A Love for Safekeeping (10 page)

“It’s here. Would a burglar put it back?”

“Maybe, Jane. The person is obviously playing games.” He drew her from the ground, his heart heavy. The bottom of her skirt was wet from the damp earth. He was overwhelmed with sadness…and anger.

He clutched her against his chest, his wary eyes scanning the shrubbery and street. Was someone in the dark watching now? Who was getting a sick delight out of scaring her to death? And why?

A sound caused him to reel toward the porch.
George stood in the doorway holding open the storm door. “What’s up? Find anything?”

He shook his head, “She keeps a key here.” He showed George the rock. “But it’s still inside. I wouldn’t think anyone would put it back.”

George shrugged. “I’ll call the station and see if they want to dust for fingerprints. What do you say?”

“Good idea.”

His mind was more torn than it had ever been. With Jane involved, he wasn’t thinking clearly. And he needed to be on his toes. The old fear knifed through him. Marriage and cops? The two didn’t mix at all.

He pushed the thought out of his head. He had to go over the whole thing step by step with Jane. What were they missing? A person didn’t stalk someone without a reason. Someone out there knew something, but who?

At the station, Kyle bent over a desk, filling out his paperwork, but he couldn’t concentrate. Jane’s scare a few evenings ago sat on him with the weight of a sumo wrestler. He pressed his fingers against his temples and wished he could push Jane’s predicament from his mind so he could finish the work and go home.

He’d only settled one of her problems. He arranged to have the house locks changed…and insisted she leave no key outside. He’d hear about it, for sure, if she locked herself out, but he could live with that. What he couldn’t live with was someone harming her.

Jane disturbed his thoughts like a sliver. He couldn’t rid himself of the constant worry. He flipped over the report form and doodled on the back.

Kyle searched his mind, seizing every fact he could recall. He dismissed the vandalism situation. That was kids. But he jotted the other incidents on the paper: flat
tires, library, cider mill, cat. All those notes but not one fingerprint.

Then he pried names from his mind. Celia, Len, Malik, Keys. Anyone else? The principal came to mind. Skylar? It seemed far-fetched, but Kyle shrugged and added his name to the list. Somewhere in his mind, other phantom characters jogged through his memory, but he couldn’t put a name to the faceless people.

“What’s up?”

Kyle lurched as a hand slapped his shoulder. “Whoa, George! I’m as bad as Jane.”

The other officer straddled a chair beside him.

“I can’t get her off my mind,” Kyle said.

George let out a loud guffaw. “Situation or woman?”

For a moment Kyle didn’t understand. When he did, a surge of awareness shot to his toes. He glanced at George without commenting. “I’m playing detective.”

“Why worry now? It’s on the books as a break-in.”

“Right. Break-in with a key.”

George snorted. “Right, those reports go in the circular file.” He poked the trash can with his toe.

“So I’m here, playing detective.” He pointed to the scribbled notations. “List of suspicious events. List of possible suspects. That’s all I have, and I’m sure I’ve left out suspects.”

George leaned over the desk, scanning his chicken scratches. “What about opportunity? Motive?”

Kyle gave a knowing harumph. “Thanks, George. Just get technical.”

“Listen, pal, you can’t have a crime without a motive.” He slid into a chair next to Kyle. “Once you get the list of suspects, check out possible motives and opportunities. At least you can shorten your list.”

“Like Celia. I can cross her off right now. She was at the open house with Jane. Plus I was talking to her when Jane was pushed at the cider mill.”

“Okay, your list is shorter already.”

“I’m forgetting a couple of people she’s mentioned, I’m sure.” He leaned back in his chair. “The night I met her, she ran into an old high school friend…Perry. I think that’s his name. I wonder.”

George eyed him. “Suspect list?”

“That…or his memory.”

“Memory?” George’s mouth pulled to one side.

“Maybe this Perry can recall something. I really think she needs to comb through her past. Redmond is where she grew up. Maybe someone’s harboring a grudge.”

He knew Jane had said no a million times, but that’s where his thoughts kept heading. He leaned back in the chair and swiveled toward George. “She says she can’t think of a thing, but maybe Perry can…or his wife. She and Jane were good friends.”

George shrugged and mumbled a “maybe.”

“I need to hash this over.” Kyle snatched up the paper from the desk, folded it and tucked it into his uniform pocket.

