Chapter 13: : Chapter 13

The short visit to the tropics had Clara yearning. She loved her little house, but maybe—someday—she and Sam could take regular vacations to places like Aruba.

They both worked hard, and they stayed frugal so they had some savings.

Then occasionally, as with the dentist, they hit a small gold mine of cash. He’d had three hundred and sixty-seven dollars cash in his wallet.

Obviously, those they let go couldn’t use it. It certainly didn’t qualify as stealing, not in Clara’s mind.

They’d taken his fancy watch, and the fancy cuff links in a fancy box in his bag. She couldn’t help but wish Sam could wear the fancy watch, but like with the other things from the others they’d let go, they kept it stored away in a box.

She felt it wasn’t worth the risk to wear any of it, sell any of it.

But cash was cash.

She was, and always had been, law-abiding. She wore her seat belt and drove at the speed limit. She filed her taxes and considered herself a good citizen.

What they did for the resurrected rose above man’s laws.

They kept the cash money they harvested in a freezer bag. Sam called it Cold Cash, which made her giggle every time. Last count, they’d had eight hundred and fifty-eight Cold Cash dollars.

Not enough for a real vacation, but if they kept saving, and—God willing—they hit a few more gold mines through their mission, they might be able to take a whole week in Aruba next winter.

Or pick some other sunny, romantic place.

They hadn’t had much time for the mission, what with the vacation, and her pulling double shifts, Sam drawing the night shift for nearly three weeks.

But the idea of those palm trees, that blue water, of making love with Sam in a hotel bed incentivized her.

When they finally had a full day off, she let Sam sleep in.

By the time he came out, she’d finished the last of her research, had the bacon fried crispy, and had eggs—he liked them over easy—in the skillet.

“I heard you stirring, so I got breakfast going. You get enough rest, doll?”

“Feel like a new man.” He crossed over to nuzzle her neck. His hands snuck up to her breast. “And you feel like my woman.”

“Oh, you! Now, you sit and have your coffee while I finish this up.”

“You sure treat me right, Clara. Get you coffee?”

“I’ve already had two cups, but … maybe just a half. I got up thinking about our vacation. Best vacation I ever had, ever thought I’d have.”

“Wish we could’ve stayed longer. It sure was fine.”

“And that’s what I’m thinking. We got that resurrection money saved up in the freezer.”

“Our Cold Cash.”

She giggled, as always. “We could earmark it for a vacation fund. Add to it. Next year, we can take each other back to Aruba, or where we want, for a week.”

“I sure do like your thinking, babe. And don’t this look good! Just the way I like my eggs.”

As Clara sat across from him, Sam cut into them.

“That thinking got me going. We’ve been so busy, and worn out when we’re not. It’s time to get back to it. And I’ve got the one.”

“The woman you were thinking about before?”

“No, we’re putting her off. I’d put this one by because he tried to take his own life. You know how I feel about that.”

Sam gave her a sad, sober nod. “I do, babe. Biggest sin there is.”

“It is, it surely is. But when I started thinking, started looking things over, I realized I was judging. It’s not for me to judge, and how he died doesn’t matter. It’s cheating death that does. It’s pulling him back from his journey taking him home that matters.”

As he ate, Sam nodded again. “You’re wise, babe. Tell me about him.”

“He’s thirty-one, works as a hotel bellman.” And hotel bellmen pocketed plenty of cash money. “Works in a hotel over in Uniontown. His wife left him. She works at a law firm, and got her fancy lawyer to fix it so he only got to see their little boy—just two years old at the time—every other weekend. In his despair, he hanged himself. Hanged himself over a woman who didn’t want him.”

Pausing, Sam laid a hand over his heart. “I wouldn’t have to take my own life if you left me, Clara. I’d just die of a broken heart.”

“As if I ever would or could! His daddy found him. He was staying back with his parents because the wife got their place in the divorce.”

“Fancy lawyers.” Sam shook his head in disgust as he ate.

“His daddy got him down, and turns out he was a paramedic. He brought him back, and they got him to the ER. He had to go for a psych eval, get some treatment. That was back last April. That’s ten months.”

“And we’re trying to find ones with some time between, like the dentist.”

“He still works at the hotel. He’s got his own place again. And I feel good about it, as he appears to have made his peace. I don’t like the thought of us letting him go when he’s covered in darkness.”

Reaching out, Sam squeezed her hand. “You have such a good heart. We never did a suicide before.”

“I think it might add to things. Hearing what he saw and heard, maybe felt, since he died in the deepest of sins. Are you up to a drive to Uniontown?”

