Miss Emmaline And The Archangel Part 6

"That's right." Gage was becoming something of an expert on the subject as his investigation progressed. "My guy at the lab said that was the core of contention on the last carca.s.ses we sent up. Without any heat damage, the argument over whether the flesh was torn or cut evidently got pretty hot. I'm pretty much settled in my own mind on this, though."

Nate poked a toothpick into his mouth. "Little green men?"

"More like ordinary human beings. I'm willing to bet the lab finds knife marks on that skull, not tooth marks."

"What if they don't find anything at all?"

Gage shook his head. "Then it's little green men. But there's still tissue on that skull, Nate. Mark my words, our culprit is human."

A short, rueful laugh escaped Nate. "d.a.m.n, I hope so. I don't relish Jeff's reaction if I have to tell him it'll take Buck Rogers to put a stop to this."

"I'd settle for Superman," Sara Yates remarked as she joined them. "Nate, Ed Dewhurst and I are going to keep the carca.s.s company until we can get it loaded on a truck. You have any special instructions?"

Nate shook his head. "Just the usual."

"Wrap the head," Gage said. "Wrap it in something to keep it from getting banged up."

"Good thought," Nate agreed. He looked at Gage. "You get back to Miss Emma. I don't like the smell of that mess, either. d.a.m.ned if I know what this county is coming to." Shaking his head, he walked back to the carca.s.s with Sara.

Gage looked after him a moment, understanding Nate's frustration. Lately it had been one d.a.m.n thing after another. It seemed not so very long ago that Nate had been urging him to come out this way, promising him all the peace and healing he could ever hope for.

Well, it wasn't as peaceful as Nate had promised, that was for sure. But it wasn't as taxing, agonizing and frustrating as working undercover, either. Given his choice, he would still take Conard County and cattle mutilations over his old job.

Heading back into town, he stepped on the gas a little, knowing he wouldn't get stopped, because his Suburban was familiar to all the lawmen in the county. That was new for him, that feeling of being known, of being part of the group. Working undercover, he'd taken his chances with the law like everybody else, and a couple of times he'd gotten batted around a little by cops who thought he was just another addict or pusher. Getting knocked around with a nightstick had done wonders for his credibility on the streets, but it had sure made him feel alone. And angry. He'd been born with a burr under his saddle, but working the streets had made him furious to the deepest corner of his soul.

It was a refres.h.i.+ng, wonderful relief to look out the windows of the Suburban and see miles and miles of pristine countryside gleaming beneath a blanket of sparkling snow. It was breathtaking to see deer and buffalo and cattle everywhere he went outside town, and to be able to walk the streets of Conard City at three in the morning and see nothing more unsavory than a drunk cowpoke sleeping at the wheel of his pickup.

Whatever was happening with Jeff's cattle didn't fit the Conard County he'd come to know in his several months here, nor did the rabbit on Emma's porch. He knew the scent of evil. He'd smelled it on too many filthy streets and in too many sleazy hallways. Something evil had come to Conard County.

Emma was removing the cherry pie from the oven when Gage pulled up in the driveway. She turned, holding the pie in her oven-mitt-covered hands as he came in the house.

He paused, leaning back against the door he had just closed, and astonished her with a sudden, unexpected grin, a crooked expression because of his scarred cheek. "My, my," he said. "Donna Reed, move over."

The teasing remark surprised a laugh out of her. She never would have imagined Gage Dalton to be a tease. He sure didn't look like one as he leaned against the door in his habitual black: leather jacket, boots, hat, jeans. He looked like a promise of trouble.

Still smiling, she set the pie on the cooling rack in the center of the table. "You're welcome to a piece when it cools a little."

"I like my cherries hot."

Emma froze for just an instant, wondering if that had been a double entendre, or if her imagination was running wild because the man had given her one little kiss-a kiss that she now a.s.sured herself had been meant to comfort, not to arouse.

"Not this hot," she retorted in her best librarian's voice. "What did you find at the Bar C?"

"A dead cow with a skinned skull."

Emma grimaced. "Grotesque."

"Yeah. And not very illuminating." Still leaning against the door, he watched Emma strip off her oven mitts and tuck them into a drawer. "Everything okay with you?"

She looked toward him and suddenly caught her breath. She had looked at him before, had noticed before how masculine he was, how very attractive despite his scarred face. But now she saw those same things while knowing how his mouth had felt on hers, how his strong arms had felt around her. Now she looked at him with eyes that knew just how easily he could spark her to flame.

