Saddled With Trouble (23 page)

As she finished drying the dishes, her mom said, “Thank you girls for all your help today, and Michaela, for what you said about Lou. It was lovely.” Her mother brushed a hand through her hair, which had recently begun to pale with age, going from golden blonde to blonde with some silver woven into it. She was still a beautiful woman and Michaela thought of her as someone who embodied the word
grace
, like Audrey Hepburn.

“You’re welcome, Mom. It’s how I felt, and as far as helping out, there’s no question about it.”

“Me, too, Mrs. Bancroft. I’m glad I could do it.” Camden folded a dishtowel and set it down on the kitchen counter. She hugged Michaela and her mom. “Well, I hate to bug out on you, but I’m tired. Do you mind?”

“No. Go on home. I’ll see you there. Thanks for your help.”

Michaela went into the family room with her mom. Her dad sat in his easy chair. “Hi, pumpkin. You did good today. Lou would be proud of you.” He looked at his wife. “You should know that I told your mom about my gambling.”

Her mom shook a finger at her. “Don’t you ever keep secrets from me again. I know you think I’m weak and that my heart is easily broken. But you’re wrong. I’m tougher than the two of you think.”

“Mom, I didn’t think it was my place.”

“Oh horse pucky.” Michaela stifled her laughter. “We’re a family and when we have a problem, whether big or small, I’d better be told up front. Got it?”

Her dad winked at her. “Got it,” Michaela said.

“Both of you got it?”

“Yes ma’am,” her dad replied.

She turned back to her daughter. “I’m not going to leave your father. But I
am
dragging his rear to church from now on. I won’t take no for an answer. And, I’m going with him to those Gamblers Anonymous meetings and watch him walk in, sit down, and I will take a book with me and wait for him in the car while he works out whatever it is he needs to work out.”

Her dad turned red. “See why I love your mother?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t take vows to break them. I knew when I married you, Benjamin Bancroft, that you were far from perfect. We’ll get through this the way we do everything.
Together
. Now we’ll let our daughter go home. She looks tired.”

Michaela stood and hugged her mom, who whispered, “Thank you,” in her ear.

Her drive home seemed longer than usual. She cranked up the radio and tried to sing along to Keith Urban’s latest. Glancing in her rearview mirror, she noticed a set of high beams approaching . . . fast. What the . . . The truck was right on her tail, horn blaring at her. “Geez, buddy, back off.” Michaela stepped on the gas; the truck stayed with her. Panic rose inside her. She went to reach for her phone, but it was in her purse on the floorboard and she needed both hands on the wheel to deal with this idiot behind her. Again she sped up, but the other vehicle hung on her bumper, then passed her, cutting her off so close that she had to slam on her brakes, which sent her truck into a spin. Dizziness swirled in her brain.
Is this what it’s like to have your life pass before your eyes?
she thought. Visions of her parents, Uncle Lou, Ethan, Camden, raced in front of her at gut-wrenching speed. She couldn’t think or feel anything, other than her heart racing.

Then her world went black.

THIRTY

WHEN MICHAELA OPENED HER EYES, HER TRUCK was on the side of the road. She must have hit her head on the steering wheel, because it sure did hurt. She rubbed it and felt a knot. She couldn’t have been out for too long, though, because no one had discovered her as yet. She leaned back against her seat. What in the world just happened? That certainly felt intentional, as if whoever drove that truck was
trying
to run her off the road. Still dizzy, she couldn’t think straight, but didn’t want to just sit there. What if the asshole came back? Her hands shaking, she used her cell phone to call Davis, who told her that he’d be there soon.

Waiting for him, she tried to make sense of what had occurred. Maybe it was high-school kids goofing around. She didn’t
really
believe that. And why had she called Davis? Damn, she definitely was
not
thinking clearly.

When Davis pulled up next to her and got out she could see the look of concern on his face. “What happened?”

Yep, maybe she shouldn’t have called him. Playing the damsel in distress wasn’t her style. “I don’t know, some kids or someone was driving on my tail and then raced around me and cut me off. I slammed on the brakes and maybe I hit something slick because I lost control and spun out.”

He took out a small flashlight. “Did you hit your head?”

“Uh, yeah, but I’m okay.”

