Murray didn’t answer so I left a message, asking her to call me the next morning. I glanced at the clock. Almost eleven, and I was exhausted. “I’d better be getting home,” I said, “but before I go, do you think I should drop by the hospital to tell Joe about Nathan? After all, Joe will expect him to be there when he gets home. I promised to pick up Nate from the airport.”
Margaret nixed the idea. “Let him rest.” The look on her face spoke volumes. Her brow furrowed, she let out a loud sigh. “Nathan is a carbon copy of Dexter. Dex always has been, and always will be, an irresponsible boy in a man’s body. I had hoped that both sons would escape their heritage, but it seems it was too much to ask.” She brightened. “At least Joe didn’t succumb to the family pattern of addiction. Tell him about Nathan tomorrow, on your way home from the hospital.”
She fussed with her tea. “I have to say, Emerald, I consider Joe lucky to have you. You’ve given him the stability and sense of family he’s always craved. And I know he’s head over heels in love with you.”
“When I asked Joe if he wanted to invite his parents to the wedding, I thought he was going to raise the roof,” I said. “That’s the only time I’ve seen him get angry. He’s got a lot of pent-up resentment toward them.” I hadn’t been afraid of his outburst, but I learned quickly that his family was a subject better left untouched. Apparently, I wouldn’t be meeting my in-laws, other than Maggie.
“It’s a little chilly this evening,” she said, reaching for a lace shawl draped over the arm of the sofa. She wrapped it around her shoulders. “After Dexter left, Terri had no idea what to do. She was young, with two young boys, and her husband abandoned her, taking every cent that he hadn’t already gambled away. Terri and the boys’ lives became very chaotic after that.”
“Did she work?”
“Oh, she managed to land a job in a wineshop and she was good at it. She learned about the business inside out. I gave her a little extra money when I could, and when I came into my part of the inheritance from my father, I set up a small trust fund for each boy. Dex certainly didn’t help out. He always said he would, but it never happened. And he worked odd jobs to avoid having his wages garnished. I’ll give Terri this—even without child support, she kept food on the table and a roof over their heads.”
“It’s never easy—even with child support,” I said, thinking about the first year I’d struggled to rebuild my family after my divorce. And I’d had a settlement to start my business with and to buy a new house. Most divorced women didn’t get a head start. Of course, I’d been angry enough to go after Roy, instead of slinking away meekly to nurse my grievances.
“No, it’s not. Unfortunately, the struggle to survive took a toll. Terri ended up resenting the boys for the extra work they caused her. I don’t think she ever showed it overtly, but kids are smart. Joe and Nathan knew she wasn’t happy. They had a string of ‘daddies’ who never stuck around. When the boys left home, she moved to California and opened up her own shop, but the steady stream of men and booze never ended.”
I gave Margaret a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’re right. Joe is a lucky man. He’s got you. You’re one special lady, Aunt Maggie.” As I headed out into the night, I felt a flash of gratitude that Margaret Files had become such an integral part of my life. She was a champion supporter, and I adored her.
Sunday dawned partyly cloudy. We weren’t due for rain, but the sky was overcast and the temperature mild. So much for sunshine. I just hoped it wouldn’t be raining on the solstice. We’d planned to hold the wedding in our garden lot next door, with White Deer acting as our officiate. She had registered at one of those online ordination sites so that she could marry us.
Joe and Jimbo were supposed to build arches over which we would drape ivy and grapevines, and tuck roses into the lattice work. I sighed, making a note to ask Jimbo what kind of help he would need now that Joe wouldn’t be able to lift a hammer. Maybe my father could help him slap them together. Or maybe we’d have to buy them ready-made.
Randa came racing down the stairs. In an hour, she was due at the house belonging to the president of her astronomy club. The club was making a field trip to Bellingham to visit the new astronomy museum that had opened up. More of a gallery than a real museum, it was sponsored by the Skies & Scopes shop.
She screeched to a halt in front of the fridge. “Mom, do you know where my backpack is?”
At least some things were running on track. “Try the laundry room. You left it there yesterday. Have you had breakfast yet? And did Kip feed the cats?”
