Memory of Murder. Ramona Richards

She’s never up this late. She’s watching my house.”

      “You think she saw something?”

      “Don’t know. As far as I can tell, there was nothing to see. Nothing’s been touched in here. I probably woke her up when I screamed. Or she was still awake because of her trip to her mother’s. Her mom must be doing okay, or she wouldn’t be back here.”

      As they watched, RuthAnn flicked the cigarette out in the yard, stood and went into her house. A second later, all the lights went off.

      “I’ll tell Ray—”

      Lindsey turned. “Please don’t bother her.” She touched his arm. “I doubt RuthAnn saw anything. I probably just didn’t latch the door firmly this morning. Sometimes I leave in such a hurry I don’t check. When I do, the wind will pop it open.”

      “Lindsey—”

      “Please. Her mom lives all the way over in Portland. She must be exhausted.”

      Jeff clinched his jaw, and Lindsey could see he struggled with her request. “I’ll talk to her in the morning. I promise. If she saw anything, I’ll call you.”

      He still scowled but finally relented, nodding just once. Satisfied, they finished the rest of her survey and returned to the living room, where Ray still held Max in his gaze, reminding Lindsey of a cobra captivating a bird.

      The three men left, and Lindsey locked her front door and double-checked the back door dead bolt. She finished her nighttime routine, checking each of the windows one last time. A second cruiser sat next to Ray’s, and Jeff got into it, letting her know Ray had changed his mind about leaving her alone for even a minute. Max, who lived with his family a couple of blocks away, was nowhere in sight.

      Lindsey sighed. Although she didn’t spend much time here, her cottage had become her refuge, her place of safety, where she recharged and prepared herself for another day. She’d filled it with inexpensive but comfortable furniture and decorated it with special touches of her own. A table runner that had belonged to her mother covered the top of the bookcase in the living room. After her mother’s death, she’d gone into foster care. The comforter on her bed had been a gift from her foster mom when she’d headed off to culinary school.

      Tonight, the cottage felt a little less safe, but despite the tension and trauma of the evening, Lindsey sank into bed, settling her ankle carefully and cherishing the soft embrace of her covers. Yet, even as tired as she was, she wouldn’t relax without finishing her day the same way she had since she was a child. She plumped the pillows behind her, then turned to her bedside table, where she kept her Bible and music box side by side. Together with her mother’s diary, which she kept tucked into a secret compartment of the music box, these made up the sole surviving mementos of her childhood. The Bible had belonged to her grandmother, and contained a treasure trove of family stories, sermon notes and memorabilia nestled in its pages.

      Every night Lindsey read a passage from each one, then prayed about what she’d read and the events of the day. Now she muttered, “Lord, I hope you’re ready for an earful tonight.”

      Never, baby girl, never hesitate to tell the good Lord everything. He already knows it, just as He knows every hair on your head. But He’ll want you to tell Him all the same. He wants to hear your heart.

      Lindsey leaned back against the pillows, the voice of her mother echoing in her mind. As a child, she’d heard her mother pray, talking to God as if He were her best friend. Maybe He was... She didn’t seem to have many others. So what’s in my heart tonight, other than people who want to kill me, hospitals and old GTOs?

      Jeff.

      Lindsey opened her eyes and let out a deep sigh. She shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose with two fingers. “No,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

      But she couldn’t shake the way he’d looked at her at the police station, his expression determined and concerned, his touch gentle. The rich brown of his eyes had seemed to grow ever darker as she’d talked. One lock of his black hair always fell down over his forehead, and he pushed it back without thinking. Except for tonight. As he’d watched her, he hadn’t seemed to notice his own injuries, and he’d never touched that strand of hair.

      “But I’m just another case, right? Just one more citizen of the county he loves so much?” Jeff did adore living in Bell County, and he often spoke of the people here as if he were personally charged with their welfare. And, maybe, in a way, he was. But even to her reluctant heart, the words sounded hollow.

      “I just can’t,” she whispered to her walls. “I can’t be more.” She shook her head, trying to clear it of the image of the young deputy. “I need to stay focused. Dreams only come true with work.” And right now, a relationship was not part of her dreams.

      She sat a little straighter and reached for her Bible. Then she paused, her hand hovering over the black leather cover. Every night, Lindsey reached for the Bible in the same way, her hand clasping it just so. Tonight, however, the Bible was not the way she’d left it last night. She pulled back her hand, and a slight chill ran up her spine.

      Nothing in the house had been touched. Except her grandmother’s Bible.

      * * *

      Jeff waved one more time as the cruiser backed out of his driveway. After the warmth of the car, the post-midnight air gave him a slight chill. His head still throbbed, and every muscle felt as if it were on the edge of twitching, but there was a familiar comfort from just being at home. As he watched the taillights disappear over a low rise, a soft whimper made him turn and look down. He smiled. “Hey, buddy. Miss me?”

      The golden Lab mix waited patiently on the bottom step of the staircase leading up to his over-the-garage apartment. At the sound of Jeff’s voice, Charley’s tail thumped wildly against the side of the garage.

      “Yeah, me, too.” Jeff rubbed Charley’s head playfully, wincing from his injuries as he dropped down on the step next to his dog. He glanced toward his parents’ house and, as he expected, their low ranch home lay still and silent. Darkness filled each window, although a dusk-to-dawn light bathed most of the yard in a harsh lavender-white light. Alan wouldn’t get home for another couple of hours. Since her last bout with cancer, his mom always turned in early, and even though she’d been a nurse at one time, both Alan and Jeff were careful not to let their work intrude too much into her life these days.

      Jeff hated to see how weak she’d become; his childhood memories were of a woman so vibrant and strong he thought she could take on the world. Alan had been a great stepdad, and when Alan was diagnosed with cancer, Jeff had come home from Los Angeles where he’d been working. He hadn’t wanted to come back, but now he hoped he never had to leave. After he and Alan had converted the garage loft to a cozy studio, he’d settled in for good.

      Jeff let out a long sigh and clutched Charley’s ruff again. “I guess I’ve turned into a cliché, Charley-boy. The thirty-year-old man still living with his folks.”

      Charley obviously didn’t mind. The huge fenced yard gave him plenty of running room, and the food and water were steady. Plus, he loved the occasional ride in the truck.

      Jeff knew he should go upstairs, but as the painkillers from the hospital wore off, his head cleared. Despite the lingering headache, his memory had started to return with more details than he could recall earlier. He knew he should take more pills and rest, but at the moment, his thoughts bounced around in his head, going over the events of the night, seeing how many more details he could fill in.

      Jeff remained amazed at how fast everything had happened—how his life, and Lindsey’s, had changed almost in an instant. At just before eight o’clock, Jeff had checked on Lindsey, to see if she was ready to head for the bank. As usual, she was, and he waited for her outside. Less than thirty minutes later, Lindsey lay trapped in a wrecked GTO and he struggled to recover from being stunned twice in one night. Both stun-gun burns ached and itched, but he refused to rub them. Not many officers he knew had ever been stunned twice, much less during