Deputy Defender. Cindi MyersЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter Four

      “What do you mean, the banner is gone?” Lacy was the first to speak. “Did someone steal it?”

      “I don’t know,” Travis said. “It was there when I left for my training this morning and it isn’t there now.”

      “Maybe the wind blew it away,” Lacy said.

      “We haven’t had any high winds,” Brenda said. “And I watched the city crew hang that banner—it was tied down tight to the utility poles on either side of the street. It would take a hurricane to blow it away.”

      “Do you think this has anything to do with those nasty letters you received?” Lacy asked.

      “What letters?” Travis was all business now.

      “Let’s take this into your office,” Dwight said. “I’ll fill you in.”

      They all filed down the hall to Travis’s office. He hung his Stetson on the hat rack by the door and settled behind his desk. Lacy and Brenda took the two visitors’ chairs in front of the desk, while Dwight leaned against the wall beside the door. “Tell me,” Travis said.

      So Brenda—with Dwight providing details—told the sheriff about the two threatening letters she had received: the cheerful yellow stationery, the black marker, the photocopy of the horrible crime scene photo and all about the book the letter writer wanted her to destroy. Travis listened, then leaned back, his chair creaking, as he considered the situation. “What’s your take on this, Dwight?” he asked.

      Dwight straightened. “I think this guy has a real mean streak, but he isn’t too smart.”

      Brenda turned in her chair to look at him. “Why do you think he isn’t smart?” she asked.

      “Because if he really wanted to get rid of the book, why not try to steal it? Get rid of it himself?”

      “Maybe he knew I’d keep something so valuable locked up,” Brenda said.

      “Maybe. I still would have expected him to try to get to it before resorting to these threats. There’s a lot of risk in writing a note like that—the risk of being seen delivering the notes or of someone recognizing that stationery.”

      “He—or she—I’m not going to rule out a woman,” Travis said, “must think there’s a good chance he won’t be noticed. Maybe he thinks people wouldn’t be surprised to see him around the museum or your house, or he’s good at making himself inconspicuous.”

      “So someone who looks harmless,” Lacy said. “That could be almost anyone.”

      “Where is this book now?” Travis asked.

      “It’s in my purse.” Brenda opened her handbag and took out the small cloth-bound volume and handed it across the desk. “After we found that second letter, we never made it inside to put it in my safe.”

      Travis opened the book and flipped through it. “I think you’re right that this guy isn’t very smart,” he said. “By demanding you destroy this book, he’s focused all our attention on it.”

      “Or maybe he’s really smart and he’s trying to divert our attention from what’s really important,” Dwight said.

      Travis closed the book. “I think it would be a good idea to keep this here at the sheriff’s department until the auction,” he said.

      “Fine,” Brenda said. “I’ll sleep better knowing it isn’t in my house.”

      “You can’t go back to your house,” Dwight said.

      He was giving an order, not making a request, and that didn’t sit well with her. “I won’t let some nut run me out of my home,” she said.

      “Someone who would threaten you with that crime scene photo might be serious about hurting you,” Travis said. “We can run extra patrols, but we can’t protect you twenty-four hours a day. We don’t have the manpower. You need to go somewhere that will make it harder for this guy to get to you.”

      “And where is that?” she asked. “A hotel isn’t going to be any safer than my home.”

      “We can try to find a safe house,” Travis said.

      “Sheriff, I have a job that I need to do. I can’t just leave town and hide out—if I do, then this jerk wins. I won’t let that happen.”

      The two men exchanged a look that Brenda read as Why do women have to be so difficult? She turned to face Dwight. “If someone were threatening you like this, would you run away?” she demanded.

      He shook his head. “No.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But what about a compromise—somewhere near town where you would be safer, but still be able to work at the museum?”

      “Do you know of a place?” Lacy asked.

      “I do.”

      “Not with you,” Brenda said. “No offense, but if you want to really start wild rumors, just let people find out I’ve moved in with you.”

      Something flashed in his eyes—was he amused? But he quickly masked the expression. “I don’t want to start any rumors,” he said. “And I’m not talking about moving in with me. But my parents have plenty of room at the ranch, and I know they’d love to have you stay with them. There are fences and a locked gate, plus plenty of people around day and night. It would be a lot more difficult for anyone to get to you there.” He let a hint of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “And my cabin isn’t that far from the main house, so I can keep an eye on you, too.”

      Brenda recalled Bud and Sharon Prentice as a genial couple who had cheered on their son at every basketball game and helped out with fund-raisers and other school functions. They were the kind of people who worked hard in the background and didn’t demand the spotlight.

      Lacy leaned over and squeezed Brenda’s arm. “You don’t really want to go back to your house alone, do you?” she asked.

      “Where are you going to be?” Brenda asked.

      Lacy flushed. “I think I’ll be staying with Travis until this is settled. I’m no hero.”

      Brenda didn’t want to be a hero, either—especially a foolhardy one. “All right,” she said. “I’ll take you up on your offer. But only for a few days.”

      “Let’s hope that’s all it takes to find this guy,” Dwight said.

      * * *

      DWIGHT RODE WITH Brenda to his family’s ranch west of town. He wasn’t going to risk her wrath by coming right out and saying he didn’t want her alone on the road, so he made an excuse about having to get his personal pickup truck and bring it into town for an oil change. He wasn’t sure if she bought the explanation, but she didn’t object when he left his SUV parked in front of her house and slid into the passenger seat of her Subaru. She had packed up her laptop and a small suitcase of clothes—enough for a few days at the ranch. “Do you remember visiting the ranch when we were in high school?” he asked as she headed out of town and into the more open country at the foot of the mountains.

      “I remember,” she said. “Your parents threw a party for the senior class. I remember being in awe of the place—it seemed so big compared to my parents’ little house in town.”

      “As ranches go, it’s not that big,” Dwight said. “To me, it’s just home.”