Wickedly Dangerous (11 page)

LIAM HAD EVERY
intention of following through on his promise to Baba and checking up on Peter Callahan. If nothing else, he was perversely looking forward to his next confrontation with Baba and seeing that strange light flashing in her eyes. He didn't know how she did it, but she was astonishingly beautiful when she was angry.

If she was his, he'd make her angry from time to time, just to watch the fireworks. Not that she would ever be his. Especially not now, when finding three missing children was a lot more important than suddenly, inexplicably discovering he still had an interest in women after all. One woman anyway.

It made no difference, since he hadn't had time to see her in days—or investigate anything to do with Peter Callahan. He'd been way too busy answering call after call from irate citizens who kept him hopping with their bizarre complaints.

He pulled into the parking lot of the sheriff's department, so relieved to be back that the long, narrow building actually looked good to him, faded red bricks, straggling shrubbery, dirty windows, and all. The summer heat radiated up off the concrete sidewalk, and the few weeds that were attempting to work their way through the cracks looked depressed and wilted.

Kind of like he felt after spending over an hour standing in a field of reeking cow patties, trying to convince Stu Philips that his neighbor Henry hadn't deliberately pulled down the fence between their farms so his heifers could eat the crops on the other side. The two men had finally stopped yelling long enough for him to point out that said cows were now halfway down the hill, leaving trampled rows of young corn as evidence of their passage. When he left, both the cows and farmers had been headed for home, none the worse for their adventures. He wished he could say the same for his boots.

The cooler air inside the station was like a melody written in the key of relief. He nodded at a couple of deputies sitting at their desks in the outer room, ignoring the wrinkled noses and grimaces that followed in his wake. He'd come in smelling like worse things than manure; they'd live. The ancient AC units wheezing within the frames of windows with peeling white paint would eventually clear the air.

His secretary, Molly, trailed him into his office, her low heels tapping on the beige linoleum floor. “Nice aftershave, boss,” she said, waving a sheaf of colored papers in front of her nose. “Something new you're trying out?” The message memos were color coded in various shades to indicate urgency, and Liam noted an unusual number of oranges and reds in the midst of the usual yellows. It was a hell of a stack too.

“I've only been gone for two hours,” he complained. “How many problems could possibly come up during that time that somebody else couldn't handle?”

Molly's normally placid face pinched with worry. “Almost everyone else is already out dealing with other things. Sorry, Sheriff. It's been like a zoo. The phone hasn't stopped ringing since I got here.”

Liam gave her an apologetic smile. It wasn't her fault the sudden summer heat wave was making everyone cranky. “Hey, at least this zoo doesn't come with livestock.” He pointed at his boots, which still had manure embedded in every nook and cranny, despite his efforts to wipe them off. “Go ahead, hit me.”

Molly looked over the top of her glasses at the first note, held at slightly less than arm's length. She'd turned forty the year before, but was still resisting the bifocals she clearly needed. One strand of brown hair had slipped out of her usually tidy bun, and while she was as calm and pleasant as always, something about the set of her shoulders told Liam she hadn't had an easy morning either.

“Roy Smith called,” she said, reading the yellow note written in her precise cursive hand. “He says that something savaged three of his lambs—either a wolf, or some kind of wolf-dog hybrid. He wants you to look into it.”

Liam rolled his eyes. “Call him back and tell him I am neither the game warden nor the animal control officer. Next?”

This note was on orange paper. “Clementine Foster called because someone poisoned her well. She helpfully provided a list of suspects, most of them kids she had in last year's math class.” Molly tucked that one behind the rest of the batch, and read off the one after it. “Lester Haney wants you to investigate the vandalism on his farm. Says someone is sneaking around at night letting all the air out of the tractor tires, stealing plastic parts off the equipment, and hiding half the tools.”

“Just the plastic parts?” Liam thought that sounded odd. “Maybe it's teenagers, doing it on some kind of a dare?” Molly gave that theory a dubious look, which he tended to agree with. “Well, tell him I'll get out there when I can, but in the meanwhile, maybe he should tie his dogs outside at night for a bit.” He took a deep breath, bracing himself as he looked at the size of the stack still remaining. “What else ya got?”