He shone the light on her forehead. “That’s quite a knot. Did you lose consciousness?”

Hmmm. How to answer this one?
She knew he’d likely make her go to the hospital if she said yes, and okay, she probably should tell him the truth. But damn, she
was
okay, and all she wanted to do was go home and climb in bed. After some aspirin and a good night’s rest, she’d feel a whole lot better. “No.”

“You’re lying.” He pointed at her.

“What?”

“I said, you’re lying. I didn’t get to be a detective by not being able to spot liars and right now you’re not telling me the truth. Come on, let’s go see a doctor.”

She sighed. “I don’t want to. I’m so tired after today.”

“No whining. You’re going to the hospital.”

“Hey, I’m not whiny. That’s not nice. Can’t I just go home? Please?”

“Nope. And, now you
are
whining.” He reached his hand out. “Come on.”

She decided to quit arguing, able to tell it was a battle she wouldn’t win. She took his hand. He put his arm around her waist and led her to his car. “I just banged my head a little. I can walk.”

“You certainly are hardheaded. No pun intended.”

He opened the door and helped her in, then went back to lock up her truck. It was nice . . . well okay, maybe even more than nice. It felt good to have a man’s arms around her, wanting to take care of her. There she was— doing it again. Fantasizing. Stupid. Is that why she’d called Davis, so she could continue to live out some bizarre romantic fantasy? He was only doing his job, what every police officer would’ve done in this situation. She didn’t need a man. She was doing fine on her own. His arm around her still felt nice, though.

He stayed by her side as they walked into the hospital. Rubbing alcohol and cleaning agents smelled as offensive to Michaela as the gloomy interior of the aging facility. Ugh. She hated hospitals. Then again, who didn’t? She waited to be seen by an ER doctor.

Davis was still concerned. “Did you get a good look at the truck? License plate? Make? Anything?”

She shook her head. “It was dark and it all happened so fast. The truck might have been blue or black, I don’t know. It definitely wasn’t white. I honestly don’t know.” Something flashed through her mind: the moment when her truck was nearly clipped. Wait. There was something. “You know what, I don’t think there was a plate on the back.”

“Are you sure?”

“No. Like I said, it all happened so quickly. Do you think it was intentional?”

“Do you?”

She didn’t answer right away. She had when it happened, but this week had been so filled with drama and trauma that her mind immediately assumed the worst. “Honestly, it felt that way, but again, it could have been kids being stupid.”

“I don’t like it.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I probably shouldn’t say anything to you, but I have to wonder, since we found Kirsten Redmond’s fingerprints on your pitchfork, if she might not have anything to do with this.”

Michaela recalled what had occurred between her and Kirsten earlier that day after her uncle’s funeral. She told Davis about it.

“I didn’t see her at the funeral. She must’ve been hiding in the back. I had to rush off.”

“Kirsten drives a Mustang, but Brad drives a truck, and it’s a
new
truck. Maybe that’s why I didn’t see plates.”

“Maybe. I definitely plan to visit Ms. Redmond and your ex again.”

“By the way, how were you able to match Kirsten’s fingerprints on the pitchfork? DMV records?”

He laughed. “I wish. Believe it or not, the DMV won’t let us use their records to track criminals. We found her prints because she worked for the county rec center some time back. Government agencies are required to take prints and they are managed by the State Department of Justice, who actually keeps track of arrest records and other sources in what’s called AFIS or Automated Fingerprint Identification System.”

“Oh.” She didn’t expect this lengthy answer, but something about him talking shop was endearing.

“I know that Ms. Redmond and your ex have given you a bad time. They both might be involved, or at least Ms. Redmond may be, in trying to scare or possibly harm you. If she caused this accident and I can prove it, this could be considered vehicular assault.”

“Kirsten could go to jail?”

“If we can find enough evidence to arrest her, you bet.”

Kirsten wearing an orange jumpsuit. That did sound appealing.

After another hour of being checked out, monitored, given some ice and Motrin for the pain, Michaela was finally released. Davis had her home in less than twenty minutes. They pulled up to her house. He stopped the car and turned to her.

“I need you to do me a favor and let me be the cop, okay? No more of this snooping around. You could get hurt. In fact, you did get hurt tonight.”

