Winter's Secret

by Lyn Cote

  Wendy waved good-bye to the clinic receptionist and stepped outside into subzero chill. She scurried down the snow-packed path to the waiting sheriff's car. Her head bent against the wind, she couldn't see him until after she opened the passenger door and jumped in.

  Her breathing came quickly—not merely from running in the cold. Hearing that Sheriff Durand was coming back for her had set her on edge. She avoided looking at him directly, afraid making eye contact would rattle her even more. He was a good-looking man and had a no-nonsense style."Thanks for coming to take me back to my car."

  "No trouble. How is Mrs. Ukkonen?"

  His matter-of-fact tone steadied her nerves. "We got her here in time. Thanks for arriving just when I needed you." A delayed shiver shook her. Feeling the warmth blowing from the heater, she shook off her brown parka hood and braved a glance at him.

  "Just part of my job."

  Why was she feeling so fluttery all of a sudden? She never reacted like this to a man. Maybe this was due to all the anxiety over Ma? She tried to settle herself comfortably on the seat.

  The sheriff started down the drive. "I need to ask you some questions."

  She nodded, fighting her awareness of the man just inches from her. His presence filled the small space, making her breathing shallow. She drew in a calming breath. "You have me as long as it takes to reach my car, Sheriff."

  Taking refuge in her role as nurse, she glanced at her watch. "I'm running behind. I've got quite a list of patients to visit today."

  "I just need some details for my report. After paperwork, I have cattle to take care of myself." He drove out of the clinic parking lot.

  Turning her head only slightly, Wendy studied the sheriff's profile, trying to analyze what was causing her unusual response to him. Sheriff Durand possessed good regular features, an honest face. Healthy skin and black hair. Vertical scar on his jaw. Looked like a deep one that had taken a lot of stitches to close.

  Fighting the urge to trace the scar with her finger, she busied herself latching her seat belt. What was going on with her? From a distance, she'd seen him around in the few months since he'd moved up here to take over his great-uncle's place he'd inherited. Each Sunday she'd noticed him at the church, where he sat in the back and left immediately after the service ended. He just hadn't struck her as anything but what he was now—the county sheriff. Not a man she'd do more than notice.

  But being alone with him now, she understood the buzz of interest he'd garnered among the unmarried women in the county. She wished them luck. Stiffening, she straightened her short hair by running her fingers through it.

  The sheriff glanced sideways at her, catching her looking at him. "How many visits do you do a day?"

  His catching her looking at him had irritated her, but she acted as though it hadn't. She unzipped her jacket and let out a long sigh. Great. An easy question. "It depends. Some visits are just med checks. Some take longer, like dressing changes."

  The briefest of smiles touched his mouth. "You sound like the old-fashioned country doctor, Miss Carey."

  Wendy let herself give him a cautious half smile. "Call me Wendy. Yes, Doc calls me his eyes, ears, and feet. In a rural county like ours, we're lucky to have Doc and his grandson. Without their clinic, we'd be driving more than an hour to get care." She began to warm up. The uncommon flutters were calming down. Good. "Did you find any evidence at Ma's?" She relaxed against the seat, assessing him further from the corner of her eye.

  He wore a khaki-and-brown, fleece-lined jacket over a starched khaki-and-brown shirt and matching slacks. A polished star on the jacket marked him as sheriff. But his self-assurance was just as evident. This was a man who took charge.

  "You took Mrs. Ukkonen away from home last night?" His voice, unruffled, struck a note deep inside her, drawing her from her private observations.

  She chose her words with care. "Ma's blood pressure was sky-high yesterday. Doc wanted to check her himself."

  "So she'd been away for only one night?" he asked.

  The mood in the Jeep altered. This ride to her car was more than just a courtesy. Wendy shifted in her seat. Outside the window, the snow flurries had picked up—showers of white flakes dashed themselves against the windshield as though committing mass suicide.

  Uneasy, she tucked one leg under her. Where is this leading, Sheriff? "Yes," she said slowly. "Doc called me to take her home as my first stop today."

  He nodded. "You called in the Leo Schultz burglary, too, right?"

  The mention of the second of the three burglaries puzzled her. What was he getting at? "Yes, but Leo's nephew came to the clinic and drove him home himself that morning," she said, carefully spelling out each fact in order, the same way she reported vitals to Old Doc. "When they found the house burglarized, the nephew called me first because Mr. Schultz looked so pale and shaky. I told the nephew I'd call your office and report it for him."

  "But you didn't come out to help Schultz? You didn't think he needed you?"

  His question hit her wrong. What was he implying—that she'd let Mr. Schultz down? She sat up straighter. "Doc is his nearest neighbor—didn't you know that? And that morning Doc hadn't come into the clinic yet, so I called him to go over there. Doc could do more for Mr. Schultz's weak heart than I could." She lifted her chin.

  "But you did take Schultz to the clinic the day before and had expected to drive him home?"

