On Deadly Ground (3 page)

Jake looked away for an instant—told himself that Rachel’s mentioning David wasn’t any big deal. “Then you get a smaller, even-tempered dog with a big bark.”

“Maybe someday,” she said. “But I don’t see the need right now. The man I saw last night was angry at Tim,
not me.” She glanced toward the home’s entrance, then brought her pretty gaze back to him. “Was there … something else?”

Annoyed with himself, he shook his head. Now she probably thought he’d made a special trip to talk to her, when he could have phoned or stopped at the campground later. “No, that’s it. I just thought I’d drop in because I had to pass the nursing home anyway.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.” She consulted her wrist-watch, and the sun glanced off the gold wedding band on her finger. “I’d better get back inside now, though. It’s almost lunchtime, and some of my friends need help with their food.”

With the workload waiting for her at the campground, she still took time to help others. He liked that about her. But today he wouldn’t tell her she was fabulous—or whatever idiotic word he’d used last night that made them both uncomfortable. “I have to go, too. But think about what I said.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks again.”

Brushing off her thanks, he headed for his vehicle. “No problem. Friends are supposed to look out for each other.”

Friends, he thought, getting his head straight as he started the green game-commission truck and pulled back onto the road. That’s what they were, and what he was comfortable with. He could do a lot worse.

At two o’clock, Rachel drove down into her wooded campground to see Nate Carter’s yellow company truck parked beside her white-sided camp store. Sunlight flashed off two long silver canisters in the truck’s bed,
both secured by steel framing. She swung in beside him as Nate got out of his vehicle.

Nate was a compact man about her height with light brown hair, dated steel-rimmed aviator glasses and a nice smile. A denim jacket stitched with his company name—Carter Propane Sales—topped his jeans and chambray shirt, but on Sundays, he was a suit-and-tie man all the way.

“Afternoon,” he called, walking around the truck to meet her.

“Afternoon,” she called back. “Have you been here long?”

“Just a few minutes. I was making deliveries in the area and stopped to see if you needed to have your tanks filled.” He wiggled an empty foam cup before dropping it in the nearby trash receptacle. “I was also hoping for a cup of coffee and some scintillating conversation.”

Laughing and choosing a key from her ring, Rachel ascended the wide wooden stoop, opened the white screen door and inserted her key in the lock. “If you’re looking for ‘scintillating,’ you’ve come to the wrong place, but coffee’s doable.” She stepped inside, and he followed. “As for my tanks, I haven’t checked the gauges yet, but I’m probably low.”

“You are,” he admitted sheepishly. “I had some time to kill before you got here.” He stepped around three waist-high stacks of cartons on the floor. “You’re under twenty percent at your house. Camp store’s just a little better than that.”

Rachel dropped her keys on the blue counter separating her galley from the store, then slipped behind the bar to start her small coffeemaker. The large dispenser
would be pressed into service when her guests began piling in.

“Well, then, let’s fill them.” She put a filter pack of coffee in the basket, added a dash of salt and turned on the unit. “How’s tomorrow for you?”

“Tomorrow’s good. Morning or afternoon?”

Rachel carried two white mugs to the counter where Nate had commandeered a stool. “Come anytime. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be here all day.”

“Great. I’ll stop by in the morning. Jillian has a hair appointment around three, so if my afternoon’s free, I can tag along. Maybe take her out afterward for an early dinner.”

“Can’t imagine her saying no to that,” Rachel returned, smiling.

“Yeah, she’ll like that.” He paused for a moment as the rich aroma of coffee brewing spiced the air, and steaming, spitting coffee dripped into the carafe. A sly twinkle rose in his eyes when Rachel took the stool beside him. “So,” he said far too innocently, “anything new going on in your neck of the woods?”

She had to laugh. So that’s why he’d waited for her. He’d heard. Some days she swore the number of police scanners in Charity outnumbered the population. “Let me guess, you have a scanner.”