H
eading toward Perry and Betsy Jones’s home, Kyle’s shoulder weighted with guilt. His guilt really stemmed from manipulating their visit to her old school friends. When he told Jane he’d like to meet them, he wasn’t lying…exactly. But information was his ulterior motive.

Though he’d sifted through every detail, he’d found nothing. And Jane was no help. She continued to dismiss his questions with “I can’t think of anything.” But learning more about her past riddled his mind with questions, and he couldn’t give up.

“Okay,” he said, knowing she’d be irritated with him. “Let’s go over it again.”

She heaved a dramatic sigh. “Kyle, do we have to?”

He ignored her question. “Besides scaring you to death, can you think of any common detail about the incidents? Anything at all, other than the notes?”

“Look, I’ve been praying so hard to give my fears to the Lord. Now you’re riling them up again.”

He saw the tension in her face, but he had to stay
hard-nosed. “I know, but I’m a cop, Jane. I’m praying that God protects you, but God made policemen to catch criminals, and since the department isn’t actively investigating this, I have to…for your sake. So answer me. Is the note the only similarity?”

Her pained expression tugged at his conscience. He started to withdraw his question, but to his amazement, she answered it.

“Yes,” she said, her voice barely audible. For a moment, she paused, then answered his question. “Except for the tires, the note is the only constant. Well, I was alone each time, except for the break-in. Then I wasn’t home. But I would have discovered it alone if I hadn’t called you.”

“Okay.” He juggled her data. “You’ve mentioned the school custodian. And that sub, Dale Keys, who makes you feel guilty for replacing him—and his friend…the art teacher. His name is Larry Fox, right?”

“Yes. But I don’t really know him. He’s a special in the building. You know, he comes into the school a day or two a week to work with students. Other days he’s in different buildings.”

“But he’d hear the scuttlebutt, right? He’d know about meetings, open houses, things like that?”

“Sure, but—”

“No buts. If he knows things, he might be involved. Or he could be feeding someone else information. Was he at the open house?”

Jane bit the edge of her lip. “I don’t think so, but I could be wrong. Usually the specials don’t come to conferences because they work at so many schools.”

His jaw felt tight, and he opened his mouth to relax the tension. “Okay. We know Celia was at the open house.”

“And at the cider mill. She’s a friend, Kyle.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just brainstorming.”

“Well, ‘storm’ in some other direction, okay?”

When he looked at her face, Kyle stopped. He was getting nowhere. “Okay, sorry.”

She gave him an edgy look.

“Skylar was at the open house, I suppose.” He knew she wouldn’t mind talking about him. He’d done nothing but knock the stool out from under her since she arrived.

She stared out the passenger window for a moment, then shifted toward him. “He made an opening welcome at six-thirty and a closing speech at nine. That’s it. I don’t know what he did in between those times.”

“That would make a great alibi.” He sidled a look at Jane, but she seemed to ignore his comment. “Let’s consider possible motives.”

She faced him with an arched eyebrow, but didn’t say no.

“Skylar?” he asked.

“Doesn’t seem to like me. Thinks I’m off-the-wall.”

“Not worth tormenting you, I wouldn’t think,” Kyle said. “He irritates you enough every day.”

A hint of a grin shifted across her face.

“Celia… We’ll forget her,” he said quickly. “Len?”

“I have no idea. Maybe he hates Celia and is really in love with me. He hopes that I’ll turn to him in despair and—”

“Nice romance novel, Jane. But let’s stick with reality. No reason that you know?”

“I didn’t know him when this mess started.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t mean much. We’re specu
lating. The perpetrator could turn out to be someone you’ve never met. Then there’s that Dale Keys guy.”

“Wants his job back maybe.”

“We don’t know that for sure. But at this point, everyone’s a possibility. How about that parent…Malik? Far-fetched?”

She glared and hit him with rapid-fire comments. “Far-fetched? How can you say that? He hates me. He hates women. He’s the most logical. And he was at the cider mill. Remember that? And…not at the parent conference.” Her pitch rose with each sentence.

“Yeah, but…I think he’s after money. A lawsuit would give him a financial settlement of some kind. Didn’t he mention seeing you in court? If he really wanted to hurt you, he’d say nothing.”

She dragged her fingers through her burnished curls. “I suppose you’re right.”