“I’m not hungry, and yeah, Kip fed them,” she said, peeking into the pantry where the washer and dryer were located.
“Hold on there, chickie. Make time for breakfast. I want to see something going into your stomach and it better not just be sugar.” The light blinked on my espresso machine, indicating that it was ready. I flipped the switch and watched as four shots of pure black gold poured into the glass decanter. I stirred it into a tall glass, along with raspberry and chocolate syrups, milk, and ice. Randa leaned against the counter, a snarky grin on her face.
“And what is that, if not pure sugar?” She pointed to my glass. “Face it, Mom, you’re a junkie. You couldn’t go a day without caffeine if you tried.” A smile tweaked the corner of her lip and I knew she was teasing.
“All right, all right, I’ll eat something, too. Let’s see, what do we have?” I opened the refrigerator and peered at the food-laden shelves. Since Joe had moved in, we never were without plenty of groceries. He kept the larder stocked a lot better than I had. Feeling just a tinge inadequate, I glanced at the clock. “I have to call the hospital in a few minutes to find out when I can pick up Joe.”
“Do you know who shot him yet?” Kip asked, entering the kitchen. “He’s gonna be okay, isn’t he?”
Kip was lugging a book almost as big as he was. He’d maintained his love of computers from the school year and had progressed to the intermediate class at computer camp, which made me both proud and a little worried. Considering Kip’s predilection for getting in trouble, I still had concerns that I might be raising a hacker, but at least he’d found a passion other than the folk magic that Nanna had taught me. I had no problem passing on my magical training, but more than once, Kip had proved himself too emotionally immature to cope with the responsibility. I had told him that we were going to wait until he was thirteen before starting training again.
“Joe’s going to be fine, and no, we don’t know who shot him,” I said. “Okay, I’m making breakfast, and everybody’s eating. Got that, Randa?” She nodded. “Good. How about ham and cheese sandwiches? Quick, nutritious, and they won’t dirty up any pans.” Anything for freedom from dirty dishes.
As I opened the bread, Randa handed me a knife and three plates, while Kip foraged through the fridge for ham, cheese, mayonnaise, mustard, tomatoes, and lettuce. I spread the bread with the mayo and mustard while Randa sliced cheese and tomatoes, then Kip layered ham and lettuce on the bread.
We worked in silent unison, immersed in the rhythm that ran through our family. Joe had managed to slip into that rhythm, never breaking it. He flowed right into the stream that had become our lives since we first moved to Chiqetaw. The kids accepted him, edging over gently to allow him space next to me. And I’d grown comfortable with sharing my life with another adult. I finally knew what it meant to be partners with someone, rather than just “the wife.”
When we finished, the kids carried the food over to the table, along with glasses of milk and what was left of my mocha. I picked up the phone. Not quite time to call about Joe, but I needed to touch base with the shop.
It felt odd—being away from the Chintz ‘n China for so long. I wouldn’t be returning until July—another two weeks—and I was already fussing about how things were going. But I tried to rein in my fretting. My finances would show a crunch, but I wanted to enjoy every moment of my wedding and honeymoon.
“Chintz ‘n China Tea Room, how may I help you?” Cinnamon answered. She’d just graduated with her Associate of Arts degree in accounting. I had the feeling she would be moving on soon; she was a smart girl with children to feed, and I couldn’t pay her what she deserved. I was reluctantly awaiting the day when she handed me her resignation and had already informed her that if she needed time off for an interview, she should just ask.
“It’s me, Cinnamon. How’s it going?”
“Almost ready to open the doors. Lana’s going to be a little late, but since it’s Sunday, the rush won’t come until later. If you have the time, though, you need to sign off on a few checks. Several invoices came in yesterday.”
Since Cinnamon had her accounting degree, I figured she might as well learn the back end of the business and had handed her some of the easier paperwork to deal with. “I’ll try to drop by this afternoon. This weekend’s been insane—”
“I saw the paper,” she said, her voice tentative. “I wasn’t sure whether or not you wanted to talk about it, so I wasn’t going to bring it up until you did.”
A chill ran up my back. Paper? What paper? “Bring what up? What are you talking about?” I asked, knowing full well I wasn’t going to want to hear the answer.
