Murder At Granite Falls. Roxanne Rustand

he flicked on his flashlight and circled her vehicle. She followed on his heels and peered inside, too.

      “Are you missing anything?”

      Her boxes of books were still on the backseat, along with her old camera bag and an even older ink-jet printer. “Everything is still there—not that anyone could want it.” She tried the door handles. “And the car is still locked. I suppose I’ve called you on a wild-goose chase.”

      “Not a problem. If a stranger was out here lurking around, I can understand why you’d be concerned.” He scanned the wide parking area and beyond that, the dark, nearly impenetrable pine forest that rimmed the clearing on three sides. “Maybe you’d be better off finding a place in town. Closer to civilization.”

      “I tried, but no dice. I’ll have to find a different place by September, though.”

      “Our county sheriff’s department is understaffed and we have a lot of ground to cover. If you do encounter trouble out here, we might not be able to respond as fast as we’d like.”

      She nodded, biting her lower lip. “I understand. I still hope my past isn’t going to be an issue. But I’ll let the Bradleys know about it.”

      His eyebrows drew together. “Still, a lady living alone like you might want to take a gun safety course and keep a weapon around. There’s other varmints out here besides the two-legged kind.”

      “I grew up on a ranch. I’ve had my own shotgun since I was twelve.”

      “Is it here?”

      “It’s in the back of my SUV.”

      He snorted. “Won’t do you much good in there.”

      “I didn’t want to bring it in until I had time to install a padlock on my closet. There are families with kids all over this property during the day. If one came upstairs and found it while I wasn’t home…” She shuddered.

      He went to the back door of the SUV. “Ma’am, I recommend that you take it upstairs for the rest of the night. Just firing off a warning shot might do a world of good if that prowler comes back. It could take us a long time to get here.”

      She could only imagine the deputy’s amusement if he saw her battered 1960s Remington shotgun, a gift from her grandfather.

      Years ago, back when she was a teenager, she’d left one of the ranch dogs in her pickup cab while she’d struggled to catch and treat a calf with scours, and the dog had chewed the butt of the wooden stock to splinters. The weapon was old but accurate, and sentiment had kept her from trading it off.

      She patted her pockets. “I…don’t have my keys on me.”

      He tipped his head toward the front door. “Looks like you have a keypad, though.”

      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