Autumn's Shadow (7 page)

To Burke's experienced ear, Grady's too quick, too casual denial rang false.

Grady turned to his sister. "So you can't afford to give me a measly pen?"

"If this was the first time you'd asked . . ."

While Keely lowered the boom on her brother for his careless attitude, Burke watched Freda open the door to the small adjoining room and shoo Nicky out to him. Grady was blond. Nick was dark like his dad, and he had a cocky grin on his face, too.

Burke straightened. "Wipe that smirk off your face, Nicky—"

"Don't call me that," the teen snapped, "Uncle Burke-ee."

Grady barked a laugh that sounded more like a sneer. "So the new kid's uncle's a cop?" Before anyone could respond, he left, slamming the door behind him.

Ignoring Grady's dramatic exit, Burke regretted the slip. Maybe Nick hadn't wanted anyone to know about their connection, but in a small town it wouldn't have taken long to get around. "Nick, apologize to Ms. Turner for behaving like a jerk this morning."

Nick glared at him.

"Do it—" Burke stiffened his tone—"or you won't be driving yourself to school tomorrow."

Nick flushed. "I apologize, Ms. Turner." The words sounded wrung from him.

She nodded and then turned to Burke. "One moment please. I heard that Walachek was arrested again last night. Why?"

Burke didn't like this line of questioning. It was too close to his real suspicion. "Walachek was harassing the cashier at the cafe in town here. I arrested him and turned him over to another deputy to run in."

"I see. It's over Carrie's custody, right?"

You're too smart, Keely. Hoping she wouldn't guess that Walachek might have shot out the windows, he said, "Don't worry. Walachek isn't going to get out this time. No judge is going to let him put up bail a second time. The man beat his daughter and has threatened two women two nights in a row. That can't be ignored."

She nodded again but with pursed lips.

"I'll call when I have anything on the shooting." With a hand at the back of Nick's neck to urge his nephew out the door, Burke walked out.

Keely hesitated outside the doorway of her office. Watching the deputy walk away through the sunlit main entrance held her in place.

His effect on her students was no less striking. The hallway as usual was clogged with noisy students, rushing to their next classes. But Burke parted them like Moses parting the Red Sea.

She heard the students' voices: "That's the deputy. . ."

"From Steadfast. . ."

"What's he doing . . ."

"Maybe they caught whoever shot . . ."

Memories rushed though her—Burke helping her up last night, his tender touch, his sympathy. And today his no nonsense, right to the point manner impressed her. What a nice change from most parents.
Don't be too hard on your nephew, Burke. This was Nick's first trick, and no one was hurt.

Coming back to the present, she tried to tighten her control over herself. I can't stand here gawking at Burke. Not with Freda watching. Keely couldn't let anyone here even suspect that she'd noticed the man and start the gossip train.I should turn and walk into my office. But she couldn't bring herself to move or stop watching Burke until the outside door closed behind him. That finally broke their connection. She turned to find Freda right behind her.

"My, so that's the new deputy," Freda cooed.

Keely felt her cheeks warm. "Yes, he's very efficient—"

"I should say so. That was the first word that popped into my mind when I saw him. I said what an efficient-looking man." Freda patted her heart. "Oh my, if I were only thirty years younger."

Keely refused to give Freda any reaction. Matchmaking was a popular hobby around here, especially with the ever-romantic Freda. Keely would have to be more careful how she behaved around Burke. She walked into her office.

Burke's question came back to her. Why had he asked Grady if he'd been in town last night? Did he think Grady might have been the culprit in the drive-by shooting? Had Grady snuck out again? But even if that were true, why would he shoot out the school windows?

Waves of worry washed through her. Had Grady known she was at school last night? If he had shot the windows, did he realize that a bullet might have gone astray and wounded someone, maybe her? Or could he have shot at her—wanting to scare her? Her nerves quivered with each wave. How had things gotten so bad between her and her brother that she could even entertain thoughts like these?

The unwelcome answer popped into her mind. Grady was capable of doing just about anything and just to pay her father back. Father had insisted that Grady learn how to shoot and Father had refused to send Grady away to that school in California where he'd wanted to finish high school. She thought her father sometimes went out of his way to antagonize her brother.

