An Angel for Dry Creek (3 page)

“Naw. She's easy.”

The Bullet grimaced. “I'll settle for fifteen,” the Bullet said. “Half up front.”

The client nodded and held out a paper bag full of cash. “Here's seventy-five hundred, Mr. Forrest Brown.”

The Bullet froze. Nobody knew him by name. He was the Bullet to all of Seattle.
If he knows who I am, he knows where I live. My God, he knows about my Millie!

“Y
ou best behave yourself,” Mrs. Hargrove whispered to Matthew as she leaned on the counter of the hardware store. Matthew was sitting on a folding chair behind the counter with his leg propped up on a trash can. He wasn't feeling too well, and Mrs. Hargrove's powdered violet perfume didn't help.

“I assure you…” Matthew started, but he didn't have a full head of steam going and it was almost impossible to stop the older woman without one. Besides, truth to tell, he didn't really mind her scolding him. Listening to her gave him time to watch Glory set up an easel with the twins' help in the front of the store.

“Humph,” Mrs. Hargrove said, turning to follow the aim of his eyes before continuing, “You may be a man of the cloth—”

“What?” Matthew jerked himself back to the conversation. That was his secret. No one here was supposed to know. “What do you mean?”

Sweat broke out on Matthew's forehead. He had hoped no one here would ever find out. How could he
explain that his faith was tied in knots? He used to love the ministry, knowing he was helping people find God's mercy. He'd known he needed to leave the ministry when he no longer believed in that mercy, when he couldn't even pray in public anymore. That last morning, he'd just stood in the pulpit, unable to speak. Finally the choir director figured out something was wrong and had the choir start a hymn. But the hymn didn't help. He was still mute. All he could remember were the words of the prayers he'd prayed for Susie and the confidence he'd had. The words of those prayers rose like bile in his throat. His prayers had turned to dust when she died. How could a man with no faith be a minister? “I'm not a minister. Not anymore…”

“But a man's a man in my book,” Mrs. Hargrove continued, and pointed her finger at him. “And that woman over there is a sight more tempting than a real angel would ever be. And don't think other people haven't noticed.”

“What other people?” Matthew looked around. The only two other people in the store were Elmer and Jacob, two semi-retired ranchers who stopped by the hardware store every morning for their cup of coffee. They were arguing across the checkerboard Henry kept by the woodstove. When Matthew looked at them, Elmer lifted his bearded face, gave him a slow knowing wink, stood up and then started walking toward the counter.

When Elmer reached the front of the counter, he looked squarely at Matthew. “Heard you got yourself an angel.”

“She's not an angel,” Matthew protested automatically.

Elmer nodded solemnly. “Looks like an angel to me. You lucky dog. Got an inside track with her, since she's staying at your place.”

“Staying at my place—” Matthew echoed in panic. He hadn't given any thought to where Glory would stay. The only hotel around was back in Miles City. That would be too far. But where would she stay at his place? He supposed she'd have to stay in his room. The old house had only two bedrooms, and the sofa was too lumpy for a guest. No, he'd have to take the sofa. Which was fine, but he worried about her up in his room. He couldn't remember if he'd put his socks away last night or not. Last night, nothing—try the past week. Socks everywhere.

“She can't stay at my place. I'm single,” Matthew said, relieved to remember the fact. Glory would never see his dirty socks. Or the calendar on his wall that was stuck back in September even though it was December 19. “It wouldn't be proper, would it, Mrs. Hargrove?”

Matthew smiled confidently. Being single did have certain advantages.

“I would ask her to stay with me. She seems like a very nice lady,” Mrs. Hargrove said earnestly, and then shrugged her shoulders. “But I can't.”

The smile that was forming on Matthew's lips faded. “Why not?”

“The twins love the Christmas story,” Mrs. Hargrove explained. “They'd be very disappointed if they couldn't keep the angel in their house. Besides, the doctor says there's no way you can get up those stairs, so it's perfectly proper.”

As though that settled the matter, Mrs. Hargrove ran her finger over the plastic jug of wrenches standing on the counter. “Doesn't that Henry ever dust anything in
here? Decent folks wouldn't shop here even if they had any extra money.”

