Deputy Defender

Chapter Two

Brenda had come so close to asking Dwight if he would drive her to the history museum in the sheriff’s department SUV. She felt too vulnerable in her own car, aware that the person who wrote that awful note might be watching her, maybe even waiting to make good on his threat. She shuddered and pushed the thought away. She was overreacting. Dwight hadn’t seemed that upset about the note. And really, who could take it seriously, with the yellow paper and cartoon flowers?

She had always admired Dwight’s steadiness. When they had been in high school, he was one of the stars on the basketball team. As a cheerleader, she had attended every game and watched him lope up and down the gym on his long legs. She had watched all the players, of course, but especially him. He had thick chestnut hair and eyes the color of the Colorado sky in a ruggedly handsome face. There was something so steady about him, even then. Like many of her classmates, he was the son of a local rancher. He wore jeans and boots and Western shirts and walked with the swaggering gait that came from spending so much time on horseback.

A town girl, she didn’t have much in common with him, and was too shy to do more than smile at him in the hall. He always returned the greeting, but that was as far as it went. He’d never asked her out, and after graduation, they’d both left for college. She had returned to town five years later as a newlywed, her husband, Andy, anxious to set up his practice in the small town he had fallen in love with on visits to meet her family. Dwight returned a year later, fresh from military service in Afghanistan. Brenda would have predicted he would go to work on the family ranch—the choice of law enforcement surprised her. But the job suited him—the steadiness and thoughtfulness she had glimpsed as a teen made him a good cop. One she was depending on to help her through this latest crisis.

When they entered the history museum, Lacy was talking to a wiry young man with buzzed hair and tattoos covering both forearms. “Brenda!” Lacy greeted them, then her eyebrows rose as Dwight stepped in behind her. “And Dwight. Hello.” She turned to the young man. “Brenda is the person you need to talk to.”

“Hello, Parker,” Dwight said.

“Deputy.” The young man nodded, his expression guarded.

“This is Parker Riddell,” Lacy said. “Paige Riddell’s brother. Parker, this is Brenda Stenson, the museum’s director.”

Paige ran the local bed-and-breakfast and headed up the environmental group that had stopped Henry Hake’s development. Brenda couldn’t recall her ever mentioning a brother. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, offering her hand. “How can I help you?”

Parker hesitated, then took it. “I was wanting to volunteer here,” he said.

“Are you interested in history?” Brenda asked.

“Yeah. And my sister said you could use some help, so...” He shrugged.

“Well, yes. I can always use help. But now isn’t really a good time. Could you come back tomorrow?”

“I guess so.” Parker cut his eyes to Dwight. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Deputy Prentice is here to discuss security for our auction.” Brenda forced a smile. That sounded like a reasonable explanation for Dwight’s presence, didn’t it? And not that far from the truth.

“Okay, I guess I’ll come back tomorrow.” Keeping his gaze on Dwight, he sidled past and left, the doorbells clanging behind him.

“What was that about?” Lacy asked Dwight. “He was looking at you like you were a snake he was afraid would strike—or a bug he wanted to stomp on.”

“Let’s just say Parker has a rocky history with law enforcement. I’d be careful about taking him on as a volunteer.”

He sounded so serious. “Do you think he’s dangerous?” Brenda asked.

Dwight shifted his weight. “I just think he’s someone who should be watched closely.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Brenda turned to Lacy. “Thanks for looking after things here while I was gone. You can go home now. I’m going to go over some things with Dwight, then close up for lunch.”

Lacy gave her a speculative look, but said nothing. “We’ll talk later,” she said, then collected her purse and left.

Brenda crossed her arms and faced Dwight. “What’s the story on Parker Riddell?” she asked.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I probably shouldn’t tell you.”

“This is a very small town—you know I’ll find out eventually. If anyone links the information back to you, you can tell them I was doing a background check prior to taking him on as a volunteer. That’s not unreasonable.”

