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 personally—"
"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 disagreement 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
.
"My oven is all preheated." Grandfather led her into the neat blue-and-white kitchen. "I was just going to pop in a TV dinner. Couldn't Sage come, too?"
Wendy followed him, her spirits still dragging. "No, she's ushering at the high school concert tonight."
"And I bet Trav's with her?" He turned to her.
"As usual." She couldn't keep the negativity out of her tone. Trav was a good kid, but she wanted more for her beautiful, intelligent sister!
"Now, just because Trav's Uncle Elroy has never gotten his life straight with the Lord doesn't have anything to do with Trav," Grandfather counseled. "
"I know," she agreed, but with a frown.
"You have that sad look in your eyes tonight. Are you missing your mother?"
His genuine concern for her was like honey on a raw throat. Wendy took care putting the casserole into the hot oven to rewarm. After Sage and Trav had left for their high school, Wendy couldn't face eating alone in the old trailer where she and Sage still lived. Ever since Mom had moved to Florida in the fall, their trailer had felt lifeless. Picturing her mother's full head of golden hair and bubbling laughter, she admitted, "Yes, I miss Mom, but I've had a long day, too." A bad one.
He held up the coffeepot, asking without words if she wanted a cup. "I heard about the burglary. Bruno called me. How's Ma?"
She shook her head, saying no to the coffee. "I just saw her at the hospital before I went home." At least the news about Ma was good. "We got her there in time. The effect of the mild stroke was almost completely reversed, but she's going to stay at the care center for a few days."
Her grandfather set the pot back on its burner and put his arm around her. "That's good. I'll get a few men together from church to go over and fix up things for her before she gets home."
"She'll appreciate that. Ask Bruno to help. He'll want to." Wendy twined her arms around her grandfather's lean chest and rested her head there. Earlier, when she'd arrived at the trailer, she'd glimpsed old Miss Frantz, one of Veda's cronies, spying on them from her parted curtains. The woman was their busybody neighbor who kept a hawk eye on Sage and Wendy. That's what had sparked Wendy to give Sage a hard time.
Grandfather touched her hair lightly. "What is it, pumpkin?"
The use of his pet name for her made her eyes moisten. She longed to pour out her frustration over gossip, her loneliness, her irritation with Sheriff Durand. But her grandfather was nearly eighty. He needed smiles, not her tears. "Just tired, Grandfather." She pulled away.
But he drew her back and hugged her close. "You're all I've got left in this wicked, old world. Remember that—always. I love your sister too, but she's not my blood. You are my only son's only child. My only blood relation left."
"I know." Why couldn't she ever get Sage to realize that because of their mother's wild youth, people measured both of them by a stricter standard? That alone had been enough to keep Wendy from dating in high school. Kept her from dating now. How could Sage just ignore it? Wendy stayed within Grandfather's comforting embrace, letting go of her turmoil bit by bit. "I've always tried to do you proud."