Protector. Part 30

"You feel my pain because you lost a husband or because you watched Oprah?"

Kathy didn't know what to say. "I'll let you go." She turned and then spun back around. "The gals and I are getting together for our Wednesday gab fest two weeks from today. It's going to be at my house and I'd love it if you and Patty would come! That's our cherry night. We'll be up to our elbows in pits, making preserves and juice! Patty's should have her st.i.tches out and, that reminds me, did you call Dr. Armstrong?"

"No. It's been a busy twenty-four hours for us."

"I'd be happy to call him for you-"

"I'll take care of it."

Kathy took a step back, sizing up Jane's comment. "Well, okay. See you 'round the campus!" She got in her car, quickly followed by her very impatient daughter. "Oh, by the way!" Kathy yelled across the yard. "I love your 'I Brake For b.u.t.terflies' b.u.mper sticker! You simply must let me know where you got that sweet thing!"

Jane and Emily watched as Kathy made a wide U-turn on Main Street, beeped her car horn and took off toward the highway.

"Can I take the basket in the house and look inside?" Emily said excitedly.

"Sure. I'll be in right after I sc.r.a.pe that G.o.dd.a.m.n b.u.mper sticker off our car."

Chapter 19.

Eight uneventful days pa.s.sed. Jane wondered when the proverbial shoe would drop. Emily had stopped sleeping in her own bed, preferring to stay with Jane. For the entire eight days, Emily hadn't experienced any flashbacks and was peacefully resting through the thunderous pa.s.sings of the nightly coal train. On the surface, everything looked serene, but Jane knew that something boiled under that tenuous facade.

During those eight tedious days, Jane estimated that she saw Kathy at least three times each day. It was as though the woman was on the warpath, following them and keeping mental notes. She let it slip one day about her husband, Kent. "Kent and Kathy!" Kathy proudly exclaimed, continually amused by the fact that she and her husband were a human alliteration. Kent was a land developer who, according to Kathy, had "made super land investments" in the early 1980s and was reaping the benefits with the newcomers to Colorado. When she wasn't bragging about Kent's sale of land to "those nasty Californians," Kathy was forever reminding Jane about her big Wednesday night "Cherry Jubilee" gathering that was only six days away.

Jane and Emily had only seen Dan in fleeting moments when he was racing to an important maintenance call. It seemed that Dan was a man of many talents. During one conversation with Kathy, she mentioned that Dan had won the county swing and line dancing champions.h.i.+p. He was also an expert fly fisherman, a whiz with an ax and could recite the names of all 50 states in less than thirty seconds. When Jane sarcastically remarked that Dan was a true Renaissance man, Kathy insisted that Dan was not familiar with that period of history.

And then there was Sheriff George. Fortunately, Jane had hardly run into the portly fellow. She'd heard through the grapevine that due to summer road repair on the highway, the Sheriff and his deputies were racking up overtime as they kept the traffic moving and the public out of harm's way. Jane prayed each night for rocks to slide and cause further road damage so the sheriff would stay occupied and out of her face.

As the days blended into each other, Jane checked her pager once every hour. She had it set to vibrate so n.o.body would hear the telltale beep and have more fodder for gossip. But the d.a.m.n thing didn't vibrate once. Weyler said he would only contact her if absolutely necessary, but she wanted to hear from him, if only to know that everything was status quo. Jane was still not sure if Weyler had nefarious intentions. And yet, she yearned to hear a familiar voice besides Emily's.

She also yearned to hear intelligent conversation and news. The Peachville Gazette, which came out weekly and still only printed a miserable 14 pages, was filled to the gills with advertis.e.m.e.nts and stories that had to do with farm prices, who was sponsoring the weekly "fruit affair" and updates on highway projects. Clearly, the isolation of the town was getting to Jane. However, Emily seemed to truly love the provincial surroundings. She lit up whenever she caught a glimpse of Dan "the 24-hour man," which became more amusing than annoying to Jane. Unlike Jane, Emily liked Kathy and always remarked how pretty she looked. It didn't hurt that Kathy continued to drop off homemade dishes. Emily even tolerated bellicose Heather, although Jane couldn't understand how anyone could suffer the brat's behavior.

