The Lawman's Nanny Op

“After Sam told me he thought he’d seen him drive by I did some checking. He was released from prison two weeks ago.”

“What about Rita? Where is she?” The sun overhead seemed less bright, less warming as Portia thought of the couple she’d turned in to Child Protective Services two years before.

“Who knows? The minute Dale was arrested she left the area. I imagine Rita has probably remarried. She didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would be okay on her own.”

Portia nodded and had a hard time summoning up a vision of Rita Stemple in her mind. The woman had been thin and mousy and had rarely been seen in town.

“I just wanted to give you a heads-up that he’d been released and might have come back into town to give you some grief. I’m going to try to find out where he is, but you need to keep an eye out, too.”

“Thanks, Caleb. I can’t believe he didn’t even cross my mind. I guess because I just assumed he was still in jail. You’ll let me know what you find out?”

“Of course.”

“And I hope Tom and the others find out something about Brittany.”

His eyes darkened with pain and his shoulders slumped forward. “Thanks. Me, too.” He straightened and drew a deep breath and then glanced into her trunk. “Planning a little work, I see.”

“I decided with the children at Melody’s for the time being, it was a good time for me to do a little redecorating in the day care.”

“So you’ll be home all day?” he asked.

“Off and on. I’m planning on stopping by Melody’s on my way home to see the kids, then I’ll be home until this evening. Tuesdays I always have dinner with my mother. But, if you find out something and need to get hold of me, let me give you my cell phone number.”

He wrote the number on a small notepad and then shut her trunk for her. “There’s no reason to believe that you’re in any imminent danger,” he said. “No threats have been made on you and it’s possible it wasn’t Dale that Sam saw. Sam said he just got a quick glance at the driver. I just wanted you to know that I’m on top of it and you need to be aware.”

“Thank you, Caleb. I appreciate it, especially with you having Brittany’s disappearance on your plate.”

He smiled, although the gesture didn’t reach the brown depths of his eyes. “At the moment Tom is working Brittany’s disappearance and I’m doing everything possible to fix your world. Besides, I’m afraid if I don’t you’ll sic Layla on me.”

She laughed, and it felt good. “Layla is a good friend.”

“She’s like an attack pit bull when it comes to you,” he replied. He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know about Dale. I’ll be in touch if I find out anything else.”

“Thanks, Caleb.”

She watched him walk back toward the sheriff’s office and couldn’t help but notice that he looked as good going as he had coming.

As she got into her car she told herself that the tingly feeling she got whenever he was near was nothing more than an old memory playing itself out in her mind.

Did anyone ever really forget their first real love? Their first sexual awakening? Did the memory of that person always evoke the kind of yearning, the kind of electric sizzle that Caleb still managed to pull from her?

They’d both moved on. She knew he dated often and so did she, although no man had ever been as important to her as Caleb had once been.

She dismissed thoughts of him as she pulled away from the curb and headed home. Instead her head filled with thoughts of the Stemples. Dale and Rita had had two children, a three-year-old little boy named Danny and a four-year-old little girl named Diane.

The two children had only been in Portia’s care for two days when she saw the signs of abuse. There had been bruises on Diane’s forearm in the distinctive pattern of fingers and when Danny had called for her help in the bathroom on the second day, Portia had seen that his bottom was not only marked with lines from a belt, but also scabbed over in several places.

She’d immediately called Child Protective Services and a woman had shown up at the day care and had taken the children into custody. Portia had never seen Dale or Rita again.

She’d heard through the grapevine that Dale had been arrested for threatening a social worker and for keeping illegal guns in his house. Rita had left town and Portia had put the whole incident out of her mind except for occasionally wondering what had happened to Danny and Diane.

There had been some speculation that Dale’s parents might step in and request custody, but at the time Dale’s mother had been battling cancer and so the children had disappeared into the foster care system.

After a visit to Melody’s where she got enough hugs and kisses to last for the day, she drove home. She unloaded the paint into the day care and then went into the house for lunch. Her plan was to spend the afternoon moving everything into the center of the room to prepare for painting the next day.

She supposed she was probably overreacting to the break-in by moving the children to Melody’s, but she’d rather err on the side of caution where their safety was concerned.

Besides, she’d been wanting to repaint the interior of the day care for months and this seemed like a perfect opportunity to get it done.

When she left her house to return to the day-care facility, she carried with her a knife from the kitchen drawer and her cell phone. She felt slightly foolish with the knife in her hand and wasn’t even sure she could use it on anyone, even to protect herself. But she was reluctant to be there with no weapon at all while she worked.

At five o’clock she knocked off working and went inside to shower and change for dinner with her mother.

As usual, a faint edge of dread coursed through her as she thought of spending time with her mother.

Doris Perez was a bitter woman who had never gotten over her husband walking out on her and with each year that had passed, her bitterness had grown.

It was duty that drove Portia to the weekly dinners. Her mother had no friends, her health was failing and Portia was an only child. She loved her mother, but there were times she didn’t like her very much.

At six she got into the car to head to her childhood home eight miles away. As she drove she thought of the brief kiss she’d shared with Caleb. It had stunned her to realize that after all these years there was still magic in his kiss. His lips had held an intoxicating warmth, a faint edge of hunger that had excited her.

Although she’d halted it before it had gotten too deep, too breathtaking, there had been a part of her that had wanted to pull him back into her house, take him to her bed and make love with him. But the rational part of her knew that would be inviting heartache back into her life.

As she turned down the tree-lined, narrow country road that would eventually lead to her mother’s farmhouse, she couldn’t help but admire the play of the evening sunshine through the trees.

It wouldn’t be long and the leaves would begin to turn red and gold and fall to the ground. Portia loved autumn, but it was always in that time of the year when she thought of the babies she wanted—not babies who belonged to somebody else that she watched during the day, but rather babies that were from her heart, a twenty-four-hour part of her life. The fall always reminded her that another year was about to pass and she still wasn’t pregnant.

“You have to find a husband before you can have babies,” she said aloud. Although she knew some women chose to be single moms, that wasn’t a choice she wanted to make.

As the daughter of divorced parents and as someone who hadn’t had a relationship with her father since he’d walked out on them, she wanted her children to have something different, something more.

Her mother sat in a rocking chair on the front porch. The swing where Caleb and Portia had spent so many nights of their high school years had been taken down years ago.

As Portia pulled up in front of the house and parked, her mother stood. Doris Perez would be an attractive woman if bitterness hadn’t etched frown lines into her face.

“Hi, Mom,” Portia said as she got out of the car.

“About time you got here. I imagine the salad is soggy by now.”

“I’m sure it will be fine. I told you I’d get here around six-thirty.” Portia joined her mother on the porch and gave her a quick hug.

“Come on in and let’s eat,” Doris said. “When your father was here we always ate at five o’clock sharp. I’m not used to eating this late.”

It was the same litany every time Portia had dinner with her mother. She swallowed a sigh as she followed Doris into the cheerless kitchen, where the table was already set.

As Portia slid into the chair where she’d sat every night for meals while growing up, Doris opened the oven door and took out a homemade chicken potpie.

“How’s work?” Portia asked once they were both seated at the table and eating.