“All right.” He leaned back against the counter facing her. “He got into trouble with drugs, got popped for some petty theft, then a burglary charge. He did a little jail time, then went into rehab and had a chance at a deferred sentence.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It means if he keeps his nose clean, his record will be expunged. I take it he came to live with Paige after he got out of rehab to get away from old friends and, hopefully, bad habits. And I hope he does that. That doesn’t mean I think it’s the best idea in the world for you to spend time alone with him, or leave him alone with anything around here that’s valuable.”

“Do you think he might have sent the note?”

He frowned. “It doesn’t fit any pattern of behavior he’s shown before—at least that I know of. But I can look into it. I will look into it.”

“I can’t think of anyone who would do something like that,” she said. “I mean, anonymous notes—it’s so, well, sleazy. And over a stupid book.”

“Show me the book.”

“It’s back here.” She led the way into the workroom, to a file drawer in the back corner. She had placed The Secret History of Rayford County, Colorado inside an acid-free cardboard box. She opened the box and handed the book to Dwight.

He read the title on the front, then opened it and flipped through it, stopped and read a few lines. “It’s a little dry,” he said.

“Some parts are better than others,” she said. “Collectors are mainly interested because of the subject matter and its rarity.”

He returned the book to her. “Maybe someone is upset that this top-secret information has been leaked,” he said.

“The whole thing happened seventy years ago,” she said. “As far as I can determine, most of the details about the project are declassified, and all the people who took part are long dead.”

“A relative who’s especially touchy about the family name?” Dwight speculated. “Someone related to the author?” He examined the spine of the book. “S. Smith.”

“The research I did indicated the name is probably a pseudonym,” Brenda said. “In any case, since the author was supposedly part of the project, he would most likely be dead by now. Since his real identity has never been made public, what is there for the family to be upset about?”

“Someone else, then,” Dwight said.

“Are there any new suspicious people hanging around town?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No one who stands out.”

“Except Parker,” she said.

“I’ll check into his background a little more, see if I can find a connection,” he said. He turned to survey the long table that took up much of the room. “Are these the items for the auction?”

“Everything I’ve collected so far,” she said. “I still have a few more things people have promised.”

He picked up a set of hand-braided reins and a silver-trimmed bridle. “You’ve got a lot of nice things. Should net you a good bit of money.”

“I hope it’s enough,” she said. “I don’t suppose you have any hope of finding Henry Hake alive and well and enjoying an island vacation, have you? He was our biggest donor.”

Dwight shook his head. “I don’t expect any of us will be seeing Henry Hake again,” he said. “At least not alive.”

“I figured as much. So all we need is another wealthy benefactor. I’m hoping that rare book will attract someone like that—someone with money to spare, who might enjoy getting credit for pulling us out of the red.”

“What will happen if that benefactor doesn’t materialize?” he asked.

She straightened her shoulders and put on her brave face—one she had had plenty of practice assuming since Andy’s death. “I’ll have to find another job. And this town will lose one of its real assets.”

“I hope we won’t lose you, too,” he said.

The intensity of his gaze unsettled her. She looked away. “Sometimes I think leaving and starting over would be a good idea,” she said. “But I love Eagle Mountain. This is my home, and I’m not too anxious to find another one.”

“Then I hope you never have to.”

The silence stretched between them. She could feel his eyes still on her. Time to change the subject. “Lacy was telling me Eddie Carstairs has been mouthing off to people about his getting fired, trying to stir up trouble.”

“Eddie’s sore about losing his job, but Travis did the right thing, firing him. Any other department would have done the same. The fact that he’s making such a fuss about something that was his own fault shows he doesn’t have the right temperament for the job. You can’t be hotheaded and impulsive and last long in law enforcement.”

Dwight had never been hotheaded or impulsive. He was the epitome of the cool, deliberate, hardworking cowboy. She replaced the book in the box and fit the lid on it. “I don’t want to keep you any longer. I’ll close a little early for lunch and you can follow me to the house—though that probably isn’t necessary.”

