Mountain Sheriff

Mitch looked around the room, hoping to find an address book or some clue where Nina might be.

The room was bare except for the bed and four-drawer dresser. There were no knickknacks, no photos, no personal items other than clothing in here or in the living room.

All of the drawers in the dresser had been pulled out, the sparse contents dumped on the floor. All except the bottom drawer.

He moved to the dresser, squatted down and pulled on the stuck drawer. Empty. Still squatting, he glanced under the bed. Nothing but dust balls.

The lack of clothing bothered him. Even counting what Nina was last seen wearing, the woman had only about four days’ worth of clothes.

That seemed odd to him. But if there were more belongings, where were they? And why did she leave them behind when she’d come to Timber Falls?

It made him wonder if this was only to be a short stay.

He started to get up, shoving the drawer back in as he rose. It stuck. He had to pull hard to get the drawer to slide out again. As he did, he heard a soft metallic clink.

Withdrawing the drawer completely, he turned it over, curious what had made the sound. There were several pieces of torn masking tape stuck to the bottom. Something had been taped there but had broken loose.

Setting the drawer aside, he crouched down and felt around under the dresser until his fingers touched something small, metallic and cold.

His heart leaped as he withdrew a tarnished-silver baby’s spoon and saw that the handle was in the shape of a duck’s head. The same shape that had made Dennison Ducks famous. Even through the tarnish, he could read the name engraved on the spoon’s handle: Angela. He felt a chill spike up his spine.

He’d heard that Wade Dennison had hired a jeweler in Eugene to make specially designed silverware for each of his daughters. First for Desiree, then two years later for Angela. Could this be Angela Dennison’s baby spoon? And if it was, what was Nina doing with it twenty-seven years after the baby had disappeared from her crib?

CHARITY RAN through the rain to her old VW bug parked in front of Betty’s and sat for a moment with the heater running as she tried to shake off her chill.

She’d seen the black truck again and there was no doubt in her mind that it was following her. Worse, she thought, looking at the small white box with the bright red ribbon sitting on her passenger seat, she suspected the driver had left her the present.

She stared at the box for a long moment before picking it up. There was no writing on it, not even a store logo. She opened the lid again and parted the white tissue paper.

Earlier all that had registered was that the stone was heart-shaped. She’d been so excited about getting a present from Mitch that she hadn’t noticed that the stone was also blood-red and cold to the touch. She shivered as she turned the stone over.

There was nothing on it. No lettering. No artist’s imprint. Nothing. The shiny surface seemed to capture what little light the gloomy day afforded, absorbing it deep within, as if harboring it like a secret.

She pulled out the tissue paper to make sure there wasn’t something inside the box that she’d missed. Like a clue as to who had left it for her. Earlier it had seemed like a gift. Now it felt more like a threat.

She stuffed the heart back into the box, hurriedly closing the lid. The defroster had finally cleared enough of her windshield that she could drive the two blocks to the post office. But as she started to pull out, she caught a glimpse of a black pickup one street over.

She shifted into gear and took off after it. As she reached the corner, she half expected the truck to be gone. But there it was, creeping along as if the driver was lost. Or sightseeing. Could she be wrong about it following her?

There was only one way to find out, she thought, as she floored the gas, roared past the pickup and then hit her brakes, skidding sideways to block the street.

She leaped from her car into the pouring rain, ran up to the driver’s side of the pickup and jerked the door open.

A startled gray-haired man stared out at her. Beside him, a younger woman with blond hair clasped both hands over her chest as if she was having a heart attack.

Too late Charity noticed that the windows on the pickup weren’t tinted. This wasn’t the black truck she’d seen earlier, the one she was sure had been following her. On closer inspection this pickup was a much newer model. Worse, she knew the driver.

“Charity?” the elderly man gasped.

She groaned. “Mr. Sawyer, I’m so sorry. I thought you were someone else.” He’d left Timber Falls about ten years ago after his wife died, but he’d kept the old Victorian house at the edge of town that had been in his family for generations.

“What in heaven’s name were you thinking?” the blonde next to him demanded.

“It’s all right, Emily,” Liam said to the woman. “It’s just Charity Jenkins. She’s a good friend of my daughter Roz’s.” He turned to Charity. “This is my wife, Emily. I’ve moved back home.”

He’d remarried? And come back to Timber Falls? Charity had noticed someone painting the old place just the other day, but never dreamed Liam Sawyer would return.

“Congratulations,” she said, trying to hide her surprise and embarrassment. “I hope that means Rozalyn will be coming up to visit.” She hadn’t seen her friend for several years now.

Liam smiled ruefully. “She’s awfully busy. You know she’s a famous photographer now.”

Charity nodded, the rain dripping off the front of her hood. “I have all her books.”

“Could we get going?” Emily asked Liam.

“I’m sorry,” Charity said again, realizing the rain was getting into the pickup. Liam seemed oblivious to it, though. “I’ll move my car.”

He smiled at her. “It is good to see you, Charity. Please stop by and visit.”

“Tell her to wait until we get settled,” Emily said. “The place is a disaster. It’s going to take months to get it into any shape at all.”

Charity sprinted back to her car and hurriedly pulled away, thinking about Roz as she drove to the post office to pick up her mail. She and Roz had been inseparable as kids. Of course Roz would be coming to visit her father, no matter how busy she was. It would be good to see her again.

Postmistress Sarah Bridges looked up as Charity came into the small post office. “Just got all the mail out,” Sarah said from behind the caged opening on the left. To the right was a row of mailboxes.

“Anything good in mine?” Charity asked as she walked down to her box and, using her key, opened it to see a stack of bills.

“You know I never pay any attention to who gets what,” Sarah called from behind the wall of boxes.

Uh-huh. Charity flipped through the stack as she walked back to where Sarah stood. Sarah was a good source of gossip.

“So what’s new?” she asked Sarah.

“Liam Sawyer’s remarried and back in town.”

Darn. Charity hoped she had the jump on that story. No such luck. “I know. I just saw them.”

Sarah shot her a look. “What do you think of the new wife?”

Charity might have shared her thoughts on Emily Sawyer if it hadn’t been for an old loyalty to Roz. “I only saw her for a minute.”

Sarah nodded, lips pursed, eyeing her as if she was holding out. “Well, you have a good day.”

Charity doubted that, given how the day had gone so far. She pushed open the door and made a run for her car through the rain. She hadn’t gone but a few steps when she caught a movement from the alley between the post office and bank.

An instant later she was hit by what felt like a freight train. Her mail went flying as she was knocked down in the mud by someone wearing a large dark raincoat. The cloaked figure stopped, back turned to her and knelt to hurriedly scoop up her mail from the wet ground.

She pushed herself up into a sitting position, too stunned to stand—until she realized the person in the dark raincoat wasn’t picking up her mail to give her, but going through it!