by Lyn Cote
Zak saw the pizzeria ahead. He yelped happily. "I'm cold! Let's run!" Zak tugged on Rodd's hand and started forward.
Rodd automatically reached for Wendy's hand, and the three of them ran together. Zak squealed and Rodd grinned, liking the feel of Wendy's gloved hand in his.
Wendy stood at the wall phone in the care-center side of the clinic lobby. Behind her, Olie Olson grumbled loudly at the day nurse admitting him. Wendy punched in the sheriff's number while her nerves did funny little hops and jumps inside her.
"Durand speaking."
Hearing Rodd's voice made the little hops and jumps spike like the readings on a heart monitor. Wendy cleared her dry throat. "Hi, it's Wendy."
"Wendy?" The sudden hope in his voice was unmistakable.
"This is the call you've been waiting for, Sheriff." And the one I've been dreading to make.
"You've brought a patient to the clinic?"
"Yes, Olie Olson from out on Winneshiek Road."
"He'll be in for the night?"
She fiddled with the twisted phone cord, trying to untangle it along with her hope and fear. "Yes, I brought him in for observation for heart arrhythmia."
"Have you told anyone else?"
"No one." She gave up and let the knotted phone cord drop.
"Good. Has anyone seen you bring him in, Wendy?"
She pictured the sheriff's face, how eager it must be. Still, her mood was as tangled as the phone cord. Would this put Rodd in danger?
"Wendy?"
"I don't know. You didn't tell me to try to hide—"
"Right. You followed your regular routine then?"
"Exactly as always, Sheriff." Except that I feel like I'm going to jump out of my skin.
"Good."
"Good?" How could Rodd stay so calm? Another burglary might happen tonight. "What do I do now?"
"What would you normally do after bringing a patient in?"
"I'd get him settled and go on with my calls." Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Olie eluding the nurse's attempts to get him to sit in the wheelchair. Olie, not now.
"Then do that."
"Is that all you want me to do?" Let down, she thought he'd have another duty for her to carry out.
"I want you to act as normal as you can."
His words spoken so seriously hit her sense of humor. What had he expected her to do—start toting her grandfather's rifle? break into song? She grinned and said in an exaggerated tone, "Well, Sheriff, I'll do my best at acting normal."
There was a pause. "Sorry." His voice sounded sheepish. "I didn't think about how that sounded."
"That's all right." Her grin waned. Even in the midst of her anxiety, she wished she didn't feel so unsure around this man who kept creeping into her thoughts regardless. Just the sound of his voice shredded her resistance. "Isn't there anything else I can do?"
"I'll take it from here. Just act—"
"I know, act normal. Okay." The nurse was waving for her. "I'll let you go, Sheriff, but I expect you to call me tomorrow." She found herself almost shaking her finger at the phone. "And I mean it."
"I will."
"I'll be praying for you."
"Good-bye and thanks."
Act like nothing is going to happen—how can I do that? What if someone gets hurt tonight?
The other nurse squawked with frustration.
Wendy hung up and hurried over to help the agitated nurse.
"Mr. Olson, please!" the nurse said, still trying to corral Olie into the wheelchair.
"I don't need any wheelchair. I can walk, lady." Olie sidestepped the nurse again.
"Olie Olson!" Wendy barked. "Sit down."
The grizzled gray-haired man paused.
"Now/" Wendy finished.
The old man, still grumbling and frowning furiously, sat down.
Wendy reached his side and bent to adjust his foot supports on the chair. "If you didn't need to be here, I wouldn't have brought you in."
"My heart may not be ticking just right, but I'm not crippled, Wendy."
"No one said you were. Why are you complaining? The complimentary wheelchair ride is just part of our blue-ribbon service." Wendy winked at the nurse over Olie's head. "Now I'm going to wheel you to your room." She pushed the chair down the hall toward the patients' wing. "Should we call your son at home or at work?"
"Ted's sleeping. They switched him to nights at the truck stop. Don't call him till 4 p.m. That's when he gets up."
"I'll have to give that pleasure to you, Olie. At four, I'll be about done for the day and heading home." About that time the sheriff might be setting up his trap. A shard of fear sliced through her. Don't take any chances, Rodd.
Olie glanced up at her, his bravado slipping. "Stop back by here then. I'll be ready to leave this place. Old Doc will send me home. You wait and see. You youngsters think you know best, but I know better."
"Old Doc will have you taking tests," Wendy said wryly. She entered his room and stopped beside his bed. "Now put on your hospital gown. I expect you to follow doctor's orders."
Olie stood up and straightened slowly, painfully. "I'll follow doctor's orders, but you tell that woman to steer clear of me." He pointed a finger at the nurse who had followed them.
"The nurse will be following doctor's orders too, so don't you give her any guff." Wendy shook her finger at him. "The sooner you do what you're told, the sooner you get home."
The grumpy man gave her a glum look.
