Mountain Sheriff

by B. J Daniels

  Not that she wasn’t spooked by everything that had happened. Which was why from now on, or at least until she felt safe again, she’d be more careful—and carry her fear insurance with her. She had the small gun in her purse, along with the pepper spray and some handcuffs.

  She’d also taken Mitch’s advice and was having dead bolts and a back door security light installed at the newspaper office.

  “So tell me everything,” Betty said, salivating for the whole story. Charity could almost hear the hum of the grapevine. That was the problem with this town. No one ever waited for the paper to come out.

  Charity stalled, took another bite of her pie and closed her eyes. All she saw this time was darkness, accompanied by the smell of cleaning supplies and newsprint. That damned storage room. It had freaked her out more than she wanted to admit.

  She opened her eyes. Betty was waiting and Mitch was watching her from across the room.

  “It’s just like you heard,” Charity confirmed, and added enough details to thrill Betty, then asked, “Did you hear if Nina Monroe’s been found yet?” If anyone would know, Betty would. And probably sooner than Mitch.

  “No one’s seen hide nor hair of her,” Betty said. “Odd, isn’t it, and at the same time as a Bigfoot sighting.” She hummed the theme from The Twilight Zone.

  Charity groaned. “You aren’t suggesting the two are somehow linked, are you?” Ridiculous. But it would make for a great headline: Bigfoot Abducts Local Duck Painter.

  Betty leaned toward her. “Remember that little boy who disappeared in the Cascades south of Portland? Lost for days in the mountains. No one thought he’d be found alive, not with the temperature dropping at night and no food or water.” She straightened and nodded. “And what happened?”

  Charity knew the story. It was the fabric from which legends were woven. “They found the boy alive and well.”

  “And when they asked him how he’d managed,” Betty said, finishing up the story with her I-told-you-so look, “he said a nice monster took care of him.” She broke into The Twilight Zone theme song again. “Nina could do worse,” she said, and took off with a pot of coffee in each hand.

  Charity wondered if that was true, Nina doing worse than being abducted by Bigfoot.

  The café was busy, what with the regulars and all the visitors the Bigfoot sighting had brought to town. The Halloween weekend ahead would be worse. Especially if there was another Bigfoot sighting.

  Charity thought about the blur of brown fur she’d caught on film. Had it just been a big bear?

  Losing those photos hurt worse than being bound and gagged and stuffed between boxes of paper in a storage closet. Almost. She had to reshoot and get the newspaper ready to go.

  But this thing with Nina had become a better story than Bigfoot—unless the call Mitch had taken was someone telling him that Nina was no longer missing. And if the black truck that had been following her really was just some private eye…

  But why had someone stolen her film? A chill skittered up her spine. There had to have been something incriminating on that roll of film. Something more incriminating than a photo of a black truck.

  But who else would be interested in the photographs? She tried to remember everything that had been on that roll.

  That’s when it hit her. Nina Monroe. She’d taken a photo of Nina. And that wasn’t even the worst of it. She remembered now who might have seen her do it.

  HANGING UP the phone after listening to a resident rant and rave about a barking dog, Mitch returned to his pie and coffee—and Charity. He never dreamed he could get hooked on pie for breakfast, and all because of a woman. But he had to admit as he slid onto the stool next to her, pie beat the hell out of oatmeal.

  Charity had ruined him for any other breakfast. Just the way she’d apparently ruined him for any other woman, he thought grimly. Still, he couldn’t believe he’d almost kissed her. Again. And in Betty’s. And it was only the beginning of the rainy season. Hell, he could be married to Charity by spring the way he was going.

  “Mitch,” Charity said excitedly, “let’s get out of here! There’s something I have to tell you.”

  “Florie read something disturbing in your coffee grounds this morning?”

  She pushed her pie away and stood.

  Mitch looked from the unfinished butterscotch pie to Charity. “Are you sick?”

  “Funny. My stars are out of alignment and there is trouble on my celestial and terrestrial planes. I won’t even tell you what else the tarot cards had to say.”