“No harm in taking precautions.” He followed her into the front room, where she collected her purse, turned down the lights, then turned the sign on the front door to Closed. “After we secure the book in your safe, maybe I could take you to lunch,” he said.

The invitation surprised her so much she almost dropped the book. Was Dwight asking her out on a date? You’re not in high school anymore, she reminded herself. He was probably just being friendly. Her first instinct was to turn him down. She had too much to do. She wasn’t ready to go out with another man.

Andy’s been dead three and a half years. When are you going to be ready?

“Thanks,” she said. “That would be nice.”

He walked her to her car, and when his arm brushed hers briefly as he reached out to open the door for her, a tremor went through her. Why was she acting like this? She wasn’t a schoolgirl anymore, swooning over a crush—but that’s what being with Dwight made her feel like all of a sudden.

She murmured, “Thanks,” as she slid past him into the driver’s seat and drove, sedately, toward her home. She laughed at herself, being so careful to keep under the speed limit. Did she really think Dwight would suddenly switch on his lights and siren and give her a ticket?

The house she and Andy had purchased when they moved back to Eagle Mountain had undergone extensive remodeling, expanding from a tiny clapboard-sided bungalow to a larger cottage trimmed in native rock and including a detached two-car garage with an apartment above. Only recently, Brenda had learned that those renovations had been financed not by Andy’s law practice, as she had thought, but with money he received from people he blackmailed, including her former boss, Jan Selkirk. The knowledge had made her feel so ashamed, but people had been surprisingly kind. No one had suggested—at least to her face—that she had been guilty of anything except being naive about her husband’s activities.

She pulled into the driveway that ran between the house and the garage and Dwight parked the sheriff’s department SUV behind her. That would no doubt raise some eyebrows among any neighbors who might be watching. Then again, considering all that had happened in the past three and a half years, from Andy’s murder to the revelations about his blackmail and Jan’s attempts to steal back evidence of her involvement in the blackmail, everyone in town was probably used to seeing the cops at Brenda’s place.

Dwight met her on the walkway that led from the drive to the front steps. “You haven’t had any trouble around the house, have you?” he asked. “No mysterious phone calls or cars you don’t recognize driving by? Any door-to-door salesmen who might have been casing the place?”

“If door-to-door salesmen still exist, they aren’t in Eagle Mountain.” She led the way up the walk, keys in hand.

He smiled at her, and her heart skipped a beat again. He really did have the nicest smile, and those blue, blue eyes—

The eyes hardened, and the smile vanished. She realized he wasn’t focused on her anymore, but on her front door. She gasped when she saw the envelope taped there—a bright yellow envelope. Like a birthday card, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t. Her name, printed in familiar bold black lettering, was written on the front.

Dwight put his hand on her shoulder. “Wait before you touch it. I want to get some photographs.”

He took several pictures of the note taped to the door, from several different angles, then moved back to examine the steps and the porch floor for any impressions. He put away his phone and pulled on a pair of thin gloves, then carefully removed the note from the door, handling it by the edges and with all the delicacy one would use with a bomb.

Meanwhile, Brenda hugged her arms across her stomach and did her best not to be sick in the lilac bushes. Dwight laid the envelope on the small table beside the porch glider and teased open the flap.

The note inside was very like the first—yellow paper, dancing cartoon flowers. He coaxed out the sheet and unfolded it. Brenda covered her mouth with her hand. Taped to the top of the paper was a photograph—a crime scene photo taken of Andy at his desk, stabbed in the chest, head lolling forward. Brenda squeezed her eyes shut, but not before she had seen the words written below the photograph. THIS COULD BE YOU.

Chapter Three

Dwight could feel Brenda trembling and rushed to put his arm around her and guide her over to a cushioned lounge chair on the other side of the porch, away from the sick photo. He sat beside her, his arm around her, as she continued to shudder. “Take a deep breath,” he said. “You’re safe.”