He smiled at her. “You know I am.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do. I checked the weather. Snow’s maybe coming, but not until tonight. We should have clear sailing.”

“We’ll finish breakfast and set sail.”

Nash learned his newest client worked for one of the oldest law enforcement agencies in the country. And reading that made him feel woefully uninformed.

And yeah, she could arrest people.

She—they—had the authority to enforce all laws in the state—anywhere in the state. The only agency that had that scope.

Maybe the focus was public lands, waterways, fish—which struck him funny—wildlife. Add search and rescue. But if she ran across someone robbing a bank, she could slap on the cuffs.

And he found that fascinating.

He supposed he’d found her fascinating. The way she’d handled the dog, how she’d had her plan in place—every detail—before she’d hired him and Theo.

She looked fragile, and that was probably the eyes, but she didn’t come off that way.

Thorough, he thought again. Add in decisive, straightforward.

He started to look for some personal information, and stopped himself.

“Can’t do it. Feels wrong.”

Instead he laid out the samples he’d gotten for the kitchen.

“Time to pull the trigger, Littlefield.”

He spent nearly an hour debating with himself, told himself he’d finalized. When Theo came in, and Tic went wild, he got up.

“Dinner’s served! I went with spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Works for me. Thanks for picking it up.”

Theo put the takeout on the counter before crouching down to send Tic into delirium.

“I heard back from Drea’s sister.”

“Already?” Theo straightened to pull off his coat. “We only sent her the estimate this morning.”

“She’s no time waster. And we’re hired.”

“Excellent! How about we go with wine? Spaghetti, meatballs, wine.”

“Fine.”

Theo looked at the samples on their temporary table. “Again?”

“At last. I just finished writing up the order. No going back.”

“You’re going with the two-tone cabinets. Slate-gray uppers and lowers, dark blue on the island and coffee station.”

“I better not regret it.”

“You won’t. It’s classy, and this hardware? Yeah, the matte black’s good. We want a manly kitchen.”

“We have to start actually cooking. Not just making sandwiches. We’ll finish the Haver job by noon, latest. Then we’ll start demo.”

“Good deal.” Theo added fresh water to Tic’s bowl, put his nightly food in the other. When Tic scrambled to the bowls, Theo took a glass of wine from Nash. “The Fix-It Brothers are rocking it.”

“Into month three, and it doesn’t suck.” Nash shoved the samples to one end of the door table, put plates on the other.

In the morning, they worked, with Robo and Tic the job dog, on what the client called her second-best guest room. Now that she had all new interior doors—her husband hit that on the nose—she felt that second-best guest room needed some sprucing.

Which included a window seat—storage beneath—more shelves in the closet, and fresh paint—walls, ceiling, trim.

They only had a couple of hours’ work left, but they’d hit the finale on her day off. And she eyed them like a hawk.

Tic settled in to watch, chew on his toy, or occasionally attack bootlaces.

“I want you to take a look at the laundry room after this. I spend a lot of time in there, and the light’s not good, the folding counter’s too small. Maybe paint there, too. It should be more cheerful.”

“Happy to do that.”

As he spoke, Nash caught the pleading look from his brother. Rita Haver all but sat on his back as he installed shoe shelves in the closet.

“Why don’t I take a look now? We’re nearly done here. Theo and Robo can finish up.”

“Can’t wait to put this room back together. I got new bedding. Robo, you be careful not to drip that paint.”

Robo just smiled at her as he did the touch-up. It turned out his superpowers included cutting in and touching up. “I sure won’t.”

“How’s Bill?” Nash asked as he walked downstairs with her.

“All healed up and ready to dance. I can tell you he’s not giving me any guff about having you all do the work around here. More time for ice fishing. He’s not at work, he’s on the lake. You try that?”

“No, ma’am, and not likely to. I like my ice in a glass.”

She hooted at that, then pointed him into the laundry room off her kitchen.

“You’re right about the light.”

“And plenty of times I’m in here after work.”

Rita pointed out what she wanted. Nash took notes, measurements.

“You give me a fair price, now.” With a smile, Rita wagged a finger at him. “Well, you have so far, so I expect you will. You boys do good work. Wouldn’t have you back otherwise. And Dean Cooper sure wouldn’t. I heard you’re doing some work for his daughter. Sloan.”

“Redoing a bathroom in her new house.”

“It’s good hearing she got a place. She’s been gone down to Annapolis these past years. Most figured she’d go back working there after she healed up.”

