The Baby's Bodyguard

by Jacqueline Diamond

  “I’ll do that.” Enid cocked her head at him. “You’re good for her, you know.”

  “For Casey?”

  The elderly woman added a couple more sticks to her small load. “I may never have married, but I know a couple who belong together when I see them.”

  Jack didn’t know how to answer, so he didn’t try. “Need any help carrying that?” he asked.

  Enid hefted her basket. “No, thank you. It’s not heavy.”

  “Then if you don’t mind, I’m going to check around to see if there’s anything else amiss.” Having other people discuss his private life never sat right with Jack, and he felt an urge to move on.

  “I understand. I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn,” Enid said. “And thank you again for last night. You may have saved my life.”

  “Glad I could help.”

  Relieved to escape the discussion, Jack circled her house looking for footprints or any rubbish a transient might have left. The rain, however, had washed the place fairly clean. Besides storm debris, he found only a few stray bits of paper and Styrofoam that might have blown out of trash cans.

  When he got back, he found Casey on the front porch wearing a loose sweater and flowing skirt. With her hair billowing in the breeze and the old-fashioned house as a backdrop, she made a classic picture of feminine welcome.

  “Any luck?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No. But Enid seems fine.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” She glanced at her watch. “We’d better go. Do you think we should take my car?”

  “Let’s use mine. I need to have it looked at.” Although he didn’t really plan to have the repairs done in Richfield Crossing, Jack wanted to make the acquaintance of the town mechanic, whose name appeared prominently on his list of suspects.

  “I’ll get my stuff.” Casey retrieved her purse from the house. At the last minute, she remembered to lock up.

  On the way into town, Jack noted other storm damage, including loosened shingles, tilted fence rails and considerable debris. He saw no other signs of lightning strikes, however.

  The doctor’s office to which Casey directed him lay on the town’s main street, Lake Avenue, next to a onestory clinic that bore that grandiose name Richfield Medical Center. “Is that the only hospital around here?” he asked as he parked.

  “It’s the only one in town,” Casey confirmed.

  “Not exactly impressive.” He didn’t mean to give offense, but his wife planned to trust her life to this place.

  “They refer major illnesses like cancer to Nashville, but they deliver babies and perform routine operations,” she explained. “They just bought new childbirth monitoring equipment a few months ago.”

  “How many beds?”

  “Half a dozen, I think.” Honesty made her add, “I know it’s not what you’d find in a city. Still, we’re lucky to have it.”

  All the more reason for her to move back to Los Angeles. This wasn’t the time to bring it up, though. “How long do you think you’ll be?”

  “It usually takes about an hour,” Casey said. “Would you like to come in with me?”

  The memory of communing with Diane last night popped into Jack’s mind. He would enjoy learning more about the little person he’d Mirandized. But he had work to do.

  “I’ve got to see a man about a car, and another man about a lighter,” he said. “I’ll pick you up as soon as I’m done.”

  “Okay.” If he’d disappointed her, she gave no sign.

  Jack watched as Casey strolled into the small office building. From the sign, it appeared two doctors worked there. Only two? His wife and daughter deserved a major teaching facility with the world’s best professionals on staff!

  He knew he was being unreasonable. Maybe he simply didn’t trust small towns.

  Once Casey disappeared from view, Jack put the car in gear and headed down the street to where she’d indicated he would find the Ledbetter Garage. Standing alone on a blacktop with its wide door lifted to reveal triple work bays, it appeared well kept despite the inevitable splashes of grease and the pervasive smell of motor oil.

  In front lounged a mechanic in a blue coverall, taking a cigarette break. He was the only person in view.

  As Jack pulled up, he noted that the man, who wore his long brown hair tied back, had the name Royce embroidered on his pocket. Even had he not known the man was an ex-high-school football player, he’d have guessed it from his beefy build.

  Jack parked and exited the car. After extinguishing his cigarette, Royce ambled over to inspect the broken window.

  “Storm damage?” he asked in a friendly tone. It got much less friendly when he caught a clearer look at Jack across the hood. “Oh, it’s you.”

  “You recognize me?” Jack refrained from offering to shake hands. He had no desire to do so, even assuming Royce’s wasn’t covered with oil. “I didn’t realize I was famous.”

  “I saw you at church.” The mechanic grimaced at the window, which Jack had taped into place. “You want an estimate for that?”

  “That’s the general idea.” And to take your measure. “Can you handle glass and paint work?”

  “People around here expect me to fix whatever needs to be fixed.” Royce fingered the scratches on the roof. “You’d have to leave it for at least a few days. It’s a rental, right? If I were you, I’d let the rental company take care of it. I doubt they’d approve an estimate without taking a look for themselves.”

  Jack suspected the same thing. At least Royce had passed one test: he appeared to be honest. “You’re probably right.”

  “You didn’t really come here to get this fixed.” The mechanic scowled at him. “You want to let me know you’re staking out your claim to Casey. Well, that’s up to her, isn’t it?”

  Jack decided not to answer directly. Instead, to learn what kind of reaction he’d get, he threw out a question. “Did you hear somebody tried to burn down Enid Purdue’s cabin last night?”

