by Debra Webb
“I’m here for you, Abby.”
She felt her cheeks heat with his steady reassurance. Thank goodness, they weren’t having this talk in person. What was it about this man that made her waffle so much? One minute she wanted him to be more than a friend, the next she wasn’t so sure. “I’ll be in touch, Deke. Thank you again for going above and beyond for opening weekend. Please be careful and call in if you need any assistance.”
“Always. You do the same.”
“Definitely.” She was smiling when the call disconnected and it felt genuine for the first time in ages. This nonsense in the media and with whomever had decided to terrify her town had only started a little over a week ago, but she couldn’t deny the stress was taking a toll.
She checked the time. It was too soon to expect any news from the officers who’d come by when she’d found her garage door hanging open. With little more than half an hour before the hardware store opened for business, she decided to check her email. Buying a new lock for the garage wouldn’t be a high point of her day, but she needed it secure for her peace of mind. And a new snow shovel to deal with the fresh snow predicted for this evening. Hers had been taken to the crime lab to analyze what had appeared to be dried blood on the blade. The idea that someone had borrowed her snow shovel and used it for something untoward was a little out there, as theories went, but considering the other strange happenings around here lately she wasn’t taking any chances.
Half an hour would be enough time to review the overflowing email in-box and send any threat with a clear target up the line to the feds.
Braced for more hateful messages, she set to work.
* * *
RILEY TURNED DOWN the volume on the radio clipped to his ladder. All of Belclare was enamored with Deke Maynard and his unflinching support of Chief Jensen. It was the third time this morning he’d heard the new ad for the Christmas Village opening weekend.
The artist—in his mind he added a sneer to the word—made him edgy. There was more going on behind the sparkling windows of the man’s perfectly restored home. A great deal more than the sketches and scenic oils on canvas displayed with such care in the gallery window down the street evoked.
Riley knew his role here. He understood that he couldn’t jump at every shadow while he was learning the landscape. This wasn’t a short game Casey had him playing.
That didn’t necessarily rule out the immediate trouble closing in on Chief Jensen. Filmore, the uptight snob who wanted to lift the added patrols, particularly the foot patrols, was near the top of Riley’s list. The man’s priorities were way off. Being passionate about architecture and history was fine. But what kind of person preferred historical accuracy over the safety of the general public?
A man with something to hide, in Riley’s opinion. Or something more to gain.
In less than two days, the Christmas Village would be hosting the first major rush of tourists for the season. So far, he hadn’t pinpointed a clear threat, but someone was ramping up the effort against the chief.
According to Danny, Chief Jensen was spending an inordinate amount of time behind closed doors since the drug bust, sorting out the loonies from the more substantial threats that were flooding the station’s snail mail and email every day. Chief Jensen sent high-level threats to the feds for further analysis. Anything Director Casey could tie to Belclare, he sent back to Riley, but so far, no hard intel had come his way.
He’d overheard people whispering about the vandalism and the attack on Calder; however, there weren’t any leads beyond wild speculation and fingers pointing at him and the other temporary workers in town. The easy theory wasn’t close to accurate when it came to him and he didn’t suspect any of his co-workers. But in a community as close as Belclare it was far more comfortable and convenient to blame outsiders.
Whoever was behind the trouble was using human nature to their advantage. Surely a cop as smart as Jensen wouldn’t have settled for that lousy, easy explanation. But Riley wondered why the person or group behind all this thought she would.
He took his assignment for the day—the hardware store on Main Street—and knocked it out in record time with the help of two other guys from the crew.
While they tested lights and put the final touches on the displays, Riley casually observed the people watching them. There was decent foot traffic in the business center of town and for the most part people were cautiously friendly. He might have a lifetime assignment here, but it wouldn’t be a hardship. It wasn’t as if he had family or a significant other waiting somewhere else. He could see a place like this being home.