She hesitated. I was known for throwing tantrums over the local media, with whom I had tenuous and stressful connections, but I never directed my anger toward the messengers unless they were directly involved.
“Go on. I’m not going to bite you, you know.”
“Okay. Ingrid ran a huge article in the Chiqetaw Town Crier about Roy being thrown out of the party the other night. She followed it up with an expose on Joe being shot and is linking the two stories by inference. Since the paper said Joe’s going to be all right, I decided to wait until you mentioned it.”
“Holy hell. If something like this happens again, tell me right away. I haven’t been out to pick up the paper—it’s still in the yard. So, the shop’s fine?”
“Yeah, everything’s okay here.” I could hear relief in her voice.
“Okay, then. I’m going to go look at that article. I’ll drop by a little later today to sign the checks and glance over the invoices.”
I dropped the receiver back in the cradle and made a dash out to the front yard. For once, the boy had gotten the newspaper near the porch. Joe was meticulous about keeping the lawn in order, and Kip had taken on a new diligence in his chores, wanting to impress his older buddy. A light film of dew still shimmered on the blades, but a glimpse of sunlight through the clouds promised to burn off the moisture before noon.
I snatched up the paper and returned to the kitchen, where I slipped into my chair. Randa, almost done with her breakfast, glanced at the paper, then at me, and winced. My fact-oriented daughter had developed a strong distaste for the Chiqetaw Town Crier’s cavalier attitude toward the difference between reality and speculation.
“They have something on you in there?” she asked, swallowing the last bite of her sandwich. She drained her milk and wiped her mouth. Kip had already polished off his ham and cheese and was digging through the pastry basket for a doughnut.
I grimaced. “Yeah, so I gather. Don’t be surprised if I blow.” I shook open the paper and turned to the front page. A grainy picture of Joe and me taken during our party, filled the lower right quarter of the paper. Slow news week, so it seemed.
Next to it was Ingrid’s article. EMERALD O’BRIEN WEAVES HER MAGICAL CHARM AGAIN, the headline read. Oh God, just shoot me now.
Emerald O’Brien, Chiqetaw’s beloved sorceress and teashop owner, has once again made the front page, but this time not because of some ghostly visitor or murdering marauder come calling. No, Emerald’s been plying her charming self into the spotlight via the men in her life.
Reports have it that a brawl broke out between Emerald’s ex-husband, Roy O’Brien, of Seattle, and her fiancé, Joseph Files, captain of Chiqetaw’s Medic Rescue Unit. Ms. O’Brien must have been brewing up quite a storm of love spells for the tempest that prevailed. Mr. O’Brien was evicted from the premises by Mr. Files and his biker friend, Jimbo Warren. What this reporter wants to know is: Is a reunion in the mix between Emerald and her ex, or was it just wishful thinking on his part?
On a more serious note, yesterday at approximately three-thirty Mr. Files was shot by an unknown assailant out at Miner’s Lake while preparing for a barbecue. He was taken to Chiqetaw General Hospital and is due to be released today. Police have no idea of who shot Mr. Files, or why. Considering the goings-on at the engagement party, this reporter can’t help but speculate.
Shit! Ingrid as good as accused Roy in print, but there was really nothing he could use to file suit against her. And she made me sound like a scheming cock-tease. Or at the very least, a philanderer. It wasn’t like I’d asked Roy to show up at the party. He managed that blunder on his own. I thought about putting in a call to good old Ingrid, but experience had taught me that facing down the media only meant asking for trouble. I sighed and tossed the paper on the table.
“How bad is it?” Randa asked, rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. Kip had stuffed half the doughnut in his mouth, and I wandered over and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Take smaller bites. I don’t want you choking. Death by junk food is not an acceptable excuse to get out of chores around here,” I said. He blinked, then flashed me a brilliant grin.
“It’s bad enough. You can read it if you want. You two are probably going to get teased by your friends, so you might as well know why. I apologize in advance.” I hated when my actions intruded on the kids’ lives, but there was no getting around it. And technically, it had been Roy’s fault, not mine.
