by B. J Daniels
But if the teens didn’t try to rob the Arnold house, then it would blow his theory all to hell. Worse, they needed to catch the teens in the act. If his theory was wrong...
He started as he spotted movement in the alley. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Three small figures all dressed in black. Were they wearing large black garbage bags?
“Here they come,” he said to Mark as the three figures moved through the drowning rain headed his way.
They disappeared from view as they entered the back gate of the Arnold house. He waited. He couldn’t hear anything but the storm. The hard part now would be keeping their positions until the three actually broke into the house.
He had to move closer. He edged along the fence, pretty sure one girl would be the lookout while the other two did the burglarizing.
At the faint sound of breaking glass, Flint stopped next to the side of the house. He’d been right. In a flash of lightning, he saw one of them standing guard by the back fence. The other two had disappeared around the side where Mark was.
“Tori Clark and Laralee Fraser have entered the house,” Flint heard in his earpiece.
He waited for his undersheriff to alert him that they had caught them in the act. While they’d set up video surveillance equipment earlier with the Arnolds’ permission, they wanted to make sure they caught all three of the girls involved.
A light came on inside the house. He could hear the teens moving around in there.
“Are we getting video?” he asked quietly.
“Affirmative.”
The one guarding the back looked at her phone. She appeared to be getting a text. A minute later, the other two came out. One of them had what looked like a laptop computer tucked under one arm.
As they reached the one at the back of the house, Flint stepped out. “Sheriff, hands up,” he said, turning on his flashlight.
For a moment, the three were blinded by the light, but then they tried to scatter. But Mark had come up behind them. He grabbed Laralee’s arm before she could get away and got a hold on Wendy, as well.
Flint chased down Tori, who dropped the computer. He was glad he’d warned the Arnolds not to leave out anything they valued. The laptop was old and didn’t work and was a perfect prop.
“We didn’t do anything,” Tori was saying. “There’s no law against walking in the rain.”
“But there are laws about breaking and entering,” Flint said as he cuffed the girl and went to help Mark.
“You are going to be in so much trouble when my parents hear about this,” Tori said as the other two were restrained.
Flint got on the radio and Deputy Christopher Hanson came roaring up the alley in a patrol SUV. All three teens were put in the back. “Take them down to the office and put them in a cell. I won’t be long.”
He was glad he’d chosen Chris for this job tonight instead of Harp. He couldn’t trust what Harper might have done with the three teens—or what they might have done to him—before they reached the sheriff’s office.
“Let’s get that surveillance video. I’ll call the parents. This will get ugly before the night’s over,” he told Mark.
“We got them. I suspect they’ll all walk with little more than a slap on the wrist,” Mark said with a shake of his head. “You know the judge isn’t going to send any of them to reform school.”
Flint nodded. “But they won’t be breaking into anyone’s house for a while once it runs in the newspaper that three teens were arrested for the break-ins. You know this town. Everyone will be speculating. It should shame the parents enough that they will keep the girls in line for a while.”
* * *
RAFAEL WIPED HIS hand across his face and looked out at the mountains as the bruised sky seemed to open up and rain began to fall in sheets. He couldn’t believe that he’d just spent so many hours in this damned van driving straight-through from Florida all the way to godforsaken Montana to chase down his wife.
What made it all so ridiculous was that he hadn’t wanted to marry Mariah Loveridge Ayers. He’d had no choice since the marriage had been arranged by his father and her uncle. Even if he wasn’t Roma, he couldn’t go against his father since he held the purse strings.
Mariah was beautiful, which didn’t hurt, and spirited. If he had to marry her, then he looked forward to breaking her like a wild horse. That had been the draw, not lust, not interest on any level and certainly no chance for love. When she’d refused to marry him and had taken off, it had become a battle of wills. He’d been determined to have her. To soil her so no man would ever want her.
He hadn’t planned to actually marry her after she’d dishonored him. But with his father ill and his mother in tears, he’d had no choice but to find her, drag her back and marry her. He’d just never filed the legal papers. According to Roma law, they were married as soon as he consummated the marriage.
But according to the laws of this country, they were not. That pleased him to no end. With his father teetering, one foot in the grave, the man would never know the truth and Rafael would have what he wanted—Mariah’s virtue—and still get to walk away. His mother would understand and Mariah would have no recourse against him even with Roma law since she was the one who’d broken her vows.
But first he had to find her. Once he had her tied up in the back of this van... He felt himself grow hard again. He would take her as roughly as possible. She would pay for his humiliation. She would pay dearly. The thought of keeping her alive appealed to him. He could take her back to Florida, heap abuse on her, both in and out of the bedroom. She would be his slave. He could do anything he wanted with her.
But killing her also appealed to him. He could take what he wanted from her, bury her out here in this wilderness and then he could go back home and live the life he had desperately wanted for so long. With his father gone, he could leave the Roma community. He’d had enough of its rules, its outdated culture. He would be a free man.
