Belle carried the scroll of papers into the kitchen and offered Ally a glass of Riesling from a bottle she’d left chilling in the fridge. One should always be prepared for spontaneous entertaining, even in the sticks.
“No, thanks,” Ally said. She looked up from her phone, her eyes dazzling with excitement. “That journal entry was written after her father died. The first Frankie and Annette movie came out in 1963. Your uncle died in ’59.”
Belle sat across from Ally at the table. “You found all that out in the time it took me to run upstairs?”
“I’m a cop. I live for this shit,” she said with a grin. “The last mystery I had to solve was five months ago—the case of the demolished mailboxes on Granger Road.”
“Ooh, a serial vandal,” Belle said with pretend titillation. “Did you nail him?”
“Turns out the scofflaw was old Mr. Borden, who’d accidentally stepped on the gas instead of the brake and took out his neighbor’s and his own before turning into his driveway.”
“Phew. I wish I’d known what a crime-infested mecca this was before I moved in.”
“We’re working on cleaning it up.” Ally smirked and started reading through the pages.
Belle got up and retrieved two waters from the fridge, then sat back down as Ally read. She watched her eyes float back and forth, her mouth puckering with concern. She was outrageously sexy when she assumed her air of authoritative public servant. And while dressed in that sleek black-and-white evening ensemble? Belle struggled to keep it professional.
“So what do you think?” she said.
Ally exhaled as though needing a moment to expunge the visual of what she’d read from her mind. “Like I said before, everyone’s dead. The victim is dead, and so’s her mother.”
“But what if that pedophile is still alive? He could’ve been preying on little girls all this time. Maybe he still is.”
“Slow down, Belle. I’ve been a deputy here for almost twelve years. If he was still around doing that, I would’ve known about it by now.”
“Not if his victims are too afraid to come forward. Judy must’ve been petrified. That’s why she journaled about it and then tucked it away.”
“We don’t know that she didn’t tell anyone. When I go back to work on Monday I’ll check the records—if the records go back that far. They digitized everything back in the nineties.”
Belle huffed. “You mean I have to languish in suspense all weekend?”
Ally disarmed her with a smile. “You’re kinda cute when you whine like a spoiled child.”
“Don’t try to steer me off topic with flattery.”
Ally laughed. “What would you like me to do at nine thirty on a Friday night? Besides, I’ll have to go into storage and dig through boxes of files to get records from the sixties.”
“Let’s go now,” Belle said, and sprang up from her chair. “I’ll help you look. You have a key, don’t you?”
Ally held up her hands to temper Belle’s enthusiasm. “Look, here’s what I’ll do. Monday I’ll run a computer check for reports of sex assaults as far back as the data goes. If we had a true pedophile in our midst, he would’ve struck again.”
“Yeah. That’s true,” Belle said. “And for all we know he could’ve been some shadowy drifter with a sinister past, probably worked as a farmhand. He could’ve abused Judy during crop season and then wandered off to the next unsuspecting small town.”
“You must watch a lot of old movies,” Ally said.
“I do. How did you know?”
“Just a hunch,” she said with a smile.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get all up in your business. I feel so bad for the girl, and I hate the idea that some creep may never have paid for his crimes.”
“I get it,” Ally said. “She was an innocent kid and your family. We’d all like to see justice prevail but trust me. It doesn’t always work out that way. I was a patrol officer in Hartford for ten years before I came here.”
“Really? You left the adrenaline rush of a big city for a gig in Snoresville?”
“I needed to for my sanity. I got tired of seeing thugs cop pleas and serve a quarter of the sentence they deserved. And then I’d have to face their victims afterward. I like what I do in Danville. I help people every day, in all kinds of little ways, and never have to explain to anyone what it means when an ADA nolles charges.”
After observing a moment of respect for Ally’s commitment to humanity, Belle thumped her water bottle against Ally’s. “Here’s to small-town living.”
“And to justice.”
“To justice,” Belle added. “May she not be so blind here in Danville.”
“Just don’t get your hopes up too high, Belle. I’ll do what I can on Monday, but the man she’s referring to is probably either dead or not living around here anymore. It’s been over fifty years.”
Belle took a swig of her water. “Well, if anyone can do something about this, you can.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
She and Ally held each other in a gaze, jolted out of it a moment later by a bark at the back screen door.
“Red,” Ally said. “So this is where you’ve been keeping yourself.”
Belle let him in, and he trotted right over to Ally, who engulfed him in a zealous hug.
“He started hanging around here this week. If someone’s looking for him, I can send him home.”
“He was Marion’s,” Ally said. “She rescued him when he was a puppy, but when she started failing, folks pitched in to help her.”
