Sinister (19 page)

Sally looked over and said, “You’d better walk them back to the precinct. Just to be safe.”

“It’s just two blocks down Main Street,” Ricki pointed out. She handed Brook the bag of supplies, touching her shoulder. “There are people everywhere.”

Tears flooded Sally’s eyes as she watched the door close behind the kids. “Oh, Ricki, are you sure? It’s so dangerous out there. Such a terrible time for Prairie Creek. How can Pilar go through with the wedding with this hanging over us like a dark cloud?”

“I don’t know.” Ricki grabbed two tissues from the box on the counter and handed them over.

Pressing the tissues to her face, Sally quavered. “Mia didn’t really have anyone, y’know. Kit’s never been around, and Mia never got over your uncle Judd. Not really. Oh, she had a thing for all the Dillinger men, and she used to date Dodge Miller, but she was alone mostly. Life can be terrible, can’t it?”

“Mia dated Dodge Miller?” When Sally nodded, Ricki pressed, “Recently?”

“I think so.”

Dodge Miller was the town butcher. Or, at least he had been until his business had dried up. If Dodge didn’t get back to Sam soon, they would have to go find him. “I didn’t think he spent much time in town anymore.”

“He doesn’t. He was too bitter about losing the butcher shop. Blamed everyone in Prairie Creek for his own failure, especially the folks with money. I understand he went to your father, asked him to invest to keep the shop going, but Ira said no. Well, that just set Dodge off like a crazy bull. After that, no one could stand to be around him. No one except Mia.”

Sally’s eyes filled with more tears and Ricki asked gently, “Is there anyone you can think of who had something against Mia?”

“Well . . . Ira. Mia sued for child support from Judd’s estate, but she just wanted to be part of your family, y’know.”

Ricki nodded. Kit was a Dillinger, and it was no secret Mia had wanted to be considered one as well.

The conversation turned to burial plans for Mia—of which there were none. Her body had not been released from the coroner yet, but as soon as it was ... well, Ricki had to wonder what would happen. Kit was doing her own unique send-off, and it would be difficult to plan a funeral around the wedding and Christmas.

“Check with Kit,” Ricki told Sally. “Maybe there’ll be a memorial service sometime in January.”

“Kit?” Sally repeated in disbelief.

Ricki knew how she felt. Kit didn’t travel the conventional road.

Sally’s eyes welled up once again as she promised to do the flowers at cost.

“So sweet of you,” Ricki said, zipping up the navy patrol jacket Naomi had assigned her from the supply closet at the sheriff’s office. It was a man’s medium, way too big for Ricki, but there was room for a sweater underneath and it made her feel petite under the sloshing hunk of fabric.

Next she stopped in at Emma Kincaid’s dress shop, where she walked in on a discussion so heated that the three women didn’t seem to notice the bell jingling at the door or the blast of cold air.

“I asked you if you wanted the train to snap off, and you insisted that you didn’t.” Facing Pilar with her hands on her hips, Emma Kincaid stood her ground, blue eyes sparking with controlled heat. “Honestly, I’m not interested in design number four for your wedding dress just because you don’t have a church aisle to walk down.”

Pilar was gripping a glass of champagne with taut fingers. “Emma, please. I’m already destroyed over losing the church. I’m paying you a small fortune here. What is the big deal about coming up with another design?”

“Because you want a dress in four days, and I’ll wager you won’t be happy with it, either. Wear one of the three I’ve already finished. Or go to a department store when you’re in Jackson and buy off the rack.”

“Enough,” Georgina Kincaid snapped, lifting her stony gaze from Pilar’s champagne glass to glare at the bride-to-be. A tape measure dangling around her neck, she looked more like the seamstress than her daughter, who wore high-heeled boots and a tiny leather skirt that was about as practical on the plains of Wyoming as cowboy boots in New York City.

Ricki was surprised Georgina was even helping out, especially with Pilar, as the Kincaid matriarch was as anti-Dillinger as Ira was anti-Kincaid. But then, a number of the Kincaids were on the guest list, so maybe there was a new thawing in the cold war between the two families.

“No one can design a brand-new dress in four days, not with Christmas coming and folks up in Jackson waiting on gowns from Emma,” Georgina snarled at Pilar.

