Jen arrived a few minutes later. Lorie met her at the door with the rolling book cart.
Tilting her head to one side, Jen scrutinized Lorie. “Something else happen?”
Lorie chuckled. “You should be a detective, not a librarian.”
“Comes with the mom job description.” She headed toward the office, but Lorie put out a hand and stopped her.
“Okay. Tell me.”
“Somebody tried to run me off the road yesterday. I think.”
“What!”
“I’m okay, car’s okay, everything’s okay. Not a scratch on either of us.”
“But what happened?”
“It could’ve been just a tailgater with a death wish. He was way too close for miles, and then he tried to pass me on Rattlesnake Hill. A semi scared him back into his lane. I pulled off near a cop car and waited for him to go. End of story.”
Jen let out a sigh. “I’m glad.”
“Me, too.” Lorie handed off the book cart to Jen.
“Okay, I’m on my way to the hardware store for that window. As for the door, you’re all set.” Ike moseyed back to the circulation desk, rusty red toolbox in one work-hardened hand, a set of keys in the other. He dropped them into Lorie’s outstretched palm.
“Thanks, Ike.”
“Tammy told me to tell you to come for supper Sunday night after church.”
“Tell her thanks. I’ll see y’all then.” Lord willing. Odd how she’d gotten out of the habit of adding on the scriptural phrase while she was living in San Diego. “Lord willing.”
Ike nodded, then headed out the door.
Moving the squeaky book cart toward the stacks, Jen stopped and looked back at Lorie. “What was that all about?”
“Ike just changed the lock on the office door. He’ll be taking care of the window once he gets everything he needs.”
Jen’s jaw dropped. “When did you have time to get approval from the library board?”
“I didn’t.”
Her eyes widened further. “You did this on your own?”
“I won’t charge them for it.” Lorie fought the defensiveness rising inside her. Surely as head librarian, she was entitled to a few judgment calls.
“Those locks haven’t been changed since 1958.”
Lorie straightened her spine and placed both fists on her hips. “All the more reason. I had Ike put in a dead bolt.”
“How’m I supposed to get in there?”
Lorie pulled one key off the tiny twist of wire and handed it to her. “Guard it with your life.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Seriously, just put it on your key ring and don’t lose it. We only have the two. I guess we’ll have to have another made for Mitzi’s weekend shifts. Come on, let’s check out the dead bolt and make certain both these keys work.”
Lorie locked and unlocked the shiny brass lock with her key, and had Jen do the same.
The sight of the lock gave Lorie’s spirit such a lift, she broke into a grin. “That looks like it should keep out all but the most determined burglar.”
Her good mood lasted only until closing. Lorie’s heart began to race the moment she locked the door behind the last patron of the day. Soon she’d have to go home. Would the car that had almost driven her off the road be waiting for her again?
God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. Yep. That was true. But He also expected us to use the good sense He gave us.
Magnolia blossoms scented the summer air as Lorie and Jen reached the parking lot.
“See you tomorrow.”
Lorie waved at Jen as she keyed the lock on her Mustang. It opened with a friendly chirp. Letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, Lorie climbed into the car.
Lord, I can’t keep reacting this way. Please help me.
Driving home, Lorie kept glancing in her rearview mirrors. She’d know that mean-looking car anywhere. If it followed her again—
It didn’t. Her afternoon commute was completely uneventful.
Her dreams were another story.
* * *
Friday morning dawned with streaks of pink and purple daubing the horizon. Cardinals, white-throated sparrows and a persistent mourning dove greeted Lorie right after the three cats jumped on her bed and reminded her it was time for breakfast.
She blinked at them blearily. “All right. I’m up.” Lorie shoved off her mamaw’s multicolored story quilt and swung out of bed.
Colleen, the sable-and-white rough collie, wagged a bushy tail.
Mornings in Wolf Hollow were an entirely different species from mornings in suburban San Diego. Here, no motorcycles vied to see which could be the loudest. That contest was reserved for the birds, whose chirping and calls made her glad she was here. Mostly.
After feeding the menagerie and herself breakfast, Lorie noticed the rural postal delivery pickup stop at her mailbox. Hannah was early today.
“Want to go to the mailbox?”
Colleen wagged and pranced by the door.
Throwing on a straw cowboy hat, Lorie opened the door for Colleen. The three cats raced outside, almost tripping her. Winken, Blinken and Nod had been impulse names that seemed to fit when she first met them, but proved to be appropriate only half the time. When they were awake, they were in constant motion. Off on a critter hunt now, no doubt. As long as they didn’t bring home any rodents or birds, Lorie had no objections.
The morning air smelled of Old Blush China roses and magnolia blossoms. The tree-lined lane was alive with birdsong.
Then, suddenly, it wasn’t.
Stopping in the middle of the lane, Colleen growled.
“What is it, girl?”