Nash started to check himself, then, deciding being told information wasn’t the same as digging it up on the internet, asked the natural question.

“Healed up? Was she sick?”

“Oh my goodness, near to death! The girl got shot. Shot twice at that.”

“Shot?”

He was from New York. He knew people got shot. Cops got shot. But the shock of it had him turning, staring.

“In the head—but that was mostly a miss, I’m told. But the one that didn’t miss hit that poor girl right in the chest.”

Rita smacked her own.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with people, I swear I don’t. She walked into one of the gas station markets, and some hooligan was robbing the place. He just shot that girl, shot her and ran. They got him, though.”

“Shot.” Nash could only repeat it.

“In the hospital for a time, then back here, as she wasn’t in any shape to be on her own. When I saw her the other day, I said a prayer of thanks that she looks like herself again. A little thinner I guess, and she went and cut off her hair. But she looks like herself. She was always a strong girl.”

She’d have to be, Nash thought.

It stuck in his head as they finished the job. Noting the time, he pulled out some cash.

“Robo, why don’t you go pick up some subs? I’ll take a cold cut, the spicy.”

“I’m all in on that,” Theo said.

Robo took the cash. He had sandy blond hair pulled back in a tail and the face of a choirboy with guileless blue eyes and a crooked incisor.

“Okay if I get the roast beef?”

“Whatever you want, Robo,” Nash told him. “Theo and I will finish getting the kitchen ready for demo, and we’ll break for lunch when you get there.”

“Sure thing, boss. That room turned out real nice, didn’t it?”

“It did. You did good work.”

Beaming at the compliment, Robo boosted up into his truck.

Nash got behind the wheel of his own as Theo climbed in the passenger side after Tic jumped in the back.

“Do you think, whenever we spring for lunch, he’ll stop asking permission to get what he wants?”

“I’m hoping that wears off.”

“He’s a good guy. And a hell of a painter.” Since the dog pushed his head over the back seat, Theo reached up to rub it. “Demo day, Tic! What’s more fun than that?”

“Did Drea tell you Sloan was shot several months ago?”

“What?” Theo’s jaw dropped. “Shot? What?”

“Obviously not.”

“Like with a gun, shot? On purpose?”

“Rita just dropped that, yeah, with a gun, on purpose. Twice. A few weeks before Thanksgiving. She walked into some mini-mart. Sounds like this asshole was robbing it at gunpoint, and shot her.”

“Bad? It’s always bad, but I mean bad-bad?”

“Sounds like it, yeah. Hospital, then here, with her parents. We saw her, remember, walking with the dog.”

“Yeah, yeah.” At Tic’s whine for attention, Theo stroked absently. “I forgot about that. I remember now. We saw her walking with Mop, and like she was ninety. Drea’s never said anything about this. Holy shit. She’s okay now? She looks okay, and she’s working and all, got her own place.”

“She seems okay.”

“That’s a hell of a thing, Nash.”

“It’s a hell of a thing,” Nash agreed, and made the turn toward home.

The next morning, Nash drank his coffee, standing in what had been the kitchen. And would be again, he thought. New and vastly improved.

They’d added that space on sometime in the last fifty years or so. Now he’d taken it down to the studs, and the ceiling down to the beams.

Then they boxed up the newspapers and magazines they’d found behind the drywall.

He now knew John Sirica had been Time’s Man of the Year in 1973 and Woodward and Bernstein wrote their first Watergate article in June of ’72.

Seeing the space now, Nash decided to leave the beams exposed. They’d clean them up, sand them, seal them. When the weather allowed, they’d add the skylights.

They could start there while the electrician he’d contracted worked on updating the wiring, and CJ dealt with the plumbing.

Inspection, he thought, insulation, drywall.

Tic loped over to him carrying a sock.

“What is this obsession?” But remembering the routine, Nash grabbed a dog toy. “This isn’t yours.” With some tugging on both sides, he retrieved the sock. “This is yours.” And gave Tic the toy.

As he did, Theo came in the front door.

“He’s been out, had breakfast.”

“Thanks. Sorry. Hey, pal, hey, Tic.” He crouched to rub the dog all over. “I wasn’t going to stay over last night, but—let me get some coffee.”

They’d set up a kind of kitchenette in the living room. The refrigerator, the microwave, coffeemaker, toaster, the door table.

“I asked Drea about Sloan. She and the guy she was working with stopped to gas up. They’d been up this way, a little south of Deep Creek. These three guys had been robbing hikers, stealing from campsites, even roughing some people up. They tracked them down. I didn’t really get they did stuff like that.”