When June 10th rolled around, Jane awoke realizing that she would finally have something new to occupy herself with on that day. It was twelve days since Emily fell from her roof. After examining the wound, Jane knew it was time to remove the kid's st.i.tches. After a breakfast of hard-boiled eggs-which was intended to be soft-boiled-and burnt toast, Jane looked at Emily across the breakfast table with eager antic.i.p.ation.

"You know what?" Jane said, d.a.m.n near giddy with expectation. "It's time to get your st.i.tches out!" She crossed to the kitchen drawer.

"I think we should wait a couple more days. Maybe five more days. Or ten-"

"If we wait any longer, the st.i.tches are going to be embedded in your skull," Jane said as she brought out a pair of small scissors.

Emily stood up. "Maybe you should sew something for me and then take it apart so you could practice-"

"Sit up here on the counter," Jane said, patting her hand on the counter.

"How come you're so peppy?"

"Peppy? I'm not peppy," Jane replied, a tad too eager. Emily looked dubiously at her and Jane realized the kid was scared. "I tell you what. If I hurt you, you can eat a banana split for breakfast for an entire week."

Emily's eyes widened. "Real bananas?"

"No. Plastic bananas. Of course, real bananas! Is it a deal?" Emily hesitated before giving in. She hoisted herself onto the counter. Jane grabbed a copy of The Peachville Gazette and handed it to Emily. "This'll give you something to concentrate on." Jane carefully removed Emily's bandage to reveal the st.i.tches.

"Hey," Emily said, glancing at the front page of the newspaper, "did you know that today is the 72nd anniversary of the founding of Alcoholics Anonymous." Jane remained silent, her eyes on Emily's st.i.tches. However, the kid's leading tone irritated her. "Over seventy years," Emily stressed, "of millions of people getting sober . . ."

Jane pulled away. "Is this going somewhere?"

"It's just that," Emily stumbled around for the right words, "that's a lot of years, don't you think? I just think it's really cool."

"Fair enough," Jane said, resuming her examination of Emily's head.

After a few more seconds, Emily spoke up. "How many years is it going to take before my scar stops hurting?"

"It won't take years. Where'd you get that idea?"

"From you."

"I never told you that."

"It's not what you said. It's what you do." Emily reached up and pulled Jane's hair away from her right temple to reveal her old scar. "I see you rubbing it a lot, like you're trying to rub away the pain."

Jane moved Emily's hand away from her head. "I don't . . . It doesn't hurt."

"Then how come you rub it?"

"It's a nervous habit. Some people bite their nails, some people crack their knuckles and I, apparently, rub my scar."

"You didn't know you did it?"

"Not really, no," Jane said defensively. "I'll make a point of curbing that tendency!" Jane felt totally exposed. It was one thing for her to be the observant one but quite another for someone else-especially a child-to be the one observing her.

"How come you're mad?"

"Do you want your st.i.tches out or not?" Jane's tone was abrupt. Emily stared at her, not sure what to make of her pointed response. Jane let out a tired breath. "Close your eyes and think of a beautiful forest with soft rain falling."

Emily closed her eyes. "A beautiful forest . . . Soft rain . . ."

Jane clipped one side of the st.i.tches. Emily didn't flinch. "Describe it to me."

"It's really green. So green that the leaves look like they're hiding emeralds."

"Hiding emeralds? I like that."

"And the rain . . . It's more like a mist. It's like a big humidifier spewing-"

"Spewing is not poetic. Use another word."

"It's like a big humidifier was.h.i.+ng the forest with a thick mist. When are you gonna take the st.i.tches out?" Emily said, her eyes closed.

"Open your eyes."

Emily opened her eyes. Jane held the st.i.tches in the palm of her hand. The kid was shocked. "How'd you do that?"

"Like I said. I've watched people sew," Jane replied with a wry grin.

Emily threw her arms around Jane's neck. "You're great!"

Emily hung on to Jane's neck as Jane stood still, not sure what to do. She softly patted Emily's arm and pulled the child off of her. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Emily touched the top of her head. "Hey! I just felt a drop of water."

