathless voice came over the line. “Tacoma-Seattle Youth Center, Sylvia Bannister speaking.”

  Glory could hear muffled laughter and cheers in the background. “Sounds like someone’s happy there.”

  “We should be. We just got a grant to set up that summer camp you’ve heard me talk about for two years now. The money’s not much, but it’s a big start.”

  “Congratulations! I wish I could be there!”

  “The volunteers are going wild. Pat Dawson is even dancing a jig on the table.”

  “I’m surprised you’re not up there with him.”

  “I had to get down to answer the phone. Besides, I’m too old for that sort of thing.”

  “Forty! That’s not old!”

  “Well, I do feel younger since I got the news.” Sylvia laughed. “If we can get some of these kids away from the gangs for a summer, I believe we can turn their lives around. Take them someplace where they don’t need to worry about being jumped or shot.”

  “Even with the gangs, you make a difference,” Glory reminded her. She herself had volunteered many weekends at the youth center, tutoring or just talking with teenage girls. “I’ve seen you change the most unlikely ones.”

  “Ah, the power of prayer. It surprises me at times, too. I always remind myself that I never know what heart God is going to open up next.”

  “If you have a few extra prayers, you could send them this way.” Glory knew of no heart that needed softening more than Matthew’s.

  “I’ve been worried about that, too.”

  “What?” Glory was startled. How had Sylvia known about Matthew?

  “I don’t want you to worry about that contract, though,” Sylvia continued. “The two boys who told me about it are being very responsible today. I think they have made a sincere decision to follow Christ.”

  “Oh, of course.” Glory relaxed. Sylvia was talking about the shooting.

  Silence.

  “Is there something else bothering you?” Sylvia asked. “Something else I should pray about?”

  How did Sylvia always know? Glory wondered. It must be her years of talking with teenagers.

  “Just a stubborn man who hasn’t forgiven himself and holds it against God.”

  “Ah, this would be the man you mentioned, the one you’re staying with.” Sylvia’s voice was rich with unspoken speculation. “The minister.”

  “I’m not staying with him,” Glory clarified. “I’m really staying with his five-year-old sons. That’s all.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I know so.”

  Sylvia let the subject be changed to the gifts for the children of Dry Creek. Sylvia assured her there were thirty days to pay on the account, and Glory told her she would mail a check tomorrow to cover the presents and the overnight shipping. The total came to twelve hundred dollars.

  “I called the shipping place and they said they can only guarantee next-day service to Miles City. They’re short-staffed, since it’s Christmas, and aren’t taking next-day service to places like Dry Creek.”

  “If they can deliver it to the clinic in Miles City that’ll be fine,” Glory said. “I thought this might happen, and I called one of the nurses I met there. She said I can pick the boxes up anytime before five.” She wanted to go to Miles City, anyway. She had some Christmas shopping to do that she didn’t want to do in the toy store.

  “You’ll need a pickup truck.” Tavis from the Big Sheep Mountain Ranch smiled at Glory. He, unlike Jacob and Elmer, was not sitting in a chair. Instead he crouched, cowboy-style, in front of the stove. “I’d be happy to drive you in. I’ve got a half-ton pickup, a three-quarter ton or a cattle truck. Your choice.”

  “I can take her.” Matthew bristled. He was sitting on his stool by the counter.

  “Your old car won’t hold a load,” Tavis c
hallenged.

  “I can take her anyway.” Matthew didn’t want to spell out the obvious. By now he figured Glory was honest about placing the order. But he knew her credit was no good. He figured she believed the order was coming. He wanted to be the one with her when she found out it wasn’t there. She’d need a friend and not a fancy cowboy at her side to help her with her disappointment. Besides, he had some money set aside for a rainy day. He figured they could buy enough little presents in Miles City to make the children of Dry Creek happy.

  Glory looked from one man to the other. “I might be able to fit everything in my Jeep.”

  “Matthew will take you,” Mrs. Hargrove calmly announced with a silencing glance at Tavis. “I need Tavis’s help with the bleachers.”

  It was only a trip to town, Glory chided herself that evening as she looked through her suitcase. So far she’d pulled out her gray sweatshirt with Seattle Seahawks written on the back and an ivory turtleneck with a tan vest. Neither one was exactly right. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d given this much thought to the question of what to wear. Jeans were an obvious choice because of the cold weather, but she suddenly wished for a sweater with bright colors to go with them. Of course, she had the pink sweater. It was paler than she’d like, but maybe it would do.

  She sat on the edge of Matthew’s bed, with her suitcase and clothes scattered all around, and shook her head at herself. She was acting as if this was a date. Worse yet, she wanted it to be a date. And that was a fantasy that would be short-lived. She could sit and count the reasons she shouldn’t become involved with Matthew. He was a good father; he would want more children. Children she couldn’t give him. Even more important, Matthew wasn’t following God at this point in his life. She believed he was still a Christian in his heart, but he wasn’t willing to let go of his grief and admit it. And then there was his grief. Glory felt her breath catch in her throat at this one. What if Matthew had loved Susie so much he could never love anyone else? Would every other woman seem pale in comparison?