Saved By The Sheriff

“I don’t know,” Lacy said. “This is my home, but even in three years, things have changed.”

“Not that much, surely,” Brenda said. She turned the car onto Main.

“There are new houses, new businesses, new people I don’t know. We even have a new mayor.” Lacy gestured toward the banner that hung over the street. “And what’s this Pioneer Days Festival?” she asked. “That wasn’t around when I left.”

“It’s a whole weekend of events celebrating local history,” Brenda said. “Jan came up with the idea when she was mayor and it’s really been a boon for the town coffers.” Jan Selkirk had been mayor when Lacy had left town, and, after leaving office, had taken over management of the history museum where Brenda worked.

“I guess I remember some talk about a local celebration to commemorate the town’s founding,” Lacy said. “I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”

“I guess it morphed over time into a really big deal,” Brenda said. “Tourists come and stay all weekend. All the local motels and inns are sold out, and we have all kinds of special events at the museum.”

“Sounds like fun.” Lacy swiveled in her seat as they passed a pile of wreckage. “What happened to the Cake Walk?” she asked.

“You didn’t hear?” Brenda slowed as they passed the rubble, which was cordoned off with orange tape. “That was why Travis had to leave without picking up the file boxes. A guy ran his car right into it yesterday afternoon. Jan told me she heard the poor man had a stroke. They ended up taking him to the hospital. Fortunately, no one inside was hurt.”

“I was at the sheriff’s office yesterday afternoon and Travis never said a word about it,” Lacy said.

“Oh? Why were you at the sheriff’s office?” Brenda didn’t try to hide her curiosity.

Lacy leaned back in the seat and sighed. “There’s a man in town who says he’s writing a book about me. I complained to Travis about him.” No point in going into her accusations that Travis was selling her out to this writer.

“Oh, dear. I suppose that was bound to happen,” Brenda said.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t gotten in touch with you yet.”

“When he does, I’ll tell him what he can do with his book project,” Brenda said.

“He said he was going to write about me, whether I cooperate or not. I guess I’ll have to get used to that kind of thing. He said I was a public figure now.”

“Oh, Lacy.” Brenda reached over and rubbed her arm. “I’m sorry.”

Lacy straightened and forced a smile onto her lips. “It’ll be okay. What’s one lousy book in the scheme of things?”

For the next twenty minutes, the two friends discussed the Pioneer Days Festival, new businesses that had moved to town in Lacy’s absence and a new television series they were both watching. By the time they reached the storage facility, they had relaxed into the easy banter of old friends.

“I remember this place,” Lacy said as she climbed out of the car at the storage unit. “I used to give Andy a hard time about it being so far out here on the edge of town.”

“I guess nobody really wants a place like this in their backyard,” Brenda said. “Plus, the land is cheaper out here.” She undid the lock and pulled up the door.

The first thing Lacy spotted was a Victorian lamp that had sat on her desk in the front office of Andy Stenson’s law practice. Seeing it now, shade crooked and grayed with dust, gave her a jolt. Her gaze shifted to the big walnut desk where Andy had sat. It had usually been covered in papers, but she recognized the lovely dark finish. So odd to see these familiar things out of context.

“After Andy died, I was such a wreck,” Brenda said, as if reading Lacy’s mind. “I hired a couple of guys to clean out the office and put everything here. I hadn’t even looked at any of it until I was out here with Travis yesterday.”

“There was no reason you should have had to look at it,” Lacy said. “I hope Travis is right, and we find something useful in all these papers.”

“These are the two boxes he wants to start with.” Brenda pointed to two white file boxes, their tops crisscrossed with red and white tape. “All the files for Hake Development.”

“I was surprised when my mom told me Mr. Hake still hasn’t done anything with that property,” Lacy said. “I remember he had big plans for a bunch of luxury homes—even a golf course.”

“An environmental group successfully got an injunction to delay construction,” Brenda said. “I’m not sure what’s going on with it now. Maybe Henry Hake changed his mind.”