It caught her heart. When she was a child, she'd often spent after-school hours doing homework at the Black Bear Cafe, where her mother had been a waitress. Every time Olie had come into the cafe, he had given Wendy red-and-white-striped mints. She softened her voice. "Promise?"
He hitched up one shoulder. "I ain't makin' any promises."
She leaned over and kissed his deeply lined cheek, then turned to the nurse. "His bark is worse than his bite."
The nurse grimaced. "Better tell him my bark and bite are equally bad."
Wendy shook her head. "You two will have to work it out between you. I've got to go." Besides, I don't have any patience today. How can I wait until tomorrow to hear if the sheriff's plan worked? Oh, God, calm my spirit and help Rodd catch the thief.
Rodd quietly drove his Jeep into the deep cover of a stand of pines behind the Olson garage. About three hours earlier, dark had fallen on the mid-November night. He'd stayed in his office doing paperwork until he left at his customary time. He'd done nothing out of the ordinary that might be observed. This wasn't the big city. Here people noticed things.
That had been proved already. Someone in the county had noticed Wendy's movements and used them for larcenous purposes. Someone could be watching him too, though that didn't seem to fit the Weasel. But Rodd couldn't take any chances. Three burglaries were three too many. So at the end of his day, he'd driven home as usual, checked on his cattle, and gotten his mail while the moonless night advanced.
Finally, he'd left his home and taken a circuitous route to Winneshiek Road. Then he had turned off his headlights and trusted his luck to get off the road onto Olson's property without being noticed by the distant neighbors. Now he backed his Jeep into a rough but cleared area hidden by the tall pines. The patch of ground looked as if farm machinery had been parked there in the past.
He had planned carefully. Earlier in the daylight, to make sure he would know right where to drive and wouldn't fumble around in the dark, he had driven by and glimpsed this stakeout position. The layout of the property was so perfect for a stakeout and arrest that he'd felt like singing—if he were a man who sang. But the elation still tried to tug his mouth into a grin. The trap had been set and baited.
Ever since Wendy had called him this morning with her news, he'd felt the buzz of adrenaline. Tonight he'd do what he'd promised when he took his oath of office. He'd protect the community. The string of snowmobile burglaries would end—tonight.
If the thief nibbled the bait.
All
Rodd had to do was wait. He checked to make certain nothing would beep or ring when he opened his car door; then he sat inside and waited.
Tonight had to succeed—because tonight's stakeout would reveal that he'd figured out the Weasel's MO. If he didn't get the thief tonight, he might not get such a clear-cut chance again. And he wanted to catch the Weasel red-handed, not just scare him out of business.
Only the distant whine of an occasional motor driving by on the two-lane highway disturbed the deathly silence of the winter night. Minutes crawled by ...one by one ... by one. He fought the chill by sipping black coffee from his thermos. Fortunately, tonight was still. Falling temperatures to endure, but no wind chill. He'd dressed in layers, but the fizzing excitement in his blood did the most to keep him alert.
Wendy's soft voice spoke in his memory: "I'll be praying for you." Wendy, all I need are your prayers to keep me awake. Everything's in place. He'd taken Pastor Brace's advice and let Wendy help him set up the trap. But now it was all up to him. He didn't need God to do the stakeout for him.
At last, when the luminous dial on Rodd's watch registered 11:37 p.m., he heard the distant roar of an engine coming closer. His cold-dulled senses snapped alive. A headlight flickered far back on Olson's property, then disappeared. Moments later an unlighted snowmobile slid into the dark area just beyond the glowing back-door light. Something ... a rock? ... hit the side of the house. And again.
Then with the tinkling sound of shattering glass, that light went out. Okay. Make your move. Leave your snowmobile. Get out in the open. In the almost total darkness, Rodd detected nothing further until he heard the battering of the door. The sweet sound he'd been waiting for.
Chapter Four
Rodd opened the Jeep door and slid out. He ran lightly over the snow, grateful that the snow-packed ground muffled the sound of his boots breaking a path through dry snow.
With his gun drawn, he paused at the edge of the garage. He waited, making certain the perpetrator entered. Legally and logistically, it would be better to make the arrest just inside the door—before the thief got his bearings.
He's inside.
Rodd left the cover of the garage and ran toward the house.
Without warning, a pickup truck barreled off the county road. Its high-beam lights blinded Rodd, who was caught between the house and the garage. Turning, running forward blindly, Rodd sped up, trying to reach the thief before he could escape the house.
"Hey! What's going on?" a voice boomed from behind the truck's lights.
Rodd heard footsteps both in front of and behind him. When he detected a flicker of movement in front of him, he lunged forward, but the slippery material of snowmobile gear slid through his grasp.
"Hey!" the voice behind him boomed once more.