“Nobody adopted him when she died?”
“Well, he stays with me most of the time, so technically you can say I did. Chloe loves him, but if he feels more at home here, that’s his prerogative.”
Chloe? Belle’s stomach sank. She should have known a woman as fine as Ally being single was too much to hope for. What a kick in the crotch.
“Isn’t Chloe wondering where Red and you are this late on a Friday night?” Belle’s tone turned ice-crystal cold.
“I doubt it,” Ally said. “I’m sure she’s having a great time with her friends.”
This duplicitous fucker. Her girlfriend goes out with her friends for the evening, and she wastes no time calling in backup.
“So why didn’t you mention Chloe sooner,” Belle asked coolly, desperate to control her attitude.
Ally seemed confused. “We were talking about other things. My family hadn’t come up.”
Family? So Chloe was more than just her girlfriend. “Well, if you go out to dinner with a woman while your wife is out with her friends, I’d hope that’s something that would come up right away, like before you even go.”
“My wife?” Ally said, chuckling.
Belle stood at the counter and folded her arms in front of her chest. “Partner, spouse, whatever you want to call her.”
“Why?” Ally said, scratching at her chin. “Is this a date?”
“Well…I don’t know,” she said, trying not to stammer. “Is it?”
Ally stood and slowly approached, her eyes smoldering with questionable intentions. “Maybe a kiss will help us decide.”
Belle’s mouth watered with desire as her inner voice implored her to stop Ally before it was too late to stop herself.
“Not today, cheater,” she said, shoving her away.
“Belle, Chloe’s my niece,” Ally said, laughing. “She lives with me, but she’s away at equestrian camp for a few weeks.”
Gulp.
“Did I say wife?” Belle said in an exaggerated laugh. “Why would I say wife when I totally meant niece?”
“Your face was priceless,” Ally said, still laughing.
“You’re quite the prankster, aren’t you?” She wasn’t even remotely amused.
“I’m sorry. That was a tacky thing to do on what may or may not be our first date.” She extended her hand. “Truce?”
Belle reluctantly shook it. “I guess I can let it slide in light of the ambiguity of tonight’s theme.”
“You’re a sport.” Ally leveled a playful punch against her arm. “By the way, before I go, do you have any nieces you forgot to mention?”
Belle smiled coyly. “Only one. My sister’s eighteen-year-old daughter.”
“Good to know. Well, thanks for an interesting evening,” Ally said as they walked across the creaky wood in the hall heading to the foyer. “Planning to check out the strawberry festival tomorrow?”
“I didn’t know about it, although I certainly should have.”
Ally stopped at the door and turned toward Belle. “It starts at noon. There’ll be music, games, vendors, and all the strawberry products you can possibly consume.” She suddenly seemed shy, with her hands in her pocket and her head tilted downward.
Belle liked that side of her. “Someone’s coming first thing in the morning to work in the kitchen,” she said, “but I suppose I could run out for a bit.”
“Good. Hope to see you there.”
They stood for an awkward moment at the door. As badly as Belle wanted a good-night kiss for real, she restrained herself. The date issue remained unresolved, and the signs from Ally weren’t clear enough through their banter.
Besides, the last thing she needed was an emotional entanglement to derail her from her original purpose. And ultimately leaving without any unnecessary drama.
“What do you say, Red?” Belle asked the dog, who was watching them from the kitchen. “I think Deputy Yates misses you and tried to hide it by putting it on her niece.”
“That’s not true, Red,” Ally said in a sober tone. “It’s entirely your choice. If you want to stay here and keep this out-of-towner company, I won’t mind. It’s mighty hospitable of you.”
Belle laughed. “Red, if you want to go home with Ally, I’m okay with that. I’d rather be alone here than have your pity.”
“He’s a loyal son of a gun,” Ally said. “He must still miss Marion.”
“Aww, I bet he does.”
“Although she’s been gone for years, he must find familiarity here.”
Belle absently scratched his head. “If that’s how it is, I better add dog food to the grocery list. Right, Red?”
He lay down on a tattered throw rug near them.
“Thanks again,” Ally said. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Belle smiled. “I think you will.”
She watched Ally’s car roll down the driveway and finally exhaled as it drove off.
Not a moment too soon.
***
After spending the morning watching a pair of burly contractors install a culinary island in the center of the kitchen and remove cabinet doors for sanding, Belle was ready for a bike ride to stimulate her endorphins. She needed the distraction to stop obsessing about how much money she was sinking into the house. She reminded herself that the finished product would look so fierce once she’d christened it with her creative vision, buyers would scramble to meet or exceed her asking price. By next summer, she’d be in her new home in Old Saybrook or some other picturesque coastline locale, hosting friends and family for cookouts on her own private slice of beach heaven.