Deep inside, down low, she felt a hollow ache, felt the weight of emptiness, and wondered how a lack could feel so heavy. Quickly she forced herself to look away, reminding herself that even if he wanted her, he would never want to keep her, because she was not a whole woman. He might make love to her, but he would never love her, and she would be a d.a.m.n fool to set herself up for that kind of heartache.

"Emma? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Realizing she had frozen in place, just staring off into s.p.a.ce, she flushed faintly. "Just preoccupied, I guess."

He gave her a brief nod and levered himself away from the door, wincing a little as he did so. "I've got some good news for you."

"You do?" Unable to imagine what that could possibly be, she faced him expectantly and tried not to notice again just how narrow his hips were. What was it about narrow hips on a man?

"I stopped at the Quick Shop for gas and ran into Lance Severn. I asked him where we could get you a twelve-foot tree on short notice, and he said he had one waiting for you and wondered when you were coming to get it. I said I'd be there in the morning."

"Oh, my! He remembered!" Emma felt herself getting all misty eyed. "He's been so ill, I never wanted to say a word. It never occurred to me he'd remember all on his own. He's had so much on his mind."

"Well, he remembered." He hung his hat on the peg and leaned over the table, sniffing appreciatively. "How long do I have to wait?"

Feeling suddenly happy, and touched by Gage's almost boyishly wistful look at the pie, Emma gave a little laugh. "Ten minutes. It'll take that long to make the coffee."

"For that, I can wait. It's cold out there and getting colder." He tugged at his jacket and winced a little as he shrugged it off. "You've been okay while I was gone?"

"Of course. I started putting up Christmas decorations. Go see the living room." The phone call was forgotten, and the uneasiness she had felt was too embarra.s.sing to talk about. For a moment, just a moment, she felt like Donna Reed welcoming her husband home at the end of a long day. She'd never felt that way before and was sure she never would again, so she surrendered to the feeling with a kind of melancholy eagerness. As soon as she had started the coffee, she followed Gage.

"d.a.m.n," she heard him say softly as she came up behind him. He stood in the arched doorway of the living room, surveying the changes. Garlands of evergreen decorated with bright red and green bows graced the mantelpiece, and the Nativity scene her great-grandfather had carved and painted with painstaking care filled an entire corner beside the bow window where the tree would be placed. On every table red or green candles filled polished bra.s.s holders, and here and there were sprigs of holly. Even without the tree, the room had become very Christma.s.sy.

When he realized she had come up beside him, he looked down at her with a crooked smile. "You've been busy. It's nice. Real nice." He looked back at the room.

Something was wrong, Emma realized. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. The tension in him was palpable. Gage?"

"I ... um ... think I'd better pa.s.s on that pie and coffee." He glanced at her again with a faint smile that never made it past his lips. He looked like a man in mortal pain who was trying to hide it. "I'm, uh, tired and my back's killing me. I'll see you in the morning."

Perplexed, she watched him climb the stairs, wis.h.i.+ng she could somehow help him, knowing there was no possible way. Something had happened, she thought again, and turned to look at the living room. Something in here had wounded him. Frowning, she stood there for a long time, trying without success to see what it had been.

He just hadn't been prepared for it, Gage told himself in the morning as he shaved his uninjured cheek and chin. Now he knew how it was going to hit him, and he would deal with it better. He would be braced for the blow now.

Two Christmases ago he'd been in the hospital, out of his mind on painkillers, half-crazed by his losses, past being reached by anything at all except a desperate agony nothing could help. Looking back, he had a vague recollection of a few friends, a few colleagues, showing up with a specially prepared dinner for him, but he was pretty sure he hadn't eaten it. Last Christmas ... last Christmas he'd been holed up in Clint Maddox's cabin in the Catoctin Mountains and had missed the entire holiday season.

He just hadn't been prepared for the flood of rus.h.i.+ng feelings, the sudden upsurge of memories. He hadn't been ready to face his ghosts. Maybe he still wasn't, but at least he would be ready to withstand the soul-ripping agony if they suddenly showed up again, summoned by the sight or sound of Christmas.

Downstairs in the kitchen, he was surprised to find the coffee ready and the pie in the center of the table with a yellow sticky note on the clear plastic cover. Emma's very precise handwriting informed him that she had an early meeting with the library governing committee. A second sticky note suggested he have the pie for breakfast, and if he really liked hot cherries, a minute in the microwave would do it.

