by Stacy Finz
“No car description or license plate number?” Rhys asked.
“Actually, Chief, he’s sitting right outside all wrapped up for you in a big Christmas bow.”
Rhys stifled a grin. “Hope you like the graveyard shift, Stryker.”
A crowd milled outside while Rhys and Jake finished collecting evidence. News of the robbery spread faster than a brushfire, and residents wanted a first-hand account. So half the town showed up to buy milk.
Rhys got in his truck and headed to the office. As soon as he parked, his cell phone pinged, signaling a text message. He grabbed the phone from the console and wondered what kind of trouble Shep was getting himself into now. But the text wasn’t from Lina.
Thank you for the locket. Love it! Wearing it now. How did you get the picture of the inn so teeny?
Rhys hit the delete button and stuck the phone in his back pocket. The locket was a joke compared to Dave’s earrings. What the hell had he been thinking, giving her a cheap trinket like that? That was his problem, he hadn’t been thinking. At least not with his big head.
Now he felt inferior, which he knew was stupid. Even childish. But he could chalk up his general feelings of inadequacy to the lingering effects of this town. Everything about Nugget made him feel low. Even his next-door neighbor’s soon-to-be ex, who didn’t even live here.
The last thing he needed to do was stick around and watch Maddy get back with her husband. Because Diamond Dave was doing everything in his power to close the deal. When that happened, they’d probably live part-time in Nugget so Maddy could oversee the inn.
That’s why Rhys needed to get the hell out.
Chapter 17
During the next few days, Rhys watched as word of the robbery had folks cleaning their guns.
He knew Trevor Thurston opened the Bun Boy packing heat. That Portia Cane kept a Smith & Wesson behind her counter at the tour kiosk and hung a caution sign decreeing, “We don’t dial 9-1-1.”
Some of the residents had gone so far as mounting loaded hunting rifles in the cabs of their pickups. Even Tater, Nugget’s mild-mannered chef, had taken to wearing a nine-inch bowie knife in a sheath dangling from his belt.
Not happy about the direction this was moving in, Rhys asked Mayor Caruthers to call a town meeting.
By six p.m. the auditorium at Nugget City Hall was standing room only. For the occasion, he’d donned the chief’s uniform and couldn’t wait to get the damned thing off.
Across the room he saw Maddy sitting with Pam, Amanda, Grace, Mariah, and Sophie. Their eyes met briefly, but Dink sidled up to him and he broke the contact. He hadn’t seen Maddy since Christmas night, and other than her text, they hadn’t talked.
The robbery investigation had kept him busy. And the forecast of an upcoming storm had been upgraded to a blizzard. It was scheduled to hit Nugget in the next few days. Rhys figured he’d be busy with car accidents and didn’t expect to come up for air anytime soon.
When the audience got settled, the mayor introduced him and to Rhys’s surprise, the room broke out in thunderous applause. He climbed the steps to the stage and flicked on the microphone. Ordinarily, he would’ve just sat on the edge of the platform and spoken in a loud voice. But tonight he needed to be authoritative.
Not folksy.
“What the hell are you people thinking bringing shotguns and pistols to work?” That got the attention of the boisterous crowd. “This isn’t the Wild West! This is a town filled with families. Kids!
“Make no mistake about it,” he continued angrily, “I find any of you carrying a concealed weapon without a permit . . . I’ll throw your ass in jail.” Instead of the expected heckling, Rhys got a lot of guilt-stricken faces. Good, because this conduct was unacceptable.
“Okay,” he told the audience. “Let me tell you where we’re at on this. Detective Stryker . . . Raise your hand, Jake, so everyone in the crowd can see you.”
Jake, who stood against the wall in the back of the room, held his arm up.
“In a few minutes here, we’ll start passing around copies of a composite sketch of our suspect. Detective Stryker is running down a number of leads. We can’t talk about specifics, because it’ll compromise the investigation. But what I can tell you is that our robber left some telltale signs.”
“You think he’ll be back, Chief?” someone shouted from the back of the room.
