Winter's Secret Page 12

  She yawned and stretched. "The kegger?" Her arms lifted gracefully over her head, then drifted down again.

  He took a deep breath. "I thought you'd ask about that." Disgust churned inside him. "It was a decoy."

  "A decoy?" Her eyes widened. "You mean ..."

  "I was set up." Remembering one unpleasant surprise after another in the past twenty-four hours gave his voice an edge. "Someone spread the rumor about a kegger to keep me and some of my deputies busy." He clenched his teeth. Why hadn't he become the least bit suspicious about the kegger before he got the breaking-and-entering page? He glanced at her sideways. "This is confidential—"

  "I wouldn't—"

  "I know you wouldn't." He drew back his lips, irritated with himself for even intimating he didn't trust her. "That's why I'm talking to you. I've gone over and over today's events in my mind, trying to figure out what should have tipped me off."

  "I shouldn't have told you what my uncle told me—"

  "No." Her apology grated on him. "Anytime a citizen has information about a crime, possible or already committed, I want to hear about it." The dried oak leaves on a nearby tree rustled in the wind, sounding like faint laughter, laughter at him. "You weren't the only one who heard the rumor about the kegger."

  "Who else knew?"

  He let out a gust of air. "Carl at the Grill told me about the rumor when I stopped at his place, and Mrs. Beltziger called my office."

  She drew up her legs under her. "Tell me what happened."

  Her soft, sympathetic voice acted on him like someone running a finger around the back of his neck, sensitizing him to her. "I set up the stakeout to stop the kegger before it got very far." He forced himself to go on, spelling out what had gone wrong. "About eleven o'clock, kids showed up on snowmobiles—one even started a fire in a stove in the bam. We moved in—-just as the kids realized they'd been tricked. There was no keg in the Dietz barn. As my deputies and I were arresting the kids for trespassing, I was paged about a possible break-in on the other side of the county."

  "Whose house?" She angled herself toward him.

  "Clyde Sparrow—"

  "Clyde? He's gone to Chicago to spend the week with his granddaughter—"

  Her words only added fuel to his sizzling frustration. "I should have asked who would be away for the holiday—"

  "Sheriff," she interrupted, "I could have given you a long list. How could you cover every one of them all over the county? And people around here generally know who's going to be gone. People talk." She shrugged. "Is this a new MO?"

  Somewhere in the darkness, something metal crashed over and bumped along in the wind. Wendy glanced around. "Raccoons," she explained. "Someone left a garbage can open."

  Shaking his head, Rodd answered her question. "No, this isn't a new MO. The first four burglaries fit an opportunist. Now it looks like that MO was planned as a smoke screen too. This kegger took obvious planning. It also shows that the thief must have known Clyde would be away— without watching your movements. As you just pointed out, people knew Clyde made a habit of visiting his granddaughter for holidays."

  "The thief might have just taken a chance," she suggested. "If he'd seen Clyde was at home, he might not have gone through with the burglary. The kegger might just have been a coincidence. Or someone might have dreamed up the kegger to get Elroy into trouble."

  "Very good." He grinned at her. "You have been learning."

  Wendy gave him a muted grin. "I can't stop thinking about it. The victims have all been friends of mine." The sad, weighed-down sensation hit her midsection again. Lord, help Rodd solve these burglaries. Don't let the thief go on hurting people!

  Then she wondered if Rodd was praying about this himself. Probably not. She sensed his resistance to accepting help—even from God.

  "I've gone over and over it in my mind. It's all too well executed to be coincidence." He touched her shoulder.

  She accepted his comfort, fighting the urge to rest her cheek on his warm hand. Should she ask him to pray with her about this? "Where did Mrs. Z come into this? Was she hurt by the burglar?"

  "No, the burglar hit Sparrow's place before she went over to check on the house. She'd planned to go earlier, she said, before dark. If she had gone in daylight, I think she'd have missed everything, and I might not have known about the burglary until later today when she went back."

  Wendy absorbed this information. How she wished she could help him more. "Mrs. Z is Clyde's closest neighbor. She must have been there to feed Clyde's cats." Wendy glanced up at him. "Then how did Mrs. Z get hurt?"

  Rodd stretched his long legs out in front of himself as best he could. "She called in the burglary and waited for me in her house. When I arrived, I drove her back to Sparrow's. I wanted her to get the cats out of the crime scene. After I took down her information, I looked things over while she coaxed the cats out of hiding and fed them. Then I was called away to Flanagan's—"

  "The brawl?" She took her gaze away from him. Why did this man have the power to tempt her to forget that she didn't want to fall in love? I'm not free to love. What if Mom came home without Jim? Would it start all over again? The drinking ...everything?

  "Yes, by then the brawl was a four-alarm fire." He raked his fingers through his hair. "We finally had to use pepper spray."

  Wendy shook her head over it. "I know. The two who got it are going to be in bad shape for a couple of days."

  He let his hands drop to the steering wheel. "We used it because it took the fight out of everybody. The ambulances and my deputies wouldn't have been able to get the injured off to the clinic and the guilty off to the county jail without it."