The bump on her head started throbbing again. Dear Lord, what's the answer? Who's responsible? Why did this shooting happen? Is there anything I should be doing? I'm at a loss.

Nearly a week had passed and today Burke had to find Keely to discuss the case of the driveby window-shooting at the high school. And he didn't want to go to her Because every day, against his will Burke's mind had drifted to the lovely principal of the high school. It had been years since a woman had entered his mind and refused to leave. And a school principal in the bargain?

He'd tried to figure this out so the solution would break the connection he felt to her. So far, he'd only come up with the fact that besides being good-looking, she was excellent at her job , caring and had a--rarely seen by a cop--quality of transparent honesty.

With a glum and surly Nick beside him, Burke drove over the county roads toward Keely. He wondered maybe his preoccupation with her was all due to the disruption of his life—the move, dealing with Nick, attending church again weekly.... Last Sunday, he'd come home feeling like a peeled onion—layers of his protective covering had been stripped from him. Pastor Weaver had preached on the parable of the unfaithful servant.

Burke had realized that he was like the servant who'd buried his talents, not even earning interest for the master. Burke's remorse over not 'spending himself' in doing what he could to help Nick get through his parents' divorce had expanded inside him, making it hard to swallow. He glanced sideways at Nick. The kid's face was a thundercloud.

And what had prompted his errand was that, Walachek's bullet hadn't been a match. So the bullet from the high school incident had yet to be identified. Today Burke had no choice but drive to Keely, to pursue the two anonymous phone calls, implicating Grady and Nick. He had to compare bullets from the crime scene with ones from both firearms. He'd had to ask Harlan for a spent bullet from his rifle. And while Harlan would comply with regret, he might need a search warrant to wrest bullets from the Turners' guns. To avoid this, Rodd had suggested Burke talk to Keely first. See if they could come up with a way to get Turner's cooperation.

Burke didn't want to talk to Keely first. It made him feel like a high school kid again—being sent to the principal. And he didn't need the distraction of her now. It was one of the first times Burke could recall not agreeing with Rodd on a case. But Rodd was the sheriff, Burke's boss.

Evidently, however, Rodd had to worry about playing hard ball with the son of the richest man in the county. Burke thought the Turners shouldn't get "gloves on" treatment. He knew what his union foreman father would have to say about that. Burke didn't go farther to think about his dad's opinion of Burke and Keely ever being a couple. A labor union father and a factory owner father.
Don't go there
.

And today, to top everything off, he'd had just about enough of his nephew's lip and it was only ten in the morning. Fuming, Burke pulled up to the little bungalow a few miles out of Steadfast, The Family Closet. The shop was closed for Labor Day. But when he'd called the Turner home, Keely's mother told him that Grady and Keely were there sorting new donations. Looking through the open garage door, Burke glimpsed Grady rummaging through a box.

Keely must be in the shop. He studied it. He hadn't gotten a good look at the place that midnight visit when he'd sat and talked to Keely on its back porch. Why did everything keep pulling him back to this woman? It didn't help his mood that he'd even thought once or twice this week about calling her—just to hear her low voice.

Switching off the ignition, he turned to Nick, hunched on the seat beside him. "Behave yourself here."

Nick said something under his breath.

Burke didn't ask him to repeat it. He just climbed out of the Jeep, slammed the door, and stalked to the thrift shop. He knocked on the door.

Keely opened it for him. "Mother called. She said you would be stopping by."

Inside, he halted, looking around. He'd been in a few consignment shops years ago—when he and Sharon were furnishing their apartment....He shut down that line of thought—fast. He concentrated on this shop—which was so completely different than the usual thrift store. It had style. Even the used clothing and housewares looked..."This isn't so bad. It doesn't look depressing."

"Hey, thanks." Keely chuckled. "I'll tell our interior designer." She motioned him to follow her to the rear. "Come in. What brings you here?"