Randa glanced at the clock, then grabbed the paper and skimmed. Kip finished his pastry and held out his hand. “Mom, I need to get going or I’ll be late. Can I have some money for lunch? Our teacher is taking us to Mickey D’s.”
“Get my purse,” I said. I handed him a five as Randa tossed the paper in the garbage.
“Mrs. Lindstrom is an idiot,” she said.
I happened to agree, but didn’t want to encourage disrespect in my kids. However, in this case, I would happily make an exception.
“You’re right, but don’t either of you tell anybody I said that or she might just write something worse next time. Okay, let’s move it. You’ll have to take your bikes. I don’t have time to drive you all over town this morning. And Randa, do you have your cell phone?”
I’d recently purchased a cell phone for her with instructions that it wasn’t to be used while in school, and that at night it remained downstairs on the table when she went up to bed. Now, anytime she went out of town on a field trip, I had the added security of knowing I could reach her, if necessary, and vice versa.
She nodded. “In my pocket. I’ll be careful.”
“Okay, hut-two-three-four, on your way out the door!”
Kip and Randa marched out the kitchen door after giving me quick pecks, and I watched them pedal away on their bikes. Only four more years—if that—and Randa would be off to college.
My mother had told me, years before, that time sped up with age. I hadn’t believed her, but now I understood what she meant. Only eight more years and Kip would leave home. And then it would just be Joe and me. The prospect of an empty house had made my mouth go dry before I met him, but now it was as if the future had taken on a new life and color. I’d be fine on my own but with Joe by my side, anything seemed possible.
I turned the dial, starting up the load of dishes, when the phone rang. My knee-jerk reaction was to think that something had happened during the night with Joe, but then I caught myself. He was fine. I had to stop being paranoid. He worked a dangerous job and over the years, I’d have to learn to let go and trust that he’d be okay. I picked up the phone to find a frantic Murray on the other end of the line.
“Em, can you come over? I really need somebody here right now.” Her voice was shaky and she sounded out of breath. Murray seldom ever sounded frantic, so I knew something had happened.
“What’s wrong? Are you all right? Jimbo?”
“Somebody broke into my house last night. I stayed out at Jimmy’s and just got home, and the place has been trashed.”
“Holy hell! Are you okay? Is the thief still be in the house?”
“No, no… Deacon and Greg are on the way and I’ve already searched the house. I have my gun, so don’t worry—”
Oh yeah, the fact that she was packing a weapon made me feel all safe and secure. But then again, Murray knew how to use it, and she followed procedure.
“Okay, I’m on my way. First I have to call the hospital to find out when I can pick up Joe, but I’ll be over right after that.”
I fished through my purse for the number to the hospital and put in a quick call to reception. The doctor was with Joe, but the nurse told me that I could pick him up any time after two. I grabbed my purse and dashed out of the house. As I sped over to Murray’s house, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a connection between Joe being shot and Murray’s house being ransacked. The timing was too close. But how could they be related? A slow churning in my gut told me that the universe had just shaken the dice, and once again, we were on the end of a pair of snake eyes.
All signs of my bridal shower had disappeared, and in its place stood a swath of destruction and mayhem. As I stood on the threshold, staring in the front door, it was hard to comprehend that this had been Murray’s neat and beautiful living room only yesterday. Mur was talking to Deacon and Greg when I got there and I waited, making sure not to touch anything.
The sofa—a replica of a Victorian-era piece—had been gutted and bits of stuffing covered everything. Knickknacks were scattered every which way, some broken, some just tossed about. Files from a small cabinet in the corner had been pulled and tossed into the air, and a hail-storm of paper littered the floor. I glanced over at the wall unit that comprised the two snake cages. The glass had been shattered, and Nancy and Sid were no place to be seen. Confusion and anger blackened Murray’s expression, but she was keeping it together much better than I had when the Chintz ‘n China had been vandalized.
After a few minutes, she joined me. Her eyes were angry, a tinge of fear mixed into those dark depths. I mutely held out my arms and she allowed herself the luxury of a hug.
“White Deer’s on her way over,” she said. “I’m just glad she wasn’t staying here or she might have gotten hurt.”
“I thought she always stayed with you.” Not once did I remember White Deer staying at a hotel. Of course, with Jimbo around, maybe the equation had changed a little.