She said it, but her disbelieving tone sent another message. “What about the janitor? Any motive?”

“No, he’s harmless,” Jane said. “He’s a little slow and watches me a lot. Thinks I’m pretty.”

Kyle struggled to ward off a grin.

“Why are you smiling?” she asked.

“If I worked there, I’d probably ogle you, too. You’re more than pretty. You’re beautiful, gorgeous—”

Jane poked him with her elbow. “Get real.”

“I am.” He could tell she’d had enough. He waylaid his grilling by snapping on the radio. A love song drifted through the speakers. He liked the tune and prayed it would ease the tension he’d aroused with all his prodding.

Soon, Jane pointed to the Joneses’ house, and he pulled to the curb in front of the tidy bungalow. Perry
opened the door to greet them, and Betsy stood behind him with a generous smile.

After the introductions, Perry invited them into the living room. They settled on the sofa while he plopped into the recliner, and Betsy went to the kitchen for snacks and drinks.

As the evening progressed, Kyle felt antsy, wanting to initiate his questions. He listened patiently while they reminisced about their school days. He hated to ruin their fun, but he hadn’t heard a thing that was helpful. Maybe Jane was right. Maybe she’d been that lovable.

When a lull came late in the evening, Kyle jumped in. “So, has Jane told you about her stalker?”

Betsy’s large eyes flew open wider. “Stalker? You’re kidding.” She jerked her head toward Jane. “You haven’t mentioned a word.”

“I hadn’t planned to, either,” Jane mumbled.

Her poison-dart look hit Kyle. Bull’s-eye. He squirmed. He’d made her angry, but he felt justified.

The term
stalker
captured Perry’s attention. “You mean someone’s following Jane?”

“And tormenting her. Frightening her to death.”

“Who? Why?” Betsy whispered.

“That’s what I’d like to find out.” Knowing he’d already roused Jane’s ire, Kyle told them the story. “I’ve been asking her about the past. A rival, an enemy, a rejected boyfriend. Maybe a jealous classmate.”

They both stared at him with sagging mouths and blank faces. They glanced at each other, then at Jane, but no one opened his mouth.

“So?” Stunned by their silence, he waited. “Any ideas?”

Nothing.

Irritated, Kyle prompted them. “No one? Jane didn’t have an enemy in the world? Everyone loved her?”

Their lips curved in unison to an embarrassed grin.

“Right,” Betsy said.

Perry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “This is hard to believe. Jane was like the ‘girl next door.’ She was always helpful, thoughtful…. Really, I can’t think of one negative attribute.”

“I can’t think of a soul,” Betsy agreed.

Like slow motion, Jane turned her head toward Kyle. “I told you.”

Kyle released a blast of air. “You did, but I couldn’t believe it. You’re too perfect.”

“She is,” Betsy agreed. “Show him one of your diaries, Jane. We used to read them to each other and laugh. Mine was always filled with hateful digs and awful envy. Jane’s sounded like the Bible.”

Though Kyle heard Betsy’s voice, her words faded and his thoughts clung to one word—
diaries.

Betsy laughed. “I’ll never forget one day when—”

Her voice droned on until Kyle gathered his thoughts and unmindfully cut her off. “Jane, you have diaries?”

“I did years ago. Why?”

“You’ve never mentioned them.” He gaped at her surprised face in amazement.

“Why would I? I haven’t kept a diary since my freshman year in college.” She shook her head. “No, Kyle, I’m sure they’ll tell you nothing.”

He leaned forward, a hint of promise rising up his spine. “But it’s a hope. Maybe some little comment will trigger something. I’m grasping at straws, Jane.” He heard his pitch rise but he didn’t care anymore. “You want to find out who this jerk is, don’t you?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then find your diaries and start reading them. It might be an unlikely source, but it’s a possibility.”

“I have no idea where they are. In the attic? Basement? Maybe thrown away? But I’ll look.”

“That’s all I ask.”

“No, you’re asking more than that, Kyle. You’re asking me to go on a wild-goose chase.”

Perry snickered. “I’ve been on a few wild-goose chases, remember, Betsy?”

Betsy grabbed a pillow from behind her and pitched it at him. “Hush.” A bright flush colored her cheeks.

“Silly, maybe, but fun,” Perry murmured.

Kyle took advantage of their playful tone. “Come on, Jane. We can have a wild-goose chase of our own. What do you say?”

