Return of the Lawman. Lisa Childs

like your ex-fiancé.”

      “That’s history now, Dad.” She kicked her purse that leaned against her dad’s desk. “He wouldn’t take his ring back in person, so I’m going to mail it.”

      Her dad chuckled. “Pawn it. After the way he treated you…”

      She squeezed his hand and forced a smile. “Yeah, well, that’s why I had to leave, to get used and abused in the big city.” The smile threatened to slip. “I can appreciate Winter Falls now.”

      “Can you?” her father taunted knowingly.

      She laughed. “All right. Not yet. But I will if I decide to stay. I haven’t decided yet, Dad.”

      “It’s not the same town, brat. There’s so much growth. New shops, new commerce. Snowmobilers in the winter. Boaters in the spring and summer, and hunters in the fall. A wealthy developer wants to build a huge mall on an old farm just east of town. Winter Falls is in the process of a major growth spurt.”

      His excitement spilled over in his voice, and Lindsey tried to summon some of her own. But she was more excited over the richness of the sticky cinnamon roll and the bite of the bitter, hot coffee.

      Her father laughed. “But you need more action. You were reporting the police beat too long.”

      “I wasn’t covering it alone, just assisting.” She winced over the bitterness in her voice, and her pride stung all over again with her stupidity. Why had she accepted her ex-fiancé’s lies?

      “I read the paper, honey. I recognize my daughter’s voice whether I hear it over the phone or read it in newsprint.”

      She took another gulp of coffee and enjoyed the numbness following the burn. She’d been numb for a while now. It was better that way. “Any action here?”

      “Heated debates over the mall proposal. An old trustee and the mayor are fighting it. The developer is rich and powerful. It’s interesting. It’s not life and death, but it’s interesting.”

      She sighed. “You’re right. It is interesting. I don’t need life and death anymore. Well, not death, anyhow.”

      Her father opened his mouth, but if he scram bled for words, none came out. He stuffed a piece of roll between his lips. They ate in silence for several moments before he spoke again.

      Finally he asked, “Are you going to see her, Lindsey?”

      She didn’t need to ask of whom he spoke. “Would it matter? Would she even know?” She popped another piece of roll into her mouth, but it was like chewing sawdust now.

      “I’ll be honest with you, honey. She probably wouldn’t know you. But I think it might matter to you.” He reached for her hand again, but she pulled back and wrapped it around her cup of coffee.

      None of the warmth permeated her icy cold fingers. “I’ll be honest with you, Dad. I don’t think it would.”

      He nodded, and disappointment flashed in his eyes. “On another note, there’s more news….”

      Lindsey leaned forward, recognizing the tone of her father’s voice. This was something that would matter to her. “Yeah?”

      “He’s back.”

      “Who?”

      “I wasn’t going to tell you because I didn’t want you smashing out the tail light on your Jeep or any other foolishness….”

      Lindsey’s face heated, and she managed a giggle. She thought she’d lost the youthful ability to giggle. “Dylan Matthews?” Then she remembered how he had left ten years ago, and whatever pleasure she’d flirted with faded away. “I’m not the only one who has to forgive this town.”

      “According to Marge, he’s sworn to protect it. He must have forgiven it.”

      She snorted. “I always wondered why you never hired Marge. She’d make a great reporter. She always scoops you.” Her father’s face reddened. Marge had an inside track with Will Warner despite his marriage.

      And she remembered another reason why she’d left. Her father was part of this town with its gossip and secrets.

      AFTERNOON HAD SLIPPED into evening. Dylan had spent it familiarizing himself with a town he’d once known so well. He’d spent it doing anything but returning to the scene of so many of his night mares.

      The leaves crunched under his feet as he walked around the Expedition and headed toward the abandoned house. In the fading light he barely noted the peeling paint and dirty windows. If he were ever fanciful, he might think it looked lonely. But that wasn’t new. It had been lonely for a long time, ever since his mother had died.

      Sheriff Buck had offered him a bed in his home, but part of Dylan’s reason for returning to Winter Falls had been to deal with the house.

      In northern Michigan fall had a nasty habit of slipping swiftly into winter. Dylan had originally planned a brief trip to Winter Falls to prepare the house for cold weather. The pipes needed to be drained and the water shut off.

      And he could have easily asked the sheriff to handle it for him as he had in all the years past. But he hadn’t asked because he’d realized how badly he wanted to leave Detroit for home. This was home. Even with all its night mares.

      He pulled open the screen door and slipped his key into the lock of the back door. It hadn’t been locked or closed that night ten years ago. On rusty hinges the door creaked open.

      Immediately he glanced at the spot in front of the refrigerator. The door of the old appliance was propped open, much as it had gaped that night. The maple boards had been stripped and revarnished, but still the stain shone through the gleaming surface.

      Although his knees shook, Dylan forced himself across the floor. He dropped the house keys onto the counter, rubbed a hand over his face and wiped away beads of sweat.

      The sheriff was right. He should have sold the house. Maybe it was that simple. He shouldn’t have left town, just the house.

      He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and pulled out a letter. He’d received it before he’d left Detroit. He uncrumpled the paper and perused the shaky handwriting of an old man.

      The Winter Falls postmark hadn’t surprised Dylan. Sheriff Buck often wrote to him, and as he’d been working out his notice in Detroit, he had figured the sheriff had had details of Dylan’s reemployment as a Winter Falls deputy.

      Instead he’d found the letter had been written by the lawyer of the man who’d killed his brother and then later himself.

      Although he hardly glanced at the words, Dylan recited them from memory.

      Dylan,

      As I hear you’re returning home, I need to make an appointment with you to handle some unfinished business from ten years ago. I have something from Steve Mars that is addressed to you. I should have given it to you years ago, but when you left town, I thought you wanted to leave those painful memories behind. Now that you are returning, I feel it is my duty to deliver this item to you even though I am retired from my law practice. Please notify me when you return to town.

      Sincerely,

       Chet Oliver

      Dylan crumpled the letter again and stuffed it back in the pocket of his leather jacket. Of the darkened room he asked, “Do I really want anything from Steve Mars?” His gaze fell on the stain on the hardwood floor. Other shadows blended into it, but he knew precisely where the stain began and ended.

      Before he could give it any more thought, his cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and flipped it open. “Dylan Matthews.”

      “Deputy,” the sheriff reminded him, but there was no teasing note in his voice. His booming voice shook.

      “What’s wrong, Sheriff?”

      “Get over to Sunset Lane,