Lawman-in-Charge

She really, really didn’t want to believe she was going crazy.

Because if that were truly the case, sheer determination might not be enough to prevent the inevitable.

Lucas Torretti watched the petite woman, her shoulder-length red hair glinting brightly in the sun as she left the diner. She was pretty, in a wholesome girl-next-door kind of way. Must be the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her cute nose. And when she’d looked up at him, her bright eyes had been almost mesmerizing. He caught Frank’s gaze and lifted his chin in her direction. “Do you know her? Or is she one of the summer tourists?”

Deputy Frank Rawson followed Megan’s lean figure as she climbed back into her car. Out of the group of guys working for the sheriff’s department, Frank was one of the few who didn’t begrudge Luke’s position as interim sheriff. Mainly because Frank had never wanted the job for himself. Frank was serving the last two years of his duty before taking a well-earned retirement. “Yeah, that’s Megan O’Ryan. Moved into the old Dartmouth place. Lucille Dartmouth was her mother’s sister.”

Luke nodded, noting the make of her car, a white Pontiac Sunfire, as she pulled away from the curb. He memorized the tag number, thinking he might run her DMV record just for fun. “What’s her story?”

Frank lifted a disbelieving brow. “What, have you been living under a rock? How could you not have heard about Megan O’Ryan? She’s the infamous crime scene investigator that helped convict the St. Patrick’s Strangler down in Chicago earlier this year. Her younger sister was the perp’s last victim.”

Ouch. That must have been rough. He vaguely remembered the story now. It had hit the national news because the crime scene analyst who’d helped put the pieces of the puzzle together had been removed from the case when they’d discovered her sister was the latest victim. But she’d continued working the case in the lab and had testified in court against her sister’s killer.

No wonder she’d been talking herself out of going crazy.

“Which one is the old Dartmouth place?” he asked, curiosity winning out against his better judgment.

“Ten miles north as the crow flies, on the dead end of Barker Road.” Frank flashed a knowing smirk. “Why? Thinking of dropping by for a neighborly visit?”

“Of course not,” he responded, just a little too quickly. He tossed some money on the tabletop to cover their bill and stood. “Let’s get back to work. I don’t want to be late for my meeting with the mayor.”

As they left, he thought again about Frank’s directions to Megan O’Ryan’s cabin. He knew exactly where it was, even if he hadn’t known the locals referred to it as the Dartmouth place. The cabin was isolated, being so far off the main highway. Was Megan O’Ryan afraid to be out there alone? Maybe he should make sure the deputies covered the cabin in their weekly rounds. Luckily, there wasn’t a whole lot of crime in Crystal Lake.

He brought himself up short. Why this sudden surge of concern about Megan O’Ryan? She might be the most attractive woman he’d met in a long time, but he wasn’t interested in a relationship. Not now, maybe not ever.

After his wife’s death three years ago, his life had spiraled out of control. He’d hit the proverbial rock bottom, losing his job and almost losing custody of his son when he’d tried to drown his sorrows in alcohol. With the help of his pastor and God, he’d managed to pull himself together. But he’d soon realized Sam had gotten involved with a scary group of kids, so he’d packed up their things and moved them to Crystal Lake.

Working as a deputy on staff had been good enough for him, but he’d been given the job as interim sheriff three weeks ago when his boss had suffered a major heart attack and had subsequent quadruple-bypass surgery.

Despite the obvious resentment from his former peers, everything was going fine. Except for his relationship with his seventeen-year-old son, Sam. Over the past year and a half, things had gone from bad to worse. In fact, there were days he honestly believed his relationship with Sam would never recover.

Not that he intended to stop trying. He prayed every day for God to help guide them both.

Teenagers, he reminded himself. Teenagers were tough on parents. If he survived Sam’s teenage rebellion, he could survive anything.

Luke finished his meeting with the mayor. He had wanted to know if Luke would consider throwing his hat into the running for the permanent job of sheriff now that Dan Koenig, humbled from his close call with death, had announced his retirement. Luke had promised to think about it, but in reality he knew life would be more difficult than ever if he took that course of action.

Besides, he’d never get elected sheriff. Not when most of the guys in the department figured they had a better chance of winning the election and barely tolerated his presence in an interim role.

There was too much paperwork associated with being the sheriff anyway. Back in his office he stared at the mound that seemed to grow by the hour. He sighed. Likely a few of the deputies would throw their name into the race. They considered him an outsider because he hadn’t lived and worked for most of his life in Crystal Lake. The fact that he’d been a Milwaukee homicide detective for ten years didn’t seem to matter here, where the good ole boys’ club still played poker every Friday night.

Luke wasn’t much into playing cards.