Because the dog wanted more, Theo sat on the floor, drinking coffee with one hand, rubbing Tic with the other.

“Anyway, they got them. Drea said Sloan didn’t tell her, but the guy she was with, Joe—no, no, Joel. Anyway, these guys were armed and everything. He told Drea, Sloan took one of them down herself. Can you beat that?”

“I can’t.” Looked fragile, he thought again. But wasn’t.

“So they’re on their way back, and stop to gas up. She goes in to get some drinks, and Jesus, Nash. The first shot grazed her head, and the second hit her right in the chest. He ran, shot at the Joel guy, but missed, so Joel ran in, called for an ambulance.

“She started crying. Drea. Said how Joel probably saved Sloan’s life. Pressure on the wound, all that. And in surgery—man—her heart stopped and they had to like shock her back. Drea said Sloan didn’t tell them about it, but the doctor did. They put her in a coma for a couple days because it was pretty dicey.”

He blew out a breath as Nash said nothing, only walked over to get another cup of coffee.

“And get this. After they let her come home—well, here—and she was being really careful to do everything the doctor and all told her, on Thanksgiving one of the little kids fell down, started crying, and she just automatically picked him up. Pulled a pec muscle, and pretty much had to start all over.”

He gave Tic one more rub and stood. “She’s doing good now, but man, it’s a lot.”

“How much spine do you think it takes to get through that, then put a uniform back on?”

“Pretty sure more than I’ve got.”

Nash glanced over at his brother. “You’ve got plenty of spine. But she’s got more than most.”

Drea caught Sloan as she was leaving for work.

“Early for you,” Sloan said as she let Drea in. “I’ve got maybe five minutes.”

“I told Theo about what happened to you,” she blurted out. “I didn’t tell him, he found out, then I told him. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” Sloan opened the closet for her coat. “Okay.”

“I didn’t say anything about it before, but once he asked me, it all came pouring out. I needed to tell you I told him. I needed to tell you I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. I mean it,” she added when she saw Drea on the point of tears. “It happened. It’s not some big secret, and he was bound to find out, working in the Rest. I appreciate you didn’t say anything before, but you could have.”

In response, Drea threw her arms around Sloan. “It all came back, and out. When it happened, I was so scared. I tried so hard not to show it, but I was so scared.”

“You did a good job. All of you did. You helped me get through it, all of you helped. And I am through it.”

“I didn’t want you to think—”

“I don’t. He asked; you answered. It’s fine.”

“He’s in love with me.”

“What? I’m so shocked, I may fall over.”

As Sloan pulled back, threw up both hands, made her shocked face, Drea laughed. “Okay, not a real surprise, but it may be that I really think I’m in love with him.”

“A somewhat surprise. I like him, if you need to hear that. What’s not to like? He strikes me as smart, he’s hardworking, personable, he takes cute all the way to adorable, and he looks at you like you’re the only woman in the world.”

“It seems so fast. Doesn’t it seem fast? I don’t know.”

When Drea paced in circles, Sloan let it run.

“It seems fast, but it doesn’t feel fast. We’ve only been together a short time even though it feels … I didn’t tell you, but I had to move on him. New Year’s Eve. He didn’t want to push there.”

“This needs to be a longer conversation.”

“Let’s just say, he’d already hit all the notes, and that night, a symphony.”

“Definitely a longer conversation.” Sloan wrapped on her scarf. “I have to go to work.” Curious, she studied Drea’s face as she put on her coat. “Did Theo tell you they’re remodeling my bathroom?”

“What? No.”

“He gets another point. I asked his brother not to say anything, so he obviously told Theo the same. And that tells me he can keep his mouth shut when asked. Don’t say anything to Mom or Dad, okay? Let the Fix-Its get started first. Then I’ll tell them.”

“I won’t. Dad’s going to sulk a little.”

“I know, so I’m waiting until it’s started to tell him. Then he can come by, make sure they’re doing it right.”

“That’s a given. He won’t be able to stop himself.”

They walked out together as Sloan put on her hat.

“Have a good day, Sergeant Cooper.”

She intended to, and didn’t intend to worry about the newcomers—as the Littlefields would be for about five years—learning about her incident.

She’d worry a bit about her sister falling for Theo. So she’d run a background check, and justify it as he and his brother would be in her house when she wasn’t.

She’d run that after work, and because Janet Anderson still pushed into her mind, she’d do a search for like crimes in the area. Maybe in the state. She’d include West Virginia, Pennsylvania.