“Henry doesn't notice the dust,” Matthew said. He wondered if Glory had noticed how dusty it was in the hardware store. Of course she'd noticed, he thought. He could see her frowning at the window beside her. It could use a good washing. He'd started to clean up Henry's store now that the man was gone to his daughter's in Florida for a long winter vacation, but Matthew had started in the back, in the stockroom.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Hargrove,” Matthew said as he reached for his crutches. “I think I best get my bottle of window cleaner and—” Matthew nodded in the general direction of Glory.

But before Matthew could stand, Glory came over to the counter.

“I'd like to buy a brush,” Glory said. The hardware store looked as if it could use some business, and she assumed they had a fine-tip brush that could serve her uses. “Make that a dozen and a can of turpentine.”

“Brushes are over there,” Matthew said, and started to rise. “Most of them are for real painting—I mean, not for artists, but there might be one or two small enough.”

“You just sit back down,” Mrs. Hargrove said as Matthew fitted the crutches under his arms. “You aren't in any shape to be fetching brushes.” Mrs. Hargrove walked toward the shelf and returned with a dozen paintbrushes. Glory put her platinum plastic card on the counter. “I assume you take credit cards.”

“Some days that's all we take,” Matthew said as he pulled out the credit card duplicator and picked up the phone for verification.

Matthew punched in the numbers of Glory's credit
card. He didn't want to admit it, but hers was the first platinum card he'd ever processed. Most people in Dry Creek thought they were rich if they qualified for the gold card. “Is there something different about a platinum card?”

“Different?”

“Your numbers aren't taking,” Matthew said as he punched another number to speak to an operator. “Maybe I'm doing something wrong.”

“Oh.” Matthew's frown had grown deeper as the operator on the other end spoke.

Matthew hung up the phone. “Your card's been canceled.”

“Canceled? How could it be canceled?”

“It seems you're, ah, dead.”

“Dead! But that's ridiculous. I mean—how?”

“They didn't say how it happened,” Matthew offered. He didn't want to think of the implications of Glory trying to run a fraudulent card through his system.

“There's no ‘how' to it,” Glory snapped. “It hasn't happened. I'm perfectly healthy, as anyone can see.”

“Perfectly,” Matthew agreed. She did look healthy, especially with the indignant flush on her cheeks. Maybe she'd simply missed a payment or two and that was the reason they were canceling her card.

“Can I use your phone?” Glory finally said. She'd call the captain. He'd said he'd take in her mail while she was gone. He could solve the mystery. “Collect, of course.”

Matthew handed her the phone, and Glory turned her back slightly to make the call.

“Thank God you called,” the captain said when he heard her voice. “I was worried.”

“I just called two days ago,” Glory protested. “I'm fine, except for my credit card.”

“Ah, yes. I canceled your card. Not as easy as you'd think. I had to claim official business and tell them you'd died.”

“You
what?
” Glory protested and then, remembering her audience, turned to give a reassuring smile to Matthew and Mrs. Hargrove. She didn't want them to think she was broke, let alone dead. She turned her back to them.

“Someone jimmied your mailbox yesterday,” the captain said. “Took your credit card bill.”

“The bill—they can have it.”

“With the bill, someone can trace you,” the captain pointed out patiently. “Find out what hotels you're staying at. Where you're buying gas. It's not that hard. Someone real sophisticated will find a way to get your charges the same day you make them. By now, they probably know what state you're in. Remember that shot. First the shooting at the grocery store and then that shot coming the next day so close to you. I don't like it. Not with someone taking your credit card bill.”

“Surely you don't think—” Glory sputtered. “Thank goodness I haven't used the card since Spokane. But I can't believe—It was probably just some kids breaking in.”

“They didn't break in to the other mailboxes in your building.”

“Maybe they got tired. Thought of something better to do.”

The captain was silent. “Maybe. Then I keep wondering if something wasn't fishy about that shooting at Benson's. Could be more was happening than you've remembered.”

“Just the butcher standing by the meat counter. Had a package of steaks in one hand and the time card of one of his assistants in the other.”

“We checked the name on the time card. The clerk didn't have a dispute.”

“Least, not one they're talking about,” Glory added.

