The Hunk Next Door (8 page)

With his endgame in mind, he called in his assistant and gave the next orders. Yes, a fresh blanket of snow would fit perfectly into his plan. That way the spilled blood would show up a vivid red.

Chapter Seven

Belclare Police Station
Thursday, December 1, 9:15 a.m.

Abby rushed through the back door toward her office, already an hour behind schedule and her mind a jumble of details that needed to be handled swiftly. Checking on her neighbor this morning had taken longer than she’d expected, but it had been necessary. Calder was a friend, and now, a victim. Learning who might have wanted to hurt him to get to her was essential.

Then she’d discovered someone had broken into her garage last night. Nothing appeared to be missing or damaged—except her pride, which was exactly why she had no intention of making a formal report on it. If the chief of police couldn’t protect her own home, how was she going to protect the town? She shook her head. The feds would holler again about protection and security. Maybe they had a point. The extra patrols would have to be enough—the people she was responsible for in this community took priority. With any luck they’d catch the troublemaker before a security system could be installed. Maybe she was losing it? Her mind and her ability to get the job done.

No time to debate the latter. This morning’s delays had cost her valuable mental prep time going into today’s meeting with Mayor Scott and Martin Filmore. Sadly, she couldn’t put off this potential minefield. Both men were waiting for her and came to their feet as she walked in. Their easy presence in her office made her want to shoot something.

“Good morning,” she offered, not even trying to smile.

“You’re fifteen minutes late,” Mayor Scott said.

“I hope the sergeant made you comfortable.” Based on the two cups of coffee on her desk, it looked as if they were comfortable enough.

She put her coat on the rack and set her purse to the side before taking her seat.

“Have you found the vandals?”

She’d had the entire twenty seconds of walking across the police station to read that report. “Not yet. The team posted last night didn’t encounter any more trouble.” She shifted her full attention to Martin. “Have you come up with plan of action for restoring the welcome sign?”

“I met with the decorating company, yes. They agreed to create a temporary sign while the original is removed and sent for restoration.”

Mayor Scott cleared his throat. “The town council released the appropriate funds.”

“That is good news,” Abby said. “My officers have reorganized their schedules and patrol routes to—”

“Is that absolutely necessary?” Martin interrupted.

“Yes, Mr. Filmore,” Abby replied, struggling for control. “As I explained yesterday, based on recent events, I believe the extra patrols are imperative to keeping this city safe. In fact, I was about to ask—” she glanced at the mayor “—for a small slice of the emergency funds to hire a few extra officers from Baltimore for the opening weekend.”

“No.”

She blinked at the mayor’s stern response. “Excuse me?”

“We’ve had enough public attention of the wrong kind. The media has painted a target on Belclare. We’ll be lucky if we aren’t facing a ghost town this weekend. Are you trying to bankrupt our city, Chief?”

Abby clamped her mouth shut, startled by this one-hundred-eighty degree turnaround from the man who didn’t believe in the concept of bad publicity. How had everything and everyone around her changed so suddenly? The answer followed hot on the heels of that question.
Fear.
The kind of fear her actions had brought to the citizens of Belclare changed people.

Nothing she could do about that. Protecting the citizens was her job. Appeasing them—if it got in the way—was not.

“I concur,” Mr. Filmore added with an arrogant tilt of his chin.

Of course he concurred. These guys were the drama twins, each with a slightly differing agenda. She laced her fingers together, wishing for her own cup of coffee, but that would have to wait. “The town council will approve the overtime expenses for my officers.” It wasn’t a question. Fortunately for the mayor, he seemed to understand that, as well. A vague dip of his head showed acknowledgment even if he would never say as much out loud. She moved on. “My officers are not on patrol to threaten or interfere with anyone, but in our experience a vigilant, visible presence is its own deterrent.”

“It didn’t deter more trouble on your street last night,” Filmore blurted out, his face turning red with frustration. “You all but sent out engraved invitations for every criminal to come test you. Belclare will pay the ultimate price.”