With a few minutes before the next load of decorations from the warehouse was due, he walked into the hardware store to look around. An agent’s best asset was a thorough knowledge of the situation.
“Welcome, welcome,” an older woman behind the counter greeted him. “You look like a man who needs a new pair of gloves.”
He pulled his cold, red hands from the pockets of his vest and blew on them a little. “I don’t use gloves with close work like this.”
“Well, that’s understandable,” she allowed. “Take your time and warm up some anyway.”
“That wind can be a bear,” he said, hoping he sounded friendly. He wanted to get her talking. Listening to the chatter among the locals was another excellent tool for assignments like this one.
“Part of the charm this close to the water,” she replied with a twinkle in her bright blue eyes. “Only the tough ones stick it out. Will you be moving on soon?”
He hesitated at the aisle with bins of nails and fasteners stretched out on either side. “I might be around a while.” He shot her a grin. “I’ll get used to the charm. And I already have another job lined up in Belclare when the decorations are done.”
“That’s good news, I suppose.”
Riley recognized the curiosity in her voice. She was interested in his wallet as well as his purpose. He’d happily use that lead-in. “I think so.”
“That company you’re working for knows your plans?”
He stepped up to the counter, ready to play the gossip game. “They know I earn every penny of what they pay me and that’s enough.”
“Hmm.”
He stuck out his hand. “Riley O’Brien,” he said. “Do you handle special orders?”
The older woman’s eyes lit up. “Of course. Peg Blackwell, at your service.”
“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Blackwell.”
“Peg.”
Riley acknowledged the correction with a quick nod. “I find myself in need of—”
The bell over the door jingled, interrupting the request he’d been about to make. He found himself in need, but the context changed at the sight of Chief Jensen. He glanced at Peg, wondering if she’d hit a silent alarm to summon the chief when he’d walked in. Did he look that suspicious?
“Good morning, Peg,” Abby called, wiping her feet on the doormat.
“Chief,” the lady behind the counter replied.
Riley surveyed his assignment. The chief looked overdressed for a hardware store, in a soft Christmas-red sweater and charcoal slacks with heeled boots far too dressy for the weather. Her cheeks were bright pink from the cold and a wisp of blond hair had escaped from her ponytail and caught in her lip gloss.
He struggled to ignore the feelings she roused in him. Yes, he’d been sent to protect her, but he was taking her safety much too personally—in record time at that.
Behind the counter, Peg’s demeanor shifted and she gave off a vibe as cold as the biting wind outside. No love lost between these two, Riley decided, wondering if it was just the recent trouble or if their problems went deeper. Not everyone in town was a potential terrorist, but someone was the ringleader of all the trouble falling on Belclare and the police chief.
“Good morning, Mr. O’Brien.”
He corrected her with a slow shake of his head.
She sighed and tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “Good morning,
Riley. Is that your work out front?”
“It sure is,” Peg volunteered.
“I had some help along the way,” he said.
“It looks good.” Abby gifted him with a smile.
“Thanks.” He gave her a small bow. “I was about to look over some wood stain options while I wait for the next decorating assignment.”
“Aisle three, near the corner,” Peg suggested warmly. Her tone dropped several degrees when she spoke to the chief. “What brings you by?”
Riley ambled away, visions in his head of the options for the kitchen while he eavesdropped on the women at the counter.
“I need a new lock set for my garage,” Abby said. “And a snow shovel.”
Questions rattled through Riley’s head and he hoped Peg would ask them. He hadn’t spotted any problems at her place before he’d driven in to work.
“Was it frozen?” Peg asked. “You could’ve asked Calder to have a look. That is, if he wasn’t in the hospital.”
Ah, so that was the crux of it. Peg and Calder were friends and the lady was blaming the chief for his injury. Wasn’t fair. Abby hadn’t scrawled that threat on the guy’s house and she hadn’t pushed over the ladder. None of this was her fault. Whether these people wanted to face it or not, trouble was brewing in their idyllic little town. The only thing Abby was guilty of was drawing it to the surface.
