by Kieran York
“You haven’t been over to see Gwen for a couple days. Any reason?”
Royce stood and her face tensed. “Only the obvious. She cares very much for Jorie, and Jorie is our prime suspect. I’m being pressed to make an arrest. Gwen can’t be my disinterested sounding board.”
“What else is going on?”
“Too much. With this threat on Godiva, I’ve got to send deputies to protect her. And some voice inside is telling me that this Brown character is dangerous. But there hasn’t been any actual threat against Hertha, so I can’t have the animal clinic placed under surveillance. Even if I had enough deputies.”
“Between Smoky and Laramie, seems like she’s got at least some protection. And we’re all keeping an eye out.”
“Let’s hope that’s enough.”
***
Royce nudged Laramie’s arm when they came to his boarding house. “Laramie, take a quick right and you’re home,” she teased.
He stumbled up one wooden step and then turned. “You gonna win the election, kid?“ His body slumped as he sat.
Royce looked away. Laramie had known her since she was a child. He would know if her confidence was forged. “I’m not sure.” Her arms crossed. “To be honest, I’m going against a very well-tuned political machine. The Family Morals Coalition has unlimited funding. That buys lots of flyers, air time, and newspaper space. The Granger campaign has money to hire people to deliver flyers, to call voters. I’m depending on volunteer time. At best, time is at a premium up here. I’m fortunate to have Nadine running the campaign. But the opposition can out-spend us a hundred to one.”
“Maybe you’ll get you some contributors along the way.”
“Maybe. But the election is closing in and our war chest is coasting on empty.”
Laramie frowned. He dug in his top pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. There was a moment’s silence when he lit up. “Things were mighty simple when your pa ran for sheriff. They put up a couple of posters and that was that. Most of the time nobody ever even ran against him. Knew better.”
“I’m a woman and ...” Royce stumbled on the words, “And some don’t believe a woman can run the department. Some people object to me.”
“You’re the best danged sheriff in Colorado.”
Royce smiled. “You’re just sweet-talking me because I see that you get home every night.”
“Naw. More 'n that. You treat me like a human being. Lotsa folks don’t treat me like a fella ought to be treated. Maybe I drink too much. Maybe I’m not like they are. But you always treat me with respect. Like your daddy did.”
“I learned from his example.”
Laramie reached for the banister and with Royce’s assistance, made it to his feet. “Yep.” His eyes watered. “And Grady Madison wouldn’t want his little girl to lose this danged election.”
***
It was after eleven that night when Royce returned to the Sheriff’s Department office. Nick had just come on duty and was perusing his notes. “Sheriff Madison, you’re too late to inspect the troops and too early for coffee and danish.”
“Delivered Laramie back to his boarding house.” Royce stretched. “It’s been a long, long day, but I wanted to look over the reports once more.”
“A little quality time with Laramie,” Nick chided.
Royce wouldn’t mention that Laramie was the best source of information in Timber City. “I wanted to thank him for watching Hertha. Rick Brown paid her a visit, and Laramie interceded.”
“That Brown is a creep.” Nick wrinkled his face. “I think he’s big time trouble. Wish we could get him out of town.”
“So do I, but remember my credo. No strong arming. No barbwire and searchlights in Timber County.”
“But I wouldn’t mind using a little excessive force on him if he were acting like that around my . . . my woman friend.” Nick looked away. “You know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean.”
“I bet anything he’s connected with the threat on Godiva. Funny he shows up in town when she’s visiting. Works at the same place. Could be he actually is a career stalker. Came here after Godiva. Then he sees Hertha and there’s an attraction. He decides to make Hertha a reserve victim. Sort of the backup in case he can’t get near Godiva. Yeah, maybe he is a crazed fan.”
“Whatever the case, he’s dangerous. A stalker thinks he has a stake in his victim. It can go on for years.” Royce felt a shiver as she recited what she knew about the stalker profile. “They’re twisted. I’m not sure how Brown will respond to the lack of interest on Hertha’s part. That’s what the stalker is after. Power and control. Because of his own low self-esteem, he tries to take another person’s power. And our stalking laws are toothless at best,” she noted.