“No, I ran into Emma Lucille at the Quick Mart early this morning. She’d just turned over the dispatcher’s desk to Sarah. You know Charity. On a slow day, somebody’s hangnail is big news.”

That was an understatement.

“Anyway, Emma Lu was talking to Ben Caruthers from the hardware store, who apparently
does
have a scanner, and they were discussing your prowler. Ben
was really champing at the bit for information—wanted to know if Fish had made an arrest.”

“Well, if you heard her answer, you know he didn’t. And technically, the guy was Tim Decker’s prowler. Apparently, Tim’s not one of his favorite people.”

“Apparently.” Nate’s broad face lined in concern. “Rachel,” he began hesitantly, “I know this is none of my business, but … do you have a gun?”

“A gun?”
she repeated.

He hurried to explain himself. “Only for your protection. What if this guy thinks you recognized him? You’re miles from help if you need it.”

First Jake’s suggestion that she get a dog, now this. God had been good to her. He’d blessed her with wonderful friends … and one very caring neighbor. “Nate, I appreciate your concern, but really, who would risk killing someone over an act of vandalism? We’re not talking about the mob here.”

“I know that, but you’re alone,” he said, pressing his point. “Non-mob things happen. Now if you want a gun—”

“No way.” Rising, she retrieved the coffee carafe and returned to fill their cups. “A gun in the hand of someone who’s never used one is a surefire recipe for disaster.” She reached under the counter for a basket filled with stir sticks and sugar and creamer packets. “Now let’s talk about something uplifting. Something that will put a smile on my face.”

Still troubled but seeming to know that she wouldn’t change her mind, he conceded. “Okay, like what?”

Rachel laughed. “Well, you could tell me that my propane will be cheaper this year.”

*  *  *

Maggie crashed into the woods after another chipmunk, and with a sharp whistle, Jake called her back and slowed his run. The sun was sliding toward the horizon, but the day was still warm, full of the smells, sights and sounds of spring. Every bird in the valley was out doing what birds did, and seemingly overnight, grassy fields had become endless carpets of dandelions.

He wiped his face with a hand towel, jammed it into his back pocket, then settled into a cool-down jog. He paused to listen outside Rachel’s camp store. Music. Somewhere on the property, country singer Alan Jackson was recalling coming of age on the Chattahoochee. Jake followed the song to the bathhouses—and Rachel. She’d propped the door open with a rock, and low sunlight shone through it, highlighting her face-framing sable hair as she slapped mint green paint on a wall. She looked young and industrious in cutoff jeans and a yellow T-shirt.

She whirled around in surprise when Maggie dashed past him and bolted inside to say hello, her toenails clicking on the concrete floor. “Three visits in one day?” she said, laughing and scrubbing her fingers through the setter’s silky coat. “You two are going to spoil me.”

Jake worked up a smile. That’s what he’d been afraid of. Not the spoiling part. He was worried about sending the wrong message. He didn’t want her thinking what women probably thought when a man made three trips to see them in one day. He was here only because his house felt empty, he’d put in a full day, and he was—as his grandmother used to say—at loose ends.

Rachel took in his navy cutoffs and white tank top. “Out for a run?”

“Just a short one. I was about to head for home when I heard the music and thought I’d see what you were up to.”

She had amazing eyes. Eyes that saw too much, he decided, recalling the conversation he’d put a stop to this morning. He knew he’d piqued her interest. But no man with an ounce of pride admitted to a beautiful woman—even one who still wore a wedding band—that his fiancée had preferred someone else to him.

He glanced around at Rachel’s handiwork. “Looks good.” The bathhouse was constructed of cement blocks, smooth now under countless coats of paint. Above white fixtures, a long, wood-framed mirror was bolted to the wall, while the opposite wall hosted freshly painted shower stalls. “Got another brush? I’ll help you finish.”