  Remembering the chaos the brawl had unleashed at the clinic, she folded her arms around herself. "That must be when Dr. Doug called me in."

  He nodded. "It was just after midnight. When I finished closing Flanagan's down for the night, I went back to Sparrow's and tried to secure the crime scene. Then I got a call to go back to Mrs. Zabriski. She'd fallen in her home. Dispatch called me since she knew I was right down the road. The ambulance crews needed a break, so I picked Mrs. Zabriski up."

  The fatigue had started working on Wendy again as though she were a balloon being deflated. "That's right. Her place isn't far from Flanagan's."

  Rodd nodded, then glanced over at her. "I think the thief may have chosen Sparrow's house because of its nearness to Flanagan's."

  "Why?" Wendy didn't like the direction of this conversation. Her uncle had been at Flanagan's.

  The sheriff went on as though talking to himself, "The idea of the brawl itself shows intelligence."

  "A brawl—intelligent? How?"

  "Because the brawl at Flanagan's was timed to start almost as the kegger would be discovered to be a setup. After sparking the brawl— which wouldn't have been difficult, considering almost everyone there had been drinking for most of the day—the thief then could have slipped out of Flanagan's, committed the burglary, and come back and thrown himself into the brawl."

  "I see what you mean." She looked down, not wanting to admit how much sense his words made.

  "Or it might have just been intended to keep things confused, stirred up. But another fact that shows the brawl was a smart move was that it involved practically every possible suspect in the county."

  "How was that smart?" She looked at him in spite of herself. So near her, his restrained strength worked on her powerfully. Who had been foolish enough to choose this man as an adversary?

  "The burglar guessed that I'd connect the closeness of Sparrow's place to Flanagan's. By involving all the suspects, the thief could spread suspicion around with a broad brush."

  Tonight, Rodd had planned to do what he'd been elected to do— protect and defend his county. He'd laid his plans so well....

  She touched his shoulder. "You did your best. No one can ask for more."

  Wendy's touch didn't soothe him. He let out a sound of disgust.

  She leaned closer. "You are doing e
verything you can do. You expected to tie this up weeks ago, that night at Olie's place. But you aren't calling the shots; the burglar is. All you can do is try to anticipate him. I've been praying. The church is praying." She paused. "You should go on doing everything you can do." She paused again. "Then you have to be patient. The day will come when you'll get the thief."

  Awareness of Wendy filled his senses—her light scent, the sound of her even breathing, her sympathetic touch. She understood his frustration. He reached for her hand and held it in both of his. "Thanks, I...thanks." The desire to draw her hand to his lips nearly overwhelmed him. He fought it. He didn't want to mislead her. She was too fine a woman for that. And he had no time for romance now. He made himself release her hand. "I better let you go. It's late...."

  "Will you pray about this, Rodd?"

  His conscience tugged at him as he considered her request. "I'll try."

  She looked away; then she pointed forward. "Look." A gray winter-coated doe, followed by two fawns, strolled in front of the Jeep.

  Rodd sat up. "Deer in town?"

  "Edge of town. A few people here leave dried corn out for them. Besides, town is safe." She grinned in the half-light. "No hunting in town." They watched the graceful family until the three disappeared into the gloom.

  "What are you going to do now?" she asked him.

  Her question made Rodd realize he'd already unconsciously formed his next moves. "I'll have to run down where the kegger rumor started. That might give me something to go on."

  "And then?"

  "I'm going to have a private talk with Gus Feeney and get my trap in place. This thief is no opportunist and will not just stop when it becomes harder to steal." That much he'd learned tonight. But something just didn't gel How did the careless burglaries themselves fit a thief clever enough to orchestrate a kegger ruse and brawl cover-up? He'd have to really be on his toes to entice this thief into a trap.

  Wendy yawned. "Sorry." She grinned apologetically. "I'm going in to take a nap now. I just have time for one before I go on duty in the morning."

  He shifted to unfasten his seat belt.

  "Don't." She lifted her hand, motioning him to stop. "I'll just run in. No need for both of us to go out in the cold." She let herself out.

  He watched her run the few feet to the small trailer and let herself in. Then he backed out and headed for home. Wendy was the first woman he'd really found it easy to talk to like this. And going over everything with her had helped him put facts into perspective. The Weasel wasn't a garden-variety thief. Rodd would need all his patience and skill to catch him.

  Then he heard Wendy's voice again: "Will you pray about this, Rodd?"

  Feeling lucky, the smartest man in Steadfast leaned back in the one comfortable chair he owned. Last night's brawl had certainly been a free-for-all. And the sheriff getting tricked with the story about the kegger—ha! That was the real joke. Half asleep, he laughed to himself—even though it hurt to laugh. Who would have thought that the smart cop from Milwaukee would get skunked? It was rich all right. And the thief got clean away one more time! He laughed again, holding his chest. He'd have given a hundred dollars to have been at Dietzes' barn and seen the sheriff's face when all he'd found were a few dumb kids and no keg!

  "Rieker," Rodd said a few days later as he planted himself right in front of the man on Main Street, "how's your wrist?"

  "Still broken." Dutch grinned.