“Not frozen. Just broken. I guess it wasn’t as sturdy as it should have been.”
He admired Abby’s patience with the constant doubt and irritation. Compared to the threats he knew she was receiving, a little grumpiness must feel like a cakewalk. Riley listened as Peg led Abby to the correct aisle for locks.
“Front of the store for the shovel,” Peg explained, sounding friendlier in Riley’s opinion. “They’re calling for a couple of inches tomorrow night.”
He couldn’t hear Abby’s answer as the women walked farther from him, but Peg came to his rescue with a startled explanation that carried through the store.
“Good grief. Are you okay?”
Abby must have answered in the affirmative because suddenly Peg’s tone changed again. “I respect what it takes to do your job, young lady, but your mouth has put us all in a world of hurt.”
Riley started across the store, ready to leap to Abby’s defense. He couldn’t be the only person in Belclare who recognized her decisions were rooted in her unflagging dedication.
“What happened?” he demanded, ignoring the way Abby jumped at his interruption. “Did the crime-scene techs find something at Calder’s place?”
“No.” Abby cleared her throat. “Someone broke the lock on my garage. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“I don’t think so,” Riley challenged. “You live right next door to me. If there’s some twisted prowler in our neighborhood, I’d like to know how to help you catch him.”
Peg’s jaw dropped, her expression shifting from disapproval to shock. Good. The citizens of Belclare should realize Abby Jensen was doing her job and doing it well. At great personal risk. She might have tossed out an ultimatum in the heat of victory over the drug bust, but he couldn’t be the only person around here capable of seeing how she was backing it up. Or trying to.
The email brief he’d read this morning detailed chatter about another drug shipment heading this way. It would likely come through the docks, but there were plenty of vendors descending on the town, as well. In short, the suspect pool was growing instead of shrinking. The situation was overwhelming for a department as small as Abby’s.
“I can do it,” Abby said.
“That’s obvious,” Riley agreed, “but we can all use a little help sometimes.” She frowned at him so he barreled on with a subject change. “Looks like you’re dressed for another press conference. I’ll get the lock fixed while you deal with whatever is already on your schedule.”
Her frown deepened to a scowl. “What do you know about how I dress?”
“YouTube is everywhere,” he said, shooting her a grin. “I keep up with local events. And I heard the ads that artist guy in town put out this morning.”
“Deke Maynard?” Her frustration turned to confusion. “What about him?”
“That’s the one.” He held out his hand. “You’ll back up his good publicity with another statement, right?”
She nodded. “Sure. Of course.”
“Thought so. Since you have your hands full keeping the peace and chasing the bad guys, give me the lock.” When she dropped it into his hand he barely stifled a cheer. “Now, what happened to your snow shovel?”
“We bagged it and sent it to the lab. I don’t know that there’s anything to officially report as of yet.” She shrugged. “For that matter, the material on the blade may not have been blood, but I’ll feel better when I’ve confirmed one way or the other. I’m optimistic since we haven’t heard about any victims lying around.”
“Give it time,” Peg muttered under her breath as she headed back toward the sales counter. “Will that be cash or charge?”
“Cash,” Abby said, following her. “Thanks for your help, Peg.”
“Anytime.” The older woman’s demeanor had softened a bit more.
“You’re sure you have time for this, Riley?” Abby asked him.
He nodded, hearing the distinct groan of the brakes on the truck he was expecting from the warehouse. “I’ll take care of it as soon as I get home.”
“The department is running an extra patrol around our street,” Abby warned. “Be prepared to let them know you’re helping me out.”
“Sure thing.”
She paid for her purchases, but he carried them out to his truck after she left. Knowing she hadn’t assaulted anyone, he wondered who wanted her out of the way so badly they’d resort to planting evidence in her garage. And why hadn’t she wanted to file an official report about it?