Jane looked up to see a crack in the kitchen ceiling and droplets of water slowly forming across it. She located a bucket under the sink and positioned it under the leak. On her initial examination of the house, she'd discovered a pull-drop ladder in the ceiling of the hallway that led to the attic crawl s.p.a.ce. Jane climbed up the wooden ladder, flashlight in hand, and stood in the musty, cobweb-filled attic. "You oughta check this out, Emily," she said, looking down through the large opening at the kid. Emily examined the ladder and the short distance she would have to climb. "You really should come up here." Jane poked her head through the opening and stretched her hand out to Emily. "I'll hold your hand the whole way up." Emily considered the offer and started up the ladder. Without much fear, Emily safely made it into the crawl s.p.a.ce. "You'll be climbing that water tower in no time!"

The two scoped out the attic, dimly lit by vertical shafts of light that shot up through a series of ceiling vents. Jane shone her flashlight around the area and illuminated an old metal pipe that issued a slow leak through a disintegrating bond. Emily's eyes lit up like two cherry bombs. "I know just the man who can fix this!"

"Maybe we can put some duct tape around the pipe-"

"Duct tape? That's not safe!" Emily said with a dramatic sweep of her arms. As she swept them through the air, she toppled two fis.h.i.+ng poles and a well-worn creel.

"After I put duct tape on that pipe, I'm going to teach you how to fish."

Jane wrapped the pipe with several layers of duct tape that she found wedged in one of the kitchen drawers. After securing the Glock pistol in her new f.a.n.n.y pack, the two set off through the tall gra.s.s with fis.h.i.+ng poles and creel in hand. Situating themselves at the edge of the large lake that held the ma.s.sive water tower in its reflection, Jane showed Emily the perfect location for digging earthworms. Once they had enough worms, Jane demonstrated the proper technique of scooping the fishhook under the darkened band that encircled the worm. After that came the lesson on proper casting. Emily was captivated by Jane's knowledge and proved to be an excellent student. With their lines in the water, Jane sat back and lit a cigarette.

"That duct tape isn't safe," Emily avowed.

"I told you I don't want people in our house-"

"But this is an emergency!"

Jane smiled at Emily's obvious crush on Dan. The two of them sat quietly on the edge of the lake. After an hour of not even a nibble from the occasional circling trout, they pulled in their lines, returned the remaining earthworms to their dirt homes and started back to the house. The sound of a vehicle drew their attention toward the water tower. A white truck came to a halt by the lake's edge and a man got out, fis.h.i.+ng pole in hand.

Emily squinted her eyes against the noonday sun and the glinting reflection off the tower. "Dan!" Emily screamed across the lake.

"Emily!" Jane said quietly, irritated.

Dan looked up and waved. "How ya doin'? Are the fish bitin?'" he yelled across the lake, his voice echoing for several seconds.

"No!" Emily yelled. "Don't waste your time! Come fix our pipe!"

Jane knelt down toward the child. "Emily, this is not a game we're playing."

"So, you really are my mom?"

"You know what I mean. I don't know anything about this guy-"

"He's got good eyes. He doesn't look to the left and down. He doesn't cover his mouth when he talks or lick his lips. Isn't that what you said you look for in a liar?"

"It's more complicated than that-"

"You talk about feeling stuff in your gut. Well, I got a gut, too, and it tells me that Dan is okay." Dan suddenly emerged from thicket of red willows. Jane quickly stood up and held her hand against the Glock pistol in her f.a.n.n.y pack. It was an automatic knee-jerk, cop reaction for her whenever someone suddenly approached. Emily greeted Dan with a big smile. "Dan! How's it goin'?"

Dan tipped his baseball cap up several inches. "Well, it's goin' even better since I get to see you two!" Dan looked over at Jane. "What's this about a pipe?"

"It's leaking through the ceiling in the kitchen!" Emily dramatically insisted. "Mom put duct tape around it but I don't think it's safe. You really need to come-"

"Patty, I don't want to bother Dan-"

"Aw, it ain't no bother a'tall!" Dan said. "Like your daughter said, the fish ain't bitin' so I might as well come on over and get to fixin' that leak. Be over in two shakes!"