  Rodd wondered how someone could make a grin look so sly. "Wanted to ask you where you heard about the kegger."

  Dutch eyed him, his grin broadening. "You mean the one over at Dietzes' that didn't pan out?"

  Rodd ignored the man's taunting grin. "Where'd you hear about it?"

  Dutch folded his arms and rested his chin on his good hand. "Think it was over at the truck stop on 27."

  "Who had the info? What did they say exactly?"

  Dutch's grin broadened. "I was hung-over from the night before. Just tryin' to get enough coffee in me to qualify as alive again."

  Rodd clenched his jaw. He couldn't do anything to "prompt" Dutch to be more exact in his recollection. But he hadn't expected much from Rieker. Carl Kainz from the Grill could only say he'd heard it from a beer-truck driver, but couldn't remember which one. Rodd believed Carl but not Dutch.

  "Sheriff, maybe you should move along. Old Cram's heading right for you." Dutch chuckled. "That was quite an article he wrote about you being caught napping on Thanksgiving."

  Rodd turned to face Cram.

  "So you're reduced to talking to Dutch Rieker now?" the newspaper editor snapped. "Anyone could tell you that Dutch Rieker knows nothing and would lie about it if he did!"

  Rieker bristled.

  Rodd nodded to Cram and started to walk away.

  "You better do something about this thief!" Cram called after him. "Decent people are starting to think twice about leaving their homes for a night. Some older citizen could die by refusing medical attention for fear of going into the clinic overnight!"

  Rodd kept walking. He was on his way to meet Gus Feeney to give him the particulars about a possible trap after the Bingo Fund-raiser. The crusty veteran had yet to agree to let himself become a target. Trading words with Cram wouldn't catch the Weasel. God, a clear shot at the Weasel—that's all I need. I won't ask for more.

  "Hi, Sheriff; this is Wendy." She sat in her Blazer outside an older house on a county road.

  "Wendy."

  The pleasure in his voice touched her. They'd seen little of each other in the week since Thanksgiving. That had been hard. She'd wanted to see him, but she avoided him—not knowing what to say. Her dreams had been filled with snowstorms, snowmobiles, and Rodd Durand.

  Today the home-health call to visit Patsy, Carl Kainz's wife, had just come in a half hour ago. A check of Patsy's vitals had convinced Wendy to take Patsy in, and she'd known she needed to call Rodd and let him know. Her inner turmoil over the sheriff had made it difficult to get up the nerve to call him. But she'd finally dialed him. "Where are you?" she asked.

  "Just outside the courthouse. Why?"

  She imagined him standing outside the gothic courthouse in Steadfast. "I knew you'd want to know that I'm going to drive Patsy Kainz into the clinic."

  "She'll be staying overnight?"

  She heard the lift of interest in his voice. Yes, this would give him another chance at the thief. "That's right. She'll be staying overnight. Her heart is acting up. The thief might not hit their place since Carl will come home, but late tonight. Leaving the house unattended concerned Patsy since Carl won't be home till well after midnight. The thief might know that—"

  "And hit the place before Carl got there?" he finished for her.

  "Right." Patsy, white haired and plump, waved to Wendy from her back door.

  "Where's her place?" Rodd asked.

  "Out on Gunlock Lake Road, just south of the lake itself. I've got to go. I called from my car so Patsy wouldn't hear me contact you."

  "Good. I'll drive by Kainzes' place as soon as I've dropped one of my deputies off at your grandfather's to bring my snowmobile. I want both a Jeep and snowmobile there." He paused.

  "I've got to go. Bye." She hung up just as Patsy opened the car door.

  "It's all this hurrying for the holidays," Patsy said as she got in and hooked her seat belt. "I've got just about everything wrapped up and ready to send off."

  "Calm down, Patsy. Old Doc just wants you to come in for the night. You don't want a second heart attack for Christmas." Wendy kept up a soothing flow of chatter as she drove Patsy to the clinic. All the while she thought about the sheriff. Would the thief hit the Kainzes? Why couldn't life be less stressful? Boring might be pleasant for a change. She pulled into the clinic parking lot.

  "Oh! I forgot my prescription eyedrops, and our mutt is still outside!" Patsy exclaimed in dismay.

  "Do you need the drops?"

  "Yes, they're the special ones from that doc in Duluth. And Carl won't be home fr
om the Grill until real late! Our dog will be frozen by then."

  Wendy reassured her. "Don't worry. I'll go back and bring the drops in with me. Give me your key and I'll get your dog inside, too."

  "Wendy, you're a lifesaver." Patsy patted her arm.

  Soon Patsy was safely deposited at the clinic. Wendy drove out of town, back toward Patsy's. When she turned the last curve, she spotted something unexpected by the Kainzes' back door.

  Chapter Nine

  After Wendy hung up, Rodd called one of his deputies to ride Rodd's snowmobile from Harlan's to the Kainzes'. Then Rodd headed for the Kainz place to look it over. It was farther out than he'd thought. When he drove around the curve toward the house, what he saw pole axed him. Wendy's Blazer, still running, was parked cockeyed just outside ... the damaged back door.