  So? Is that a crime? "Yes," she replied, keeping her tone measured in spite of her growing tension, "and I'm visiting him later today to do another checkup."

  He persisted. "You were also at Fletcher Cram's house when the burglary was discovered, right?" His unemotional tone unnerved her. Why was he forcing her to go back over her patients' burglaries? Maybe they were just strangers to him, but not to her. She'd known them all her life. She blinked away tears. How could someone hurt old people like this? The crimes didn't just rob them of cash. They robbed them of their feeling of safety in their own homes! Worrying her lower lip, she gazed out at the snow-laden pines lining the highway. Emotion clogged her throat.

  "You called that one in too," he prompted her. "But I didn't see you there."

  Not trusting herself, she wouldn't look at him. "I couldn't stay. And Mr. Cram wasn't so ill that I couldn't leave him."

  "But today you couldn't leave."

  His question sounded like an accusation. It sparked her temper. "You saw Ma! Finding Jiggs like that..."

  He nodded.

  The roadside pines gave way to a harvested hayfield. Propping her arm by the window, Wendy faced away. She felt tears coming again. Poor old Jiggs. She murmured half to herself, "Only a sick person would kill a helpless old dog."

  "Yes, a nasty, little weasel."

  The unexpected but controlled anger in the sheriff's voice caught her up short. She glanced at him. A wary silence blossomed inside the police car.

  "Miss Carey, you were the one who reported all three burglaries."

  She twisted sideways and gave him a reproachful look.

  "Before each burglary you took the patient to the clinic for the night; then the next morning you were supposed to be the one who brought the patient home."

  He was connecting her to these crimes? How?

  "I have to ask myself—why do burglaries happen only to patients you take to the clinic one day, then take home the next?"

  His question stunned her. Of all the insults she'd taken over the years, this was the first time an accusation had stung her so personally. Just whom had the sheriff been listening to—Veda McCracken?

  She'd reacted to this man in a way she hadn't responded to anyone before, and now he was accusing her of hurting her own patients. "You think I take people to the clinic—" her voice shook—"rob their homes, then drive them back to see my handiwork?"

  "No. I don't think you have anything to do with the burglaries, but your connection to these victims is my only lead." His police radio crackled. "Miss Carey, there's no reason to take this person
ally—"

  "You connect me with three heartless crimes, and I'm not supposed to take it personally?" Outrage pulsed at her temples.

  "I'm just following correct investigative procedure—"

  "It's just a coincidence," she interrupted him.

  "I don't admit to coincidence unless I'm forced to. Now think; did you tell anyone that you'd taken these patients in and when you would be bringing them home?"

  "Of course not! I don't gossip about my patients. But this is a small town. Everyone has ears and a mouth, and they like to use them!" Unfortunately, Veda came to mind again.

  He'd turned down the county road leading to Ma's property. Wendy zipped up her parka—she couldn't wait to get out of this car. Why had she thought the sheriff attractive? She wouldn't let him insult her anymore.

  He pulled up beside her Blazer.

  She unhooked her seat belt and let herself out of the Jeep. The cold hit her like an ice wall. Slamming the door, she ran to her car.

  The sheriff got out and called to her, "We need to talk!"

  She didn't trust herself to look back. A tangle of emotions—hurt, anger, and fear—swirled inside her like snow flung about in a crosscurrent of winter wind.

  He called after her, "I didn't mean to upset you. But I have to find out what the connection between you and the burglaries is."

  The sheriff had stirred up the muddy depths of the past. And she didn't appreciate it.

  She halted and spun around. "Sheriff, you're new here. Let me give you some words of advice. First, don't believe everything you hear. Second, you need to get to know folks before you go around asking loaded questions. We're not strangers here like the people you worked around in Milwaukee. Here it matters what you ask and whom you ask."

  Her tone became gritty. "But most of all, you need to know some people around here never forgive ... or forget."

  Chapter Two

  Seething, Wendy jerked open the creaky door of her Blazer and jumped onto the driver's seat. She plunged the key into the ignition and twisted it. The big, old motor bellowed to life. Without glancing back, she drove away. Mentally she shouted, Taking patients to and from the clinic is my job, Sheriff! I'm just doing my job.

  Her conscience whispered to her, He's just doing his job.

  She gunned her motor and swung onto the county road, fishtailing slightly. She let up on the gas pedal. Just before she bit her fingernail, Wendy caught herself. She felt like slapping the hand away. Nail biting—how she hated it. Steering with her knees, she spread her hands over the wheel. Well-manicured nails, groomed cuticles, pale pink polish on oval nails. The kind of nails she'd always dreamed of having as a teen. She sighed. She'd come too far to let this aggravating man spoil her manicure.

  Within minutes, she pulled into the yard in front of Bruno Havlecek's log cabin. She wanted Bruno to hear about Ma from her and get the facts straight. She switched off the motor but stayed in her car.