“Not this time. She had some business to attend to in Bellingham last evening, and she stayed overnight with a friend. She should be here any minute.” Mur looked around helplessly, as if she didn’t know where to start. “Deacon and Greg dusted for fingerprints, but there’s not much to go on. My back door was pried open, but no prints except for Jimmy’s and my own. The kitchen’s just as bad. Oh Em, I lost so many of my things. And my clothes—upstairs—some have been slashed.”
“Do you have any idea who did this?” The damage was more than superficial; it was going to cost a butt-load of money to repair and replace what had been lost or destroyed. “This doesn’t look like standard teen vandalism.”
She shook her head. “I have no idea what the hell is going on. Who could do this to me? Who would do this?”
“Was anything stolen?”
“No, that’s the killer. Nothing that I can figure out. I’ve trapped Sid and Nancy in the bathroom. Thank God they didn’t get out. They could have been hurt, though, when they slithered over the broken glass of their cages. We lucked out on that one. But I’m scared. I can’t find Whiplash anywhere, and Sid looks like he just ate.”
Shit. That wouldn’t go over big. For such a tough man, and a hunter and trapper at that, Jimbo had a surprisingly soft spot in his heart for animals. Snidely and Whiplash had been stray cats, but they were the best of friends now, and he doted on the orange tabbies.
“Where’s Snidely?” I asked.
“She’s safe. She was hiding under the bed.” Murray’s voice broke and I instinctively reached out and tried to soothe her, envisioning her cushioned in a circle of golden light. I took her hands in mine and closed my eyes as a golden light radiated out from my fingertips, winding up her arms, wrapping her in a cocoon to heal, to help.
Mur took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly, then dropped to a chair that had emerged unscathed from the onslaught. “Thanks, that helped. Em, can you… would you…”
“You want me to see if I can find out anything about what happened?”
She nodded, mute.
I patted her hand. “Of course. You know I’ve got your back, babe. Have you called Jimbo yet?”
“No, he took off out of town this morning to deliver several batches of honey to some of the smaller stores he sells to. I left a message, though.”
That was Jimbo, all right. He hived bees, trapped for fur, cut deadwood for kindling bundles, anything to keep out of the clutches of a regular job. And he’d done quite well for himself over the years. I knew that his land was paid off, and he didn’t owe a dime to anybody.
“Tell you what. Let’s find Whiplash first, then I’ll do some scrying and see what I can pick up. I wish I had my crystal ball with me, but I can make do, or if we can find your cards, I can throw you a reading.”
As we waded into the mess, we decided to start upstairs in Murray’s bedroom, since that’s where Snidely had been hiding. Her clothes looked like they’d been through a shredder, but that was the least of our concerns.
“I think my favorite bra and panty set is missing,” she said, piling the lingerie and panties that remained intact onto the bed. The oak finish on the four-poster bed had been marred by a few dents, but it could be repaired.
“What? Are you sure they aren’t around here somewhere in this mess?”
She glanced around, a puzzled expression on her face. “I suppose so, but they should have been with all of the others.” As she sorted through what had survived and what was now worthless, I rummaged through the closets, looking for any sign of the missing cat. Nada.
“Mur, hon, what are you doing?”
Murray was dumping every piece of underwear into a big plastic garbage bag, even the ones that had survived the onslaught. “I can’t wear these. Someone’s touched them, ripped some of them up. How can I even think of wearing them again? My credit cards are going to get a workout this week.” She shuddered, holding up a lace bra of the sort that I didn’t even know she owned. It had been slit in all too obvious places.
My stomach lurched and I quickly glanced around the room. A feeling that we were being watched niggled at the back of my brain. The air thickened as the sensation grew stronger and, shaking, I backed away to the door. Someone had crept through this room, someone with a careful eye, prying, touching, thinking thoughts better left un spoken.
“Shit, Mur… I just… there’s something really creepy going on. Somebody left a strong signature imprinted here. I think that you need to stay somewhere else for a few days. You can come to my place, if you want.”
She swallowed hard. “No. I’m not letting anybody push me out of my home. But I will buy new locks today and we’ll install them by nightfall.”