“Thanks, but I only have one wall to go.” Rachel dipped to scoop a rag from the floor, then wiped her brush and walked toward him. She was long and lithe, grace in motion on two white-sneakered feet. “I was ready to call it a day anyway. Give me a minute to seal the paint can and clean my brush, then we can walk up to the store. You and Maggie look like you could use a cold drink—and I know I could use one.”

“Sounds good,” he said. “But I’m buying.”

They didn’t stay at the camp store; they walked. The store was too warm, and the sunset was too vibrant to miss. In a while, they found themselves sipping Pepsi from plastic bottles near the site of last night’s vandalism. The twilight song of the peepers filled the air, Alan Jackson’s boyhood reminiscing long gone.

Rachel glanced at the partially chewed-up earth and lone piece of equipment and once again felt a twinge of guilt over the dozer’s damage when it was in her care.

Jake spoke. “Looks like Decker moved his other equipment before it could suffer a similar fate.”

Rachel nodded. “Chief Perris suggested it, but Tim had already decided to move them until they were ready to resume work. He’s sending a flatbed for the bulldozer tomorrow.”

“Nothing from the police yet?”

“No, but the way Perris feels about me—make that women in general—I’m not expecting a call.”

Rachel watched him take another swig of his Pepsi, then screw the cap back on. “I have a favor to ask.”

A favor? “Since I can’t imagine you asking anything I wouldn’t say yes to … sure. What do you need?”

“I’d like you to invite Maggie to a slumber party.”

She cocked her head. “You want me to keep your dog overnight?”

“Yeah, I do. I have a meeting in Harrisburg first thing tomorrow morning. I could drive down there at the crack of dawn, but I’d rather leave tonight.” He pinned his gaze on the dark pines and leafy maples lining the road ahead. “Naturally, I explained to her that she’d be fine in her pen, but after hearing about your prowler … Well, weird as it sounds, Maggie said she’s afraid to stay alone.”

Rachel smiled, a lovely warmth enveloping her. He wasn’t concerned about Maggie, he was concerned about her. “Maybe you should tell Maggie that she has nothing to be afraid of. Now that the nasty man has accomplished his nasty deed, there’s no reason for him to come back.”

As if to punctuate his point, Maggie crashed out of the darkening woods and undergrowth, her golden-red fur wet after a splash through the creek below. She circled her good-looking master, then nuzzled his hand until he reached down to scratch behind her ear. But his gaze never left Rachel’s.

“You’re probably right,” he said, straightening. “Chances are he won’t come back, but I still wish you’d keep her. She wouldn’t be any trouble. She could sleep on your deck.”

“Jake—”

Briefly touching a finger to her lips, he softened his voice. “Before you refuse again, maybe I should tell you something. I’ve mentioned my younger brother Greg to you before, haven’t I?”

Rachel searched his face. “Yes.”

His dark gaze clouded. “Once upon a time we had a sister.”

H
ad.
They’d
had
a sister. Past tense.

“Tell me,” she said quietly.

He took a second to gather his thoughts, then began. “One summer night, Carrie and two of her friends were walking home from the library—something they’d done dozens of times before. It wasn’t quite dark, and we lived in a safe neighborhood. So as everyone said later, there was no need for our parents to worry.”

But there was a need, Rachel realized, and a feeling of dread settled over her.

“That night, Carrie and Erin dropped Liza off at her house, then half a block from ours, Carrie said goodnight to Erin and headed home.” He paused and his brow furrowed. “She’d just turned sixteen. She was pretty and smart, and she wanted to be a fashion designer. She drew all the time.” He blew out a breath. “They never caught the man who raped her. She died from a blow to the head during the assault.”

Rachel didn’t know what to say for a moment, then murmured a time-worn response that never really said enough. “Jake, I’m so sorry. How old were you when Carrie died?”

“I was her big brother by three minutes.”

