Chapter 12

My mother poured coffee for all four of us sitting around her kitchen table. Unaccountably, I felt cold. I pulled Mom’s old green crocheted afghan over my shoulders, shivering and trying to warm my fingers on the mug.

Grant rubbed his hand over his stubbly beard and leaned toward me across the table. “Darcy, Jim and I have looked all over Spirit Leap and the woods around it and we saw no sign that anybody was there. Are you sure somebody was watching you?”

Jim Clendon, Grant’s deputy, drained the last of his coffee and thumped his mug down on the table. “Course, there’s not much we can see in the dark, even with that full moon.”

“We’ll come back tomorrow and take a good look,” Grant said.

Clendon frowned. “Look, Grant, what d’you think we’re going to find? There’s leaves and grass out there. I don’t imagine anybody is going to leave a callin’ card; do you? And Darcy might have just imagined she heard something. She was out there all by herself; not a smart move, in my book, and her nerves were probably overwrought. Women get that way; overwrought nerves.”

I had learned that the chief attribute of Grant’s deputy was bluntness; that and a short temper. I had also learned that he did nothing to further my sweet disposition.

“Now, look,” I began.

Grant sighed. “It’s all right, Darcy. Jim, we’ll go back to Spirit Leap after sunup. That’s our job. Did you catch a glimpse of anybody, Darcy? Did you see anything at all?”

I shook my head. “No. I just heard a noise . . . two noises. I know somebody or something was watching me.”

“Another piece of information for you, Darcy. After you told me about that Rusty Lang, the fellow who threatened you . . . . ”

Mom gasped. “Threatened you? Why did he threaten you, Darcy? Why didn’t you tell me?”

The adrenalin was draining from my body. Suddenly, all I wanted to do was climb the stairs to my bedroom and go to sleep. “It was a long time ago, Mom, while I was working in Dallas. A picture I snapped of him outside a drugstore sent Rusty Lang to jail for robbery.”

She rubbed the deepening wrinkle between her eyebrows. “I didn’t know that being a newspaper reporter was so dangerous.”

“What about Rusty Lang, Grant?” I asked.

“I checked with Dallas,” Grant said. “Lang served his time and is out on good behavior. And, Darcy, this is what’s really important—he was sighted here in Levi.”

The swallow of coffee lodged in my throat. “Here? Why is he here?”

“That’s what we asked him when we cornered him in Dilly’s Café. He said he’s here visiting his cousin,” Grant said.

Jim snorted. “Huh! Cousin, my eye. He’s no more visitin’ his cousin than . . . . ”

I was getting sleepy in spite of the coffee. The feeling of relief at being safe and the warm afghan caught up with me. My eyes felt like lead.

“That’s okay, Grant. I needed to know. Now, if you two gentlemen will excuse me, I’ve got to go to bed. Jim, maybe I am overwrought, as you say. But I know what I heard and I know that whatever it was, it wasn’t friendly.”