Bride Of Dreams. Linda Wisdom Randall
pies are very good, too, but she knows I like her peach pies best.”
Cooper tightened his lips. No sir. Not one word. A declaration that flew right out the window at the prospect of needling his grandfather.
“I heard Mrs. Riley used to put one of those sexual potency drugs in her pies for her husband up until he died,” Cooper said, in the same casual tone his grandfather used. “Some say she’s looking for another husband. I bet the man who shows the most appreciation for her ‘pies’ gets her in the bargain.”
“Mrs. Riley is a nice woman, but she continues to mourn for her husband. She had never allowed his spirit to rest.” Laughing Bear tilted his head back, looking upward. “Another man cannot share a life with her until she decides it is time to let him go.”
Cooper chuckled. “My grandfather, the philosopher.”
“No, a man wanting to stay free.” The older man slowly rose to his feet. “And now a man who is ready to seek his bed.” He shuffled off a few paces before he stopped and turned around. “She will capture your heart, Grandson. It will do you no good to fight the Spirits’ wishes.”
“Are you sure you haven’t been reading vampire stories?” Cooper asked.
Laughing Bear stared at him with dark eyes that may have dimmed over the years but had lost none of their power.
“I wonder what your grandson will say to you when you tell him about the Spirits and their wishes.” Having said his piece, he turned around and slowly walked up the well-worn pathway to his cabin.
“DEPUTY NIGHT HAWK, are you listening to me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said obediently, pen racing across his pad. “You want whoever did this to be charged with vandalism and anything else we can think of.”
As owner of Gates Department store in Tyler, Nora Gates Forrester was used to people deferring to her. That Cooper wasn’t giving her the attention she felt due her left her irritated.
“I’m beginning to think it’s deliberate,” she said angrily. “I’ve even heard that people claim it was Margaret Ingalls. The woman is dead!’
“Yes, ma’am,” he said obediently.
Cooper wished he hadn’t answered the phone this morning. He wasn’t even due to go on duty yet. Then Hedda, one of their dispatchers, had called and asked if he’d stop by Mrs. Forrester’s house on his way into work.
“Mrs. Forrester…” He paused, well aware that whatever he said wouldn’t be welcome. It hadn’t been appreciated the last four times he’d been out here. He stepped carefully through the verbal minefield. “So far we haven’t been able to come up with any tangible clues as to who is destroying your things.”
The scent of Shalimar invaded his nostrils as she leaned closer. “When personal property is deliberately vandalized, you call the police. That is what I have done, and I expect results.”
Cooper mentally vowed to never answer the phone first thing in the morning. At least not before he had his breakfast.
He looked around the neatly kept yard. He knew a neighbor’s teenage son mowed the lawns every other week, and Mrs. Forrester tended her flowers with the same care a mother gave to her child. As he looked around, his gaze swept across the clothesline that occupied a corner of the yard. Underneath, pieces of brightly colored silk and lace dotted the green lawn—victims of the heinous crime.
He took a deep breath. “There have been some complaints about a goat wandering around in this neighborhood. You’ve got that hole in the back part of your fence and maybe the goat got inside the yard. They’re known for eating anything.”
Mrs. Forrester flashed him a look that implied she thought his idea of an underwear-eating goat ranked right up there with idiocy.
“I cannot imagine a goat would wander in here to steal and destroy my clothing,” she insisted.
“I don’t know. My grandmother had a goat who liked to eat dish towels.”
Mrs. Forrester glared at him. “Just find out who did this.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He put away his pad and allowed her to escort him through the house and outside. He climbed into the Blazer and fingered the radio. “Dispatch, this is Cooper,” he announced. “Finished at the Forrester house and rolling out.”
“Is Nora’s complaint of vandalism the same as always?” Hedda, the dispatcher, asked.
“Got it in one.”
“I heard that Margaret Ingalls might have done it. What are you going to do if it does turn out to be Margaret?”
“What do you think? Call Ghostbusters.” He signed off before his laughter joined hers.
He’d driven barely halfway along the street before he was flagged down. He stopped and rolled down his window.
“’Mornin’, Mrs. Gray,” he greeted the woman who’d been his fourth-grade teacher and still kept nine-year-olds in line at the grade school.
“Good morning, Cooper. Tell me, does Nora think Margaret Ingalls is destroying her underwear?” she asked.
“I think she’s starting to think that, ma’am. Do you have anything new that might help the case?” Such as seeing a ghostly Margaret Ingalls slipping into the Forrester yard.
“Nora’s a sensible woman except when it comes to this,” she said bluntly. “If she truly wants to settle this, she should see about holding a séance. If someone can conjure Margaret up, Nora could then tell Margaret to her ghostly face to steal someone else’s underwear.”
Cooper coughed into his curved palm.
Mrs. Gray narrowed her eyes and gave him a look that still froze him down to his toes. “That tactic didn’t work back then, Cooper Night Hawk, and it doesn’t now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said soberly.
Her usually stern features relaxed in a smile. She rested her hand on the windowsill. “Did I ever tell you you grew up just fine?”
“Last week.” His dark eyes twinkled.
She slapped the windowsill with her hand. “Just so you remember. Of course, I knew once you and Freddie Martin stopped hanging around together, you’d do all right.” She stepped back, her own way of saying the conversation was over. “I understand Freddie is up for parole in two years.”
Cooper nodded goodbye and drove on.
He knew becoming a sheriff’s deputy in Tyler, Wisconsin, meant he would be dealing with people he’d known all his life. In a small town it was a given.
There were pluses and minuses in his job. Here, he knew everyone and they knew him. There’d been a time when all he thought about was getting out of Tyler for good. But that was when he was young and stupid. Now he knew this was where he belonged.
Life was predictable here but never boring. He knew many people wouldn’t like predictable, but there were many times when it was pretty nice. Such as now when he was heading for Marge’s Diner for his breakfast of blueberry pancakes with hash browns, sausage, orange juice and plenty of coffee.
No wonder he felt the town of Tyler gave him all the nurturing he needed.
“HEADS UP, DARLIN’.”
Caroline automatically ducked as a heavily laden tray swept over her head. Alice, the other waitress in Marge’s Diner that morning, flashed her an apologetic smile.
“Sorry, sweetie. I had a head of steam going and didn’t want to conk you on the noggin like the last time,” she said over her shoulder as she sailed across the room.
“Thank you. Mashed potatoes weren’t exactly the best conditioner for my hair,” Caroline admitted, swapping the empty coffeepot for a full one.
Breakfast