“Maybe. But more than likely this was a one-time deal. We have reason to believe the suspect was a drug user—someone just passing through and desperate. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be alert and on your guard. And when you see something suspicious, call us. Let us do our job.”
Owen rose from his seat. “Is there any chance there’s a connection between the robbery at the market and the drug lab found in the Lumber Baron?”
“Any kind of abandoned building is a magnet for homeless people, druggies, and criminals.” Rhys stopped for a second. “Is the drug operation in the basement of the Lumber Baron somehow linked to the robbery at the Nugget Market? Too soon to tell. But as the police chief responsible for the safety of this town I can sure tell you I’m relieved that the Lumber Baron’s no longer vacant.”
He took advantage of the question to press an important point. “Ms. Breyer has informally been trying to establish some sort of business association. I say take it a step further: Fix up downtown and organize a neighborhood watch.” He stopped himself. “That does not mean strapping on a bandolier.”
There were some chuckles from the crowd.
“What would a neighborhood watch entail?” Pam asked.
“You’ve already conquered half the battle by stepping up the police presence in downtown by hiring your own force and reopening the station on the square.” Rhys thought his statement might sound a bit self-serving, but he knew from experience it was the truth. “The next thing I’d suggest is getting the streetlights fixed. I haven’t seen them working since I got here. Not only is it dangerous, but it tells criminals that no one’s minding the store.”
Feeling more at ease, Rhys sat on the edge of the stage. “I’d put a little pride of ownership into this place. It’s no secret that boarded-up storefronts are an invitation to crooks.”
A number of heads turned sharply to the owner of the Bun Boy.
“Can’t you get those rented out, Trevor?” Pam demanded.
“Why don’t you lease one, Pam?” Trevor bit back.
Rhys held up his palm to the crowd. “We’re not going to get anywhere pointing fingers and shouting at each other. What’s the problem, Trevor? Maybe we can come together as a community and solve it.”
“We’re in a damn recession. That’s the problem. No one’s looking to rent space in this economy. You think I like having half my income boarded up?”
“I hear you, Trevor. And I think everyone is sympathetic,” Rhys said. “I’m just throwing this out as a suggestion. What if the town came together . . . maybe threw a little paint on those properties . . . did a little housecleaning? In return, whoever needed some extra space could borrow it until you get it leased. That way it doesn’t sit empty, attracting a criminal element. And in the meantime, a prospective renter sees a well-kept building and a thriving business.”
“I might be willing,” Trevor said. “Whoever wanted to use it would have to pay for any painting supplies or whatnot. I’m not running a charity.”
Carl, of the sporting goods store, said, “I might be interested. I’ve been toying with the idea of doing some seasonal displays—just don’t have the room.”
“Me, too,” Pam said. “My clients have been asking me about yoga clothes, mats, ballet costumes, and shoes for the little ones.” A number of women nodded their heads in agreement. “But my studio’s packed. I don’t even have space to sell protein bars and powders. I’d love the chance to try it out and see how it goes without having to shell out a second rent. But Trevor, if I find that business is good, I’d take out a lease.”
“Sounds good,” Trevor said
. “Anyone interested can talk to me after the meeting.”
Mariah tentatively raised her hand, reminding Rhys of a schoolgirl, which made him grin. He bobbed his head at her to go on.
“I’m actually a decent gardener,” she said. “When spring comes, I’d be happy to plant flowers in the strips along the sidewalks. Maybe I can persuade Colin to build a few window boxes and planters.”
Several people murmured their approval.
Maddy was next to raise her hand. “What if we organized a spring cleaning for the square—say the first weekend in April—after the snow thaws? We could make a party of it. The Baker’s Dozen could bring snacks and the Lumber Baron, if we’re still around then,” she looked around the room meaningfully, “will spring for the supplies, paint, whatever.”
More murmurs of approval, so Maddy continued, “And if Stu and Ethel need help in the store until they’re caught up financially, or just so they feel more secure having extra people around, I’d be happy to volunteer. I could stock shelves, work the cash register.”