I slowly turned around, feeling out the energy of the room. “You need to cleanse this place and cleanse it good.”
“I can ask White Deer to help. I know you’ve got way too much on your mind to worry over this mess.”
We sifted through the room, calling for Whiplash, but to no avail. The heavy wood furniture had survived, but the mattress had been gouged in several places, big holes exuding stuffing all over the place. I couldn’t ignore the sense of hatred surrounding the room. Hatred and… something else.
“Mur, something’s seriously warped. Whoever did this was mad as hell at you.”
She blinked. “But why? Unless it’s somebody I locked up. That could be, you know. A lot of cops get collars from the past out for revenge.” As she looked around the room, she let out a long sigh, exasperation, fear, and anger warring for dominance. “Whiplash isn’t here. Let’s go check in the spare room. Sometimes the cats sleep in there.” As we headed down the hall, she turned to me. “I almost forgot. What was the message you left? I’m so frazzled I can’t even think straight.”
“Oh, yeah, I meant to ask you about something Aunt Margaret mentioned last night. It’s a long shot, but you never know.” As she led me into the spare bedroom, I noticed that this room had just been tumbled, not destroyed. Everything was relatively intact. “Looks like whoever did this either ran out of time or energy.”
“Well, at least the universe gave me one little break. I just wish that I’d been here—I would have put a stop to whoever did this,” Mur said.
I shook my head. “I never will understand people. Don’t know if I want to, either. Okay, so the deal is this: Do you think Andrew might have been the person who shot Joe? He was sniffing around me quite a bit over the winter and even tried to convince me to break up with Joe and go back to him.”
Mur paused, distracted from her own worries for a moment. Then she shook her head. “I don’t think so. No, Em, it couldn’t be Andrew. Not unless he moved back to town.”
“Moved back?” I hadn’t known he’d left. “What are you talking about?”
Shifting uncomfortably, she frowned and then said, “Harl thought it better we didn’t bother you with this, but I knew you’d find out eventually.”
Feeling a little irritated, I said, “Since when have you and Harl been keeping secrets from me? I’ll be the judge of what I can—or cannot—handle. Now tell me, what’s up with Andrew?” I didn’t care much for anybody, even Joe, playing thought police around me.
She cleared her throat and sat down on an untouched ottoman. “Andrew moved to Hollywood. He told James, who told Harlow, that he thought he’d have a better chance of selling a screenplay there. After the aborted attempt with his book option, he got bit by the screenwriting bug and I guess he fancies himself an undiscovered genius. I think he wants to try to hook up with Zia again. Andrew doesn’t like rejection.”
“Oh really?” I snorted. “Then maybe he should stop acting like a jerk. Whatever. I wish him the best of luck. I have my doubts whether he’ll make it, but hey, hell could freeze over.”
She gave me a sheepish grin. “You upset we didn’t say anything?”
I shook my head. “Nah… I don’t care what he does. At least we know he’s not to blame for shooting Joe. That puts that idea to rest.”
“You okay?”
I snorted. “Okay? I’m fine, for someone whose fiancé was shot at, and whose ex-husband is being a pain in the butt. The fact that my ex-boyfriend has delusions of grandeur just seems par for the course.”
Mur broke into a smile, laughing. “Oh, Em, I needed that. So, I guess that we’re back to Roy as the prime suspect, though I’m telling you, I don’t know if we’ll ever find out who did it.”
“Actually, we’re back to finding Whiplash. We have to find that cat before Jimbo comes home.” I was about to pull back the comforter so I could peek under the bed when a streak raced out from beneath the dresser, leaped, and landed on the middle of the mattress.
Murray let out a grateful shout. “Whiplash! You nutjob! You had me scared out of my mind,” she said, grabbing the tabby and carrying him into a second spare bedroom that had barely been touched. “You stay in here for now.” She closed the door and leaned her head against the wall. “Okay, so he’s safe, and the snakes are in the bathroom, safely locked away. I need to replace the glass in their cages tonight.”