She nodded, and gradually the trembling subsided. Her eyes met his, wet with unshed tears. “Why?” she whispered.

“I don’t know. I’m going to look at the note again. Will you be okay if I do that?”

“Yes.” She straightened. “I’m fine now. It was just such a shock.” She was still pale, but determination straightened her shoulders, and he didn’t think she would faint or go into hysterics if he left her side.

He stood and returned to the note on the table. The image pasted onto the paper wasn’t a photograph, but a photocopy of a photograph. Dwight couldn’t be sure, but this didn’t look like something that would have run in the newspaper. It looked like a crime scene photo, the kind that would have been taken before Andy Stenson’s body was removed from his office and then become part of the case file.

“Have you ever seen this photograph before?” he asked Brenda.

“I think so,” she said. “At Lacy’s trial.”

Dwight nodded. Lacy Milligan had been wrongfully convicted of murdering her boss. At the trial, the prosecution would have shown crime scene photos as evidence of the violence of the attack.

“Who would have had access to those photos?” Brenda asked. “Law enforcement, the lawyers—”

“Anyone who worked at the law offices or the courtroom,” Dwight said. “Maybe even the press. This isn’t one of the actual photos—it’s a photocopy. The person who wrote the note included it to frighten you.”

“Well, they succeeded.” She stood and began pacing back and forth, keeping to the side of the porch away from the note and its chilling contents. “Dwight, what are we going to do?”

He liked that “we.” She was counting on him to work with her—to help her. “You could burn the book,” he said.

She stopped pacing and stared at him. “And give in to this creep’s demands? What’s to stop him from demanding something else? Maybe next time he’ll suggest I burn down my house, or paint the museum pink. Maybe he gets off on making people do his bidding.” Her voice rose, and her words grew more agitated—but it was better than seeing her so pale and defeated-looking.

“I’m not saying you should burn the book, only that it was one option.”

“I’m not going to burn the book. We need to find out who this person is and stop him—or her.”

She was interrupted by a red car pulling to the curb in front of the house. Lacy got out and hurried up the walk, smiling widely. “Hey, Dwight,” she said. “Still discussing security issues?” She laughed, then winked at Brenda.

Brenda’s cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “You’re certainly in a good mood,” she said.

“I’ve been out at the ranch. The wedding planner needed me to take some measurements. It’s such a gorgeous place for a wedding, and Travis’s mom is as excited about it as I am.” She sat in a chair near Brenda. “So what are you two really up to?” she asked.

“I’ve received a couple of disturbing letters,” Brenda said. She glanced at Dwight. “Threatening ones.”

“Oh no!” Lacy’s smile vanished and her face paled. “I thought you were a little distracted this morning, but I assumed it was over the auction. I’m sorry for being so silly.”

“It’s all right,” Brenda said. “The first note was taped to the door of the museum when I arrived this morning. We just found a second one here at the house.”

“Threats?” Lacy shook her head. “Who would want to threaten you? And why?”

“The first note told me I should burn the rare book that’s up for auction—or else,” Brenda said.

“What did the second note say?” Lacy asked.

Brenda opened her mouth to speak, then pressed her lips together and shook her head. Lacy looked to Dwight. “You tell her,” Brenda said.

“The second note contained a crime scene photo from Andy’s murder, and said ‘this could be you.’”

Lacy gasped, then leaned over and took Brenda’s hand. “That’s horrible. Who would do such a thing?”

“We’re going to find that out,” Dwight said.

“What are you going to do until then?” Lacy asked.

“Until this is resolved, I think you should move back in with your parents—or with Travis,” Brenda said.

“You can’t stay here by yourself,” Lacy said.

Dwight was about to agree with her, but Brenda cut him off. “I’m not going to let this creep run me out of my own home,” she declared. “I’ve been manipulated enough in my life—I’m not going to let it happen again.”

Was she saying her husband had manipulated her? Dwight wondered. Certainly, Andy Stenson had kept her in the dark about his blackmailing activities and the real source of his income. “We’ll put extra patrols on the house,” Dwight said. If he had to, he’d park his own car on the curb and stay up all night watching over her.