With the addition of a basket to the front of her bicycle that made her feel like Elmira Gulch, she arrived in town at the height of the strawberry-festival revelry. She propped her bike against a tree and crossed the street to Mrs. Morgan’s fruit and veggie stand.
“What’s good today, Shirley?”
“’Afternoon, Belle. All things strawberry and or rhubarb,” she said. “Pies, jams and preserves, and my special strawberry-rhubarb salsa. I make it with my own secret blend of spices, so don’t try to finagle the recipe of out me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Here, try some.” Shirley offered a basket of tortilla chips and a bowl of salsa.
“Wow, this is fantastic,” Belle said, trying to prevent a piece of tortilla from escaping her lips. “I’ll take two jars. And a pie.”
“Coming right up.” Shirley filled the cloth sack Belle handed her.
Munching on another salsa-heaped chip, Belle glanced around at the crowd. Like a hologram postcard from the tourism department, people played cornhole, sampled festival fare, and lounged in lawn chairs as an acoustic duo harmonized their rendition of Patsy Cline’s “I’ve Got Your Picture.”
After completing the transaction, Belle capitalized on the lull in customer traffic at Shirley’s stand.
“So, Shirley, remember we talked the other day about Judy and Marion Ashford?”
“Yep.”
“What can you tell me about Judy?”
Shirley slowly wiped her hands on a checkered hand towel.
“I remember her being a sweet little girl. Smart and respectful. When I was dating Bob, sometimes Judy and the other girls would hang around after catechism class if I was over at the house.” She smiled as she seemed to drift back. “I was about twenty years old, so they liked talking with me about boys and how to do their hair and how to dress. You know how little girls always look up to fashionable older ones.”
The word fashionable prompted Belle to take note of Shirley’s frumpy denim culottes, plaid blouse, and frizzy gray hair.
“I think Judy stayed because she didn’t want to go home, you know? With her father dead, she was alone a lot of the time until her mother came home from her part-time job.”
Shirley was repeating some of the info Belle had gleaned from her previously. Her well of knowledge didn’t appear to be as deep as Belle had hoped.
“Are any of Judy’s childhood friends still here?”
“’Suppose it’s possible, but I don’t think I could help you out there. I could ask Bob if he remembers any names, or you can ask him yourself. He’s over there playing cornhole.”
“I don’t want to bother him today. But if it wouldn’t be too much trouble for you to ask him, I’d sure appreciate it.” Belle smiled and wondered why she was starting to talk like a character on The Andy Griffith Show.
“Oh sure, honey. I do remember a boy she dated for a while. Carl, no, Craig. He was bad news, always getting into trouble for something. The Wheelers were a bad family.”
“Bad how?”
“You know, trashy. Bob was always going over there and breaking up some kind of row either between the father and the wife or the father and the son. He was a mean drunk, Mr. Wheeler was.”
“Do any of them still live here?”
“I don’t think so. When the husband went to jail, the wife finally got up the nerve to divorce him. I think I heard she took the kids out of state.”
“Craig Wheeler.” Belle was already reviewing the plethora of online people-search options available. Hopefully, this one wasn’t dead, too. “Okay, thanks, Shirley. If your husband can remember anything about Judy’s friends, would you let me know?”
“Sure thing. Enjoy the jams.”
Belle strolled through the festival grounds, keeping her eye out for Ally. Although she’d had a vivid, blush-worthy dream about her the night before, Belle would vehemently argue with anyone that her motive for wanting to see Ally was purely professional.
She happened along the cornhole tournament and noticed that light-brown uniform and a flash of sunlight reflecting off her highway-patrol sunglasses. Strolling closer, Belle shivered at the sweat glistening on Ally’s forearms. She lurked behind some spectators so she could enjoy another moment of clandestine leering.
“Belle,” Ally shouted as she waved wildly from across the cornhole lane.
Her cover blown, she waved back and walked toward Ally, who’d already started coming to her.
“Don’t you ever get a day off?” she asked.
“Someone has to keep law and order at the strawberry fest.” Ally gave her a wink. “Things have been known to get out of hand when Ethel breaks out the sassy strawberry wine from last year’s crop.”
“Looks like I got here just in time.”
“Right,” Ally said. “Besides, I like to give Bob a break whenever I can. He’s slowed down quite a bit over the last year, but he does love the cornhole.”
Belle watched him toss the bean bag into the air as the group of young players cheered him on.