Rodd shouted, "Stop! Police!" His eyes adjusted to the light. The thief in a dark snowmobile suit, helmet, and mask slithered away to his snowmobile. Rodd raised his gun to squeeze off a warning shot. "Stop! Po—"
The intruder from behind tackled Rodd. As Rodd went down, his gun fired into the air.
The snowmobile roared into action. Rodd tried to get up, but the huge man who'd tackled him held him down. Rodd shouted, "I'm the sheriff! Didn't you hear me? Let me up!"
"The sheriff? Really? Who was the guy on the snowmobile?"
"The thief who's getting away! Let me up!"
Giant arms released Rodd. He staggered to his feet. Staring into the blackness beyond the circle of light, Rodd could detect no sight of the snowmobile, only its distant roar. And my Jeep can't follow a snowmobile cross-country. Rodd swallowed a curse.
Vaguely aware that lights in the house had just come on, Rodd faced his attacker. "Who are you? Don't you know the penalty for interfering with a police officer?"
"I'm Ted Olson. I don't hear so good," the huge man with a boyish face explained. "They said my dad—"
"Reach for the sky!" an aged voice shouted.
Automatically obeying, they both spun around to face a shotgun.
"Dad! It's me, Ted!"
Behind the shotgun, an old man wearing pajamas glared at them. "What're you doin' here? And who's shootin'?"
Ted answered, "Dad, it's the sheriff—"
"The sheriff! What's he doin' out here?"
With a groan, Rodd let his arms drop. The old man must be Olson, but why was he here? Why had this carefully planned stakeout turned into slapstick comedy? Another vehicle turned in off the highway and up the short road.
Now who'd come? Rodd fought his fury.
The familiar Blazer pulled up. He couldn't believe his eyes. "Wendy! What are you doing here?"
"I just found out Olie went home." She hustled into the glow of Ted's headlights. "Olie, what are you doing home? You're not well enough to leave the care center!"
"I didn't make you no promise, girl. That nurse wouldn't stop bothering ..." Olie's voice gave out. Clutching his chest, he began to sink to his knees.
"Dad!" Ted hustled forward and caught his father.
Rodd jogged beside Wendy as she ran to the doorway. She leaned down and spoke into the old man's face. "Olie, where are your nitro pills?"
"Bedside," he gasped, shifting his weight in an attempt to rise. Then he slumped against Wendy. Rodd knelt beside her to help support Olson.
Wendy shouted, "Quick, Ted, get his pills!"
The younger man squeezed by them. His thundering footsteps echoed in the stillness.
Rodd asked, "What is it? Shouldn't we move him in?"
"Yes, this bitter cold is the worst thing for his heart and lungs."
Rodd carried the man into the house and laid him on the couch in the cluttered living room.
Wendy pulled a frayed afghan from the sofa back and put it over Olie. "Once I slip the nitro under his tongue, it will work almost immediately. It's his heart. Call for the ambulance, will you?" Holding Olie's wrist and gazing at her watch, she explained, concern plain in her voice. "When I found out Olie would be here ...that's why I had to come out. I was afraid of this. You didn't know ...I'm so sorry."
"You did what you had to do." He pulled his cell phone from his belt and speed-dialed dispatch. What else could he say? Besides, she hadn't caused this farce. It was his fault. It had never occurred to him that Olson would turn around and come home early. I should have called the clinic and made sure.
He couldn't stop himself from questioning Wendy. "But why'd you wait so late to come? Why didn't you call me? let me know?"
"I was on a call; then the woman's neighbor went into early labor. I delivered the baby, then took them into the clinic afterward. That's when I found out Olie had called a friend to drive him home. I came right out—"
Rodd pushed all the what-ifs behind him. The old man was as white as the snow outside claimed his attention.
Wendy glanced at the nearby staircase and called, "Ted, what's taking you so long?"
Rodd hovered close to her, ready to help her any way she needed him.
Finally appearing with a bottle of pills in his hand, the son crowded close to them. Wendy quickly took one and slipped the tablet under Olie's tongue.
Rodd wondered if he should offer to speed them to the clinic as he had Mrs. Ukkonen. "Will he be all right?"
"This should help. But I want the ambulance with their equipment to take him back in. I don't want to take any chances. Ted, put your dad's shotgun away. We don't want it just lying around here."
The big man left to do the chore he'd been given.
"Thanks, Rodd." Wendy looked up at him. "I'm so sorry. This ruined everything, didn't it?"
Hours of quiet, then total chaos had turned him inside out. I almost had him. But the anguish in Wendy's eyes made him speak of hope. "There will be another chance. There always is." He touched her arm. "Do you need me?"
Wendy rose and drew Rodd a step away. In a low voice, she said, "His color is coming back and he's beginning to breathe better, but I'll feel safer when we get him back to the clinic."
Brea
thing in the last trace of her sweet scent, he nodded.
"I agree and I won't leave until the ambulance gets here." He didn't remind her that the ambulance hadn't made it to Mrs. Ukkonen's. "I'm certified for CPR so I could help."
