Winsor, Linda (26 page)

"You
ought to be ashamed of yourself!" Her admonishment would have done any
Irish-Italian mother in Brooklyn proud. "Smoking in front of kids and
stealing from honest people like this. Just who do you think you are,
Mr.
Bozo?"

With
that, Deanna grabbed the rubber edge of the clown mask and ripped it off the
man's face. The glower of her gaze faltered, as she took in the light brown
hair, packed wet against his head by the mask and wig combination. A voiceless
exclamation of disbelief parted her lips.

"It's
me, Deanna."

Clearly
shaken, she reached for Shep, the clown's stony confession tightening her grip
on his arm until the pinch became unbearable. Disengaging the death grip, Shep
took her into the protective circle of his arms, inserting himself between her
and the ghost from her past. Only C. R. Majors could draw the angry blood rush
from her face, leaving her white as the paint on his mask.

"But
he's dead." Deanna's voice was little more than whisper, a squeak of
disbelief. Trembling as though suddenly chilled to the bone, she clutched Shep,
unable to climb deep enough into the haven of his embrace. "I don't
understand. I saw his car burned up. The detective told me he'd been in
it," she rambled against the lightly furred depression of his chest.
"He said the people C. R. double-crossed had killed him and he'd protect
me from them if I told him where the money was. But I didn't know anything
about it. I was innocent and he... he... that lying, conniving—"

"Whoa,
there." Shep grabbed Deanna before she flew at

Majors
in a resurgence of outrage.

"Why?"
she demanded of the man who'd not only betrayed her heart, but framed her for a
crime she didn't commit. "Why did you do this?"

All
Shep's training was put to the test as he held the woman scorned at bay Arms
and legs flailing, vying with each other to get at the crook who'd victimized
her, it was like trying to calm two cats with their tails tied together.

"Check
him for a weapon," Shep ordered in exasperation, "and somebody find
the sheriff,
wherever he is."
With Ty's rope pulled tight about
Majors' hips, he wasn't likely to get away, but he could have a concealed
weapon, not to mention a kitchen sink, in that getup.

Where
in blazes were Voorhees and Kestler? They weren't supposed to take their eyes
off Deanna.

"Shepard!"
Esther shoved her way toward Shep, her eyes as wide as her glass frames.
"We have them."

Have
them?
Shep's
thoughts echoed as Deanna gave up her struggles.

"Easy,
Miz Lawson," one of her former students said, steadying the older woman,
while she made a gasping recovery from her run across the field.

"Have
who, Esther?" She wasn't making a lick of sense, but at least her
appearance had a sedating effect on Deanna.

Still
breathless, Esther waved her hand in a frantic bid for more time and then
pointed to the community hall. "Them... wait." The retired teacher
drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, reminding Shep and doubtless others,
of her time-proven cure for hiccoughs or an overdose of excitement. Everyone
waited as she let it go until it was completely expended.

"Two
men... been following Deanna... all day," she managed. "Maisy and...
and I... locked in the food pantry."

"They
locked Maisy in the pantry!" Deanna exclaimed, as bemused as Shep.

Esther
shook her head. "Maisy gone... to get sheriff. Me..." she said,
clasping her chest. "To get you."

"Wait
a minute," Deanna said. "You're saying that you and Maisy locked two
men who were following me in the pantry?" The puzzled furrow of her brow
deepened. "But why would—" She looked at Shep, searching for the
answer to her question. Then, as if she'd spotted it, her eyelashes fluttered
and her eyes rolled upward beneath them, chasing the raw terror it invoked into
the oblivion of unconsciousness.

Shep
caught the full weight of her body in the circle of his arms before she slumped
to the ground, and with the help of a bystander, he managed to hoist Deanna's
limp figure in his arms. This whole operation had turned into a three-ring
circus. The perp was a clown, tackled by his victim, and roped with her by a
cowboy on a horse. Shep's elderly ex-schoolteacher and the town gossip locked
two DEA agents in the food pantry.

