Chapter Eighteen
Delaney stretched, trying to relieve
the stiffness in her shoulders and back. It’d taken her to nearly
eleven at night, but she was done and the columns of expenses and
income had balanced with her bank statement. Cider Mill Farm was in
the black. Well, gray. They were out of the red and in the gray,
which she hoped would soon be more black than gray.
She’d forced herself to
sit and do the math, determined not
to think about what had happened between her and
Walker two nights before. She’d left the window to her downstairs
office open a crack. After the heat of the day the cool night air
coming through was welcome, with the added benefit that she could
hear the hooting of what were now two great horned owls calling to
one another from the trees. Maybe they’d found true
love.
Callie lay on the rug in front of the
desk, nose resting on her paws, gaze fixed on Delaney. It seemed
every day brought more white hairs around her muzzle.
Delaney closed her eyes
and dropped her head to her hands. Nothing could completely stop her from thinking about being with
Walker. Busywork helped, but her mind seemed determined to replay
everything from the feeling of incredible rightness when she and
Walker had been together to the night’s awful ending.
She’d managed to avoid him, and he
hadn’t sought her out. Working between rows of berries that
afternoon, she’d determinedly kept her head down when he’d driven
past in his truck.
Tonight, she’d almost broken her
resolve. After a quiet dinner shared with Gran, she’d fought the
temptation to take a walk to Walker’s cabin. She wanted to know if
he’d learned who’d broken into his place and terrorized Bud. She
also felt they needed to talk.
Maybe storming out after Walker’s
revelation hadn’t been particularly mature. But no matter how much
she craved the connection that pulsed between them, she was done
giving to the men in her life more than they were willing to give
back to her. Her father had been a champ at that, and Walker had
proved to be the same.
James had been the one true
exception.
She was thankful she’d stayed strong
and not gone for that walk because not twenty minutes earlier,
she’d spied the taillights of Walker’s truck heading toward the
road. He was going out late in the evening and obviously wasn’t
hung up on their relationship.
It wasn’t like he’d taken
a walk to find her.
Trying to get out of her head, she
picked up her phone to scroll through her favorite social media
app, made a few comments to posts by friends, gave a few thumbs-up,
and was about to call it a night when a notification popped up at
the top of the screen, the name attached prompting her to click on
the email.
Donna Brennan, Melanie’s mom, had
responded. Delaney scanned the contents. Donna was good, happy with
her new life, though was more guarded about sharing info on Mel.
She did say her daughter had given permission to send Delaney her
email address and said she’d like to hear from her old
friend.
Progress. Finally. Too tired to start
on it tonight, she needed to think about what she wanted to say and
hoped she’d find time tomorrow to craft an email. She needed to get
to bed because her morning started early.
It was Friday, and in exactly one week
Cider Mill Farm would be open to the public and would continue
welcoming guests through Thanksgiving.
There was still so much to do. They
were waiting on the part for the donut machine, which was supposed
to come Wednesday. Fingers crossed as they were cutting it
close.
She stretched, yawning, but instead of
getting up and going to bed, she leaned back in her chair and
closed her eyes.
The bakery was going to be a hit this
year. It was always popular, but Cam’s creations would take it over
the top. She’d been picking early berries to use in experimental
recipes, and the appleberry tarts Delaney had sampled earlier had
been nothing short of heaven.
In addition to bakery items, she’d
followed Cam’s request and purchased a commercial-grade blender,
and Cam had perfected a yummy berry-banana smoothie they planned to
add to the menu.
Her phone rang. She glanced at the
screen, surprised to see Cam’s name on the caller ID. Unexpected
late-night calls were never good. “Hi, Cam. What’s up?”
“There’s a fire, Delaney.
At the mill. I called nine-one-one.”
She put a hand to her chest as her
breath backed up in her lungs. “Oh god. How bad?”
“I don’t know. I saw the
fire from my house and ran over to wake up Oscar and Franny. I told
them I’d make the calls. They’ve gone over there, and I’ll go when
I’m off the phone.”
“Okay. The buildings are
locked up and no one is inside, so everyone needs to stay
back.”
“We will. I don’t know how
bad it is, but you should come.”
“I’ll wake Clara so she
knows what’s going on. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
She disconnected, fingers shaking as
she pulled up Walker’s name on her favorites list.
***
Walker entered Easy Money and stood in
the doorway. Long ago he’d gotten into the habit of checking out
the scene before entering any room. Getting a call from Sawyer to
meet him had kept him from doing what he’d been contemplating:
heading to the big house to have it out with Delaney.