“So, soon there’s gonna be a new sheriff in town?”
“By next summer,” Ally said. “He said seventy-five is a good age to hang up his hat.”
Belle let out a whistle of surprise. “If I’m still teaching freshman comp at that age, please have me put in a home.”
“You may be a successful real estate developer by that time and not want to retire.”
“Only if I can do business by phone from a beach chair with my feet in the water.”
“It’s important to have goals.”
Belle smiled at Ally’s easy way despite her commanding presence. Then she remembered…chocolate sauce. They were doing something naughty with chocolate sauce in her dream.
“Uhhh,” she said, stalling to regain focus. “So I was told by my contractor this morning that I should see a guy named Angelo about getting a new stone patio.”
“Oh, yeah. He does great work. Loves to bet on the ponies, but the only time that matters is during Triple Crown season. He and the wife vacation in New York for the Belmont Stakes.”
Belle smiled.
“What?” Ally asked innocently.
“You’re gonna make a great sheriff.”
“God, it’s true.” Ally covered her face in embarrassment. “I officially know everything about everyone in town.”
“That’s not a bad thing,” Belle said. “I got the name of Judy’s high school boyfriend out of Shirley.”
“Impressive.” Ally pushed her sunglasses up into her hair. “Coincidentally, I’m gonna need a deputy next year.”
“I’ll make you a deal. If we nail the dirtbag who molested Judy, I’ll consider sticking around.”
“Oh?” Ally’s smile shriveled in the sun. “You weren’t planning to live here?”
Belle suddenly felt like every bit of the infiltrator Ally’s tone suggested. “Um, no, not really, but you never know how things will work out.”
“You might finish the house and fall in love with it.”
“I just might,” Belle said. However, if she were to fall in love that summer, something told her it wouldn’t only be with the house.
“Would you have a long commute to the university from here?”
“About an hour—without traffic.”
“Eww, that’s ugly,” Ally said. “Well, I guess I can’t blame you.”
Was Belle wishful thinking, or did Ally seem disappointed that she wasn’t planning to be a permanent transplant?
“Anyway,” Ally said with a more professional demeanor. “What was the name Shirley gave you?”
“Wheeler. The boy’s name was Craig.”
Ally pursed her lips. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”
“Shirley said the father was a drunk, and when he went to prison, the family moved away. I wonder if he could be our first person of interest. We have motive and opportunity.”
Ally laughed almost condescendingly. “We have opportunity only if Judy knew the family when she was ten.”
“She might have.”
“And at this moment, we don’t have a motive because being an alcoholic doesn’t automatically mean someone’s a sex offender.”
Belle rolled her eyes. “You might want to ask some of the young women around my campus about that one.”
“Point taken, but this situation is entirely different. I know how ramped up you are about this, but you really should prepare yourself for the likely event that we’ll never find the perp or, worse, that we will find him but not have enough evidence for a conviction.”
Belle had grown impatient with Ally’s dismissiveness. “Do you not care about what happened to Judy because she’s dead?”
“What kind of question is that?” Ally’s eyes were volcanos on the verge of eruption.
“I don’t know,” Belle said, suddenly feeling like a fool. “If you won’t have enough evidence even if you find the guy, why bother at all?”
“Belle, of course I care about her. But I know how these cold cases work. I absolutely will dig around the records dungeon on Monday and also look into the Wheeler family, but I can’t make any promises about the outcome.”
“Whatever,” Belle said dryly. “Just doing my job as a concerned citizen.”
“I certainly appreciate that.”
“I mean if you folks don’t mind a sociopath joining you at your ice cream socials, that’s fine with me.”
“Don’t worry, Ms. Ashford. We’ll manage fine. Besides, it’s not like you’ll be here for long.” Ally slipped her sunglasses down over her eyes and added, “You enjoy your day now,” before heading back to the cornhole game.
“You, too, Deputy Yates,” she yelled back.
She trudged off, muttering to herself, “I’ll try not to get murdered so you won’t have to tear yourself away from the corndog-eating contest later.”
After locating Angelo, the mason, and setting up an appointment for next week, she headed back to the house to check the status of the kitchen.
She pedaled harder along the winding road, still annoyed. Ally was supposed to be a public servant, but as soon as Belle asked her to do something more involved than giving directions to the bank of Porto-lets at the festival, she couldn’t have appeared less willing to serve.
Making matters worse was Belle’s attraction to her, which only seemed to grow stronger each time they met. That defiant attitude that infuriated her was also extremely appealing.
Hadn’t she learned anything from the series of bad decisions she affectionately referred to as “ex-girlfriends?”