The bigger question remained: What else could he do to stay close enough to protect her?
Chapter Eight
Frustrated after her security meeting with the Christmas Village vendors, Abby drove home, the hard-rock music pumped as high as she dared. Just as she’d been walking out of her office, the crime lab had called. They identified the tissue on the blade of her snow shovel as human, but it was too early to have any results back on DNA that might match up with evidence in the various databases. The relevant concern was the traces of spray paint in the hair fibers.
She’d vowed to keep this town safe no matter the cost. It wouldn’t take much media speculation to convince people she’d taken justice into her own hands. She would never kill someone over graffiti, but just the rumor of it could ruin her career. There was no way to keep the incident off the record now. In fact, her hasty decision could work against her.
God, she was tired.
Gadsden had taken her report, but they both knew being at home in bed alone wasn’t enough of an alibi even for a police chief. She’d earned a bit of sympathy and leeway because of the threats raining down on her head, but at some point last night or early this morning, someone with evil intent had been close enough to break in and plant evidence on her snow shovel. Damn it, this was exactly why she needed a dog. But what dog wanted a home with a human who was rarely there?
Her emotions had run the gamut from shock to vengeance as she’d waded through the rest of her crappy day. Someone was screwing with her and she vowed to get to the bottom of it.
Her press conference had gone well, thanks to the unexpected personal appearance of their resident celebrity. Deke hadn’t said anything, but he certainly was going out of his way to help her weather the storm. She appreciated that, but siding with her so publicly put him right in the line of fire. As much as she appreciated his support, she worried he would regret giving it. On some level, she understood this was his way of showing he cared. She suspected he didn’t do that often. Whether that made her special or not, she wasn’t clear on just yet. Her and Deke’s relationship—friendship, whatever it was—was complicated.
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The worst part was that other than a few reporters she didn’t recognize, most of the folks who’d showed up to watch the press conference in person were lifelong residents of Belclare.
In the days following the drug bust, she found herself looking twice at people she’d known for years. Wondering what was going on behind closed doors—or worse—closed minds. It didn’t help that she saw the same dark curiosity in the community as people looked at each other. And at her.
It seemed common sense and yet support was too much to ask for these days. Even Peg had been nearly hostile about the recent problems and potential economic fallout. The department received more calls every day from concerned citizens sure the various outsiders helping with the Christmas Village were causing the trouble. Soothing those worries was only dragging down morale at the station, but she didn’t know how to turn things around.
Abby had to admit, in the quiet of her car, that she wasn’t very accepting of the few people who were offering support to her and her department. It seemed business owners like Peg were siding with Mayor Scott’s opinion that she’d gone too far and put everyone’s livelihood in jeopardy. Deke had probably saved opening weekend, but that didn’t get her off the hook. The mayor clearly wanted her to do more to smooth the ruffled feathers.
At the light, she debated driving up and thanking Deke personally. But knowing how much he valued his privacy, she headed home instead. No sense alienating him, too, just because she wanted a shoulder to lean on. And though he’d invited her to dinner once more when the media had dispersed, he’d done enough for her today.
Thoughts of Deke’s shoulder slipped right out of her mind as she turned onto her street. Her neighbors had been busy while she’d been sorting through threats, suspects and a frightening lack of witnesses. Christmas lights outlined roofs and shrubs; lawn ornaments featuring scenes from reindeer pulling sleighs to gentle nativities glowed on snow-dusted lawns.
But the gas lamp posts in each yard... Wow! Who had managed to get all of the neighbors to do that? Parking in her driveway, she got out of her car and admired the effect of wide red and white ribbons that turned each lamp post into a candy cane. Even hers. Happiness washed over her that whoever had come up with the idea had automatically included her. The effect was unifying yet neutral enough that it didn’t fight with the individual displays each family preferred. Belatedly, she noticed that even the tall generic streetlights at each end of the block were similarly decorated.