It nagged at him to think she’d been
right, that letting her go so she could get on with her life
without him, making that decision for her, had been arrogant. It
hadn’t felt like it at the time, but he could see why she saw it
that way.
What they’d experienced two nights
before had proven they belonged together. He’d never stopped loving
her. It was just a fact of life. But the reasons he’d had for
staying away now seemed less valid.
He spotted Sawyer sitting at a table,
beer in front of him and his back against the wall in a position
that gave him a good view of the room. Walker stopped at the bar
and Owen tipped his head in his usual greeting.
“Beer tonight.”
“Local brew?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Owen pulled the tap and filled a
glass, leaving an inch of foam for the head. Two stools down, Bobby
Finley stared glassy-eyed at ESPN playing on the TV screen, the
only other patrons a couple of guys at the other end of the
bar.
Walker paid for his beer and moved
across the room. He sat, leaning back in his seat, and watched his
brother over the rim of his glass as he sipped his beer. “You’ve
got something on your mind.”
“And they say I’m the
insightful one.”
“That’s only because I’m
the good-looking one. I can’t have it all, bro.”
A comment like that would usually
loosen Sawyer up, but it didn’t put a crack in his grim
expression.
“Why’d you want to meet
at—” Walker looked at his phone, “nearly eleven at
night?”
Sawyer leaned forward and took his
time before answering, his voice pitched low enough it wouldn’t
carry beyond their table. “Last night another woman was raped,
similar MO as the previous assaults we think are connected.
Detectives got a call this morning from the hospital where she was
taken.”
“Shit.” Walker scrubbed a
hand over his face. “Where?”
“Pine Cove.”
“That’s just down the
highway. The fucker’s getting awful close to home.” At Sawyer’s
nod, Walker asked, “How’s the woman?”
“In the hospital. Cut up
pretty bad, but she’ll survive. She’s a known sex worker and the
assailant approached her as a client. If it’s the same guy, that’s
new, but carving ‘Whore’ into her skin isn’t. But this time the
fucker left evidence behind.”
Walker caught the seething anger under
his brother’s restrained demeanor. Sawyer was slow to rile, but
when he got there, he burned hot. “What evidence?”
“He left a knife at the
scene. Maybe got spooked, maybe got sloppy, but he left it. Might
have his DNA on it. It’s at the lab right now. Sheriff Carlisle put
a rush on it so we might get preliminary information in the next
day. One of the detectives in charge is a friend. She’ll send me
what she knows when she knows it.”
“Did the victim give a
description?”
“Big guy, dark hair,
beard. She thinks white but could be Latino. They met up through an
app that’s known to be used in the sex trade. He met her at a motel
and brought liquor. She thought the bottle was unopened so didn’t
think it could be laced with roofies. She drank, doesn’t remember
if he did, and that’s the last she can recall anything.” Sawyer
sipped his beer, frowning as he set his glass back on the table.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this. We have a map up in the office
with pins for each assault. They look like a slowly closing circle
with Sisters dead center.”
“You have a psych
profile?”
“FBI’s working on it.”
Which meant it could take months.
“I want another beer, god
dammit. I can pay.” The surly voice brought Walker’s attention to
where Bobby leaned forward on his barstool. He slapped his hand on
the bar. “Give me another beer.”
Owen stood on the other side of the
bar, his arms braced on the edge as he leaned forward. “You’re done
for the night, Bobby.”
“You’re an asshole, Owen
Hardesty, thinking you can tell me I can’t drink. I could take care
of you, take care of your bar. You ought to think about that before
you tell me I can’t drink here. I got friends who can mess you up.”
Bobby’s tirade ended with a hiccup.
“Sounds like a threat to
me,” Walker observed.
“Yeah. Come on.” Sawyer
stood.
Knowing each other’s moves, Walker and
Sawyer crossed to the bar, taking the stools on either side of
Bobby. Bobby shoved off his stool, teetering to keep his balance.
“What the hell is this? What the hell?” Eyes bloodshot, his gaze
darted from man to man. “A guy can’t have a drink without a couple
assholes interfering? What kind of place is this?”
“A place that doesn’t
serve someone who’s already drunk.” Owen pulled a white towel from
his shoulder and wiped the surface of the bar.
Bobby Finley was one of those guys who
always seemed to be around, always in the background. Always with a
chip on his shoulder.