Small-Town Secrets. Linda Randall Wisdom
The minute you’re inside your car, lock the doors.”
“What if you feel someone is following you?” a woman asked.
“Marian, we’ll have a question and answer period after the talk,” Renee chided.
“She did bring up a good point,” Bree said. “If you feel you are being followed, never go home. Drive directly to the police station or someplace that’s well lit and busy. If you have a cell phone, call the authorities and explain your situation. Once you reach the police station, and if you’re afraid to get out of your car, honk your horn repeatedly. Believe me, someone will come out to investigate.”
Bree felt herself relax as she gave a talk she knew she could give in her sleep.
Then the rear door opened and someone slipped inside, making his way toward one of the chairs in the back row.
Bree felt herself start to falter as she locked gazes with Cole Becker. He smiled and tipped his head in a silent greeting as he sat back in the chair. He pulled a notebook out of his briefcase and settled his ankle on the opposite knee. She purposely ignored him and continued speaking.
It wasn’t easy pretending he wasn’t there. Not when he was staring unflinchingly at her.
What is he doing here? He’s not old enough to be a member of this center, unless he’s better preserved than I thought. And if that’s the case, I want to know his secret.
One way or another, she was determined to finish her talk without stumbling over any words.
What was it about Cole Becker that affected her this way?
If it wouldn’t ruin her future with the sheriff’s department, she’d just shoot the man and get it over with.
She mentally heaved a sigh of relief when she finished her speech and waited for questions. She nodded at one woman sitting in the second row.
“But what about when someone tries to rob you?” the tiny, gray-haired lady asked in a trembling voice. “I know you’re not supposed to fight them, but I can’t just allow them to take my money, either.”
“Better to lose the money than lose your life. However, what we’ve seen is that many thieves preying on the elderly are actually cowards. They tend to choose people they don’t think will fight back,” Bree explained. “If you feel you have a chance, then show them you aren’t that easy. Especially if they’re not carrying a weapon. Things you can do are stomp down on their foot really hard, plant your knee between their legs, and if possible, poke at their eyes. And yell as loud as you can. Some people feel yelling ‘Fire!’ gets more action than yelling for the police. Do whatever you think will get you assistance.”
“That’s why we need to carry guns of our own,” one man grumbled. A low rumble moved through the audience. “That way the bastards will know who’s really in charge.”
“Not at all a good idea,” Bree said firmly. “I’ve had to work on too many crime scenes where the victim’s own gun was used on him or her.”
“Then what should people do, Detective Fitzpatrick?” Cole called out from the back of the room. “What do they need to do to protect themselves?”
“Carry a personal alarm. The kind where you pull a cord and it emits a screeching sound. That will attract attention. Take a course to learn how to properly use pepper spray,” she recommended. “Take a self-defense course that will not only teach you how to defend yourself, but will give you a little confidence to boot.”
“What about a large dog?” someone else asked.
“They’re a good deterrent and make for good company,” she agreed.
“I can see our time is up.” Joshua stood up and moved over to stand next to Bree. “I’d like to thank Detective Fitzpatrick for coming here and giving us some good ideas on how to protect ourselves.” He started clapping and the others joined in.
What Bree noticed most was the tall man now standing in the back of the room.
“I’ve brought some magnets for you to put on your refrigerator or by the phone,” she said, holding one up. “Please, help yourselves.”
Bree stood by the podium as many of the seniors made their way to the front. She smiled and spoke to each person Joshua and Renee introduced her to.
“Thank you for explaining who we need to beware of,” one frail silver-haired woman said, laying her trembling hand on Bree’s arm. She lowered her voice. “Sometimes I feel very frightened.”
Bree had only to look into her eyes to see that she wasn’t speaking lightly. Fear spoke a stark message in her gaze. Bree didn’t hesitate. She plucked the magnet out of the woman’s hand, dug a pen out of her pocket and quickly wrote on two of the empty lines.
“This is my cell phone number and this is my home number,” she said quietly. “If you need to, call me directly, all right?” She tucked the magnet back into the woman’s hand and curled her fingers over it. “I am very serious. You call me anytime, day or night.”
The woman offered a tremulous smile, then turned away to walk slowly to the door. Bree watched her thoughtfully.
“Estelle Timmerman,” Renee murmured in Bree’s ear. “Poor dear. She used to be such an incredible woman. She was in the Women’s Army Corps during World War II. She faced each day with a smile. She and her husband did everything together. After his death, she seemed to change overnight. Became timid. Quiet. I’ve tried countless times to find out what’s wrong, but she tells me it’s nothing. I’ve been able to persuade her to go on some of our day trips, but it hasn’t been easy. I worry about her.”
“Sometimes what someone sees as something very wrong, we would see as nothing,” Bree murmured back, making a mental note to check on the woman.
She was meeting the last of the group when her senses picked up Cole Becker’s presence. She turned and offered him a brief smile that wasn’t the least bit friendly.
“I found your talk informative, Detective,” he drawled. “I think our senior citizens will feel safer after knowing their options. I know I do.”
“Something tells me that most criminals would run the other way if they ran into you,” she said.
He nodded sagely. “True. Power of the press and all that.”
Bree suddenly realized that everyone else seemed to have disappeared, leaving her and Cole alone. He appeared to have realized it, too.
“Lunch tomorrow?”
“I’m busy.”
“Dinner tomorrow night?”
“Busy,” she said glibly.
“March 7, 2004?” Cole asked without missing a beat. He reached for the box of magnets, but she beat him to it.
She smiled. “Dentist in the morning. Seeing my psychic in the afternoon, and I’ll be washing my hair that evening.” She headed for the door. “Have a nice day, Mr. Becker.”
As Bree entered the reception area, Renee approached her.
“Don’t tell the sheriff, but I believe I got the better deal, too. I didn’t have to familiarize myself with mountains of paperwork,” she confessed with a big grin.
“Next time you must show us what your dog can do,” the older woman requested.
“He’s a working police dog. He doesn’t do tricks,” Bree warned.
Renee chuckled. “Don’t worry. We don’t expect him to shake hands or sit up. Perhaps you could show us how he catches a suspect.”
“Now that he can do,” she assured her.
“Come back anytime,” Renee invited.
“I’m not exactly in the right age group.”
Her