  The mechanic answered without missing a beat. “According to Sandra, it was lightning.”

  Jack hadn’t counted on the efficiency of a small-town grapevine. That made it hard to surprise information from a suspect. “What did she do, call you with the news?”

  Royce jerked his head toward an aging sedan inside the garage. “She brought her parents’ car in this morning for a tune-up.”

  “What else did she say?” Although he didn’t like the fact that two people he mistrusted had been conferring, Jack at least wanted to gather as many details about the conversation as possible.

  “That you found a lighter on the roof.” The mechanic paused.

  “That’s right.” Jack paused, too.

  Silence lengthened between them as they tried to wait each other out. The tension must have bothered Royce more, because he was the first to break it. “Could have been some bird dropped it there. They like bright objects.”

  Jack hadn’t considered that possibility. Although feasible, it was unlikely. “This damage to my car wasn’t an accident. Someone tried to make it look like one, though.”

  Again, he failed to startle a telling reaction from Royce. “I guess you’re not too popular around here,” the man drawled. “I don’t believe in vandalism, but I can understand the sentiment.”

  Jack hid his annoyance. “I didn’t realize I’d entered a popularity contest. As far as I’m concerned, the only person whose opinion of me matters is Casey.”

  The man’s face flushed. “People around here believe a man ought to stand by his wife.”

  So that was his issue. Or, at least, the excuse he used to justify his enmity.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but Casey’s the one who chose to leave,” Jack said. “She’s welcome back any time.”

  “Then she must not like you too much,” Royce retorted. “Or else you did something to drive her away.”

  The man’s needling hit close to home. He had driven her away by refusing her a child, and now she was ha
ving one anyway.

  She’d wanted the baby more than she’d wanted Jack. And she apparently loved her home more than she loved him, as well. Lots of things other than her husband seemed to come first with Casey.

  All the same, his marriage was none of this jealous mechanic’s business. “What matters is that I’m the one she called when she needed help. If you’ve got some idea of driving me away, forget about it.”

  Royce snorted in disbelief. “You think I’m still carrying a torch? No way. There’s plenty of other pretty girls around here.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Jack said. “So I can assume that if you find something suspicious in one of your customer’s cars, you’ll let the police know?”

  “Like what?” Royce demanded.

  Since the attacker tended to use whatever weapon fell to hand, Jack didn’t have an easy answer. He’d have loved an excuse to go through the Rawlinses’ car, sitting right there in front of him, but he didn’t have that either. “You’ll know it if you see it,” he replied.

  “If I found evidence somebody was trying to hurt Casey, you bet I’d turn it in,” the mechanic said. “Some of us stick by our friends.” Wiping his hands on his coveralls, he marched into the garage.

  That hadn’t gone well, Jack thought as he got back in the car. It bothered him that Royce and possibly other people assumed he must have mistreated Casey.

  By his standards, he didn’t believe he’d been a bad husband, but he had no idea how most marriages functioned. It wasn’t as if his parents had set a shining example.

  The interview hadn’t made up his mind about Royce, either. He still considered the man a suspect, but no more so than before.

  To reach his next destination, the Civic Center, he backtracked up Lake Avenue. As soon as he swung left into the parking lot, he spotted a banner draped across the front of the library.

  “Spring Fling on Wednesday Night,” it read. Underneath: “Community Center, 7 p.m.” The banner bore a number of streaks and smudges from the storm, but either it had held fast or someone had reattached it.

  The police station, a one-story brick building, occupied the site next to the library. He entered directly into a large room furnished with a bench and bisected by a counter. Behind it, instead of a desk sergeant, a dark-haired young woman in civilian clothes sat typing at a computer.

  “You were at Casey’s party, weren’t you?” he said.

  She quit typing and swept an appreciative gaze over him. “Sure was. I’m Angie Margolis.” Standing up, she shook hands vigorously. “You met my older sister Bonnie, too—sometimes people mix us up. She works here as well.”

  Jack wasn’t accustomed to people providing so much unsolicited information, but he appreciated the fact that this woman, at least, didn’t consider him an unwelcome intruder. “I wondered if I might speak with the chief.”

  “He isn’t feeling too well. It’s his arthritis,” she confided. “I bet he’ll want to meet you, though. Just a sec.” With a wink, she disappeared through a door.

  Since there was nothing to look at on the walls other than photographs of former police chiefs, Jack glanced at the log-in sheet on the counter, which displayed a couple of recent entries. Under “reason for visit,” one person had written, “Lost dog.” Another said, “Fender bender.” Not much of a crime wave, he thought, amused.

  When the door opened, a white-haired man emerged. Although he appeared well beyond the usual age of retirement, he had a commanding presence that made Jack respect him immediately. “Mr. Arnett? I’m Horace Roundtree,” he said. “I’d shake hands, but I’m afraid my arthritis is acting up.”

  “I understand.” Jack produced the plastic bag containing the cigarette lighter, along with the one holding the rock that might have broken his side window. “I wanted to turn these in and talk to you about the incidents on my wife’s property.”

  “I figured you’d be stopping by. I heard about the fire last night. Glad to see you brought the evidence.” After accepting the bags, the chief waved him into the building’s interior. “It’s always a pleasure to welcome a fellow professional. I understand you used to be an officer. LAPD?”