She flipped through them rapidly, finishing up with, “Sherwood Latham wants you to find out who is threatening his migrant workers; suddenly they're packing up their families and leaving town in droves. He says if you don't get to the bottom of it, the crops are going to rot in the fields.”

Oh, for the love of Pete.
“How am I supposed to know why the migrant workers are leaving? Maybe they got a better offer from someplace else. What the heck is going on around here, anyway? Has everyone lost their minds?”

He took off his hat and threw it on the pole in the corner, running his fingers through his hair to try to get some shape back into it. The coatrack was as utilitarian and functional as the rest of the room; the message memos were by far the most colorful thing in it. But even though he'd never admit it, Liam loved this office, with its clunky old wooden desk covered with towering piles of neatly organized files, and the big dusty window that overlooked the town he'd pledged to keep safe. The thought of losing it sent a shockwave of pain through his chest. He wasn't sure he could bear one more loss. But he couldn't think of any way to prevent it, short of a miracle.

“You look like you could use this, Sheriff,” Nina said, walking through the door with a grease-dotted takeout container in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. She plopped them both on the desk blotter, carefully moving an active file out of the way with one well-placed elbow. The aroma of grilled meat and hot coffee filled the room and made Liam's chest loosen so he could breathe again.

“Is that from Bertie's?” he asked. As if Nina would take her lunch break anywhere else.

“You bet your bippy,” the older woman said, a smart-assed grin creasing her narrow face. Her chin was pointed and her eyebrows sparse, and even when she was younger she'd been no one's idea of a beauty, but Liam valued her more than any ten runway models for her loyalty and her brains. “Bertie's special bacon cheeseburger with the bacon extra crispy, just the way you like it. I had a feeling you probably didn't remember to stop and eat.”

Molly nodded in satisfaction. Nina and Molly had been mothering him since Melissa left. Since before that, really. Sometimes it got on his nerves, but he knew they meant well. Besides, if it got him a bacon cheeseburger from Bertie's, it was worth it. They both stood there and waited until he'd taken three huge bites, savoring the moist ground beef, the sharp bite of the cheddar cheese, and the smoky richness of the bacon, almost moaning as the juices dripped onto the napkin spread out in front of him.

“Thanks, Nina,” he finally said, swallowing the last delicious mouthful. “You may have saved my life.”

She sniffed. “Hey, I was there anyway. It's no big deal.” It was their unspoken agreement: she pretended not to care, and he pretended to believe her. Nina liked to believe that no one saw through her tough exterior to the warm heart underneath, and everyone at the station played along, just to keep her happy.

Molly put the memos for Liam to deal with down on the desk, their corners neatly aligned. “I'm glad you're back, Nina,” she said, a tiny wrinkle appearing between her brows. “Dispatch has been hopping since you went out; I thought Deputy Lewis was going to give himself a muscle spasm trying to keep up.”

“Crazy,” Liam repeated, shaking his head. He pushed the second half of his lunch away, his appetite suddenly gone. “What the hell is going on around here?”

Nina pursed her thin lips. “You should hear the talk at Bertie's. People are saying their feed supplies rotted overnight, or are infested with rats. Frank Shasta said he had a plague of snakes—just harmless garter snakes, but apparently they were everywhere. His wife Mildred got so freaked out, she went to stay with her mother until he could get rid of them.”

“Seriously?” Molly looked amazed. “That must have been a hell of a lot of snakes; Mildred's mother is a crabby old harpy.”

Nina nodded in satisfaction. There was nothing she liked better than a good gossip, and lately, it seemed like there was a never-ending supply of weird news, bad news, and just plain oddness.

“Carter Hastings told me that he had a giant sinkhole open up in the middle of one of his fields. Nothing there one day, and the next, a hole big enough to lose a whole herd of cattle in. He said it hardly mattered, though, because all his best dairy cows had gone dry. The vet's got no idea why. Poor Carter's going to have to sell off a quarter of the herd at rock-bottom prices.”