“Theirs sounds like lots more fun.” Finally, Jane gave Kyle a faint grin.

“Hey,” Kyle asked her, “ever made out in an attic?”

“No, and I’m not starting now.” Her grin deepened to a coy smile. “Look, I’m trying to be angry, and you won’t let me.”

Kyle nuzzled his cheek against her hair. “The greatest part of being angry is making up.”

“See! I can’t win. He’s always—”

“On a wild-goose chase,” Kyle murmured.

On the last Friday in October, Jane and Celia stood outside the school bus door while two other teachers herded the children toward the Pinckney Pumpkin Farm entrance. To Jane’s delight, four classes elected to visit the farm for their autumn celebration.

When they’d gathered outside the lodge, scarecrow-costumed employees led the children to wagons. The
children giggled at the workers lumbering past with straw sticking from pant legs and sleeves and burlap bags with eye holes covering their heads.

Looking behind her for dawdlers, Jane felt an eerie sensation prickle up her arms. Leaning against the lodge, a scarecrow seemed to follow her movements, but the bag over his head camouflaged his visual direction. He could have been looking at anything. Admitting her recent jitters, she pushed aside her fears.

A scarecrow stepped into line, and Jane jumped, then cringed at her foolishness, realizing the worker was helping the teachers herd the children toward the wagons.

While the children clambered aboard, Jane focused again on the lone scarecrow. He hadn’t moved. Could he be a prop? A real scarecrow? She drew in a wavering breath, trying to rid herself of the horrible feeling.

When everyone was accounted for, the horses strained forward and tugged the rigs along the rutted lane past vast furrowed fields. Jane hung on, jiggling and laughing with the children. The bumpy ride was far more pleasant than the fears that rode roughshod through her.

A costumed employee sat with the driver and spoke into a static-filled microphone, describing the process of farming. The students’ excitement built as the wagon rumbled into the immense pumpkin field and halted while each child climbed down and selected a pumpkin to paint.

Jane wandered up and down the rows checking on her class and pushed her agitation aside. She had enough to do keeping track of her students, especially Danny Jamieson. With his large brown eyes and spi
raling curly hair, he looked as innocent as a lamb…but one in sheep’s clothing. She grinned at her analogy.

Jane turned in a slow circle, scanning the broad field and giving a thumbs-up to Celia. Despite her attempt to put her worry aside, Jane glanced around, relieved that the lone scarecrow was nowhere in sight.

Lena and Sara headed toward the wagon, each one carrying a pumpkin. As the others returned, workers helped the children and pumpkins onto the straw-covered floor. When the field emptied, Jane and the other teachers worked their way back to the wagon and their return to the lodge.

At the lodge, children scattered, and Jane scoured the group, counting aloud as she tallied off her students. As she feared, Danny seemed to have vanished.

Moving into the lodge, Jane watched farmhands coach the pumpkin painting, but she stood her vigil, waiting for Danny to appear from the rest room. While she waited, a second grader caught her sleeve.

“Miss Conroy, a scarecrow man said to tell you one of the kids is in the barn.”

“The barn?” She gaped at the child, feeling the blood drain from her face. “Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh.” The child’s head bobbed like an apple in a tub of water.

“Thanks,” she said, sensing the child’s wide eyes were a reflection of her own. How had Danny roved that far?

Heading for the door, she caught Celia’s arm. “Listen, I think Danny wandered off to the barn or something. One of the employees sent a message.”

Celia frowned. “Why didn’t they bring him back?”

Dismayed that she hadn’t questioned that herself, Jane’s heart fell to her toes with a new fear. “Maybe
he’s hurt, and they didn’t want…” Her concern shifted to panic.

“I’ll come with you,” Celia said, falling into step beside her.

“No,” Jane said, and nudged Celia back toward the others. “Stay with the kids. I’ll be fine.”

Jane raced from the lodge, praying nothing was seriously wrong. Her heart pounded as she rushed toward the barn, fearing the worst.

The door stood ajar.

Adrenaline fired her action. She took a deep breath, tugged back the door and stepped into the dim interior.

When her feet hit the straw-covered floor, terror charged through her. She faltered, peering into the shadows. No one was there. Nothing.

Yet, from inside, she heard a childlike whimper. “Danny? Danny, are you in here?”