A woman who suggested pie for breakfast? She must be unique, Gage thought in amus.e.m.e.nt. His mother would have been horrified. His wife would have- Ruthlessly, he broke off that thought and turned his attention to the present. He slipped a large wedge of the pie into the microwave and kept an eye on it while he sipped a mug of coffee.

An early meeting. Emma was in for a long day, then, because she never finished up at the library before seven. Usually, she went in to open at ten, but here it was just seven-thirty.

Well, he could help her out a little, he supposed, by getting that d.a.m.n tree from Severn's place and setting it up in the living room. The task would also give him a chance to face all the decorations without a concerned audience, a chance to test the memories and his own emotional soreness until he was sure he could cope in public.

He would do that right after he finished up with some things at the sheriff's office. And while he was thinking about it, maybe he would call Brian Webster to find out if he had received the photo of the dagger yet. Emma's dismay over that picture still p.r.i.c.ked at him, like a jigsaw piece he couldn't quite place. He'd mailed the photo back East to Webster, who was an expert in such matters, and if that dagger wasn't some kind of Halloween joke, Webster would have it placed in no time. And placing it might put the mystery to rest.

Downtown, across from the courthouse square, Gage pulled his Suburban into a slot marked Official Vehicles Only and waved at Deputy Charlie Huskins, who was just backing out one of the department's Blazers.

Charlie rolled down his window and leaned out, grinning hugely. "That Suburban isn't an official vehicle, Gage."

"Nate probably wouldn't agree. He pays most of my mileage."

Inside the storefront offices, Ed Dewhurst was manning the desk and phone, and Velma Jansen, the dispatcher, was leaning back in her chair, blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke into the air. Velma was one of Gage's favorite characters in Conard County, a scrawny, leathery, sixtyish woman with a big mouth and a bigger heart. She stuck her nose into the business of all the department's employees, and n.o.body ever really seemed to mind it.

"'Morning, Velma, Ed."

"'Morning to you, too, Casanova," Velma said.

Gage paused midstep on his way to the private office Nate had given him and faced Velma. "What's that crack mean?"

Velma blew another cloud of smoke. "Rumor has it you thawed the ice princess."

Slowly Gage turned and limped back to Velma. "I'm renting a room from Miss Emma, Velma." He spoke the words quietly, but they held enough threat to cause Ed to stiffen when he heard them.

"Of course you are, Gage," Velma said. "That's what I tell any idiot stupid enough to pa.s.s the gossip on. Just thought you ought to know what's being said."

"I can't do a d.a.m.n thing about what people are saying."

"Did I say you should? I just thought you should know. I hate the way the person being talked about is the last to know. If you start feeling like people are staring or whispering, you have a right to know you're not imagining it."

Gage looked down into Velma's face, a road map of lines and creases, and a sudden laugh escaped him. "Yeah, you're right. It feels weird to have conversations halt when you come into a room."

"Well, if it's any consolation, most of the speculation is friendly, not nasty."

Some consolation, Gage thought, heading again for his office. He doubted very much that Emma would see it that way.

Stalwartly ignoring the wreath somebody had hung on the closed door of his office at the back of the building, Gage left the door open and dropped into the battered leather chair behind the even more battered wood desk.

So Miss Emma had been right about people talking, he mused. He'd spent most of his life on the streets of big cities, where people were apt to be deaf, dumb and blind if you were murdered right before their eyes.

When you lived in the combat zone called the inner city, you didn't give a d.a.m.n about anything as inconsequential as who was living together. You worried about whether the guy next door was a pusher, and if he was, you worried about how you could avoid seeing something that might get you killed. At least, when you were a kid you did. When you grew up, you either became a pusher or joined the army to get out.

And then, maybe, if you were a big enough fool, you learned to be tough and got yourself an education, and then you went back and tried to clean up the streets so some other kid wouldn't have to grow up like that. Yeah, if you were a big enough fool, you did something dumb like that. And found yourself living on the streets without even your own name to comfort you for months at a time, running the very risks you'd tried to get away from by staying on the right side of the law. Yeah, it took a big fool to do that.

So he was a big fool, and he'd paid a price for foolishness that was higher than he had ever imagined possible. Sighing, he rubbed irritably at his temples with his fingertips. There was tension there, and it had been growing since he got up this morning. He had the unpleasant feeling that things were closing in, that he was going to have to deal with matters that were beyond dealing with. He was used to keeping himself compartmentalized, to dividing himself into two people with separate lives. Once before, his separate lives had crashed together in a cataclysm that had cost him everything. Now he felt that things he had deliberately buried were going to surface in another cataclysm, this one purely emotional.

