Danger on Her Doorstep. Rachelle McCalla
I’d give them the third degree. They have a responsibility to your father and to you, as well as to the safety of everyone in Holyoake County. If your father really was murdered, then there’s a killer out there somewhere.” He stopped when Maggie looked nervously back at the cellar door.
Guilt stabbed him. He hadn’t meant to make her more afraid, but he felt impatient with the sheriff’s office for not thoroughly addressing that aspect of the case two weeks earlier. In his mind, it was unconscionable that Maggie hadn’t been told the bare facts of her father’s case. But then, part of that was his fault. He’d been the one to call her to notify her of her father’s death. Not wanting to reveal over the phone that they suspected Glen Arnold’s death to be a homicide, Gideon had planned to tell Maggie those things in person once she arrived in town and they’d had a chance to investigate further. But his brother’s arrest had spoiled those plans, as well.
Much as he knew he needed to remain completely uninvolved with the homicide case, on a purely personal level, it was far too late. Glen Arnold had been a mentor and friend. And now it appeared as though whoever had killed him had another mission to accomplish, if the splintered cellar door was any indication.
“I don’t want you to worry,” he offered, noticing that she’d clenched her hands into tight little fists.
“Too late,” she said, her faint smile failing to make the statement a lighthearted one.
“Maggie, can you advise us in here?” Kim called from the first-floor doorway.
“Coming.” Maggie hopped up and followed the sheriff into the house.
Gideon leaned backward on the creaky swing and tried not to feel impatient. As he’d reminded himself a thousand times over the past two weeks, there was nothing he could do to help anyone until his case had been decided. If he tried to get involved before then, it would only make things worse. He watched carefully from his vantage point on the swing, but could see little of the inside activity from the backyard.
Letting his eyes wander over the unkempt grounds, Gideon assessed what he could of the setting. The house sat on a large lot just outside of town. There was another older home about half a block away, with a family living there—the Swansons. They were peaceful people, as he recalled. Mr. Swanson was a schoolteacher and his wife stayed home with the kids. If it hadn’t been for some large shade trees and the thick row of lilac bushes between the two properties, Gideon might have hoped the Swansons would have witnessed something, but between the distance and the visual obstructions, that seemed unlikely.
The other side of the street was a field of soybeans, while on the left side of the house the yard tapered off into what was once probably a well-kept garden area, though it hadn’t been that in eighty years or more. An aging shed marked the rear corner of the property. Beyond that, the wooded hillsides of the Loess Hills sprang up where the Nishnabotna River Valley ended. He wasn’t sure who owned the woodland.
As he sat taking in the surroundings, Gideon thought he saw a movement by the distant garden shed. He turned to look just in time to see a light-haired figure disappear behind the shed. The tallish female figure reminded him of Kim. But what would she be doing over there? Had she found a trail to follow after all?
Curiosity overcame his determination to stay uninvolved, and he hopped up, ambling in the direction of the shed. “Kim?” he asked as he neared the spot, not wanting to startle or surprise her, especially if she had her sidearm drawn. “Sheriff Walker?”
He was nearly to the shed when he heard the woman’s voice behind him.
“Are you looking for me?”
Gideon spun around. “Oh. There you are.” She’d obviously come from the direction of the house—not from back around the shed. “You’re wearing tan.”
“Yes. It is the official color of the Holyoake County sheriff uniforms—” Kim eyed him cautiously “—although I believe the tag calls it khaki.”
Hoping he hadn’t offended her, Gideon tried his best to look apologetic. “Sorry. It’s just that I thought I saw a woman—I had assumed it was you—going back around the shed. But she was wearing light blue.”
“City cops wear light blue and black,” Kim noted.
“I don’t think it was a city cop.” Gideon stepped back toward where he’d seen the figure, “I wonder if it was someone related to the break-in.”
By now Bernie and Maggie had come up from the basement and approached them. Bernie had apparently overheard much of their conversation. “A woman?” he asked skeptically. “It would take a pretty big person to push through those cellar doors. My guess is you’re looking at a good-size guy, maybe two guys. That door was solid.” Bernie spoke with an extra-authoritative air, and didn’t bother to wipe the smirk off his face when he was finished.
Gideon realized it gave the deputy no end of satisfaction to correct his former boss. And though there was plenty Gideon could have said, he knew Bernie well enough to know arguing with him would only make the situation worse. No, he was in a powerless position now, and he had to behave accordingly. “All I know,” he said patiently, “is that just a few moments ago I saw a light-haired female figure walk past here and disappear behind the shed.”
“I don’t see anyone. Where is she now?” Bernie asked.
“I don’t know.” Gideon tried to remain patient. He’d worked with Bernie just fine for years—but that had been when the deputy was trying to cooperate. The circumstances were very different now.
But Kim was already looking where he’d indicated. “Give him a break, Bernie. He’s right—someone was here, probably a woman. We’ve got footprints.”
Maggie was relieved when the sheriff and her deputy finally left. Though she was glad they’d investigated the matter thoroughly, she couldn’t get her mind off what Gideon had been in the process of telling her when the officers had arrived. But even as she and Gideon tromped back toward the house, she saw the sheriff’s patrol car return.
Deputy Bernie Gills leaped out before the interim sheriff had brought the vehicle to a complete stop. He ran up to Gideon and confronted him. “All right, where is it?”
Gideon looked confused, and possibly slightly annoyed. “Where’s what?”
“My Taser. I left it in the cruiser and you were the only person out here. Don’t tell me you didn’t take it.”
Maggie took a step back as Gideon turned his fierce glare on the deputy. “Bernie, what would I want with your Taser? I carried my own for years.”
“Yeah, and you obviously didn’t want to give it up when you stepped down, did you?”
To Maggie’s relief, Gideon didn’t let the argument escalate. “I don’t have your Taser, Bernie,” he stated flatly. “I don’t know anything about it.”
The deputy stared down his former boss for several long seconds before he finally said, “I’m watching you, Bromley. Everybody in Holyoake knows you’re dirty. It’s just a matter of time until the DNE proves it.” He headed back to the passenger side of the cruiser and climbed inside, slamming the door as the car drove away.
Maggie watched the marked vehicle as it rumbled away. She glanced back at Gideon in time to see the stern cleft between his brows relax slightly.
“Sorry about that.” He looked around them. “I don’t know what might have happened to his Taser. That car was within my sight almost the entire time it was back here, except for when I went around the other side of the shed.”
“Maybe he just misplaced it,” Maggie offered as she led the former sheriff back toward the house.
“Maybe.” Gideon sounded unconvinced. “Maybe another officer might, but Bernie’s downright particular about things.”
Maggie didn’t like the sound of that. Between people sneaking around, stealing things and trying to break into the house,