“Too bad he doesn’t threaten her so we can shadow him. Laramie and Smoky, with all due respects to Smoky, might not be able to overtake him.” Nick put his Stetson securely on his head and tipped it forward. “I could patrol nights if I didn’t need to be up in Crystal.”
“How’s that going?”
“Dillon Granger is a horse’s ass.”
“You probably say that about me too.” Royce grinned. “One of us will be your boss. But just remember, Adonis, I sent you up there and gave you the opportunity to see Godiva up close and personal.”
“She’s hot. A conquest.”
“Let me guess the male perspective. She’s fluorescent in a field of gray?”
“Yeah. I guess that’s about it. Your gran said that Godiva doesn’t believe in hiding her light under a barrel.”
“By the way, what was the joke you and the other deputies were laughing at when I came in yesterday?”
“You don’t want to hear.”
“No. I want to hear. You don’t want to tell me.” Royce opened the autopsy file. She knew Nick well enough to know he would tell the joke. She glanced up, “Well? Are you leaving for Crystal or not?”
He sat opposite her desk. “We were talking about Godiva. One of the deputies said he wouldn’t mind giving her a mustache ride. Another deputy said that you couldn’t give Godiva a mustache ride, but maybe a lipstick ride.” When his comment met with silence, he added, “You know they say Godiva swings both ways. She’s bi-coastal and bi everything else.”
“I couldn’t care less about a bisexual rock star.”
“She has been asking questions about you.”
Royce looked up from the file. “What kind of questions?”
“She asked me if you had a lover.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“I told her your badge was your life,” he chuckled.
“Close enough,” said Royce, looking back down at the autopsy report. “And right now that badge requires that I put everything I’ve got into solving a murder.” She shuffled through the papers until she got to the 8x10 photos. “Anything else on your mind?”
“I’m not pretending to be your informant. But Royce, there are also beginning to be some rumblings.”
“About?”
“We all know that you’re tight with Gwen Ives. And that Marjorie Lovett knew her down in Texas. Well, Marjorie really isn’t being treated like a prime suspect. Favoritism?”
“She’s been interviewed over and over. We don’t have a case against her. Not a case you could take into a courtroom. That’s not showing any concessions. It’s police work within the letter and the intent of the law. Nothing more; nothing less. The D.A. agrees.”
“So what was she fighting with the victim about?”
“She said it was about a confidential story.”
“And why was she hovering over the body?”
“She still maintains that she happened into the room. And we can’t prove that wasn’t the case.”
“Royce, she had the murder weapon in her hand.”
“That’s circumstantial, Nick. If she’d had blood splattered on her, I might be more convinced. But with the victim’s long, curly hair, there wasn’t even much
splattering of blood. Although there was some on the poker’s handle, plus blood was sprayed on the victim’s collar.” It had looked like a house painter’s rag. The blow had been delivered with force and with fury. “For the record, I agree that Jorie’s version is not the most credible in the world. But we can’t prove it didn’t happen the way she said.”
“She threatened Sandra.”
“Godiva threatened her too, and even the McDermotts had a brief altercation with her. With all the suspects, our investigation might be more of a marathon than a sprint. But we’re not going to lock an innocent person in jail to appease the public. Yancy pulled that kind of crap, but I won’t. That was part of Timber County’s last regime.”
“And maybe the next regime.”
“Perhaps,” Royce conceded. “I know that Dillon Granger wants to see Marjorie Lovett swing. But even you think maybe this stalker is involved. I don’t know who killed Sandra Holt or why. But I’m going to find out.”
“You don’t mind me challenging you, do you?”
“No, Nick. Actually, it’s like having someone to role play with. You ask all the questions the press asks. I practice my answers on you. I sharpen my question and answer skills on you.”