Rising
above her discomfort, Esther Lawson took immediate charge. "Shepard, bring
Deanna into the community hall where it's cool. We keep a first-aid kit with
smelling salts there." Turning to lead the way, the older woman clucked
like a mother hen to herself. "Bless her little heart, at least the worst
is over for her now."

Shep
fell in behind Esther, not nearly as relieved. The worst might be over for
Deanna, but something told him it was just beginning for him—in the third ring.

Deanna
stirred by the time Shep had her firmly in his grasp.

"Easy,
Slick," he said against her forehead. "I've got you. You're
safe."

"I'm
not usually a swooner," she mumbled, still a bit woozy. "It's not
every day a gal sees a ghost."

"But
it wasn't a ghost that I was worried about. All I could think about were those
faceless men who wrecked my condo— the ones who wouldn't give me a chance to
even say I was innocent."

"Excuse
me. Excuse me." A paramedic from an ambulance on duty for the affair broke
from the crowd and came straight for Deanna and Shep. "Have we got a heat
stroke here or what?" He found a pulse on her wrist and watched his watch.

"I'm
okay re—"

"Quiet
please, ma'am."

Deanna
waited until the young man got his reading.

"You
wanna put her down, buddy, so I can check her out?"

"No,
I don't want to be checked out. I'm fine." She couldn't be finer—in
Shepard Jones's arms.

The
young man shrugged. "It's your call. Pulse is good."

"And
I
can
walk," she told Shep.

"I
imagine you
can,
but there's no need to." His gaze testified
without question that they were of the same mind on that subject. In his arms
was exactly where Deanna belonged.

"It's
okay, folks," the paramedic announced. "You can start again
anytime."

He
parted the sea of onlookers clustered between the church and the hall ahead of
Shep and Deanna. Curious faces swept past in fast-forward, so that if any were
familiar, Deanna had no time to recognize them.

"Shep,
you want me to fill in for you?" a young man with a handlebar mustache
called out from the throng.

He
nodded. "Appreciate it, Vic."

"You
need me?" Reverend Lawrence called down from the roof. He seemed torn
between his responsibilities as minister of the church and foreman of the
roofing crews.

"Everything's
under control," Shep assured him.

With
a "You take care of our little lamb now" the good reverend signaled
the man at the wheel of the flatbed to honk the horn.

It
was still blowing amid the cheers of the volunteers and their supporters as
Shep stepped into the cool of the air-conditioned hall where Sheriff Clyde
Barrett, flanked by a grim Maisy O'Donnall, removed a chair that had been
wedged under the doorknob of what appeared to be a closet.

"You
voted for me to be sheriff, Maisy," the man chided, "so what on earth
possessed you to take over my job?"

"Esther
and me didn't have time to go gallivantin' all over the plaza," she
declared in their defense.

Deanna
grabbed Shep's arm as the sheriff, gun still holstered, slid back the deadbolt
and opened the door. What if the men were armed?

"Sorry
about this fellas," the officer apologized. "The ladies meant
well."

Surely
she'd escaped one bizarre situation and landed in another. Instead of the
sleazy thugs she expected, the geologists from Shep's ranch emerged, soaked in
sweat from their confinement in the non-air-conditioned enclosure.

"These
guys aren't thugs," Deanna told her friends, warmed by their benevolent
intentions, despite the mistake. "They're the guys who have been doing
geology tests or something at Shep's ranch."

"Oh,
my word." Esther looked stricken, but Maisy wasn't as easily convinced.

"If
they're geologists, I'm a rocket scientist," the diner waitress declared.
"What does a geologist need with a gun, 'cause the pudgy one has one. Saw
it right off at the drink stand when he reached in his jacket for his
wallet."

"Mrs.
O'Donnall is right," the man Shep referred to as Voorhees admitted.
"But the sheriff can vouch for us that we are special investigators for
the government. That's all anyone here needs to know," he said with an
authority that nipped in the bud the questions forming in Deanna's and likely
everyone else's minds.