She bit back the sharp retort dancing on the tip of her tongue. “What would you have me do differently, Mr. Filmore?”

His mouth flapped like a fish for several seconds. “I’m not qualified to say, but I have gumption enough to know what you’ve done so far isn’t working.” He turned to the mayor. “All I know is that what you’re doing is ruining the most important time of year for our town.”

Gutless wonders, both of them, she thought. Their support for her success with the drug bust had shifted with the arrival of the very first federal agent. The instant the first threat hit the airwaves she was public enemy number one with these two men.

“Well, I must admit the generous promotional spots Deke Maynard provided should go a long way to salvaging opening weekend,” Mayor Scott allowed, smoothing a hand over his glaring holiday-plaid tie.

Ghost town or a decent turnout?
She wished he’d pick a theory and stick with it.

On the short drive into the office, she’d only caught a teaser about Deke’s upcoming call-in interview on the radio. The man rarely bothered with publicity and she knew it made him uncomfortable, but if he was in her corner, urging people to attend the Christmas Village, she owed him a big thank-you.

“Will you at least decorate the police cars?” the historic society’s president asked.

“That’s a favorite tradition around here, Mr. Filmore,” Abby agreed. “I’ll make sure someone takes care of that right away.” She’d already assigned Danny to follow up on that detail, but she didn’t see the need to let Filmore know she’d had the idea first. Maybe appeasing was necessary at this point.

“Thank you,” he allowed.

Never an easy person to be around, Filmore fidgeted more than usual today. She chalked it up to distress over the ruination of the heirloom welcome sign on top of his disapproval of her new patrol protocol.

Both men stood. Finally. With handshakes and an exchange of “Merry Christmas,” they left her alone in her office.

Turning to her computer, she found websites for the local television and radio stations. The impromptu media junket Deke had managed this morning was getting an outpouring of positive responses. The man had single-handedly muted the negative press regarding the crime wave in Belclare. Offering an additional painting for the silent auction that benefitted the Belclare Food Bank was a lure that would bring in serious tourist traffic. Maynard rarely sold his original paintings, though he displayed new work in the local gallery and occasionally chose pieces for limited commercial print runs. Abby was overwhelmed with gratitude for the man who seemed to be her only ally in town. She picked up her cell phone and dialed his number.

His assistant answered in his typical muted monotone and, moments later, Deke’s voice filled her ear.

“Darling, how are you today?”

Better than Calder, she thought with no small measure of guilt. While the officers who’d taken over the search had found tracks in the snow behind the house, they’d lost the trail at the next street. “At the moment I’m out of the mayor’s doghouse,” she replied. “Thanks to you.”

“Anything for a friend. We can’t let something as silly and petty as vandals get in the way of a good tourist season.”

She wished petty and silly crimes were all she had to think about. “Well, once more you’ve put your support into action and I’m immensely grateful.”

“Does that mean you’ll skip your meeting and join me this evening?”

She hesitated. Was that what she wanted it to mean? Sharing dinner with Deke would be a marvelous escape from a typical evening. She indulged in the fantasy, imagining the balm of excellent food paired with the perfect wine and intelligent conversation in front of the fireplace in his dining room. Would anything be better?

An image of those threats on the welcome sign and then on her neighbor’s house blotted out her fantasy. She tried to shake it off, but the memory of Calder pinned under the ladder shivered through her.

“Abby? Are you there?”

“Yes, of course.” Her palms went clammy. Calder was a good neighbor. He’d made minor repairs around her house, sometimes in exchange for only a six-pack of beer. It helped to have a neighbor like him when she didn’t have time for a man in her life otherwise. Was time really the problem or was it just another excuse? She pushed the thought away and answered Deke’s question. “Yes. Sorry, I’m here. As much as I’d like to join you, I’m afraid I will have to pass on dinner.”