“You’re the first woman who has ever sharpened her skills on me.” With a dejected look, he quizzed, “You really don’t mind it when I have a go at you?”
“Nick, my only compensation if I lose this election would be knowing that Dillon Granger would have six years of having to put up with you.”
Nick tipped his hat. “Well, that’s more like it. All is not lost. I’m still getting to you.” He got to the door and turned. “Royce, I’d sort of hate to have to break in a new sheriff.”
“Are you saying that you’re going to vote for me?”
“I’m still undecided,” he said with a chuckle.
“Have a good shift in Crystal, Deputy.” Royce watched him swagger down the hall. Then she took another look at the file. The photos were as gruesome as the actual murder scene had been, but they were magnified. Royce hadn’t seen the crimson slivers of shattered bone. She hadn’t stared into the opaque reflection of the dead woman’s placid eyes. Nor had she noticed the threading trickle of saliva running from Sandra Holt’s painted mouth. The photographs made it more real and more ugly.
At the police academy, many had grumbled about how boring the pathologist’s reports were. Royce always thought of them as being painful. She sat for ten more minutes in stony silence and then locked the file away. She also locked away another eighteen-hour day.
***
The great torch of a moon cast its light through Hertha’s bedroom window. Moonlight diffused into luxuriously bright violet shadows. Royce had just arrived at the cottage and kicked off her boots. She leaned down and kissed Hertha’s neck. “I love you so,” she whispered. She softly massaged Hertha’s back.
“Umm, feels good, Sheriff.” She turned over and embraced Royce. Smoky stuck her muzzle against Royce’s shoulder.
“I think Smoky wants some attention,” Hertha said with a laugh. Her body shifted as they both gave Smoky a tickle. Then Hertha’s eyes invited. “Now, I would like some attention.”
“Yes,” Royce pledged, “I’ll be very attentive.” Her lips pressed against Hertha’s and they exchanged warmth. “Gran always says that love is the prayer within us and kindness is the prayer being said. You’re my prayer come true. Each day I savor what we have more and more.”
“I know.”
“One day soon, I hope we can settle in together. Share our living together.” Royce caressed Hertha’s hair. It gently fell into the folds of the sheet that surrounded Hertha. The sheet was a waterfall of fabric around the lovely woman. Overcome with love, Royce murmured, “Please be careful. I worry about you, Hertha.”
“With everyone around, I’m not concerned.”
“I feel so helpless. I want to protect you.”
“He’s probably harmless.”
“Maybe. But please don’t take any chances.” Royce leaned to kiss Hertha again.
They heard a thump as Smoky made a leap off the bed and bounded against the windowpane. Smoky’s snarls converted to a series of loud, vicious barks. Royce rotated around and looked out the window. She saw a figure scurrying away. She realized the man who had been peeking in the window had a good lead, but she bolted, put on her running shoes, and grabbed her holstered gun. “Hertha, lock the door after me.”
As Royce rushed through the back of Hertha’s yard, she buckled her gun belt. She then pulled the gun from its holster. The muzzle was cool. The man ahead of her was running furiously. She could hear the crackling of twigs. He had gone down another street by the time she reached her stride. She tried desperately to catch him. She made up some time by vaulting a picket fence and cutting across between two houses. It would not be enough to catch him before his form melted into the brush on the fringe of town.
There was too much cover. She glanced up at the jagged shadows through the conifers. They laced the forest and would only place her in the center of darkness, should she continue.
She stood back, shivering. She remembered a chase when she was on the police department in Denver. When she overtook the suspect, the suspect had turned and pointed a gun at her. Her own gun was aimed directly at his head. Her stance was planted with determination. She told him to lower his gun. The suspect had slowly allowed his revolver to tumble from his trembling hand. Then he grunted that he would be executed. He should have shot her. She asked why he hadn’t. He said that she didn’t look like she was ready to die. He said that life is not much more than hanging on the side of a cliff. Death is the fall.