The
government?
Deanna
glanced at Shep, disconcerted. Had he known these men were government agents?
His schooled expression held no answer for her.

"Well,
I for one am so sorry, sir." Esther clapped her hands together as though
praying for forgiveness. "We were just trying to keep Deanna's abusive
boyfriend from finding her, and we thought—"

She'd
only told the two women that she'd left a bad relationship, so what possessed
the dears to think she needed protection? Had Shep said something to them
behind her back?

"What
I'd like to know is how in kingdom come did you two federal boys get hoodwinked
by two of our finest senior citizens?" The sheriff's poorly concealed
snicker brought a flush of color to the men's faces.

"Who
are you callin' a senior citizen?" Maisy railed, throwing the sheriff in
the same fire as the agents.

"Now
that was just a figure of speech, Mai—"

"They
must have seen us tailing the suspect—" Jon started at the same time as
the sheriff, stalling both.

"Excuse
me." Deanna took advantage of the pause, not certain she'd heard right.
"Did you say
suspect?
Like in me as a suspect?" The
possibility that the police called in the FBI or whatever to track her down
sent a shiver down her spine.

"I'm
afraid so, Miss Manetti," Agent Voorhees confirmed.

"Sheesh,
am I on the Most Wanted show, too, just for taking a colleague's bank bag to
the bank for him?"

"Anyway"
Jon picked up, "the ladies called us in to help get a heavy box down off
the top shelf in the pantry. Next thing we knew, the door was locked and the
lights went out."

"You
could have kicked it down." Shep's derision curled one side of his mouth.

"That's
a solid wood door, buddy," Voorhees pointed out, "not to mention
church property. We beat on the wall and shouted until some kids overheard us
and promised to find the sheriff."

"Giving
this guy a clear path to get his hands on Deanna," Shep shot back as
Voorhees brandished a pair of handcuffs from his coat and walked over to the
mute clown in the custody of Ty McCain's associates.

Deanna's
thoughts tripped in confusion. Were the geologists the guys in high places that
Shep told her could help her?

"Looks
to me like Majors was in more peril than our Miss Manetti."

The
agent's wry observation failed to amuse Shep. Deanna could almost hear his
teeth grating under the pressure of his twitching jaw muscles.

"Gentlemen,"
Voorhees said to the men who turned C. R. over to him, "I thank you for
your help, but I'd just as soon clear the room of all parties not directly
involved in our investigation. It'll all come out eventually, but for now, the less
you know, the better. That goes for you as well, ladies," he added for
Esther and Maisy's benefit. "Just keep what you've seen under your hat
until the investigation is over. Some of you could be called as witnesses later,
and we don't want any slip of the tongue to invalidate someone's testimony or
harm the prosecution."

The
clamor of emotions in Deanna's mind numbed her to Esther's kindly,
"Keeping you in prayer, sweetie," or Maisy's wink as they followed
the other good citizens out of the hall. The geologists—no, government
agents—had shown up right after her arrival at Hopewell.

"As
for you,
Bozo,"
Agent Voorhees addressed C. R. "you are under
arrest. You have the right..."

Shock
numbing her ability to sort out her confusion, Deanna became distracted as the
man in charge read C. R. his rights. Jon left to get their vehicle, instead of
taking the sheriff's offer to hold C. R. in the local jail. Low profile was the
aim. His chief wanted them to wrap this thing up without word leaking out that
could jeopardize other investigations. First on the agenda was picking up their
partner and the tech trailer at the ranch. Then they'd be on their way

"On
your way where?" It was too much for Deanna to take in. The geologists
were government agents and C. R. was not only alive, but had followed her to—to
what, steal her purse? "So since you have C. R., does this mean I can go
free?"

As
long as she was cleared, she didn't have to understand. God sent her to Shep.
Surely He wasn't going to take her away now that she'd found happiness.

"You're
still suspected of collaboration, Miss Manetti." The senior agent gave her
an apologetic look. "You did make the deposits."