“Maybe.” Lacy picked up one box, while Brenda carried the other to the car. Boxes safely in the back seat, Brenda locked up again and the two friends set out once more.

“They haven’t done much to fix this road,” Lacy said as they bumped over a series of ruts on the gravel track that led away from the storage units.

“I guess with no one living out this way, it’s not a priority,” Brenda said.

“Right.” Lacy looked over her shoulder to make sure the file boxes hadn’t slid off the seat, and was surprised to see a pickup truck following them. “If no one lives out here, I wonder who that is?” she asked.

Brenda glanced in the rearview mirror. “I don’t recognize the truck,” she said.

“Maybe it’s a tourist,” Lacy said. “He could be looking for somewhere to hike. Or maybe it’s someone else with a storage unit.”

“It looks like a ranch truck, with that brush guard on the front.” The heavy pipe, gate-like structure attached to the front bumper would protect the headlights and grill from being damaged by brush when a rancher drove through the fields.

“I didn’t see any other vehicles there,” Lacy said. “And we didn’t pass anyone on our way out here.”

“Whoever he is, he’s driving way too fast for this road,” Brenda said.

Lacy glanced over her shoulder again. The truck was gaining on them, a great plume of dust rising up in its wake. “He’s going to have to slow down,” she said. “Or run us off the road.”

Even as she spoke, the truck zoomed up, its front bumper almost touching the rear bumper of Brenda’s car. The lone occupant wore a ball cap pulled low on his forehead, a black bandanna tied over his mouth and nose.

“What does he think he’s doing?” Brenda’s voice rose in alarm. The car lurched as she tapped the brakes and Lacy grabbed on to the door for support. The screech of metal on metal filled the vehicle, which jolted again as the bumpers connected.

Brenda cursed, and struggled to hold on to the wheel. Lacy wrenched around to stare at the driver once more, but she could make out nothing of his face. He backed off and she sagged back into her seat once more.

“He’s crazy,” Brenda said. The car sped up, bumping along the rough road. “As soon as I can, I’m going to pull over and let him pa—”

She never finished the sentence, as the truck slammed into them once again, sending them skidding off the road and rolling down the embankment.

Chapter Five (#u77305aa9-39a1-57c3-b723-54bec358ecce)

“All units report to Fireline Road for a vehicular accident with possible injuries.” The dispatcher’s voice sounded clear on the otherwise quiet radio. Travis, on his way to lunch, hit the button to respond. “Unit one headed to Fireline Road,” he said. He switched on his siren and headed out, falling in behind Gage, an ambulance bringing up the rear of their little parade.

As he drove, he checked the GPS location the dispatcher had sent over. The accident looked to have occurred about two miles this side of the storage units, an area with a sharp curve and a steep drop-off. He slowed as the screen on his dash indicated they were nearing the site. Gage pulled to the side of the road and Travis parked behind him. He joined his brother on the rough shoulder, and stared down at a white Subaru Outback, resting on its side on the steep slope, wedged against a solitary lodgepole pine tree.

Gage raised binoculars to his eyes. “Looks like there’s at least one person in there—maybe two,” he said.

Two EMTs joined them—a freckle-faced young guy Travis didn’t know, and Emmet Baxter, a rescue service veteran. “OnStar called it in,” Baxter said, nodding to the wrecked Subaru. “They tried to contact the driver but no one responded. Since the airbags had deployed, it triggered an automatic call.”

“I’ll call in the plate,” Gage said. “See if we can get a possible ID on the driver.”

“Go ahead, but I know who it is,” Travis said, the tightness in his chest making it difficult to take a full breath. “That’s Brenda Stenson’s car. And the passenger is probably Lacy Milligan. The two of them were supposed to drive out here to pick up some of Andy Stenson’s files from storage.” He pulled out his phone and punched in Brenda’s number. It rang five times before going to voice mail. He got the same results with Lacy’s number. He swore and stuffed the phone back in the case on his hip, then stepped down off the edge of the road.

Gage grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going down to them. They could be hurt.”