“Thank you,” Brenda said. “In the meantime, I’m going to contact the paper and let them know what’s going on. I want whoever is doing this to see that I’m not afraid of him. Besides, if everybody knows what’s going on, I’ll feel safer. People complain about how nosy everyone is in small towns, but in a situation like this, that could work to my advantage.”

“That’s a good idea.” He turned to look at the letter and envelope still lying on the table. “Let me take care of these, and I’m going to call in some crime scene folks to go over the scene and see if we missed anything. Come with me and we’ll call the paper from there.”

“All right,” she said.

“I’ll come with you, too,” Lacy said. “Travis should be back from his class soon.”

“Give me a minute,” Dwight said. He walked out to his SUV to retrieve an evidence pouch. The women huddled on the porch together, talking softly. Brenda was calm now, but he could imagine how upsetting seeing that photograph had been for her. The person who had left that note wasn’t only interested in persuading her to destroy the book. He could have done that with another death threat, or even a physical attack.

No, the person who had left that photo wanted to inflict psychological harm. The man—or woman—had a personal dislike for Brenda, or for women in general, or for something she represented. Or at least, that was Dwight’s take, based on the psychology courses he’d taken as an undergraduate. He’d have to question her carefully to determine if there was anything in her background to inspire that kind of hate. With that photograph, the note-writer had gone from a possible annoying-but-harmless prankster to someone who could be a serious danger.

* * *

BRENDA RODE WITH Lacy to the sheriff’s department, grateful for the distraction that talk about the upcoming wedding provided—anything to block out the horrible image of her dead husband on that note. The photo, more than the threat beneath it, had hit her like a hard punch to the stomach, the sickening pain of it still lingering. Dwight had been shocked, too, though, typical for him, he hadn’t shown a lot of emotion. Somehow, his steadiness had helped her step back from the horror and try to think rationally.

Whoever had sent that note wanted to shock her—to terrify her and maybe, to make her reluctant to dig into the reason behind the threat. The letter writer mistook her for a weak woman who would do anything to make the pain go away.

She had been that person once. When Andy dismissed her questions about all the money he was spending on remodeling their home with an admonishment that she didn’t need to worry about any of that, she had backed off and accepted his judgment. The idea made her cringe now, but she had been so young, and unwilling to do anything that might mar her happiness.

She wouldn’t make that mistake again. Turning away from things that hurt or frightened her only made them more difficult to deal with later. Now she faced her problems head-on, and in doing so had discovered a strength she hadn’t known she possessed.

Paige Riddell was waiting in the lobby of the sheriff’s department, and confronted Dwight as soon as he walked in. “How dare you treat my brother the way you did this morning,” she said before the door had even shut behind Dwight and the two women. “He was trying to help—to do something good—and you shut him down as if he were trying to rob the place. You wouldn’t even give him a chance.” Her voice shook on the last words—Paige, who to Brenda was the epitome of a tough woman. Paige, who had taken on Henry Hake’s money and position and defeated his plans to build a luxury resort in an environmentally fragile location. Now she seemed on the verge of tears.

“Why don’t we go into my office and talk about this?” Dwight gestured down the hallway.

“You didn’t have any problem with confronting Parker in public, so we’ll do this in public.” Paige glanced at Lacy and Brenda. “I’m sure Dwight has already informed you that my brother has been arrested before. He’s not trying to hide that. He made a mistake and he paid for it. He went through rehab and he’s clean now, and trying to start over—if people like the deputy here will let him.”

Dwight frowned, hands on his hips. “If Parker has a problem with something I said, he should come to me and we’ll talk about it,” he said.

“Parker doesn’t want to talk to you. He didn’t want to talk to me, but I saw how down he was when he came back from the history museum this morning, so I pried the story out of him. He said you looked at him like you suspected him of planning to blow up the building or something.”