“I think we’re off to a good start,” Rhys said, hoping he didn’t sound as exhausted as he felt.
“Later this week I’ll come by your shops with some neighborhood watch signs to hang in the windows. In the meantime, keep your eyes open, keep your ears to the ground, and keep your guns at home.”
New Year’s Eve Rhys took Shep and the kids to the Ponderosa. Not the way he normally would’ve rung in the New Year, but Clay had his kids and Rhys was avoiding Maddy. She’d been so preoccupied with the Addisons’ petition that she probably hadn’t even noticed his herculean efforts to duck her.
He’d been thinking about her more than he should and wanted to put a bullet in any romantic notions either one of them might have. She was married, he was leaving. End of story.
So here he was with his mentally deficient father and the two urchins. Good times!
Of course, the minute they walked into the restaurant, Shep started complaining. “It’s like the holidays threw up in here.”
Sophie and Mariah had hung black and silver streamers and balloons from the ceiling and a giant Mylar “Happy New Year” banner over the bar. They were handing out hats, party blowers, and noisemakers. At least Lina and Sam seemed taken with all the revelry.
“Hi, Chief,” Sophie said, and escorted them to a roomy booth. Despite himself, he wondered if Maddy would come in to celebrate with the Ponderosa owners.
As soon as they were seated, he noticed Jake and two of his daughters sitting at a booth at the far end of the dining room. The girls, Jake’s from his third wife, were up from Los Angeles for the weekend. Rhys watched Stryker hang on their every word, which made him grin.
“Why’d you pick this place, boy? We’re always coming here.”
Rhys glared at his father. “Because I like it.” Also, it was the only sit-down restaurant in town. He winked at Sam, pointed at the menu the boy studied with such intensity that it made Rhys want to laugh, and asked, “What looks good?”
“I don’t know. What should I get, Lina?”
Lina continued to examine the specials.
“I’m going for the pork chop and mashed potatoes,” Rhys announced, hoping to break the ice. “Pop?”
“How the hell should I know? There’s too much on this damn menu and none of it’s any good. We should’ve gone to that steak house in Reno.”
Rhys held back his temper. “Pop, they’ve got five different steaks. Pick one, or I’ll pick one for you.”
When the server came everyone ordered, except Shep, who sat with his arms folded across his chest and a mean scowl across his face.
Rhys rolled his eyes. “He’ll have the porterhouse with the baked potato.” He looked over at Sam again. “Good choice on the burger.”
Across the room, Jake paid his bill, draped an arm around each daughter, and left. Rhys noticed Lina watching them closely and couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy.
As they tucked into their dinners about a half-dozen diners trickled by to say hello and to thank Rhys for rebuilding the police department. Nice to know he was making a difference. At Houston PD he rarely got to hear from the public, unless the department made the news for screwing up.
“Hey, Chief.” One of the diners waved.
“How you doing?” He waved back, then looked at Lina and Sam. “I have no idea who that was.”
They laughed. “But everybody knows you,” Sam said, clearly impressed.
When the four of them finished their meals, Rhys insisted on dessert. Sam wanted an ice cream sundae, Lina chocolate cake, and for his father and himself, Rhys ordered two slices of apple pie à la mode.
“What do you say we do a little bowling?” he asked the kids.
“We don’t know how,” Sam said.
Rhys looked over at his father, who’d wolfed down the pie. Miracle of miracles, Shep had actually found something to like. “Shep’ll show you. He’s a champion bowler, aren’t you, Pop?”
Everyone seemed surprised when Shep nodded his head in agreement. “Was on a league . . . long before those two lesbos ruined the place.” He pointed at Mariah who was drying and putting away glasses behind the bar.
Rhys smacked his hand down on the table. “That’s enough.” He didn’t bother to point out that before Mariah and Sophie took over, the bowling alley had been on its last legs.
Instead, Rhys turned his attention to Lina, who’d become very quiet. “Something wrong?” he asked her.