“No extra keys on him, either,” the captain continued. “If it was a robbery, there was no reason to shoot the man. He wasn't holding anything back.”

“But if it was a robbery, why wait to make the hit when the armored transport had just made the pickup to go to the bank?”

“Ignorance?”

“Yeah, and anyone that ignorant wouldn't think to trace a credit card.” Glory pushed back the prickles that were teasing the base of her spine. The captain was paranoid. He had to be. She hadn't been the only one at Benson's. She'd already told the police everything she knew. Besides, the bullet that had gone whizzing by a day later was gang related. The department was sure of that.

“Yeah, you're probably right. I'll go ahead and call the credit card company.”

“Good.” Glory took a deep breath. “When can I use the card?”

“Ten days. Takes them that long to verify,” the captain said hesitantly. “I'll wire you some money. Your mom and I are heading off for that trip we told you about, but we'll drop it on our way. Tell me where you are.”

“Dry Creek, Montana,” Glory said. She looked over her shoulder. Matthew and Mrs. Hargrove were trying to look inconspicuous, a sure sign they'd overheard everything.

“Trouble?” Matthew said sympathetically as Glory hung up the phone and turned around. He could see she was embarrassed. “Don't worry about the brushes. Henry runs tabs for people all the time. You can pay when you can.”

“No problem. I'm expecting a money order to come here to the post office, maybe even tomorrow,” she said brightly.

Matthew looked at Mrs. Hargrove. Mrs. Hargrove looked at Matthew.

“We don't have a post office,” the older woman finally said.

“No post office?” Glory said as her stomach started to sink. “Can I borrow the phone again?”

The captain's phone rang seven times before the secretary came on the line to say he'd just walked out the door to leave for his vacation.

“Can you leave a message just in case he calls before he leaves?” Glory asked. She wished she'd brought the captain's new unlisted home phone number with her. She hadn't bothered, because her mother and the captain were going to be on their trip.

After she left the message, Glory turned around. She was stuck. Stuck in Dry Creek. Unless. “I'd be happy to work in exchange for the brushes. The store looks like it could use some more help.”

Matthew hesitated.

“I'm willing to work for minimum wage.”

“I wish I could,” Matthew said apologetically. “But we've already got a dozen job applications in the drawer. There aren't many jobs in Dry Creek this time of year. There'd be an uprising if I gave a job to an outsider when so many people here want one,” Mat
thew finished lamely. Maybe he should chance the anger of the townspeople.

“I didn't know it was that bad.” Glory said.

“We get by.” Mrs. Hargrove lifted her chin. “In fact, there's talk of starting a dude ranch over on the Big Sheep Mountain place.”

“That's just talk,” Elmer said sharply. “The Big Sheep's been a cattle ranch for more than a hundred years. Started out as the XIT Ranch and then became the Big Sheep. We've got history. Pride. We don't need a bunch of city folks messing things up with their Jeeps and fancy boots. You know as good as me, they won't stay inside the fences. They'll scare the elk away. Not to mention the eagles. Before you know it, the Big Sheep Mountains will be empty—no animals at all, not even the cows.”

“Better that than empty of people,” Mrs. Hargrove replied as she tightened her lips. “It's old fools like you that can't make way for progress.”

“Old fool? Me?” Elmer protested. “Why, I rode in the Jaycee Bucking Horse Sale last May. On Black Demon. Nothing old about me.” He sighed. “Ah, what's the use. You're just worried about your son's family.”

Mrs. Hargrove nodded slowly. “He said they'd have to move come spring if something doesn't open up. He's worked for the Big Sheep Mountain Cattle Company for ten years, but this rustling has them in a bind. They're losing too many cattle and they're going to start laying off hands.” Mrs. Hargrove refocused on Glory as though just remembering she was there. The older woman settled her face into a polite smile. “I don't mean to go on about our troubles. We get by just fine. God is good to us.”

“Of course,” Glory said carefully. She knew a wall
of pride when she bumped into it, and Mrs. Hargrove had it in abundance. Matthew did, too. She hadn't given any thought to how Matthew managed on his salary, but now she remembered the frayed collars on the twins' shirts and the mended pocket on Joey's jacket. She'd have to send him some money when she got home. In fact—