  “Good.” It was pouring rain outside, but he figured he was going to need the fresh air. He downed most of his coffee, left enough money for it and Charity’s breakfast and a tip, grabbed his coat and hat, and followed her outside.

  Rain drummed on the roof overhead and poured in a sheet off all but one side. He hunkered down in his fleece-lined county-issue jacket, chilled more by the look on Charity’s face than the weather.

  She took a breath and let it out on a puff of white. “The guy from the black truck might not have been the one who took the strip of negatives. I remembered who else I’d shot on that roll of film—Nina.”

  “Nina? You shot a photograph of Nina and you just now remembered?” Since Charity might have had the only photograph of Nina, he found it hard to believe she’d forgotten until now.

  “Get in the patrol car,” he ordered.

  Charity couldn’t believe it. “You’re going to arrest me?”

  His look said it would be prudent if she got into the patrol car without making a scene in front of Betty’s.

  Good thinking.

  She dashed through the rain to where the patrol car was parked on Main Street and climbed in the passenger side as he slid behind the wheel.

  Without a word he started the engine, but didn’t drive away. He turned on the heater. The windows began to clear.

  It was cozy in here, nice to be out of the cold and wet. The rain made a pleasant sound on the roof, and she could smell Mitch’s subtle aftershave, along with a warm maleness.

  She breathed it in and closed her eyes, and for just an instant, she saw herself dressed all in white and next to her—

  “Charity.”

  Her eyes flew open. “I’d forgotten I took a candid shot of Nina when I was at Dennison Ducks. After I talked to her about an interview I staked out the parking lot since I’d heard Wade often left right after Nina at lunchtime.”

  “And?”

  “She came out, but she didn’t go to her car. She walked toward the back of the building, stopped and was arguing with someone.”

  “Did you see who?”

  She shook her head. “I couldn’t hear the words, either. She had her back to me. But I could tell she was mad about something.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “She stomped to her car, got in and drove off. I took a shot of her right before she took off.”

  “That was it?”

  “Not exactly. I ducked down behind the trees again, put my camera away and started back to where I’d left my car parked down the road and…I ran into Wade.”

  Mitch let out a low whistle. “Did he see you take Nina’s photograph?”

  “Maybe. He couldn’t have been the person she was arguing with, though. He came from the wrong direction, through the trees.” There was an old bridle path behind the plant that lead to town and the Dennison mansion.

  “His car wasn’t in the lot?”

  She shook her head. “I think Wade was spying on Nina.”

  “It makes more sense than them having an affair.”

  She chewed on a nail for a moment. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I have this theory.” She could tell Mitch didn’t want to hear it. “Nina is the right age, the right coloring and given the way Wade treated her…” She met his gaze. “I think she’s Angela.”

  He tried to appear shocked, but he couldn’t fool her. “Nina is Angela!”

  “Whoa! I didn’t say a wo
rd,” he protested.

  “You, as the most cynical person on earth, wouldn’t think Nina was Angela unless…unless you had proof! You found proof?”

  “Stop. You’re impossible.” He rubbed his forehead as if he had a headache.

  “Oh, I love it when I’m right! Tell me. You have to tell me. That’s why you’ve been so worried about me. You know something. But what does it have to do with me?”

  “Charity, I don’t know what it has to do with you. That’s why I have to tell you. But it’s strictly off the record. It could be evidence in a murder case.”

  She hated anything being off the record, but she was dying to know what he’d found out. “Fine.”

  He told her about the silver baby spoon he found in Nina’s bungalow.

  “It’s Angela Dennison’s?”

  “Looks that way, but I need to show it to the jeweler in Eugene who made it before I’ll know for sure.”

  This was better than she’d hoped and the possibilities made her head spin. “The kidnapper could have taken the spoon, Nina found it and was blackmailing the kidnapper.”

  “Why would the kidnapper take the spoon?”