Nerves heightening, Lorie scanned the lane and the road for signs of intruders. Straining her ears to listen, Lorie could hear only the distant whine of a semi changing gears on Bobcat Hill.
No crashing in the underbrush. Only silence, with Colleen’s low growl an undertone.
Lorie was halfway to the mailbox. Glancing back at the house, the sensation of being watched grew too strong to ignore.
“Colleen. Come.”
Heading back toward the house, Lorie broke into a run. Something loud buzzed near her ear as her hat flew off her head. A split second later, she heard the report of a rifle.
Lord, help!
Lorie ran, Colleen keeping pace.
Another gunshot ripped through the meadow, a bullet thudding into the magnolia. Lorie ducked behind an oak. Why had she left her cell phone on the nightstand?
After darting from tree to tree, Lorie hesitated. There was little cover in front of the house. Could she make it inside without getting shot?
Wishing she had more experience with dodging and running, Lorie prayed and dashed for the front door. As she tripped on the step, a bullet struck the door frame where she should have been standing and ricocheted into the porch overhang. Lorie threw open the screen. Colleen bounded inside with Lorie on her heels.
Slamming the front door and locking it, Lorie raced to the phone and dialed 911. The emergency operator sounded rational and calm.
“I’m being shot at!” Tossing grammar to the wind, Lorie explained the situation in a few terse words.
“Can you see the shooter?”
“No. Please send someone soon.”
“Relax, ma’am, and stay on the line. I’ve already notified the sheriff’s department, and they have a deputy en route.”
Lorie barely heard the reassurance, straining every part of her to listen for another shot. Colleen padded over to the window and looked out. Noticing, fear stole Lorie’s breath for a moment, but she forced herself to speak.
“Colleen, come!”
The dog hurried to her side by the phone table and leaned into her.
The 911 operator was saying something else.
“What? I’m sorry.”
“I asked if you have anyone with you.”
Lorie reached down to pat Colleen’s elegant head. “Just my dog. The cats are outside.” The realization of their danger slammed a blow to her stomach. “Oh, no, my cats are outside.” Please, Lord, keep them safe.
In the distance, the sound of a siren reached her ears. Please protect the deputy, Lord. The metallic slam of a door up on the road preceded a motor suddenly roaring to life.
“Tell the deputy I think the shooter is headed his way.”
* * *
Matt was near the southern end of his regular patrol when the call came in from dispatch. The address on Wolf Hollow Trail didn’t strike an immediate chord, but earlier in the month, he’d busted a marijuana growing operation south of there, in Oak Hill. Wondering if this call of shots fired was related, Matt turned left onto the Trail.
Moments later, Dispatch crackled over the radio again.
“The shooter may be headed your way. Do you copy?”
Before Matt could reach for the mike, a black Camaro blew past him at three times the speed limit. Trying to turn on this narrow gravel-and-seal road halfway down a hill would be a nightmare. Frustrating gnawing at his stomach, Matt kept going till he came to the first driveway and did a quick three-point turn.
“Dispatch, this is Unit 5. I am in pursuit of a late-model, black Camaro, license unknown, heading eastbound on Wolf Hollow Trail. Suspect is presumed armed and dangerous.”
Matt sent a prayer heavenward that whoever was driving the car was the assumed shooter. Otherwise, whoever had called in the incident was still in danger.
By the time Matt reached Highway 14, the car had disappeared. With hills in either direction, finding the driver was a fifty-fifty proposition.
“Dispatch, suspect vehicle is no longer in sight. What other units are in the vicinity?”
A burst of static answered him, followed almost immediately with words. “Unit 2 is southbound in your direction. Unit 15 is northbound.” Another moment of silence, and then Dispatch came back on the line.
“Unit 15 has spotted the vehicle and is in pursuit southbound. Unit 5, see the woman. 153 Wolf Hollow Trail.”
“Roger.”
Matt switched off the mike and pounded the steering wheel. He’d come so close to apprehending the guy. Letting out a harsh breath, he reversed the car at the intersection and headed back toward the house in question.
Something about the address bugged him. It was on the edge of his brain. The knowledge eluded him as he drove slowly down the narrow country road.
Passing the mailbox with its numbers clearly attached to the side, Matt turned down the long gravel driveway and arrived at a once-white clapboard house that looked as if it needed more than just a coat of paint. A few of the shingles had blown off the roof. They appeared ancient, as if they’d been there since the higgledy-piggledy house was built. Massive oaks surrounded the place.
As he approached the house, the carport came into view. That blue Mustang looked familiar.
California plate.
It couldn’t be. Could it?
What were the odds?
Parking the patrol unit, Matt got out and walked up onto the porch. He could hear a dog barking on the other side of the door. He was just raising his hand to knock on the screen door when the inner door opened.
The look of surprise on Lorie’s face suggested she’d expected a different deputy.