She pressed her thumb to the point between her eyebrows, hoping to ease another wave of tension. Putting off Deke after he’d done so much for her felt like an insult. At the very least it felt like she was taking him for granted. She didn’t want to visit him in the hospital, either. Someone out there had made a public vow to hurt her and the people she cared about. The threats weren’t going away and the problem was escalating. Whoever put the vandals and assailants in motion knew how to get under her skin. Injuring her neighbor and going through her garage were way too close for comfort. She didn’t dare consider what might be next.

“Are you sure?” he pressed.

She’d offended him. “I value you, Deke,” she confessed, hoping he’d understand. “As a citizen and as a friend. Whoever wants me out of here is willing to hurt those around me to make a point. I don’t want them to hurt you.”

“I’m quite capable of watching out for myself,” he assured her.

The tension in his voice had given way to something gentler. She could picture that barely there smile on his face. “You’ve done a fine job.” Abby rocked back in her chair. “Will you give me a rain check on dinner?”

He sighed. “Tonight, tomorrow, next week. Whatever best suits your crime-fighting schedule. Consider the invitation open.”

“Thank you. That means a great deal.” And when this was behind her, she’d make up for lost time.

“Is that just the chief of police talking?”

“No.” Was he flirting with her? “True friends seem hard to find under the current circumstances.”

“I’m here for you, Abby.”

She felt her cheeks heat with his steady reassurance. Thank goodness, they weren’t having this talk in person. What was it about this man that made her waffle so much? One minute she wanted him to be more than a friend, the next she wasn’t so sure. “I’ll be in touch, Deke. Thank you again for going above and beyond for opening weekend. Please be careful and call in if you need any assistance.”

“Always. You do the same.”

“Definitely.” She was smiling when the call disconnected and it felt genuine for the first time in ages. This nonsense in the media and with whomever had decided to terrify her town had only started a little over a week ago, but she couldn’t deny the stress was taking a toll.

She checked the time. It was too soon to expect any news from the officers who’d come by when she’d found her garage door hanging open. With little more than half an hour before the hardware store opened for business, she decided to check her email. Buying a new lock for the garage wouldn’t be a high point of her day, but she needed it secure for her peace of mind. And a new snow shovel to deal with the fresh snow predicted for this evening. Hers had been taken to the crime lab to analyze what had appeared to be dried blood on the blade. The idea that someone had
borrowed
her snow shovel and used it for something untoward was a little out there, as theories went, but considering the other strange happenings around here lately she wasn’t taking any chances.

Half an hour would be enough time to review the overflowing email in-box and send any threat with a clear target up the line to the feds.

Braced for more hateful messages, she set to work.

* * *

R
ILEY TURNED DOWN
the volume on the radio clipped to his ladder. All of Belclare was enamored with Deke Maynard and his unflinching support of Chief Jensen. It was the third time this morning he’d heard the new ad for the Christmas Village opening weekend.

The artist—in his mind he added a sneer to the word—made him edgy. There was more going on behind the sparkling windows of the man’s perfectly restored home. A great deal more than the sketches and scenic oils on canvas displayed with such care in the gallery window down the street evoked.

Riley knew his role here. He understood that he couldn’t jump at every shadow while he was learning the landscape. This wasn’t a short game Casey had him playing.

That didn’t necessarily rule out the immediate trouble closing in on Chief Jensen. Filmore, the uptight snob who wanted to lift the added patrols, particularly the foot patrols, was near the top of Riley’s list. The man’s priorities were way off. Being passionate about architecture and history was fine. But what kind of person preferred historical accuracy over the safety of the general public?

A man with something to hide, in Riley’s opinion. Or something more to gain.

In less than two days, the Christmas Village would be hosting the first major rush of tourists for the season. So far, he hadn’t pinpointed a clear threat, but someone was ramping up the effort against the chief.

According to Danny, Chief Jensen was spending an inordinate amount of time behind closed doors since the drug bust, sorting out the loonies from the more substantial threats that were flooding the station’s snail mail and email every day. Chief Jensen sent high-level threats to the feds for further analysis. Anything Director Casey could tie to Belclare, he sent back to Riley, but so far, no hard intel had come his way.