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 from 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.
He barked his location and code three into his radio. Then he slammed on his brakes and shoved open the Jeep door.
He pulled his gun. "Police!" He ran toward the house, shouldered inside the demolished door. "Police! Wendy!" His heart pounded. He raced through the kitchen and burst into the living room. "Police! Wendy!"
She lay facedown at the foot of the staircase.
"Wendy!" he roared. He bent and found her carotid pulse—weak but steady. She was breathing normally. He turned her over slowly. No blood anywhere.
Rising, he made a quick search of the downstairs, checking closets and under the one bed. Then he started up the steps. "Police!" But upstairs, he also met no one.
When he trotted back down, he discovered a big dog sniffing Wendy. Holstering his gun, Rodd knelt beside her, pushing the mutt away.
She moaned.
"Wendy, it's Rodd. I'm here." His pulse pounding in his ears, he swiftly ran his hands over her limbs, looking for any wound or injury. He pulled his phone from his belt and punched the speed dial for the clinic.
Wendy's eyes fluttered open. "Rodd?"
"Where do you hurt?"
She blinked. "My head. Oh ...," she moaned again.
"Nowhere else?"
She shook her head and winced.
The clinic answered.
"Durand here. Wendy has been attacked at Kainzes'. I'm with her. She says her head hurts. I see no signs of serious injury—"
"Hit from behind," she muttered, running her hand gingerly over the back of her head.
"She says she was hit from behind. Yes, she's conscious. Right. I'll bring her in immediately."
Rodd hung the phone back on his belt and gently gathered Wendy into his arms. Her body was so light that it made the assault on her even more inexcusable. What if he hadn't come right away? Had the thief seen or heard him coming and fled?
"Wait," she murmured.
He didn't pause. "Dr. Doug says he wants you in right now."
"Shelf over sink. Need to get ...Patsy's eye drops there. Needs them."
He pressed down his impatience and his fury at whoever had hurt Wendy as he entered the kitchen. "Fine. I'll pocket them on my way out."
"I'm not critical, just headachy. Keep dog ...inside."
A dog messing around at my crime scene--just what I need.
He couldn't have anything tampering with possible evidence. "No, I want the dog out of here. I'll radio the nearest deputy and he should arrive anytime. After he secures the crime scene, we'll worry about the dog later."
As he passed the sink, he grabbed the plastic eye drop bottle. He pressed his cheek against Wendy's silky hair and silently cursed the Weasel. If the thief had appeared right then, Rodd was sure he could have choked him with his bare hands.
Early the next evening, Wendy lounged in her gray sweats at her kitchen table with the Steadfast Times Extra lying in front of her. After spending twenty-four hours in the clinic for observation, she'd gotten home late this afternoon only to find the unwelcome Extra on her doorstep. She couldn't remember when Mr. Cram had last put out a special one-sheet Extra issue between regular weekly editions. His caustic prose under the headline: "Local Nurse Felled by Burglar" irritated her.
Sage opened the door to leave the trailer but turned back to Wendy. "I just wish we could do something to help the sheriff—"
The phone rang. Sage paused while Wendy picked up the receiver.
"Hello, Wendy, is that you?"
For a moment the voice on the phone disoriented Wendy, whose head still ached from the blow Then she came awake."Hi, Mom, how are you?" she asked automatically.
"Who cares about me? How are you? I just got off the phone with Harlan and he told me you'd been attacked! Jim and I are so upset." Her mother sounded worried, edgy.
"I'm fine, Mom. I asked Grandfather not to worry—"
Sage closed the door. "Does Mom want to talk to me? I've got to get going."
"Mom, Sage is about to go baby-sit Zak. Did you want to talk to her quickly?"
"Well... if she's in a hurry, tell her I'll call her tomorrow."
Wendy recognized her mother's apologetic tone and tried not to betray any emotion. This was the tone she used when she was going to do something for Sage and not Wendy. "Sage, go on. Mom'll call you tomorrow."
"I'll call you later, Sis. Try to rest," Sage urged as she left.
"Wendy," her mom began, "I wish I were there. Why would anyone hit you like that?"
"I'm fine. Old Doc said he always knew I was hardheaded." For a few minutes, Wendy let her mother fuss over her about being assaulted.
"What's wrong with that new sheriff—"
"Mom, this isn't his fault," Wendy snapped, her head throbbing. Cram's headline had continued, "New Sheriff at Fault." Now her mother's negative question ...Wendy rubbed her temples.
Silence. Then her mother said, "Dutch told me you and the sheriff have become an item of gossip. Do you have feelings for him, Wendy?"