“Matt.” Her features relaxed, and she gave him a wary smile as she unlatched the old-fashioned wooden screen door.
“You’re the one who reported shots being fired?”
“I was on my way to the mailbox, and I felt—I don’t know, suddenly I thought I was being watched. When I turned to head back to the house, I heard a shot. My hat got knocked off.”
“Show me where.”
Lorie opened the screen door, its rusty springs squawking in protest.
A dog bounded out of the house ahead of Lorie. Making straight for Matt, the dog pranced around him as he held out his fist for her to sniff. A moment later, he petted her, ruffling the fur around her ears.
“Yeah, you’re a good dog, aren’t you?”
Lorie scanned the area, as if trying to sense whether the person who’d shot at her was still anywhere nearby.
A moment later, she apparently spotted the hat and ran to it.
“Wait! Don’t touch it.”
Lorie froze with her hand halfway to the ground.
No popgun had made that hole in the tall-crowned straw hat. Had the bullet struck just a few inches lower—Matt sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Lord that Lorie was still alive.
Lorie’s case had just escalated from stalking to attempted murder.
Matt looked at Lorie as he pulled on latex gloves. “Please go back in the house and wait for me. I’ll be in when I finish processing the scene.” Lorie nodded and headed back to the house. As he watched her go, he noticed an additional shot that had bounced off the door frame. Right at Lorie’s height.
After retrieving the digital camera from the unit, Matt began by photographing the bullet embedded in the porch overhang. He documented the entire area as he searched for the bullet that had struck Lorie’s hat. When he found it lying next to the fence, twenty yards from the house, Matt whistled. The .338 caliber bullet had come from a long-range rifle. Whoever the shooter was, he or she meant business. It was only by God’s grace that Lorie was still alive.
Matt picked up the bullet with latex-gloved hands. Sealing it into an evidence bag, he went to dig out the one that had struck the magnolia tree. Anger rose in his gut. He prayed he could catch this guy, before it was too late.
After he finished cataloging the evidence and stowing it in Unit 5, Matt tapped on the sagging wooden screen door. “Lorie?”
Lorie appeared with a glass of iced tea. “Perfect timing. It’s sweet. I’m having to get back in the habit, after living so long in Southern California.”
Matt accepted the tall glass, ignoring the sweat from the melting ice cubes. He took a long swig, swallowed and smiled. “You haven’t lost your touch.”
She held the door open for him, meaning he had to brush directly by her to reenter the living room. Even the fright she’d had couldn’t overpower her sweet fragrance. Awareness twitched at him.
Get it under control, Matt. Losing your head again is the last thing you need—especially since you need your focus for the case.
Matt took another swallow of tea to clear his thoughts and refocus. He stared at the old upright piano, decked out in Victorian style, with an old-timey swivel seat set before it. So, he’d been right. She did still play an instrument.
Lorie waved a hand at an ancient horsehair sofa that might have been part of the original furnishings of the old house, if it hadn’t actually been on the Ark, and seated herself on a fragile-looking rocking chair. Matt sat and immediately had to reach a hand to steady himself on the sofa’s arm. Old as it was, the horsehair was still slippery.
“Sorry. I should have warned you about Dobbin.”
Matt glanced a question at Lorie as he braced himself against sliding.
“It was my grandparents’ wedding present from well-meaning relatives. Papaw named it for the song.”
“Song?”
“One of their wedding songs had a line about hitching old Dobbin to the shay. Papaw said since he was sure they’d have a golden wedding day, it would be appropriate. I understand Mamaw tried to dissuade him, but once it took root with all their siblings and cousins, well...”
Matt chuckled. “Your grandfather sounds like he had a great sense of humor.”
“He did.” Lorie sniffed once and blinked rapidly. She tucked her feet up onto an ancient hassock that must once have been red and leaned back in the rickety rocking chair. “Much as I miss him, I’m glad he wasn’t around for the trial.”
Setting down the glass of tea, Matt leaned forward. “I’ve read the transcripts. I’m sorry it got so ugly.”
“Thanks. God and my family got me through it, but it wasn’t easy.” Lorie ran a hand over her hair, ending the gesture by looking at her watch. “Oh, my, the time—I have to call Jen and get her to open without me, unless...?”
“I just have a few more questions. Call Jen. It shouldn’t be long.”
Lorie fetched her cell phone and completed the call with just a few short words, not explaining anything. Genuine admiration warmed Matt’s chest. Not many people could manage to keep Jen Burkhalter to a one-minute call.
“Now.” Lorie laid the phone on the coffee table. “You have more questions?”
Seeing her looking like this, so vulnerable and, aside from the dog, alone, Matt wished he didn’t have to ask her anything about a case. Resigned, he pulled the notebook he still preferred to his smartphone out of his shirt pocket.
“Just a few. Particularly, one. Who wants you dead?”