Emily s.n.a.t.c.hed her fis.h.i.+ng pole and took off through the tall gra.s.s toward the house. Jane grabbed her pole and the creel and followed the kid, cussing a blue streak under her breath the whole way home. The second she entered the house, Jane did a quick search to make sure everything appeared normal. The only room that held suspicious items was her bedroom and those items were safely tucked away in Jane's leather satchel. Dan called out as he approached the house. Emily raced to the front door and opened it with a flourish.

Jane led Dan to the kitchen, where he set his toolbox on the counter and surveyed the ceiling. He noticed Emily's Starlight Starbright projector on the kitchen table. "You a fan of the stars, Patty?"

"Yes. I can point out the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper and Orion's belt."

"Well, I'm a real star enthusiast myself," Dan said, smiling down at Emily.

"Really?" Emily said, ecstatically.

"Yes, ma'am," Dan replied, turning back to his investigation of the ceiling. Jane observed Dan with her cop radar, desperately trying to detect a sign of deception.

Emily pulled the star chart out of her projection case. "You oughta see this, Dan-"

The familial banter was getting to Jane. "Patty, how about if you take that in the backyard and let Dan do his job." Emily looked a bit dejected but did as Jane asked. "Stay in the backyard like we talked about," Jane quietly cautioned.

Dan waited until Emily was outside. "You've got a beautiful daughter."

"Thank you," Jane said, keeping a close eye on Emily.

"She's not going to wander off. And even if she did, it's a small town. She's safe."

"Yeah, right," Jane said tensely, still watching Emily.

"You okay?" Dan said warily.

Jane spun around. "Yes, of course. I'll show you how to get up in the attic and then I've got to attend to some paperwork." Dan followed Jane to the retractable stairway that led to the attic, pointed out the pipe and retired to her bedroom, closing and locking the door behind her.

Jane leaned down to collect the satchel next to her bed and felt the Glock pistol against her belly. She unlatched the f.a.n.n.y pack and set it on the bedside table. Hoisting the leather satchel onto her lap, she proceeded to organize the paperwork, removing several manila folders and stacking them on a nearby chair. Jane withdrew the legal-sized notepad and flipped through the pages until she reached the odd drawings of the wolf face and upturned left handprint with the backward numbers, 10-24-99. Out of curiosity, she placed her left hand upright over the drawing and found it to be a tight match. A cold shudder p.r.i.c.ked her skin as she quickly lifted her hand from the page and wedged the notepad back into her satchel. The dust from the files irritated her nose, causing her to sneeze. Searching for a tissue, Jane unzipped the f.a.n.n.y pack and dug around, removing the Glock and setting it on top of the folders.

Upstairs in the attic, Dan found the leaking pipe. Scanning the adjacent pipes with only the light of his flashlight, he took a step to the right and nearly tripped over one of the several air vents scattered across the floor. Continuing on, Dan found several more fragile pipe connections. Pulling a pen from his pocket, it slipped from his hand and landed between two vents just as he heard Jane sneeze. He peered down and realized that one of the floor vents offered a direct view of Jane's bedroom. He reached down for the pen just as Jane got up from the bed to retrieve a tissue.

That's when he saw it. He quietly knelt down on his haunches and looked down. The Glock pistol was clearly displayed atop the manila folders. Looking more closely at the folder he saw the words "POLICE REPORT" in bold letters, followed by the case number and JANE PERRY. The b.u.t.t of the pistol obscured the word "Detective." Dan watched as Jane returned to the bed and sat down, blowing her nose. She let out a long sigh as she pulled out one of the newspaper clippings that featured Chris and her on the cover. From Dan's point of view, he could not see what she was looking at initially but he did note her reaction. As she reread the front page story on the Stover case, she shook her head in disgust. The paper dipped enough to reveal just the front page photograph of Chris. Dan caught a quick glimpse of Chris' mug. Jane smacked the page with her hand and said, "You pompous son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h!" before folding the paper into her leather satchel and replacing the Glock into her f.a.n.n.y pack.

"Hey, Dan!" Emily said quietly, standing midway on the stairs that led to the attic with her Starlight Starbright vinyl case in tow.