He glanced over at his cousin. He’d been on his cell phone. How he’d managed to get coverage out here in the middle of nowhere, Rafael couldn’t imagine.
“Well?” he demanded when his cousin hung up.
“Your father is very ill, but he said he can’t die until you are married to the woman he chose for you,” Angel said.
Rafael swore. Why didn’t the man die? He looked again toward the mountains. “Then we’d better get this taken care of, don’t you think?” He tossed the map over onto his cousin’s lap. “How far are we from Gilt Edge and this Stagecoach Saloon?”
Angel studied the map for a moment. “About thirty minutes. But you know you can’t just walk in there and take her—even if she is still around.”
“She’s still around,” he said through gritted teeth. “I got an email earlier from the investigator I hired along with his bill. He said, if I was still interested, she is at the saloon.”
Angel looked surprised. “I thought the private investigator said she took off?”
Rafael smiled. “Apparently, she came back. You know what that means, don’t you? She’s just asking for what she’s about to get.”
* * *
SINCE THE ATTEMPTED robbery and finding out about Rafael Vale, Darby couldn’t help being nervous as closing time approached. They had one table of customers who hadn’t left yet. He moved to the front door to turn out the Open sign, but was careful to leave the security light on at the front of the building.
As the neon Open blinked off, he looked past it to the empty road and the grove of pine trees on the other side. The night was unusually dark. No moon. No stars to be seen through the low cloud cover that hung over Gilt Edge.
He’d heard there was a storm coming. So far it hadn’t reached them, but as he opened the door and looked out, he could smell rain on the wind. It appeared to be pouring rain in the mountains
and even in town.
The pine trees swayed and whispered in the wind. He could barely make out the lights of town through the storm. The first few drops of rain slashed down to splash at his feet. He closed the door, turning to see the last table starting to put on their jackets to leave.
All he could think about was closing up and going upstairs with Mariah. He glanced to where she was washing glasses behind the bar. She looked as nervous as he felt.
It was the storm, he told himself as the last table headed for the door. He could feel the electricity in the air. It seemed to spike the hairs at the back of his neck as he opened the door for the stragglers.
“Have a good night,” he said, closing and locking the door behind them with a sense of relief. Turning, he smiled at Mariah.
“There’s a thunderstorm headed this way,” he said as he moved toward her. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to spend it in bed.”
She laughed. “You must have read my mind.” She glanced toward the closest window. The branches of a pine tree scraped against the glass, throwing shadows across that end of the bar.
“The wind has really come up,” she said, and she jumped as a bolt of lightning lit the room. Thunder rumbled, low and deep, seeming to make the building vibrate.
“Don’t worry about this stone stagecoach stop,” he told her. “It’s survived many a storm over the years.” It would survive this one too. But he was glad to be locking up for the night. Another bolt of lightning splintered the sky outside. The thunder was much closer this time.
“Leave those,” he said. “Let’s get upstairs. You aren’t afraid of thunderstorms, are you?” His voice was drowned out by the loud crack of lightning, followed instantly by a drum of thunder that seemed to go on and on for several minutes. The wind howled along the eaves, making the glass rattle in the windows.
He reached for Mariah just as the back door blew open.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
FLINT GATHERED THE parents in the conference room at the sheriff’s department. They couldn’t have been more different. Tori’s and Wendy’s moms wore velour-jogging suits, their hair recently done with nails gleaming from their recent manicures.
Laralee’s mother, Tammy, was still in her uniform from her night cleaning job he’d heard she’d picked up at a dozen local businesses. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Her nails were bare and short, her hands red and chapped from cleaning supplies.
None of the fathers were in attendance. Wendy’s pilot father was on a run from Billings to Amsterdam, Holland. Tori’s was in Chicago on business. Laralee’s was on the road.
“As you know, we are holding your daughters until the judge can see them in the morning,” Flint said as he entered the room. Both Tori’s and Wendy’s mothers had instantly gotten to their feet at the sight of him, both beginning to argue that they would be talking to their lawyers. Their husband’s lawyers.
He silenced them as he said, “I have a video I’d like you all to see.” He turned it on and the room grew quiet as Tori and Laralee appeared on the screen. From their conversation, it became clear that Flint had been right. Tori was bullying Laralee into taking something.
“I think you should break something,” Tori said.
“No.” Laralee shook her head. “I’ll just take something but this is the last time.”
“Wendy and I will tell you when it is the last time. Now find something to take.”
When the video ended, the conference room was deathly quiet. Laralee’s mother appeared angry with her daughter. Tori’s and Wendy’s were subdued.
“We will be keeping them overnight. Tomorrow I will show the judge the video and let him decide what should be done,” Flint said.
Tammy Fraser got to her feet, ready to leave. She had said nothing since being brought down here. “I’ll come back in the morning.”