  Jack knew he shouldn’t be surprised that everyone around here appeared fully informed about him, but, all the same, he hadn’t expected it. “That’s right. I worked there for six years. Now I’m a partner in a private security agency.”

  “So I heard. Men At Arms, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right.” Figuring the chief had probably researched it on the Internet already, he didn’t bother to add any details.

  They entered a short hallway with several rooms opening off each side. The place seemed unusually quiet for a police station, but then, Jack remembered, Richfield Crossing didn’t employ its own dispatchers and had only two officers.

  “Care for a tour?” the chief asked.

  “Sure, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

  “No trouble at all.”

  Despite its modest size, the station came equipped with rooms for property and evidence, booking, briefing and interviews, along with a couple of holding cells. The only person they encountered was Bonnie, a slightly older version of her sister, who took the lighter and rock to test for fingerprints.

  “There’s no watch commander or patrol supervisor other than me,” the chief explained as he ushered Jack into his comfortable office. “I’ve got one part-time officer who works at another job to make ends meet. Not exactly what you’re used to.”

  Jack accepted his offer of a worn upholstered chair. “Running a small security company has taught me how to be flexible. Besides, I don’t suppose you need a lot of manpower in a town this size.”

  “Folks get rowdy sometimes at the Whiskey Flats.” The chief sank into a seat behind his desk. “That’s the bar down near the Benson Glassworks. And we have our share of domestic quarrels and traffic accidents. Plus you never know what’s going to happen.”

  “People can be unpredictable,” Jack agreed. A smart officer never let himself become complacent.

  “Well, you didn’t come here to listen to the trials and tribulations of small-town police work,” the chief said. “Other than the items you brought in, what else have you uncovered?”

  Jack took out his notebook. “I’ve talked to a few people.”

  “I’d expect nothing less. I was planning to do it myself, but I don’t mind having a little extra help.”

  Glad that the chief didn’t resent his encroachment, Jack shared his notes and observations. Despite some concerns, he decided to include Enid’s remarks about Larry Malloy.

  “Larry’s no saint and he might have pulled some pranks when he was younger, but he’s not your prowler,” the chief said. “On Friday night, he went right to the Pine Woods from his second job over at the glassworks. He was scheduled on duty there last night as well. He may not be the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, but this doesn’t sound like him.”

  Jack nodded, willing to accept Roundtree’s assessment and Larry’s alibi for the moment, and moved on. “The only motive that might tie these incidents together would be someone wanting to harass Casey. Al Rawlins has expressed some negative feelings about her.”

  “There’s another kettle of fish.” The chief sighed. “Al’s had a hard time in life and he’s not dealing with it too well.”

  He explained that, eight years earlier, Sandra’s older brother, Al Junior, had died after driving his car into a tree. “He was drunk, and it wasn’t the first time he’d had an accident, but his parents always paid the damages,” Roundtree added. “Al and Mary sure do love their kids, maybe a little too much.”

  “Overindulgent?” Jack asked.

  “And quick to blame their problems on others,” the chief confirmed. “After Junior died, his father threatened to sue the town over a pothole, as if that was what killed his son. He saw reason eventually. When Sandra got messed up, I think he wanted someone to get mad at other than his daughter.”

  “So he picked C
asey,” Jack said.

  “Who else? She’d been Sandra’s best buddy and they’d moved away together,” Roundtree said. “She made an easy target.”

  “Do you have any reason to believe he might put that resentment into action?”

  The chief considered for a moment before answering. “He did a lot of grumbling after your wife moved back, but I never saw any real danger in it.”

  “Does he have a clean record?”

  “Officially, yes.”

  “How about unofficially?

  Roundtree drummed his fingers on the desk. “A few years ago some out-of-towner opened a rival video store out on the highway. With his big discounts and a stock of those video games the kids love, he took a lot of business away from Al. A month after it opened, the place burned down.”

  Jack whistled. “Arson?”

  “The inspector we sent out there said it looked to be wiring problems.” The chief kept his tone noncommittal.

  “How convenient for the Rawlinses.”

  “Al didn’t try to pretend he was sorry about it. Still, I don’t see how he could have made it look like an accident if it wasn’t. Arson’s usually pretty obvious, as I’m sure you know.” Roundtree broke off when Bonnie Margolis poked her head into the office.

  “Hi, there,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t find any prints on that lighter or the rock, either. I really did try hard, Jack.”

  He’d never before heard a tech apologize for not finding anything. “I’m sure you did. Thanks, Miss Margolis.”

  She vanished with a little wave. “Those girls like you,” the chief said. “I guess an old guy like me isn’t too good for morale.”

  “You obviously know your business and that’s what counts,” Jack answered.

  The white-haired man shook his leonine head. “It takes more than that to run a department, even a small one such as this. I used to think I’d never get old, up to about a year ago. That’s when I hurt my back chopping wood—durn fool thing for man in his seventies to do, but if you knew my wife, you’d understand why I don’t like to say no to Gladys. Since then it seems as if my aches and pains have started ganging up on me.”