"But
I didn't know what was in them." Deanna jumped to her feet heading for C.
R. The least he could do was clear this thing up. "Tell him, C. R. You owe
me that after the stunt you pulled. Tell him I didn't know anything about the
blooming money... that you snookered me big time."

"Deanna
didn't know anything about it," he said, expressionless.

"Now
that
was real convincing," Deanna quipped with a dour look.
"Sheesh, I know it's the truth and I wouldn't believe you."

There
had to be a way to resolve this. But how? Question after question stirred in
her mind, overlapping with flashbacks of all she'd been through. No one would
believe her. "Wait a minute. How did you even know where I was? Even I
didn't know where I was."

"He
put a tracking device on your car," Voorhees explained. "Something
like the fancy models have standard that can be used to trace a stolen vehicle."

"I
know what a tracking device is." Deanna glared afresh at the man who got
her into this mess. After what he'd done to her, he was lucky she'd just busted
his lip. "You have got some nerve, Majors. Do you have any idea what I
gave up to move out here? Or worse, what I've been through since I listened to
your puff and nonsense about opportunity for success
and
romance?
Hah!"

"If
Miss Manetti had nothing to do with your scheme, Mr. Majors, then why did you
go to so much trouble to find her?" Agent Voorhees asked.

"Yes,
exactly,"
Deanna chimed in.

C.
R. looked at Deanna. "She's one of the most passionate women I've ever
met. Can you blame me?"

Deanna
gasped. "You take that back!" He made it sound like they'd been
intimate.

"Of
course, I had no idea she was so violent." He ran his tongue over his
tender lip.

"Violent?
I'll show you violent." In two short steps, she gave him a sound slap.
"Now you tell the truth, you lying, conniving, thieving son of a gutter
rat."

"Hey,
what about my rights?" C. R. demanded of Agent Voorhees. "Keep her
away from me."

"I
thought Miss Manetti's passion is what brought you here."

Deanna
felt validated by the agent's cryptic turn of phrase. "So why did you
really hunt me down? I certainly don't have the money Somebody tore apart my
condo looking for it, and the police blamed me." Just recalling it made
her want to grab C. R.'s lower lip and pull it up over his head. "And I've
been mucking stables and wearing this Lucy dress and psychedelic handoffs just
to earn my room and board. I was afraid to use my credit cards. Cut off my arm,
why don't you!" she exclaimed. "So if my wanting to rip off your head
and spit down your neck is passionate, then I admit it. I'm very passionate.
I'm so passionate I could—"

"Easy
He's not worth working yourself into a tizzy." The sympathetic touch of
Shep's hands on her shoulders checked her ballooning fury. She turned and
leaned into the circle of his waiting arms.

"So
now what'll we do?" she asked, laying a weary head against Shep's
shoulder. "I don't want to go with them. I shouldn't have to. I'm
innocent."

"In
that case," Voorhees said, "you won't object to my searching your
purse."

The
purse.
Of
course. Whatever C. R. was after was in her purse. "Not at all. All I know
is you won't find any money... except the five you gave me," she said to
Shep.

Agent
Voorhees took up the dusty purse Deanna had left on the table in her angry
confusion. But after opening it and dumping out all the contents, nothing was
revealed that didn't belong there—a few folded tissues, a spare lipstick,
folding hairbrush, and a wallet containing Shep's five, her license, and
assorted medical and charge cards. Stymied, the official ran his fingers inside
the expensive clutch, along the seams, and discovered its single zippered compartment.
Aside from dental cleaning gum, a safety pin, a ball of lint, and a small tin
of aspirin, there was nothing else.

"Not
exactly the Denver mint, is it?"

Unphased
by her dry observation, Agent Voorhees started patting C. R. down.

"What,
you think he might have it on him?"

Voorhees
pounced on Deanna like a cat on a mouse. "And what would that be, Miss
Manetti?"

Trying
not to shrink from the agent's grilling look, she shrugged. "How should I
know? Whatever it was he was trying to steal my purse for."