Well after five o’clock, he headed home, knowing the minute he hit the driveway that Sam wasn’t there. Sam was never home if he could help it, and most of the time Luke had no idea where Sam was. Mayor Ganzer would never have offered to support him in the election for sheriff if he’d known Luke couldn’t keep tabs on his own kid.

Sam had promised to be home, but of course he wasn’t. So much for trying to talk, even to ask how his son’s day had been.

He looked for a note from Sam, and after finding no clues to his whereabouts, he pulled a cold bottle of water and a plate of leftovers from the fridge. Outside, he plopped into a wide plastic deck chair overlooking the lake. He closed his eyes and murmured a quick prayer before digging in, eating the spaghetti cold as he watched the activity on the water. Boats sped by, some towing skiers, others inner tubes, as locals and tourists made the most of the too-short Wisconsin summer.

Sam had a cell phone that Luke paid for. Not expecting much, he pushed the speed-dial connection for his son.

And almost fell of his chair when Sam answered. “Yeah?”

Nonplussed, he tried to think of something to say. Yelling at Sam for not being home wouldn’t work. “Hey, how are you? I’m sorry I missed you.”

“Fine.”

He grimaced at the one-word answer but doggedly tried again. “What are you up to? Have big plans for tonight?”

“No.”

Pulling every tooth out of his head without novocaine would be easier than carrying on a conversation with his son. “Oh yeah? So you’re just hanging around? With anyone I know?”

A pause. “Doug. Look, I gotta go. See ya later.” Sam hung up before he could remind his son that his curfew on Friday nights was twelve-thirty.

Luke snapped his phone shut, trying to look positively on the one-sided conversation. His son had answered the phone. And he’d admitted he was hanging out with Doug. Maybe Sam was mellowing out a bit. Maybe Sam wasn’t just biding his time until he was eighteen and finished with high school and could blow his father off for good.

Too bad he didn’t really believe that.

The ache in his chest intensified, and he rubbed the area over his heart with his hand. Sam’s resentment hurt. Luke was very afraid of losing his son, hardly able to find remnants of the good kid Sam had once been before Shelia died. Sam’s lack of respect made him so angry. Yet Sam had only started getting in trouble after Luke lost control when cancer stole Shelia’s life.

How long would his son pay for his own sins? He hoped and prayed it would not be for long.

Luke stared out over the water long after the hubbub of activity had died down. No-wake rules after dusk usually put an end to the fun. Or rather, he thought with a grimace, the fun took another form, like bonfires and parties.

Is that where Sam was now? Partying somewhere with the other high school kids? Drinking? Drugs? Sex? He had no idea what Sam was doing these days. He’d searched Sam’s room for incriminating evidence but had yet to find anything. Sam was too smart to make it easy. Sam rarely invited anyone from high school over to the house, so he didn’t really know his son’s friends very well, except for Doug, who lived on the other side of the lake.

Sam hadn’t exactly blended into the crowd when they’d moved in, and Luke wasn’t sure how much had changed in the past year and a half.

He kept his police radio close at hand. He was always expected to be on call in case something happened. Luckily it almost never did. The worst thing he’d experienced was when Eric Landers got drunk and put a gun to his head. They didn’t have access to a crime team, so he’d used his old homicide skills to make sure they weren’t missing something. After examining the evidence, Dan Koenig and the ME had both ruled Eric’s death a suicide. There had only been one other death in his short tenure here, a hunter who had been shot by accident when he’d stayed out past dusk. Tragic, but not a homicide. The two events had created a lot of stir amongst the locals, providing gossip fuel for weeks.

Luke was glad there weren’t many crimes in Crystal Lake. It was one of the reasons he’d moved here. He’d hoped Sam would flourish in better surroundings. In a place where life was simple and there were fewer negative influences.

Please Lord, help guide Sam home. And help me to be patient with him. Help give me the strength and wisdom to know how to handle him. I’m asking You to watch over him, Lord. Amen.

Luke must have dozed, because his radio blaring next to him woke him up. “Sheriff? Sheriff? Do you read me?”

Night had fallen, and he reached for the radio, fumbling with the buttons. “Copy that. What’s up, Tony?”

“Found a dead body floating in the lake.”

Oh, boy. He had heard tourists who drank too much and fell out of their boats were not uncommon in the summer months in the area. And there was nothing worse than a floater. “Got an ID on the vic?”

“Yeah.” There was a small silence. “You’d better get out here, Sheriff. This girl is local and she didn’t die by accident.”

He shot to his feet, instantly wide awake, his gaze sharp in the moonlight. “What do you mean she didn’t die by accident?”

“She was murdered.” Tony’s voice sounded strained. “Strangled with a towrope before being dumped in the water.”