Dwight’s face reddened. Brenda sympathized with him—but she also related to Paige’s desire to protect her brother. Dwight clearly hadn’t liked the young man, and his dislike had shown in the encounter this morning. “Paige, does Parker know you’re here?” she asked.

Paige turned to her. “No. And when he finds out, he’ll be furious. But he’s been furious with me before. He’ll get over it.”

“Why was Parker at the history museum this morning?” Dwight asked.

“Because he’s interested in history. It’s one of the things he’s studying in college. I told him the museum was looking for volunteers and he should apply.”

“That’s kind of unusual, isn’t it?” Dwight said. “A guy his age being so interested in the past.”

“Tell that to all the history majors at his school,” Paige said. “Parker is a very bright young man. He has a lot of interests, and history is one of them.”

“Any particular type of history?” Dwight asked. “Is he, for instance, interested in the history of World War II? Or local history?”

Brenda held her breath, realizing where Dwight was headed with this line of questioning.

Paige shook her head. “I don’t know that it’s any particular kind of history. American history, certainly. Colorado and local history, probably. Why do you ask?”

“Does your brother have any history of violence? Of making threats?”

“What? No! What are you talking about?”

“I can check his record,” Dwight said.

“Check it. You won’t find anything.” She turned to Brenda and Lacy. “Parker was convicted for possession of methamphetamine and for stealing to support his drug habit. He was never violent, and he’s been clean for three months now. He’s going to stay clean. He moved here to get away from all his old influences. He’s enrolled in college and he has a part-time job at Peggy’s Pizza.”

Brenda wet her lips, her mouth dry. “Do you have any yellow stationery at your place?” she asked. “With dancing cartoon flowers across the bottom?”

Paige’s brow knit. She looked at Dwight again. “What is going on? If you’re accusing Parker of something, tell me.”

“Brenda received a threatening note at the museum this morning,” Dwight said. “It was written on distinctive stationery.” Brenda noticed that he didn’t mention the note at her home.

“The only stationery I use is made of recycled paper,” Paige said. “It’s plain and cream-colored. And Parker didn’t write that note. He wouldn’t threaten anyone—much less Brenda. He doesn’t even know her.”

“I’m not accusing him of anything,” Dwight said.

“Right.” Paige didn’t roll her eyes, but she looked as if she wanted to. “I bet you’re asking everyone in town about their stationery.” She turned to Brenda again. “I know Parker would hate me if he knew I was asking this, but please give him a chance at the museum. He needs constructive things to fill his spare time, and he’s a hard worker. And while he’s not the biggest guy on the block, he knows how to take care of himself. He would be good protection in case the real person who’s making these threats comes around.”

Paige’s concern for her brother touched Brenda. And she had always had a soft spot for people who needed a second chance. “Tell him to come around tomorrow and fill out a volunteer application. Most of my volunteers are older women—it will be nice to have a young man with a strong back.”

“Thank you. You won’t regret it, I promise.” She squeezed Brenda’s hand, then, with a last scornful look at Dwight, left.

Dwight crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to take on a new volunteer,” he said. “Not until we know who’s threatening you.”

“I know you don’t, but I trust Paige’s judgment,” Brenda said. “She’s not a pushover.”

“People often have blind spots for the people they love,” he said.

She couldn’t help but flinch at his words. She had certainly had a blind spot when it came to Andy. Her dismay must have showed, because Dwight hurried to apologize. “Brenda, I didn’t mean...”

“I know what you meant,” she said. “And I’ll be careful, I promise.”

The door opened again and Travis strolled in. The sheriff looked as polished and pressed—and handsome—as ever. If he was surprised to see them all standing in the reception area, he didn’t show it on his face. “Hey, Brenda,” he said. “What happened to the banner advertising the auction that was hung over Main Street at the entrance to town?”

“What do you mean?” she asked. “It was fine the last time I checked—just yesterday.”

“It’s not fine now,” he said. “It’s gone.”