There’s the Georgina we all know and love,
Ricki thought dryly.

Georgina shot a glance Ricki’s way. “What do you want?”

“Mom,” Emma said, long-suffering. “Can I help you, Ricki?”

“What about the dress?” Pilar asked woefully.

Emma turned back to her. “I’ll cut the train for you,” she said briskly. “That’s the best I can do, though that chiffon is a bitch to hem.”

“Could you add some beading on the back? Just give it some detail?” Pilar tried.

Emma was firm. “Just the hem. Take it or leave it.”

Pilar handed over the gown wrapped in pink plastic, her face set. “Fine. I need it delivered back at the lodge no later than Friday.” She turned to Ricki. “Hi and bye. I’ve got to get with my bridal consultant.”

“Drive careful,” Ricki said, watching as the dark-haired beauty pulled on a white fur hat and strode out the door.
And don’t worry about Rourke. He’ll be safe with me.

“She doesn’t deserve Ira Dillinger,” Georgina muttered harshly, which made Ricki give her a double take. Realizing Ira’s daughter was in the room, she added, “I’m no fan of your father’s, but Pilar is vermin.”

“Mom,” Emma warned again, then, “So, what can I help you with, Ricki?” She tossed the pink bag of gown onto a settee and approached the front of the shop, her heels clicking on the marble floor.

“I’m working for the sheriff’s office now.” Ricki looked down at her shield. “Just wondering if I could ask you a few questions about the Pioneer Church? We’re still trying to sort out the time frame of the fire. You too, Georgina.”

“Dying to blame it on the Kincaids, are you?” the older woman sneered.

“I thought you and Dad were getting along better,” Ricki said. When Georgina didn’t respond, she went on, “We think you were the last people in the building before the fire started and just want to know what the sequence of events was.”

Emma hung the pink bag on a hook, and gestured for Ricki to sit. “I hope I can help you. Anything to put that psycho behind bars. I’m afraid in my own house at night.”

We’re all afraid,
Ricki thought.

Reluctantly, Georgina sat on the edge of a chair and eyed Ricki as if she were some dangerous reptile.

So much for the improving relations between the Dillingers and the Kincaids.

 

 

From the dress shop Ricki headed over to the animal clinic, where the young receptionist jumped up from her desk to unlock the door.

“Sorry about that. With this slasher on the loose, we’re not taking any chances,” Renee said, giving voice to the fear that ran through Prairie Creek like a foul river. What had happened to her childhood home, where a kid could go off on a horse in the morning without a care in the world?

Ricki met with Antonia and Sabrina, who showed her the mutilated coyote kept in cold storage. After viewing the carcass, Ricki agreed with Sam: one killer. Neither Antonia nor Sabrina was able to offer up any real information apart from what she already knew. She made notes on their overall impressions to add to her report.

It was still snowing when she left the clinic a half hour later and headed back to the precinct. It was a good six-block trek, but the walkway in front of the shops had been cleared, and the air smelled of snow and pine, probably from the fresh-cut evergreens lined up outside Handy Hardware.

Halfway down the street, she spotted the sheriff’s department Jeep a few seconds before she heard Sam calling to her from the door of the hardware store.

“Hey. How’s it going?” he asked.

Her heart lifted. This was her boss; she shouldn’t be so ridiculously happy to see him for the second time this morning. “Just heading back to the station house to write up my reports.”

“You can give me a preview in the Jeep. I could use your help with an errand for the party.”

“Sure.” Once inside the Jeep she told him what she had learned from Sally about Mia dating Dodge Miller.

“That’s news to me. I’m going to head out his way tonight and track him down,” Sam said.

Ricki then told him about her interview with Georgina and Emma—no surprises there—and her conversations with the two veterinarians who had showed her the coyote carcass. “I’ve never seen this town so scared, Sam. Shop owners are keeping their doors locked, and when I passed by the barber shop, Slim came out to remind me to be careful.”

“Glad people are taking this seriously, but I hate it. It’s like the whole town is being held hostage.”

“How’d your morning go?”

“Doc’s being evasive,” he said. “He was definitely with a ‘friend’ the night Barstow was last seen, but he won’t give up a name yet.” As he spoke, he backed his Jeep into the alley behind Menlo’s Market, parking at the loading dock.

