Murder At Granite Falls

She pulled a face. “It doesn’t work. I can just take care of this tomorrow.”

His gaze sharpened. “Go ahead and get your keys. I don’t mind waiting.”

At the hint of suspicion in his voice she sighed, and dutifully ran upstairs to retrieve her keys from the kitchen table. If he’d misread her hesitation and thought he was going to make headlines by finding stolen loot or a few hundred pounds of pot in her trunk, he was going to be sadly disappointed.

She unlocked the liftgate, opened it and stepped aside while it lifted on its own.

His eyes flared wide when he saw the only contents—the old shotgun and a box of shells. “That’s…it? Does it even work?”

“It actually shoots true, even if it looks a little rough.” The barking from inside the patrol car grew more frantic. “Does your dog need to be let out, or something?”

“I just started my shift. He shouldn’t.”

Now, Carrie could hear the sound of its claws scrabbling against the windows. “I’m glad you aren’t letting him loose. He sounds fierce.”

“Ranger’s new to the department, and he’s still erratic.” The deputy scowled toward his vehicle, a thoughtful look spreading across his face. “But he does know his business. Maybe—”

The radio mike at his shoulder crackled with static. A rapid-fire dispatcher’s voice rattled off a series of codes, then an address.

Peterson listened, tapped a button on the mike and muttered a response as he strode to his vehicle and pulled open the front door.

He paused, half-inside, and looked back. “Accident on the highway. I have to leave. But don’t hesitate to call the dispatcher if you have any problems. Believe me, we’d rather answer a false alarm now and then, than have to deal with the aftermath if someone fails to call in time.”

THREE

The clerk, a stocky middle-aged woman with Norma emblazoned on her name badge, finished ringing up Carrie’s last item. “You must be planning on a blizzard in June, with all these groceries.”

Carrie smiled at the teenage boy bagging the last of her purchases and rescued a bottle of Diet Coke before it disappeared into a bag with her canned goods. “With a weekend ahead, I probably won’t want to brave the tourist traffic to come back into town.”

“And this is just mid-June. Wait till the Fourth of July.” Chewing on her lower lip, Norma tilted her head and studied the name on Carrie’s check, then slid it into the cash register and handed her the receipt. “There was someone in here asking about you the other day.”

Small-town gossips at work, no doubt. Carrie rolled her eyes. “I hope you had good things to say.”

“It was some guy who wondered if I knew where you lived.”

Carrie stilled. “He? Did he say who he was?”

Norma thought for a moment. “Nope. It was real busy at the time. He didn’t buy anything, just sort of cut into the line to ask me and then he left.”

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

“I just had a glimpse of him, but he was a nice-looking man. Dark hair. Thirties, maybe.”

Which could be Billy or a thousand other guys. But how many other guys would be looking for her? Carrie fidgeted with her key ring. “Do you remember what day?”

“Honey, at my age the days sort of blur together. It was early in the week, anyways. I know I haven’t seen you since then.”

“Did you tell him where I live?”

“I may be getting old, but I’m not stupid. If he was an axe murderer, I’d never forgive myself. But,” Norma added, “everyone in town knows about you being the new teacher here. And with the Bradleys’ trouble last year and you staying out there, word gets around.”

Which meant there was a good chance someone might have shared that information without a second thought. But then again, maybe the guy had been totally innocent. Someone needing to deliver a package, perhaps.

But Norma would’ve noticed a FedEx or UPS uniform.

Carrie managed a smile. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Norma’s forehead creased into a worried frown. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. You look worried.”

“Believe me, I want to know.”

Norma gave her head a decisive nod. “Well, if I see this fella again, I’ll be sure to tell you. And he won’t be getting any information from me.”

Carrie smiled in thanks as she headed for the exit, the bag boy following at her heels with the cart. Small towns, she thought with an inward sigh. Friendly, connected and sometimes entirely too trusting. Maybe Norma would be careful…but what if it was already too late?

The view was perfect, from the shaded spot between the drugstore and Marv’s Saddle Shop and Shoe Repair. The tourists window-shopping along Main Street were a better cover yet. And if anyone else saw him, it wouldn’t matter. He blended right into the fabric of this vacation destination town.

He watched with satisfaction when Carrie stepped out of the grocery store. She paused, shaded her eyes with her hand, and scanned both sides of the street as if she knew someone was watching.

He remained motionless, his dull clothes fading into the shadows and the dark gray wall behind him, his hat settled low over his eyes. She’d come so close to seeing him, several times, it was almost funny. Now, her gaze flitted past him. Hesitated. Then swept by him once more before moving on.

It was amusing to observe her inability to protect herself, to clearly identify danger, even in this innocuous setting.

He smiled to himself. He had time. He’d nose around, and find out exactly what was going on out at the Wolf River Rafting Company. And when he was ready, he’d pay her a little visit so she’d receive a taste of what was to come.

He could hardly wait.

It felt so good—so normal—to walk into her classroom the next morning, that Carrie smiled to herself. She hadn’t slept well at all last night, with the grocery clerk’s words running through her thoughts in an endless litany and her ears attuned to the slightest sounds outside. That stranger hadn’t just been casually looking for her around town. He’d wanted to find out where she lived. Had someone blithely shared the information—and sent that prowler to her door?

Since Monday night she’d felt restless during the day, too. Wary. Repeatedly had a crawling sensation at the back of her neck at odd times and would whirl around, only to find that nobody was there. But here at school, surrounded by all of the kids and teachers, she could finally relax.

Just ten feet inside the door of her classroom, Carrie saw a creased piece of paper on her desk.

Ordinary typing paper. Nothing unusual. Except that even from a distance, the carnage drawn on it sent a flutter of distaste through her midsection and unsettled the peanut butter and marmalade toast she’d eaten on the way into town.

Some fifth-grade boys liked to doodle in the margins of their notebooks…weapons and bombs and war scenes. That was nothing new. But as she drew closer, the exquisite detail and blatant suffering in the characters’ eyes were too real, and an entirely different slant from the norm.

One monstrous, semihuman figure had a look of pure evil on its face, with oversize sharp teeth, and was bedecked with multiple guns and swords and knives. Several bodies lay dismembered on the rough ground, blood flowing from them to mingle and form a river of crimson that ran to the edge of the page.

She shuddered as she stared down at it, an uneasy feeling forming in the pit of her stomach.

It was fifth-grade-level art, in style and execution, but the artist must have spent hours on the fine detail. Granted, this was a humanities enrichment class focusing on art appreciation. Maybe the child had been proud of his work and wanted to share it. She leaned closer, then turned the paper over.

But if so, why hadn’t he—or she—signed it?

“What’s up?”

At the unexpected voice behind her, Carrie startled and spun around, a hand at her throat.