“You think the accident is connected to my uncle’s murder?”

“I’m not sure. I still have plenty of questions for some people. The evidence points to Bean, but I’m not willing to close this case yet. We’re still waiting for handwriting analysis to come back on Bean’s note, too. Now, let this go, and let me do my job.”

“Fine.”

He helped her inside. “I can stay the night— on the couch, you know— make sure that you’re okay.”

“No need. My roommate is home.”

He brushed her bangs out of the way of her bump. “That looks pretty nasty to me. I know the doctor said that it would be fine, but I can hang out here, at least for a while.”

“I’m okay.”

“I know. I’m doing my job. That’s all. I think it would be a good idea if I stayed.”

Was he pushing so hard to stay simply out of concern? “Don’t they have officers who do that? You know, to babysit those who may be in harm’s way?” she joked.

“Sure, but look, I won’t bother you, and I can do some work here and then take you to your truck in the morning.”

“Suit yourself.” She went to get him some blankets and a pillow. He
was
just doing his job after all.

Wasn’t he?

THIRTY-ONE

THE NEXT MORNING MICHAELA WOKE TO THE sound of voices and remembered that Jude Davis had stayed the night. But wait. Who was he talking to? Camden surely wasn’t up this early.

Rounding the corner into the kitchen, she could smell fresh coffee. She stopped short when she saw Ethan there with Davis. They each held a cup of coffee and looked to be hanging like good ol’ boys together. Cocoa spotted her and began wagging her tail. Michaela started to back up, hoping they wouldn’t see her. But she was spotted “Mick?” Ethan said.

“Hi guys,” she said meekly. Dammit, here she was looking like the damsel in distress again. And why did Ethan insist on taking it upon himself to drop in whenever he damn well felt like it? Not that she hadn’t appreciated it in the past, but what must it look like? Oh no. Prickly heat rose on the back of her neck.
What must it look like!
Davis was here before Ethan arrived. In fact, the guy had stayed the night. And what was Davis thinking, with Ethan barging in as the sun came up! Oh why did she care what either one thought anyway!

“Good morning,” Davis said and went to pour her a cup of coffee.

Ethan wiggled his eyebrows at her, his expression reminding her of a Cheshire cat, confirming her worst fear: He assumed Davis spent the night because the two of them had slept together. The heat on her neck turned to perspiration. “I came by to check on you and Leo. From the looks of it though, you’re doing a-okay.”

She couldn’t resist giving him a dirty look. “Thank you.” What had Davis told him? Or
not
told him?

“I need to use your restroom,” Davis said.

As he left, Ethan smiled at her. “You and the detective, huh?”

“No, Ethan, it’s not like that. I can explain.”

He held up a hand. “No need to explain. I don’t care what you do. Actually I think it’s good you’re moving on with your life, and Davis seems like a nice guy.”

She walked over to where Ethan was standing and put another scoop of sugar in her coffee. Her stomach tightened. “Yes, he is.”

His eyes narrowed. “Mick? What’s that bruise on your forehead from?”

Oh-oh. Well, she got her answer about what Davis had told Ethan: nothing. Good. Knowing Ethan, he’d be all up in arms about the accident and make a big deal, feeling the need to hover over her. And, Davis was doing that duty. She should never have called him last night. She would’ve been just fine. She touched her forehead. “Oh that. It’s nothing. I banged it.”

“I’ll say you did. What do you mean it’s nothing? How did you do it?”

She really did not want to go into it. “I . . . uh, I opened this cupboard here”— she pointed to the cupboard above her, where she kept her plates—“last night, and I guess I wasn’t paying attention.” She had actually hit her head on that damn cupboard quite a few times in the past. Lying to Ethan did not come easy, and she despised herself for doing it, but having him worried would make it worse, in her opinion.

“Okay. You better be more careful. You always have been a klutz.” She smiled and sipped her coffee, silently thankful he’d believed her. “There’s something I came by to tell you, and I need you to hear me out.”

Oh brother. She definitely did not like the sound of this. She sipped her coffee and nodded.

“This weekend, while I’m on the vet staff in Vegas . . . well, I thought timingwise it would be a good thing because Summer isn’t quite showing yet, and it really is the right thing to do. I know that it is.”