  She shrugged. “Could have seen it by the bed. Took it because it was solid silver. Or because it represented the Dennison’s wealth.”

  He nodded. “You mean someone jealous of a baby born with a silver spoon in her mouth?”

  She smiled. “Exactly. Since no ransom was ever demanded for Angela, he must have sold the baby or…been paid to take it.” She could see that Mitch had already considered that possibility. “Or with the baby spoon, Nina could pass herself off as Angela. Or she really is Angela.”

  “The reason I told you about the baby spoon was so you’d understand how dangerous this could be. Especially for a nosy newspaperwoman who took a photo of Nina one day just before she disappeared.”

  “I wish I had that photo. Florie might be right about my stars being out of whack.”

  “I could have told you that without even looking at your stars.” His gaze softened. He reached across the seat and took her hand, cupping it in his, sending a satisfying jolt through her. “I’m serious. I’m worried that you’re in danger. I don’t want you doing this story. At least not yet.”

  She was too lost in the feel of his warm fingers tracing over her skin to argue—at least for the moment.

  A loud tap on the window behind Mitch’s head made her jump.

  Wade Dennison peered through the rain-streaked glass. He was looking past Mitch straight at her. “Charity Jenkins! You damn meddling woman,” Wade bellowed. “I’m going to kill you!”

  Chapter Eleven

  Sissy shot Mitch a what-now look as he and Wade burst into the Sheriff’s Department, raindrops puddling at their feet and Wade bellowing, “I want that woman locked up!”

  It was clear Sissy knew what woman Wade was referring to and was in full agreement.

  Mitch marched Wade into his office and closed the door.

  “What the hell is Charity doing asking about Nina?” Wade demanded before the door closed. “Did you know she talked to some of my people? Asked a bunch of personal questions? You have to do something about her.”

  “Sit down, Wade.” Wade didn’t. Mitch walked around behind his desk and dropped into his chair, counting to ten before saying, “In the first place, Wade, I can’t do anything about Charity because she hasn’t broken any laws. But if you threaten to kill her again, you could end up behind bars. Being the local press, she has certain rights,” he hurried on before Wade could argue. “Rights protected under the First Amendment.”

  “That allows her to butt into other people’s business?” Wade demanded, slamming his fist down on the desk.

  “Yes, actually, it does.”

  Wade slowly lowered himself into a chair. “The woman’s a menace.”

  Mitch couldn’t argue that. He was worried as hell about her. But he couldn’t stop her from pursuing this story any more than he could get Wade Dennison to tell him the truth.

  He studied the man across the desk from him. When Wade had shaved this morning, he’d missed a patch of gray whiskers on one side of his jaw, and his eyes were bloodshot, the skin under them baggy and dark as if he hadn’t slept.

  Still, Wade carried himself with an air that said he could make or break this town if he didn’t get his way. In that sense alone Wade Dennison was dangerous.

  What worried Mitch was the chance that Wade was more dangerous than any of them knew. He’d been in a rage outside Betty’s a few minutes ago, threatening Charity. Mitch wondered if Wade was capable of violence and if Nina Monroe had been the first to find out. Or if Angela Dennison had been.

  “Wade, it’s time you told me what the hell is really going on.”

  CHARITY COULD almost feel her ears burning. She would have loved to know what was being said about her over at the Sheriff’s Department.

  But she had work to do. And it wasn’t as if Mitch had invited her to tag along with him and Wade. She probably didn’t want to hear it, anyway.

  She couldn’t believe Wade had actually threatened to kill her, and in front of the sheriff. Was it possible that Wade had been the man who’d broken into the newspaper, stolen her negatives and bound and gagged her in the storage room? Wade might be in his sixties, but he was strong as an ox, and even if he hadn’t been wearing a nylon stocking over his head, she’d never gotten a good look at the man who’d attacked her. Nor at the one who’d been in her bedroom.