Twins. That seemed to make losing her even worse. They’d begun life together, were born together—learned to walk and talk together. How many times had he wished he’d been with her that night? Rachel wondered. Big brothers were supposed to look after their baby sisters—keep them from harm. But he hadn’t been able to do that. And now she understood his need to protect. What was it her mom always said? If you want to understand someone, take a look at their past.

“Okay,” she said softly. “If Maggie would feel better hanging out with me tonight, then a slumber party it is. But she’s staying in my room.” She smiled a little. “We can’t possibly braid each other’s hair and talk about boys if she sleeps on my deck.”

The tenderness in his dark eyes brought back that billowing feeling in Rachel’s chest. “Good,” he murmured, returning her smile. “Good. Now I won’t worry about her while I’m gone.”

Rachel closed her Bible, then lay back and turned off the light, a contemplative mood settling over her. She’d read passages from Revelations, then moved on to the Book of Psalms, and one verse kept repeating itself in her mind, probably because of Carrie Campbell’s death. Psalm 34:18.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; He rescues those who are crushed in spirit.”

For the second time today, Rachel wondered how Jake had dealt with his twin’s passing. She’d needed her faith, needed her trust in God when David died. The comfort she’d received from her family and friends had been invaluable as she’d found her way back to a life without him. But without her faith, and the solid belief that David was whole and happy again, she knew she
would still be broken and adrift. She hoped that sixteen-year-old Jake had turned to God, as she did, and found peace. He’d never mentioned his beliefs, but she knew he didn’t go to church.

Rachel repositioned her feet, smiling when they bumped into a big, muscular lump. After a few sad, high-pitched whines when Jake left without her, Maggie had accepted Rachel’s hospitality and settled in for the night. Now, as she lay curled up at the foot of the bed, she snuffled from time to time, doggie-dreaming.

“I guess I should get some sleep, too, Lord,” Rachel whispered in the silence. She’d already told Him how much she regretted the vandalism done on her land. Now it was time to center on the good in her life. “Thank You for this day, and for my friends and family. Please watch over my dad as he continues to get stronger after the stroke, and keep my mom well in Your care.” She paused. “Also, a friend of mine is on the road tonight. He’s a good man, Lord. Keep him safe.”

Then she rolled onto her side and, minutes later, welcomed the dozy, groggy beginnings of sleep … fuzzy shapes and images coalescing behind her closed eyelids.

Two hours later, a sharp bark shattered Rachel’s dreams and she bolted upright to see Maggie vault from the bed and disappear into the hall. Rachel pulled on her robe and hurried to the kitchen where the Irish setter was barking and leaping against the patio’s glass doors. Nerves buzzing, she snapped on the kitchen and deck lights.

Did dogs go ballistic over minor sounds in the night? Or had her intruder returned to wreak more havoc on Tim Decker’s already-damaged bulldozer? Rachel
snagged the dog’s leash from a hook in the broom closet, then clipped it to Maggie’s collar, grabbed a flashlight and pulled open the door. She couldn’t let Maggie out on her own. She couldn’t risk the dog being hurt when she was in her—

Maggie lunged onto the deck, yanking the leash out of her hand.

“Maggie!” Rachel rushed barefooted down the steps after her. “Maggie, get back here!”

She clicked on her flashlight, played it around until it landed on fifty pounds of reddish-gold fur. The dog stood rigidly, a low growl vibrating in her throat, her attention pinned to the construction site. Rachel looked around apprehensively, then quickly picked her way over the dirt and stones in her driveway and grabbed the leash—tugged the dog back.

Suddenly something shifted in the shadows. Rachel’s fear skyrocketed—until she saw five massive figures wandering in the moonlight near the small cluster of gnarled apple trees close to the site.

She blew out a breath. “Really, Maggie. All this over a few elk?” Her yard was a constant stopover for animals making their way from the woods west of her house to the clover and trefoil across the highway. She loved to see them come through. They were shedding their winter coats now, and the bulls had just begun to sprout velvety antlers. Soon, they’d be stately and majestic again. But obviously Maggie wasn’t as impressed with them as Rachel was.