Whenever she pursued a suspect, she did it with that statement in mind. Life is only one fall away from death, she thought with admonition. Each chase was a dangerous chance. She reholstered her Smith and Wesson.
Royce knew it was Rick Brown. And she knew he was dangerous. Now she was also aware that he was playing a game. He was leading her on a cat-and-mouse chase. Royce’s breath steadied, and her heart ceased hammering and began to resume its normal beat. Her long, thin legs felt thick as tree stumps as they retraced her steps. On the walk back to the cottage, she considered the possibility that the snooper might have been someone from the Family Morals Coalition. Someone poking around for proof of their allegations about her lesbianism. But she was sure she had recognized the man’s frame. Even in the dark, she was absolutely certain that it was Rick Brown.
Chapter 6
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Gwen accused as she walked toward Royce’s Blazer.
“It’s been hectic. Why don’t you and Nadine ride up to the cabin with me? No use taking two vehicles. Hertha’s already there. She wanted to get everything ready for Gran’s party, so she left early. Mom and Bonnie took Gran away for the afternoon.”
“What a wonderful birthday surprise for Dora,” Nadine said, joining the two women. All three wore dress Western boots and tailored pants and shirts. Nadine held a gift that had bows blossoming from its top. “A travel alarm,” she divulged. “Molly said your gran would need one for her trip.”
“She’ll like that,” Royce acknowledged and then repeated her offer. “I just suggested that we all drive up in the Blazer. Come on, Gwen, I haven’t been neglecting you. You know I’m on a murder case. And you heard about what happened with the prowler.”
Gwen’s scowl eased. “I know you’ve got your hands full. I guess I’m used to searching for ulterior motives. Like maybe you feel badly about Jorie being accused.”
“I do feel badly,” Royce objected. They got into the Blazer and Royce switched the ignition. “Nadine, tell her that I’m just doing my job.”
“I have.”
“Nadine is on the side of anyone who opposes me these days,” Gwen muttered.
“Gwen, I don’t oppose you. I’m paid to collect evidence and sort out crime. That’s all I’m doing. Jorie isn’t the type to be involved in this kind of crime. But I can�
�t strike her from the suspect list. Or anyone else for that matter. Not until the case is closed, tried, and the guilty party sentenced.”
Gwen pouted. “Royce, we’ve been friends forever. I’m not asking you to swear to her innocence. Only to cut her some slack. Make some sort of statement that says she’s only one suspect in a cast of thousands.”
“We’ve made that statement.” Royce felt trapped. Her friendship with Gwen was deep and devoted. But she didn’t like being manipulated. Usually Gwen had an automatic sensor when it came to Royce’s mood. But she seemed to want to trespass, regardless, when it came to protecting Jorie.
Nadine tried to change the subject. “Little Smoky was your alarm system the other night. Hertha told us Smoky wanted to tear the prowler limb from limb.”
“She’s got her paws full guarding, that’s for sure,” Royce agreed.
“Jorie’s been placed on suspension,” Gwen disclosed. “The network thinks it’s too controversial. So she’s up there alone, hiding out from the media. What reason would she have to kill that woman?”
“Off the record, there’s evidence that whoever killed Sandra Holt was being blackmailed.” Royce’s words were cautiously placed. “We heard the word blackmail being used when the two women fought. What if Sandra found out Jorie’s lesbian?”
“What if Godiva killed her for calling her deceased mother a tramp?“ Gwen’s voice rose, “And what if I killed her?”
“Gwen, it is pertinent that Jorie had a motive to kill her.”
“I’m begging you not to say anything about that. Royce, I told you in confidence about Jorie being lesbian. She’s worked hard to make it. She’s sacrificed. Even now, she told her lover not to come to Crystal. They know it could ruin both of their careers. Things shouldn’t be that way, but they are. We want our sisters to excel. Then we criticize them for not admitting to being a part of the group.”
“Gwen,” Royce defended, “Jorie and Sandra had a fight, and everyone heard the threat. By the way,” Royce questioned, “exactly what is 'checkbook journalism'?”