  A few days ago, she would have scoffed at the idea of Wade Dennison as her assailant and intruder. But seeing Wade’s rage this morning, she wasn’t so sure. The man seemed out of control. And all because of Nina Monroe. Now why was that?

  She drove to her office in time to pay the handyman who’d installed her dead bolts and a security light out back, then locked up and, using her ladybug umbrella, walked down Main Street to the Busy Bee antique shop.

  She couldn’t still her excitement. She’d only asked a couple of people she knew who worked out at Dennison Ducks about Nina, and now Wade was in a murderous rage. There was definitely a story there. Nina Monroe might actually be Angela Dennison.

  But wouldn’t Wade have been delighted to have Angela back? Wouldn’t he have told everyone? His behavior didn’t make any sense and made her all the more determined to find out what was going on.

  A tiny bell tinkled as Charity pushed open the door to the antique shop and was instantly assaulted with the wonderful smell of antiques—and peppermint tea.

  The Busy Bee was anything but busy. The owner, Lydia Abernathy, smiled and waved from the back. She was a tiny woman, her hair a white downy halo around her head, her blue eyes a bright twinkle in her wrinkled face.

  “You’re just in time for tea, dear, and I have your favorite sugar cookies.”

  “The ones with the sprinkles on top?” Charity asked as she made her way through the antiques to the back.

  “Of course.” Lydia zipped over to the hot plate in her motorized wheelchair to get the teapot. She already had another cup and saucer out.

  “You must have known I’d be stopping by,” Charity said, dragging up a chair.

  Lydia laughed. “Yup. As soon as I heard about my brother’s behavior outside Betty’s this morning. Everyone in town heard Wade hollering.” She clasped her hands together in obvious delight. “Do tell me what you did to tick Wade off.”

  WHEN MITCH GOT tired of Wade’s threats and obvious avoidance of the truth, he gave up and asked him to leave.

  Wade stood and seemed to hesitate. “I’m telling you I don’t know what happened to Nina.”

  Mitch nodded impatiently. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re so protective of her?”

  “I’m protective of all my people.”

  “Dammit, Wade, you didn’t even check her references. She never worked at any of those places she put down on her application.” Wade started to interrupt, but Mitch cut him off, raising his voice. “You didn’t check her social
security number, either, or any other identification. Her name isn’t even Nina Monroe.”

  Mitch hadn’t planned to tell Wade that. At least not yet. But now that he had, he waited for a reaction and wasn’t surprised when Wade didn’t even flinch. “So you already knew that. Okay. Who is she?”

  Wade just looked at the floor and shook his head.

  “Is there any chance the reason you’re so upset is because the woman who called herself Nina Monroe is actually Angela Dennison?”

  Wade’s head snapped up. “That’s ridiculous. You get that from that so-called reporter girlfriend of yours?”

  Mitch could almost see Sissy straining to listen on the other side of the wall. “I asked you a question. Just answer it. Is there even a chance that Nina is Angela?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “Hell, no, you won’t answer. Or hell, no, she wasn’t Angela?”

  “Just plain hell, no.” Wade stormed over to the door and flung it open. “Do your damned job. Find Nina. I have to go out of town. I’ll call you when I get back this evening.” He slammed the front door on his way out.

  Sissy stuck her head in the open doorway of Mitch’s office as Wade’s car roared away. “You want coffee? Colombian roast.”

  Sissy never got him coffee. Always said his legs worked just fine. So what was this about? Plain old nosiness, he decided. This town had more of it per capita than any town in the country, he’d swear. “No, and close the door.”

  “Ouch!” Sissy said, unperturbed as she shut the door.

  Mitch tried to calm down, but couldn’t. He unlocked his drawer and pulled out the Angela Dennison file again.

  If someone in the house had abducted the baby and tried to make it look like a kidnapping, what would they have done with her? Killed her? Buried her in the backyard or the woods? Left her on a doorstep? Sold her?

  Is that what he thought Wade had done? Gotten rid of Angela? And Nina had found out and was blackmailing him? Or Nina was Angela.