“Come on,” she grumbled. She gave the leash another tug, then gingerly crossed the stones and climbed the steps behind the now-unconcerned dog. “Back to bed
with you. You have the luxury of staying up all night and sleeping all day. I don’t.”

At least this little foray took care of a question she’d been pondering. No way was she getting a dog of her own. Chronic insomnia was bad enough without having a four-legged nutcase sound the alarm every time a few elk showed up. Nope, no dogs or guns for her.

Sweat flowed from his pores as he scrambled frantically on the ground, trying to be quiet, feeling one-handed for the keys he’d dropped in the ferns and undergrowth. In the other hand, he gripped the handle of the pick and prayed he wouldn’t have to use it. Where had that dog come from? She didn’t have a dog!

He touched something cold and mushy in the vegetation—a disgusting slug!—but he kept his hand moving, moving. Then his fingertips bumped his key ring and his heart nearly burst in relief as he snatched it up. Fifty yards away, lights on the elevated side deck still blazed. The inside lights, too.

Jamming his keys deeply into his jeans pocket, he retrieved the pick, shovel and bag beside him and waited for the house lights to go out. He’d stopped the construction temporarily, but the problem remained. So did he stay or leave? This time, she’d blamed his nosing around on the mutt’s interest in the elk. But if he alerted the dog again, she could call the police, and that could start a more diligent investigation. Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed. Swallowed again. Maybe … maybe he was out of options.

The house went dark.

Then slowly, painstakingly, he picked his way through the woods to the logging road where he’d
concealed his SUV … trembling as an anxious little voice hissed at him, whispered things he doubted he was capable of … murmured that desperate times called for desperate measures. He resisted at first. But in the end, he knew what he had to do. There was only one way to ensure his freedom, and that was to make sure the land stayed as it was. Natural, unspoiled, covered by grass and weeds.

She wouldn’t need a mini golf course if she was dead.

The next morning, Rachel smiled as Maggie nosed her dog food dish aside and padded over to the stove where Rachel was frying scrambled eggs.

“I don’t blame you,” she said, stirring another egg to the pan. “No slumber party I ever went to ended with Kibbles ‘n Bits.” She gestured with her spatula. “Not that you deserve anything better after waking me up last night. But being a nice, Christian woman, I’m willing to let bygones be bygones.” In a minute, she filled two plates, put Maggie’s aside to cool, then set hers on the table next to her fruited yogurt and tea. She’d just asked the blessing and picked up her fork when the phone rang.

Rachel strode to the phone to check the caller ID and could tell by the number that it was a cell phone call. She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“So how did the slumber party go? Did she make a pest of herself or did she behave?”

The sound of his voice brought a smile to her lips and a little leap to her pulse. “We had a very nice evening. Your girl was a perfect lady. Although I have to
tell you, she’s not much of a conversationalist, and she really doesn’t like the local wapiti.”

“She barked at the elk?”

“She did, and she wasn’t shy about it. They couldn’t have cared less, though. They just went about their business.”

“That’s surprising,” he returned. “She’s flighty sometimes, but she usually ignores the elk.”

“Maybe she didn’t appreciate their being so close to the house.” Rachel laughed. “Or maybe she’s just on edge because of the P-R-O-W-L-E-R. Anyway, she was great company. We were just about to have breakfast.”

“Then I won’t keep you,” he said, and her spirits fell. “I’ll pick Maggie up around five or six, depending on construction traffic. It’s a real mess down here.”

Rachel smiled against the receiver. “Okay. See you then. Travel safely.”

“Yep, see you.”

She’d just settled at the table again when two honks and the sound of an approaching vehicle drew a sharp bark from Maggie. Rachel sighed. Obviously, God thought she liked cold eggs.

“Sorry, girl,” she said, heading outside with Maggie trailing. “It’s not him. He can’t be in two places at once.”