Probably wouldn’t hit anything, but as she saw it, you couldn’t hit if you didn’t aim and fire.

But now, like the mountains, the day spread out before her.

In her duty as sergeant, she assigned her teams, then reported to Travis.

“Cap? I got a report of a poacher off the Sky Hill Trail. I’m taking that with Elana.”

He looked up from his own paperwork. “The hiker report of a bear trap?”

“Loring’s on it.” She ran through the other assignments. “I know you want the evaluation on Elana after a full three months, but I wanted to tell you I’m finding her a quick study, eager, and smart.”

“That’s good to hear. Before you go, let me give you an update on your arrest of the tree killer. Paul Jacob Moseby has refused legal representation. All lawyers are liars and cheats. His mandatory psych eval found him competent to stand trial. You’ll be called on to testify.”

“Understood.”

“It’s not his first run-in. He’s been fined for poaching several times, skipped out on bail after assaulting the owner of a hunting cabin where he’d decided to squat. He’ll be squatting behind bars for some time.”

“He earned it.”

“That he did.”

She stepped out. “We’re up, Elana.”

They put on their outdoor gear, walked to the truck. Elana hopped in.

“Another day of adventure!”

“Bound to be. Poachers carry weapons, so stay alert. They’re usually not aggressive, and more likely to run or make excuses. But you still handle with care.”

“Officer First Class Loring and I fined one my first week here. He was pissed off—not like Chainsaw Tree Killer—but pissed off. Didn’t put up a fight or anything, just argumentative.”

“That’s pretty standard.”

“He went on a bitch rant about how man was made to hunt. Loring was really polite, suggested he get a hunting license, which he didn’t have anyway, and follow the posted hunting seasons.”

“That’s how it’s done.”

As they trooped up Sky Hill Trail, Elana marveled. “Everything just sparkles. It’s warmer today. Warmer and sunny. The snow’s melting some.”

“February thaw. It won’t last long, but we’ll take it while it does. There’s the deer stand.” She pointed up the trail and to the east. “Fifty feet more, two o’clock. He’s tried to camouflage it so anyone using the trail won’t see it.”

“You sure did. Now I do.”

Sloan’s eyes went narrow and hard. “He’s baited the ground around the stand. Not enough for him to hunt off-season, but baiting on top of it.”

That infuriated her, but she reeled it in.

She watched the man in full camo gear, carrying a Winchester with a scope in one hand, start hustling down the ladder of the stand.

“Sir, you don’t want to run.”

When he did, Sloan shook her head and picked up her own pace.

Her quarry, glancing behind, slipped on slushy snow and face-planted.

He said, “Son of a bitch.”

“Sir, I’m taking your rifle.”

Sloan picked up the rifle he’d been foolish enough to run with. She checked the safety, shook her head when she found it off. She engaged it, then handed the rifle to Elana.

“Are you injured?”

“Maybe.”

She thought: Bullshit, but she spoke pleasantly.

“We’ll call for medical assistance and help you down the trail.”

“Nah, I’m not hurt.” Rolling over, he pushed himself to sitting.

“Sergeant Cooper, this is the individual Officer First Class Loring cited and fined a few weeks ago.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Ernst, I don’t believe you learned your lesson.”

“Son of a bitch,” he repeated. “Listen, I was just sitting up there. No law against just sitting in a stand.”

“With a Winchester XPR,” Sloan added.

“For protection.”

“Are you aware there’s a cabin about a hundred yards due west, and it’s illegal to discharge a firearm in a national forest within a hundred and fifty yards of a resident, a cabin, occupied area, or campsite?”

“I didn’t see any damn cabin. How am I supposed to know that shit?”

“Basic safety principles, Mr. Ernst, which I’m sure Officer First Class Loring relayed to you.”

“Yes, he did,” Elana confirmed.

“You also have bait spread on the ground. I see grain, acorns, a protein block.”

After a glance, Ernst shrugged. “I don’t know where that came from.”

“Now, Mr. Ernst, that’s a new protein block, and I’m betting you just bought it. I’m betting we can track that block back to you without much trouble at all.”

He sneered, but came up with a whine. “So what? Baiting’s legal in plenty of states.”

“Maryland’s not one of them if it’s on state-controlled property. The last time you got off with a fine. Now you’re going to be charged. For erecting a deer stand, baiting deer, hunting during the closed season, and I’m betting you don’t have that hunting license.”

“Licenses are just a way to gouge hunters.”

“Actually, the funds from hunting licenses go to conservation, to wildlife management.”

He said, “Son of a bitch.”