  Internally, she still bubbled like a pot of boiling water. In the country winter quiet, she bent her head and prayed for a clear mind and a calm spirit. Her patients shouldn't suffer just because the new sheriff might have picked up on old rumors. Those who wait on the Lord will find new strength. She waited with her eyes closed. She listened to the gentle shush of the falling snow on the windshield. The sound soothed her heart as though God were whispering, "Hush, my sweet child. Hush." She felt herself simmering down.

  "Wendy! Are you all right?" A gruff voice shouted nearby.

  Glancing up, she saw Bruno propped up on crutches, standing inside his open front door. She reached for her bag on the seat beside her, nipped up her hood, then braced herself to face the wind. As she hustled toward him, she scolded, "You shouldn't be standing in the cold! Get inside!"

  When she ducked past him into the house, he chuckled and closed the door behind her. "You're early, Wendy. I didn't expect you till around ten like you said."

  "I'm sorry." She shed her jacket onto the back of a wooden kitchen chair.

  "You look worried." Bruno, wearing a carefully pressed plaid shirt with a crisp red bow tie, handed her a mug of his special fresh-ground coffee, heavy on the cream.

  Wendy breathed in the rich aroma.

  Bruno lowered himself into the chair across from her at the spotless round table. "You've already had a rough day? This early?"

  "Yes." Nothing would be served by hesitating. "Ma Ukkonen's place was robbed last night."

  "Was Lou hurt?" Bruno asked, using Ma's first name.

  "No, she'd just spent the night at the clinic. When I drove her home this morning, we found her back door broken open—"

  "Blast this leg! Keeping me housebound." He slapped his injured leg. "Where is she now?"

  "She's back in the clinic. I'm afraid the shock brought on a stroke."

  "A stroke!" Bruno rubbed his forehead as though it pained him. "What did they take, for heaven's sake!"

  "I don't know." Wendy lowered her eyes. "The thief killed Jiggs."

  Bruno bent his head into his hand. "Will Lou be all right?"

  Wendy touched his sleeve. "We got her to the clinic in time."

  He looked up. "Did the sheriff come out?"

  Her stomach clenched, but she kept her voice calm. "I'm sure he's doing his best."

  "Well, he better be quick about it. This happened to Schultz and Cram, too. Three burglaries in less than a month. Nothing like this has ever happened around here. I figured a young sheriff with all that education and experience would have this all wrapped up by now."

  Wendy gave Bruno a concerned look. If kindhearted Bruno thought this, what were others thinking?

  Bruno looked back at her sharply. "The sheriff didn't say anything ... to you, did he? Perhaps he got the wrong idea ...from somebody?"

  Why had Bruno said that? Wendy's heart rate sped up to double time. Bruno meant his words as kindness, but they still stung. She cleared her throat. "No, he didn't say anything against me." The sheriff had only intimated that she was somehow connected to the three burglaries. But how could that be?

  "Lou needs help and I'm laid up with this cracked leg." He slapped his thigh again.

  She turned her attention to him. "Let's look at your leg. Maybe it's time to change you to a walking cast."

  "Would you?" Bruno gave her a shaky grin.

  He's sweet on Ma. What a dear man. Wendy knelt beside him and began to examine the leg encased in a soft splint. When she was done, she nodded. "I'll take you in with me."

  "I appreciate this, Wendy." He squeezed her arm. "I want to make sure for myself Lou's okay."

  She nodded, then bundled herself into her parka. Bruno donned his black overcoat. While Bruno locked up, she hurried ahead to open the car door and brush the light snow off her windshield. The routine medical visit had soothed her splintered nerves. But the sheriff's questions still burned like new salt in an old wound.

  Wendy drove through the early winter darkness that night. The closer she came to her destination, the more her spirits began to lift. Finally she passed the familiar back door and parked her car in the large machine shed. Then without knocking, she walked into the house with a casserole dish in hand and shut the door with a backward kick. "It's me—Wendy!"

  Her grandfather, Harlan Carey, got up from his worn recliner and opened his arms. Lady, his sheltie, stood up in front of the fireplace and barked a quick welcome.

  Setting the casserole down in the kitchen, Wendy walked into the strong arms that had welcomed and hugged her all her life. She'd learned early that the circle of her grandfather's arms was her earthly sanctuary. After a moment, she sighed and stepped back. Then she bent to pet the aged tan-and-white sheltie who lived at Grandfather's side.

  "Wendy, I didn't expect to see you tonight." His honest pleasure at her coming went straight to her heart, leaving her warmed.

  "I didn't expect to see you either." She left unsaid, But I needed to feel your love tonight. First the break-in at Ma's, next the sheriff, and then her disagree
ment earlier this evening with her sister, Sage...

  He reached over and snapped off the TV news. Lady settled down by the fire.

  Wendy made her voice light, concealing her tension. "Sage made chicken casserole and I thought it would stretch for the two of us." Recalling the scolding she'd given Sage about having her boyfriend over every night before Wendy got home made her cringe with regret. I didn't mean to get on her case again.