A shiny black truck with a gun rack in the back window rolled down the drive and came to a stop. Tammy Reston got out, carrying a hefty package. Tammy was a pretty blonde with the long, teased and sprayed hair of a country singer, dancer’s legs and—according to the bumper sticker on her truck—a proud member of the NRA. Her camouflage skirt, tank top and cropped vest seemed to bear that out. Tammy ran
Charity’s sporting goods store, had a sideline parcel delivery business and sold more blue-ribbon pies out of her backroom kitchen than the bakery did.

Rachel descended the steps to meet her.

“Hey, Rachel,” Tammy said. “Got a package for you.”

“Thanks. It’s probably my new microwave for the store. But you didn’t have to deliver it.” Usually Tammy sent a postcard letting her know a package had arrived. “I could have picked it up when I went to town for my mail.”

“Nah. I have a package for your gorgeous neighbor down the road, too, so I was going to be in the area anyway.” She spotted Maggie then, and added wryly, “But he’s not at home is he?”

Rachel hid a smile. That certainly answered her question about special deliveries. “He had a meeting.”

“Probably just as well,” Tammy replied, laughing. “It’s hard to go home to meat loaf when you’ve had a peek at ambrosia.”

This time Rachel did smile. “Now, now. Your Joe’s a nice-looking guy.”

“But he’s not Jake, is he?” She looked away and got quiet for a moment, then turned back to Rachel. “I think Joe’s fooling around again.”

Stunned that she’d share such personal information, Rachel remained silent.

“Come on,” she said quietly. “You’ve heard the rumors. Everyone has.”

A few years ago, yes, but Rachel hadn’t heard anything lately. “Why do you think he’s seeing someone, Tammy?”

“Because he didn’t come home a couple of nights
ago. He said he went out with the guys after bowling and knew I’d be mad, so he crashed down here at our camp.” She drew a breath. “Then last night, I ran into Ellie Sennett at the Quick Mart, and she mentioned that her boyfriend had subbed for Joe Sunday night. Did you see his truck down here? It’s a dark gray Silverado.”

Sunday night? The same night someone vandalized Tim’s bulldozer? Could there be a connection? “Tammy, I’m more than a hundred yards off the highway. Unless someone drives down here, or I’m out walking the road, I rarely see anyone. Especially at night.”

“You’d tell me if you had?”

She couldn’t lie. She didn’t involve herself in other people’s business. It was tough enough to handle her own sometimes. “I don’t know.”

Tammy seemed to consider that, then nodded and moved toward her truck. “I checked the camp. Someone was definitely inside since I was there last. Things had been moved around. Maybe it was Joe. But I can’t get past the lie he—” She shook off the rest of it, then opened the door and changed the subject. “If you want pies again this year, give me a call.”

“I do,” Rachel replied. “Let’s go with last year’s weekly numbers—same kinds. Can you deliver them on the Thursday before Memorial Day weekend? I’m not sure what the date is.”

“Absolutely. I’ll make a note of it.” She sent Rachel an apologetic look. “And sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you with my problems.”

Rachel waited until Tammy was gone, then strode back inside to reheat her cold eggs and put Maggie’s on the floor. Her mind spun. Was it Joe Reston she’d seen Sunday night? And should she give that information to
Chief Perris? She hadn’t heard that there’d been trouble between Joe and Tim Decker … but then, she hadn’t heard that Joe was wandering again either.

Something else occurred to her. What if she dragged Joe into this and he was innocent of the vandalism but guilty of something else? If he had to supply an alibi and that alibi was female, then Tammy would be hurt. Even though Tammy was an acquaintance, not a close friend, she didn’t want that to happen.

The microwave beeped, and Rachel removed her plate and carried it to the table. She couldn’t make this decision alone. She needed to discuss it with someone she could trust, someone who’d be discreet. She glanced at Maggie. Someone who wasn’t wearing a collar and a fur coat.