"h.e.l.l." With one muttered word, he slammed the lid back down on the grave of his past and forced his attention to the present. First, he needed to call the state lab and tell Herm Abbott about the new cattle carca.s.s they were s.h.i.+pping up to him. Herm, unfortunately, wouldn't perform the necropsy, but as a lab a.s.sistant he would have access to whatever the pathologist found. It was Herm who had told Gage that the two veterinary pathologists disagreed about the earlier mutilations of Jeff's cattle, and Herm who had promised to see that Gage was told everything, not just what one person or another considered to be reasonable or politic.

Fifteen minutes later, with Herm's a.s.surances still ringing in his ears, Gage picked up the phone once again and this time punched in a number on the East Coast.

"Professor Webster's office," a musical female voice answered.

"Hi, Sally. This is Gage Dalton."

"I-I Gage! My word, it's been a dog's age! Where are you? Are you in town?"

"No, I'm all the way out in the wilds of Wyoming."

There was the briefest pause, then Sally said, "Can I ask? Or should I just keep my mouth shut?"

"It's a change of scenery, Sally. A good change, I think. I'm working for the sheriff out here. I haven't seen a drug pusher since I got here. Or an addict, for that matter. There must be one somewhere, but I sure as h.e.l.l haven't seen him. Is Brian around?"

"He's in cla.s.s right now, and he's got a seminar directly after. Do you want him to call?"

"I sent him a large envelope last Sat.u.r.day, and I was just wondering if he'd gotten it, and if he had any ideas about the picture I sent."

"I haven't seen it yet. I sure would have noticed a letter from Wyoming. Why don't you give me your number so he can call you later?"

Gage gave her both the office number and Emma's number, asked a few questions about her husband and the Airedale terriers they raised, and then hung up.

His hand was shaking and his palm was damp. He studied his reaction with a kind of detachment, recognizing that he had crossed one of the invisible boundaries he had laid between himself and the past. The voices of old friends brought back memories and erased some of the distance of time.

And once again he ruthlessly stepped on the rising tide of feeling. Picking up the phone, he called Lance Severn to find out if he would need to bring someone to help load the twelve-foot tree onto his Suburban. Lance said his son would help.

Now, Gage thought, pus.h.i.+ng back his chair and reaching for his jacket and hat, now he would go face the ghosts of Christmas past.

Chapter 5.

Lance Severn's son, Walt, was a strapping college football player who was home on semester break. He handled the twelve-foot tree as carelessly as if it weighed nothing, leaving Gage with little to do except help tie it to the tailgate.

"I'm not sure I'll go back to Laramie for the spring semester," Walt told Gage. "Spring's a busy time for the nursery, and Dad'll worry constantly about the things he's not up to doing. Like this tree. He fretted and fretted about it. I kept telling him Bill Hascome could handle it, but Dad was convinced n.o.body but him could pick out a tree good enough for Miss Emma. Finally I came home two weeks ago and took care of it myself."

"It's a beautiful tree, all right," Gage acknowledged as he helped tie it down. "Miss Emma will love it."

"I went out to the Fenster ranch to get it. The old man planted a stand of trees to make some extra money. Up until he died three years past, he did it all himself. Now his widow has the grandson staying with her, and he keeps after it somewhat. Trees are getting a little ragged, though. Not what they used to be."

"They don't just grow this way naturally?"

"Nope. Need pruning and tr.i.m.m.i.n.g to get 'em full like most folks want. And around here, they need a lot more water than nature provides. Don Fenster, the grandson, isn't regular enough about it. Guess he's caught up with those friends he's got staying with him. Bunch of creeps, if you ask me."

A faint smile of amus.e.m.e.nt came to Gage's mouth. Walt Severn sounded exactly like his father, a man who was nearly forty years older. And probably half of Conard County was talking about Emma and himself in the same casual way. The realization damped Gage's amus.e.m.e.nt and made him feel honor-bound to press Walt about Fenster's "creeps", and maybe get him to admit he was exaggerating.

"What makes you so sure they're creeps?" he asked Walt.

Walt shrugged as he tied another knot in the jute rope. "They've been living off that old woman for months now, and that just isn't right. They didn't even act neighborly when I came out to get the tree, just sort of stared and smirked." He gave the knot a final yank. "Creeps, that's all. We don't need that kind in Conard County."