“Huh,” Molly said. “I've heard of a couple of other farmers who had the same problem. The cows going dry, not the sinkhole. It's like someone cursed the whole county.” She gave Liam a halfhearted smile and handed him three matching red message sheets. “And speaking of curses, here's your special one: the mayor wants to see you in his office at two.”

A sigh escaped Liam like air from a balloon at the end of a party. “Did he say what he wanted?” Not that it mattered. Whatever it was, it wouldn't be good.

She shrugged. “No. But he's called three times to see if you were back yet, so I'm guessing it's important.” She shoved the remains of Liam's cooling burger back toward him. “You'd better eat that. Something tells me you're going to need your strength.”

As she and Nina left the room, he muttered to himself, “I think I'd rather be chasing wolves.”

*   *   *

BABA SAT AT
a small table in Bertie's, drinking coffee and trying to pretend that she belonged there. To her amazement, it seemed to be working. One thing about small towns, she thought, word got around fast. People she'd met nodded to her as she came into the room; people she hadn't met looked at her curiously, seemed to figure out exactly who she was, and went back to their food. It was an odd feeling for someone who was always a stranger everywhere she went. Odder yet, she almost thought she liked it.

“Sorry I'm late,” Belinda said, sliding into the seat across from Baba. “We've been going crazy down at the station, trying to keep up with all sorts of weird calls from normally sane people.” Dark circles shadowed her eyes as she gazed across the table at Baba. “I don't suppose you've made any progress finding Mary Elizabeth?” Hope and despair warred with each other on her pretty face, the despair winning when Baba shook her head.

“I've got a couple of leads I'm following up on,” Baba said. “I'm sorry I don't have anything more concrete to tell you than that. But we
will
get your daughter back, I promise you.” She found herself making the promise as much to the universe as to the deputy; she liked this woman, with her brave heart and her unyielding faith in the Baba. Barbara wasn't going to let her down.

“Heya, Belinda,” a waitress said as she came up to the table. Lucy, Baba thought, recognizing the pouf of blond hair. “Hey, Miz Yager. I gotta tell ya, that cream you gave me for my bunions worked a treat.” She wiggled one wide foot, clad in bright red sneakers with zebra-striped laces. “First time my foot hasn't hurt in two years.” She turned her beaming smile on Belinda, patting the deputy on the shoulder with a motherly air. “How ya holdin' up, honey?”

Belinda gave the older woman a shaky smile in return. “I'm doing okay, Lucy. Just a cup of coffee for me, okay? I'm not too hungry.”

Lucy scowled. “You're on your lunch break, ain't ya? Then you're havin' lunch. I'll bring ya some of the chicken soup we got on special; nothin' goes down easier than chicken soup. It'll cure just about anything that ails ya.” She snorted a laugh. “Of course, whatever it don't cure, Miz Yager here will, ain't that right?” She patted Baba on the shoulder too, and walked jauntily off in the direction of the kitchen.

Baba blinked. “People around here certainly are friendly,” she said, not sure if that was a good thing or not. Friendly usually made her twitch. This town must be getting under her skin.

“Well, I think word's getting around about all the good you're doing with your herbal remedies,” Belinda said, toying with the little gold stud in one ear. Baba noticed that her nails were chewed down to the quick.

“Huh,” Baba said. “It's a good cover story, and I like working with the plants. Earth is my primary element, I guess you could say. Still, it's not a big deal; I like healing people.”

“Just not talking to them, right?” Belinda said with a tiny smile. “I appreciate you meeting me here. I can tell you're not much of a ‘let's have lunch' kind of woman.”

Baba snorted. “Not hardly.” She looked around the room. “But I like this place. And the coffee is damned good. Besides, you asked nicely.” She just wished she had more than empty reassurances to give the poor woman. “And maybe now we can discuss that second impossible task.”

She smothered a chuckle at the look of alarm that spread over Belinda's face.

“Um, okay,” Belinda said, swallowing hard. “What is it?”

Baba gave her a serious look, then gestured at the covered cases that lined the counter. “Help me figure out which kind of pie to get. I'm completely torn between the strawberry rhubarb and the mixed berry with the crumble topping.”