“I’ve been trying to reach my father, Judge Harmon. I’m sure once I talk to him that the girls won’t have to stay in jail—”
Flint cut off Wendy’s mother. He didn’t need to be reminded that her father was a judge. “They stay overnight. Maybe it will give them time to think about the consequences of their actions. Bullying is against the law as is breaking and entering, theft... I’m sure you’ll all be getting a call in the morning from Judge McDonald.” McDonald was called the hanging judge around the county.
In a huff, the other two rose to leave.
“Mrs. Fraser,” Flint said. “If you’d like to file bullying charges, you can meet with the judge in the morning at nine.”
The woman lifted her gaze to meet his. “Mostly I want to talk to my daughter. But thank you, Sheriff.”
Flint watched them leave, hoping that this experience would change the girls. For some reason he thought of his ex, Celeste. Her childhood had been like Tori’s and Wendy’s and look how she’d turned out.
* * *
DEPUTY HARPER COLE drove past the Stagecoach Saloon, glanced to see if the light was still on and kept going. This was such a waste of time.
“So basically we’re providing sheriff department protection to your brother and his girlfriend,” Harp had said when Flint told him what he wanted him to do.
“We provide protection to all the residents of this county.”
“Right, but in this case you want me to drive by when I’m on duty and make sure a light is still shining out front. Otherwise, I’m to get on the horn to you. Sounds like we’re providing special treatment for your family to me.”
“Harp, if you can’t handle this, then maybe you’d better turn in your badge and gun now. Since you’ll be driving around on your shift anyway, I don’t think going by the saloon will be that difficult for you. Unless you want to revisit those complaints I received from residents saying that on the night you were supposed to be checking local businesses, you were sitting in Sue’s Diner drinking coffee, eating doughnuts and hitting on one of the waitresses.”
“It was pie.”
The deputy swore now as he drove east into the foothills. Flint had had it out for him from the beginning. It was because he was the mayor’s son. One of these days he was going to be sheriff of this county and when he was, he wouldn’t give the Cahills the time of day—let alone let them get away with what they did now.
The first thing he would do was lock up the old coot for good. Then he would wait around for the rest of them to mess up. There would finally be justice in Gilt Edge.
As the road forked, Harp considered taking the long way back to town. But his stomach growled at the thought of one of Sue’s cinnamon rolls or a piece of her apple pie. He could get it to go since apparently someone had complained he spent too much time parked there. That’s if Flint was even telling the truth about that.
Turning around in the road, he saw lightning flicker as the violent thunderstorm the weather bureau had predicted moved into the valley. Harp welcomed it. He hated the night shift. Driving around bored him. He couldn’t see why sitting in Sue’s visiting with Vicki Welch was so bad. If something happened, he’d hear about it on his radio—if he didn’t have it turned down too low—and he could take care of it then.
* * *
DARBY QUICKLY PUSHED Mariah down and, flipping off the outside light, he grabbed the shotgun he’d only recently added behind the bar. He had firearms all over the place, afraid he was going to need them when Rafael showed up.
Wind and rain blew into the kitchen. A curtain snapped in the strong gale. It sounded like one of the pans hanging over the stove banged against the one next to it.
Darby didn’t move. Neither did Mariah, who had earlier risen to pick up the baseball bat from behind the bar. She stood next to him, a determined terrified look on her face.
The wind howled, rain splashed onto the kitchen floor, but no one came down the hallway. Darby motioned for Mari
ah to stay where she was as he eased out from behind the bar and started toward the kitchen. He could see the door was wide open—only rain and darkness beyond it.
If someone was hiding in the kitchen, they were getting soaked, Darby thought. Rafael? Had he brought reinforcements, just as Mariah had suspected? Were they waiting outside for his signal to enter?
He trained the shotgun on the open doorway as he moved slowly down the hallway toward the kitchen. Billie Dee had left only a small light burning back there. The pans clanked together harder as a gust rushed in. He caught it in the face, the wind, the chill of it.
Darby was almost to the kitchen. Someone could be hiding on either side of the door. On the kitchen table side. Or on the stove side. He would have only a second to choose which side to swing the shotgun toward. If he chose wrong—
The back door slammed shut with a thunderous bang making him jump. His trigger finger jumped, as well, leaving him shocked that he hadn’t fired the shotgun at the slamming door.
He swung the shotgun to the right. No one by the kitchen table. And quickly to the left. No one by the stove. He stood trying to catch his breath, to still his pounding heart, to will strength back into his limbs.
Slowly he lowered the shotgun and turned to find Mariah directly behind him. She was gripping the baseball bat with white knuckles. Her dark eyes were wide and wild.
He stepped to her, pushing the baseball bat aside to pull her into his arms. “False alarm.” At least this time. “I need to turn the light back on. Otherwise, we’re going to have a deputy come busting in next.”
* * *
HARP DROVE BACK down the road toward the saloon. It pissed him off all the more, thinking about how he could be at the diner having a cup of hot coffee and a piece of Sue’s homemade pie. He thought of Vicki. She’d said she wanted to “talk” tonight. That had him a little worried. It was never good when a woman wanted to “talk.”