“Call Marvin Eyrland. God knows, he did a lot of work for me when all that crap was going down with the jade dragon, and he’s available for emergency jobs.” We headed down to the living room. As Murray broke a path through the mess, I glanced over at one of the end tables at the bottom of the stairs. A small box sat atop what appeared to be a card on the wooden table, exquisitely wrapped and looking terribly out of place. “Mur, what’s that?”
She glanced at the box, furrowing her brow. “I have no idea.” She walked over and picked it up. “This is odd. I don’t remember seeing it last night.”
Alarm bells began to ring as she unwrapped it. “Mur, I have a bad feeling about this.”
She ripped off the shiny purple paper and opened the box, gasping as a brilliant golden ring flashed into view. “Oh hell, who left this here? I wonder if Deacon bought it for his wife and forgot to take it with him?”
“Murray, that’s a wedding ring. Could it be from Jimbo?” I asked, even though I knew in my gut it wasn’t.
With an absent shake of the head, she opened the card and her face drained of color. “Em, look at this.”
I gingerly took the card. There was a picture of an old bridge on the front that I recognized leading to Icicle Lake Falls, a campground on the way to Mount Baker. I opened the card and silently read the typed poem that had been glued inside. It was simple, six lines, but chilled me to the core.
Every time I think of you, I lose another night of sleep,
I pray that you will come to me and be my own to keep.
I would bring you to my home, to my side to stay,
In the mountains by a lake, we will find our way.
I wish on every falling star, though my heart, it breaks,
I will have you for my own, or life itself forsake.
“Murray, there’s a big freakin’ alarm going off in my gut. You have to show this to Deacon. This looks bad, very bad.” In fact, the damned thing practically sizzled in my hands. I tossed it on the table. “Does this have anything to do with that card on your doorstep on Saturday?”
“You read that?” she said. I nodded and she let out a long shuddering breath. “Em, something’s been going on. Phone calls in the middle of the night—but whoever it is always hangs up. Twice now, I’ve had the feeling that somebody was in my house, but couldn’t find anything to prove it. Flowers delivered to work with no card, and Jimmy didn’t send them.”
“I thought something was going on with you. How long has this been happening? I take it you have no idea who’s behind all of this?”
“The first time I got a hang-up call was… oh… two weeks ago? Maybe three. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, of course.” She rubbed her forehead. “I haven’t got a clue who’s doing this.” She picked up the card and read the verse again. “Whatever prints were on the card are probably toast thanks to the way we handled it. Em, I don’t mind telling you, I’m a little scared. But I don’t want Jimmy knowing about the ring. Not yet. I don’t want him going out and doing something stupid that could get him hurt.”
“What could he do? You don’t know who sent it.”
“Precisely. He might take it into his head to pin the blame on somebody innocent. I don’t want him hurting somebody just because he’s gone off half-cocked. Promise me you’ll keep this a secret?”
I sighed. “Only if you promise me that you’ll talk to Deacon.”
With a shrug, she tucked the box into her purse. “No worries there—this is the sort of thing I’m always warning women about.”
“Okay then, but I don’t like it. You shouldn’t keep secrets like this,” I started to say, but then stopped. She was a cop, she knew her job. If she wanted to keep Jimbo out of the loop for a little bit, she had her reasons. And speak of the devil, the sound of a chopper pulling up told us he’d arrived. I took that as my cue to leave. “Your sweetie’s here, and I have to get to the hospital to collect Joe. You going to be okay with this mess? I can come back and help you clean if you like.”
She threw her arm around my shoulder. “Thanks, Em, but don’t bother. White Deer’s on her way. She’ll help me sort out this mess. Between her and Jimmy, I’ll be fine. You tell Joe we love him and that he’d better get well in time for the wedding or I’m getting out the shotgun.”
I humored her, forcing a laugh, but inside I was worried. Worried about Joe, worried about Murray. It was bad enough when things happened to me, but far worse when events turned nasty on my friends and loved ones.
I headed out the door, giving Jimbo a quick peck on the cheek as he entered the room. As I clattered down the stairs, I heard his cry of surprise, and Murray’s quick voice. Wishing I could stay to help, I slipped into my SUV and aimed myself toward the hospital, stopping at Starbucks on the way. Caffeine was the best attack against stress, I’d found. As long as it was spiked with plenty of chocolate and flavored syrup.