“What are we doing?” she asked.

“Just picking up some giveaways for the party.”

As they climbed out of the truck, the large door rolled open, revealing two men with a handful of shopping carts.

“Sam!” Donald Menlo called, his round cheeks tinged with red. “It’s about time. I got them all ready for you.” He gestured to the shopping carts full of turkeys. “Two dozen.”

“Good enough. I’ll give you a call if we run out.” Sam extracted a credit card from his wallet and handed it to Donald.

“We have plenty more if you need ’em. I’ll be right back with your receipt.”

“This is a lot of turkeys, Sam.” Ricki grunted as she hoisted a twenty-pounder out of the cart. “You selling them at the party?”

“We give them away to people in need. Started it a few years back, and it’s been a big hit.”

“I bet. Sounds like a good idea.”

The teenaged clerk lifted a fat frozen turkey as if it were light as a football. Swiftly he moved it to the back of the Jeep.

“You coming to the party, Brian?” Sam asked the kid.

“I have to work. But my mom will be there. She never misses it.”

Ricki grabbed another turkey and felt the skin of her hand stick to the plastic wrap. “These are so frozen.”

Brian took the turkey from her. “That’s how they stay fresh.”

“Well, I knew that,” Ricki said. “They’re just like blocks of ice. I think my fingers are frostbitten already.”

“I got gloves in the Jeep,” Sam offered.

“We got this,” Brian said as he carried two turkeys to the Jeep. “See? Almost done.”

Cargo loaded, Sam thanked the young man, who wheeled the carts away.

“I can’t believe I was bested by a teenage boy,” Ricki said, blowing into her aching hands.

“Every kid wants to be tougher than a cop. Especially a female cop,” Sam said.

Ricki grunted an assent.

“Come here.” He unzipped his jacket, took her hands and pressed them inside his coat where it was warm. The ache was excruciating for a moment as her hands began to thaw, the numbness fading. But the close proximity to Sam was the true dichotomy of ecstatic and torturous, bitter and sweet. Palms against the wall of his chest, she could feel his heartbeat.

Caught by the intensity in his dark eyes, she murmured, “What are you doing to me, Sam?”

“No more than you’re doing to me.”

Donald Menlo returned, interrupting their moment, and Ricki quickly extracted her hands and got into the Jeep. There wasn’t much conversation after that because it didn’t seem necessary. She and Sam were riding the same wave, swimming toward impossible possibilities, forgetting the very real threat of drowning.

Sam left his truck parked illegally, right in front of town hall. The perk of being sheriff. “What if someone steals a turkey?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Then I guess they need it more than I do.”

The Christmas party was the quaint, sweet celebration Ricki remembered from her childhood. She watched as Rourke helped little kids who were waiting in line for a pony ride. That boy was a quick learner. At one point Sam steered him away to show him some rodeo photos of Colton among the “Prairie Creek Wall of Fame” in the lobby. Rourke stared hard at his father’s pictures as if he were imprinting the images on his brain.

Moving from one table to another, sampling wassail and cider, Ricki looked around for Brook. This was the sort of thing she wished she could deliver to her daughter, all wrapped up in a Christmas bow: the sights and sounds of Christmas. The foundation of a community with backbone and heart. The carefree laughter and conversation that filled the air, along with the song of wandering carolers.

She spotted Brooklyn over at the cupcake stand with her friend, Sara. From here, she couldn’t read her reaction, and she knew it wouldn’t be cool to rush over there in a burst of enthusiasm. No, Brook would have to accept Prairie Creek on her own terms, in her own good time. She hoped that would happen before she jumped on a bus back to her dad in New York.

Outside, the trees decorated for the competition brought a smile to Ricki’s face. One was covered in real candy canes, white lights and red ribbons. Blue lights and sliced-up Pepsi cans adorned another. A third was decked in colored lights and miniature elf figurines. The trees surrounded a hut decorated like a gingerbread house, where Chet Norcross sat in a Santa suit—the role he’d been training to play since retirement from the school district. Kids were happy to pose for a photo with Santa or listen to his recitation of
The Night Before Christmas
.