Lina shook her head, barely meeting his eyes. “No.”
“Come on. Let’s bowl.” Rhys paid the bill and the four of them found an available lane where they sat on wooden benches, pulling off their boots and sneakers and lacing up their rented bowling shoes. Sam watched intently as a family next to them took turns trying to knock down all ten pins.
Rhys showed him how to hold the ball and the right way to deliver it down the lane. The first time Sam gave it a whirl, the ball went straight, but veered into the gutter about thirty feet down, missing the entire row of pins.
Lina laughed. “Let me try.” She had slightly more success, knocking down two pins with her first roll.
Rhys watched them play a few frames, enjoying their enthusiasm for the game. Shep fell asleep, his head lolling on Rhys’s shoulder, his snores keeping rhythm to the crashing of pins.
Sandy Addison strode over from one of the lanes farther down the alley. Rhys had seen her and Cal bowling earlier and had hoped to avoid them. Out of courtesy, he gently propped Shep’s head against the bench so he could get up and say hello.
“You work for the taxpayers, Chief,” she fired before Rhys could even shake her hand.
“Pardon me?”
“No one appreciated your blatant lobbying for that Breyer woman at the town meeting the other day. You could lose your job for that.”
Lina put down her bowling ball, came over, and flanked Rhys like a body guard.
“My job is to keep the public safe,” he said. “Vacant buildings attract crooks—methamphetamine manufacturers. So, yeah, I have a vested interest in seeing the Lumber Baron open.”
“It’s not your job to advocate. Remember you’re the interim chief. And at the rate you’re going, very temporary at that.” She lumbered off in a huff.
“That woman bugs the shit out of me,” Rhys muttered, noticing that like Lina, Sam now bordered his other side.
Sophie watched Sandy and Rhys from the other side of the center, shaking her head. Good for Rhys for standing up to her. Sandy managed to intimidate everyone else in this town.
Donna came up behind her, wearing a “Happy New Year” tiara. “That Addison woman’s a stone-cold bitch. She thinks she owns the town, when everyone knows I do.”
“Come on, Diva Donna.” Sophie grabbed her by the arm. “Let’s get drunk.”
“Guess you’re not preggers yet,” Donna muttered as Sophie dragged her to the bar and snagged two empty stools.
Mariah served all three of them Manhatta
ns before getting called away to make a pitcher of margaritas.
“Business is good, girlfriend.” Donna glanced around the packed dining room. The bowling alley was just as crowded.
“Yes, it is.” Sophie felt good about what she and Mariah had accomplished here. Her fervent wish was for Maddy and Nate to beat this farcical “Flush” campaign and enjoy the same success as the Ponderosa. “Where’s Trevor?”
Donna pointed at a corner booth, where the Nugget Mafia played cards. “I’m thinking of becoming a lesbian, too.”
Sophie laughed and Donna reached over and patted her tummy. “Where you at on this whole baby thing?”
Sophie blew out an audible breath. “Still zeroing in on the right donor.”
“Out of all the choices in that book, you mean to tell me you can’t find one?” It seemed that everyone in Nugget knew about the sperm bank catalog.
“Actually,” Sophie said. “There is one in there that meets our criteria—smart, successful, healthy, handsome.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know,” Sophie said. “It doesn’t feel right going with someone so unfamiliar, someone with DNA I can’t trust.”
“You have someone you know in mind?”
Something about Donna made Sophie want to confide, which was nuts, because they’d only recently become friends. And that was mostly due to the fact that they both owned restaurants on the square.
Plus, Donna was a loudmouth, saying whatever was on her mind in all its unvarnished glory. But to reserved people like Sophie and Mariah, she was refreshing. The woman would have absolutely no qualms telling Sophie whether she was being selfish. And that’s what Sophie needed to know so she could put this whole thing with Nate to rest.
“Honestly,” Sophie said, “yes. But Mariah is against the idea.”
“Why? Is this fellow you have in mind a serial killer?”