Keely's laughter eased his tension and just being near her warmed him like walking out into sunshine. Her presence made him want to relax, forget business, and simply experience today, the last day of summer. Listening here and there as he patrolled the county, he knew now why Keely had stayed in LaFollette—to help. People who didn't know her well resented her wealth. But those who knew her spoke of her kind and giving heart. So different from her father.

On this summery afternoon, she was wearing jean shorts and a pale blue blouse. As she preceded him, he tried not to focus on her long legs and arms. And again, she looked out of place in this setting.

"Have you found out who shot the windows?" she asked.

He realized the moment he'd hoped wouldn't come had arrived. "No, I've just found out who didn't."

In the thrift shop kitchen, Keely went straight to the ironing board, stacked with cotton shirts. Burke had shaken up the tranquility of her day. His tension was palpable. Suppressed irritation layered his final sentence. Irritation showed in his expression and more irritation in the way he moved. She looked into Burke's eyes and was caught by their intensity. Had he discovered evidence that implicated Grady or his nephew? The thought that it might be Grady made her queasy.

She wished she could find away to help ease his frustration. As for her own worries, she'd been doing what she could to relax. Listening to Mozart, letting her mind float along on the melody while ironing was a tension releaser for her. What was his? "I'm not following you. I thought you were trying to find—"

"I didn't tell you earlier, but I suspected Walachek had taken a potshot at the school that night." He looked at her, a grim twist to his mouth and chin.

That's what set him off? Did he actually think that someone had tried to shoot at her? If that's the case, I'd much rather it be Walachek than your nephew or my brother. Ignoring his gaze, she picked up the iron. "Ah." She pressed it down on a shirt sleeve and steam puffed up, hissing. She looked at him."Walachek had crossed my mind too."

He appeared disconcerted, shifting his weight to lean back against the kitchen counter. "I didn't want to worry you."

"Walachek's still in custody?" She smoothed the iron over the cotton. Burke's heated reaction to her being a target gave her an unusual feeling. She wasn't used to having someone concerned about protecting her.

"Yes, Walachek is still in jail."

"Then I'm not worried. And I don't think I was the target anyway. It's just our vandal or vandals." Which  might be Nick or Grady or who? She concentrated on the shirt collar for a few moments, trying to ignore how Burke's presence filled up the small, cluttered kitchen. "So who do you suspect now? Is that what you came to tell me?"

He looked her over with a glum expression. "I'm afraid that two teens were reported driving near the school that night and both had access to guns."

She concentrated on rearranging the shirt on the padded board. He doesn't want to tell me. So that's what is bothering him—the fact that he might upset me. But she knew ignoring bad news never made it go away. "Grady and Nick?"

He stared at her. "You guessed?"

She shrugged, frustrated. "I told you a person would need earplugs to avoid gossip around here. I heard that Grady was seen in town that night—even though he was grounded. And your nephew was seen driving through town in Harlan's truck with the gun on the rack in the rear window."

Burke sat down at the cluttered kitchen table, looking disgruntled. "Well, so much for information security." His voice twisted sardonically.

"It's not your fault. I'm sure no one in the sheriff's office said anything." Very aware of how intensely he was watching her, she hung the shirt on a hanger and lifted another to the ironing board. His attention made her feel ...like he was noticing her—not Turner's daughter. Not Ms. Turner. A shiver trickled through her. His gaze had power.

"It's just the way a small town works," she said as naturally as she could. What would her father's reaction to Grady's being a suspect be? Whatever it was, it wouldn't be good. "Everyone's always watching and then talking about what they see. You shouldn't look so surprised. You know Veda reported me for sitting on this back porch the other night. And I was just sitting there. Remember?" She paused. "What do you do next?"

He frowned. "I've already taken a spent bullet from Harlan's gun and my hunting rifle." He looked up. "Now I'll need one from your brother's twenty-two. Rodd wants to know if you'd talk to your father about voluntarily giving us spent bullets from all his rifles."

She stilled. So that's why he'd come. He wanted her to help him get her father to cooperate. Did the sheriff think she had any real influence with her father? Grady a suspect? Dad will go ballistic. And I want to be a million miles away. "I don't think—"