Chapter Three
The Yesterday Place was a small shop right on main street in Raven Springs. It had a stenciled name on glass that looked a little ragged around the edges. But inside, it was warm and friendly.
The owner, Mike Markson, was bald on top and had big, kind brown eyes. He was short and a little rotund. Meadow liked him at once. He was friendly and welcoming, not the sort of man who had a hidden agenda. At least, her FBI training had taught her body language and how to notice criminal traits. This man seemed as straight as an arrow.
“I’m Meadow Dawson.” She introduced herself, shaking hands with a warm smile. “I’m Sheriff Ralston’s new investigator.”
“Glad to meet you. I’m Mike. I’ve been here for so long that I feel I own half of Main Street.” He laughed.
“Our family goes back three generations in Raven Springs. I lost my father just recently,” she added.
“I knew your father,” he replied. “Good man. I was sorry to hear that he died. Was it quick?”
She nodded. It was hard to talk about it. The wound was fresh. “Heart attack.”
He grimaced. “My wife went like that,” he said. “My son never got over losing her. He and I get along, but he’s more aggressive with people than I am.” He shrugged. “Maybe that’s good. I tend to be a little too generous in my offers.” He laughed. “Gary can bargain them down to a fraction of what something’s really worth.”
Meadow would have called that a larcenous personality, but she wasn’t about to say it to the man’s father.
“I’d like you to look at something, if you don’t mind,” she said politely.
“Glad to. Glad to.”
She pulled the Internet photo out of the file under her arm and put it on the counter.
“This lamp?” He pulled up his glasses with a grin when he bent over the photo. “Reading glasses, my left elbow.” He chuckled. “Have to take them off to see anything up close.” He frowned. “This is a magnificent lamp. John Harlow had one just like it. I tried so hard to get him to sell it to me, but he wouldn’t budge. My son, Gary, the antique expert, had a fit over it. He offered John a small fortune for it. John said it was a family heirloom, and he couldn’t part with it. It belonged to the family of President Andrew Jackson at one time. It had a history.” He shook his head. He frowned and looked up at Meadow. “Why am I looking at this lamp?”
“It was stolen, just recently, from Mr. Harlow’s home.”
“You don’t say!” Mike was shocked. “But we don’t have people stealing antiques around here,” he added quickly. “In fact, we hardly ever have thieves at all, unless someone’s desperate for drug money. There was a case last month, a man who stole a whole steel gun case out of a local man’s house and blew it open with C4.” He frowned. “Neighbor heard the explosion and called police. They walked up just as the perpetrator was taking the guns out of the case.”
“Tough luck for him,” she agreed.
He shook his head. “Damaged one of the skeet guns. A Krieghoff, worth about fifty thousand dollars.”
Her lower jaw fell open. “That much for a gun?”
“Not just any gun,” he said. “A competition shotgun. They’re expensive. The guy who owned it is a Class A shooter. He goes to the World Skeet Shooting Competition in San Antonio, Texas, every year and wins prizes.”
“Wow.” She shook her head. “I had trouble affording my Glock,” she confessed.
He smiled. “I have a twelve gauge shotgun of my own,” he said, nodding toward the underside of the counter she was leaning against. “Can’t take chances. I have some very valuable things in here. I’ve never been robbed, but there’s always a first time.”
The bell on the front door clanged, and a tall, thin young man with brown hair and a scowl walked in.
“There’s my son! Gary, this is Meadow Dawson,” he said. “She’s with the sheriff’s department; their new investigator. Miss Dawson, my son, Gary.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said, but he looked apprehensive as he stared at her. He didn’t offer to shake hands.
“She’s here about that lamp that was stolen from John Harlow’s place,” the older man explained.
“I see.” Gary’s eyes narrowed. “Got any leads?”
“Not yet. I was just checking with your father about its worth. I’d also like to know if you have any contacts who could tell me about potential buyers for an item like this,” she added to Mike.
He pursed his lips. “Not really. I deal with local people. But Gary here has some links on the Internet to specialty purchasers, don’t you, son?”
Gary gave his father a cold glare. “Not many. I deal with the big auction houses back east for rare items. Very rare items,” he emphasized. He glanced at the lamp in the photo. “That’s a low-ticket item.”
“It is?” Mike asked, surprised. “I thought there was a big demand for period antiques right now, especially ones with a history like John’s.”
“There was. It’s gone now. It was a fad. Buying habits change quickly in antiques,” the boy added offhandedly. “I’m going to get breakfast. Can I bring you something?” he asked his father.
“A bear claw and black coffee, please,” Mike told him. “Take the cash out of the drawer for it,” he added with a chuckle, because his son was already dipping into the register.
“Be back in a minute or two,” Gary promised, waving several twenty dollar bills.
Meadow’s eyebrows arched. She wondered what sort of bear claw cost almost a hundred dollars.
Mike noticed where her attention was and drew a conclusion. He laughed. “Yes, he took several twenties out of the register, you noticed? He needs to gas up that big Ford Expedition he’s driving,” Mike told her. He shook his head. “Gas is through the roof. Costs almost seventy dollars to fill it up with premium.”
Meadow, who drove an economy SUV and put regular gas in it, was surprised. But she just laughed. “Why does he run such an expensive vehicle?”
“He does most of the hauling for me,” he explained. “I bought him the SUV for that purpose. We had a pickup truck, but when it’s raining, or snowing, even a tarp doesn’t keep out some of the wetness. Antiques are delicate.”
“I see.” She smiled and went back to the photo, dragging as much information out of him as she could for her report.
When he finished, she shook hands again. “Thanks very much for your help. It goes without saying, if anyone tries to sell a lamp like this to you . . .”
“I’ll phone you at once,” he agreed.
She reached in her purse and hesitated. “I don’t have business cards yet, but you can reach me at the sheriff’s office in the courthouse.”
“I have that number,” he told her. “And I’ll call you.”
“Thanks very much. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, as well.”
When she went back to her car, there was still no sign of the son who’d gone to get breakfast for his father.
* * *
She gave the information to Jeff. “He knows a lot about antiques,” she said.
He nodded. “He’s our local expert. He does appraisals as well.”
“I met his son.”
He made a face. “Gary. He’s nothing like his dad. He never could hold down a job, and he tried to be a lot of things, including a truck driver.” He shook his head. “If his dad hadn’t helped him out, he’d probably be living in a shelter somewhere. He doesn’t like work, but he loves money. Bad combination.”
“I’ve seen it lead to trouble,” she commented.
“He was in juvy a couple of times for petty theft,” Jeff commented, referring to juvenile hall, where people under age were placed when charged with crimes.
“What did you think of him?” Jeff asked unexpectedly.
She grimaced. “He didn’t make a great impression on me.”
“His dad’s been in the antique business most of his life. He does know the business, and he makes a good living.”
“Good luck to him. I don’t think he’ll find many things that valuable around here,” she sighed.
“You might be surprised,” he commented. “Dal Blake has a small table that was used to sign the surrender at Appomattox,” he said. “It’s worth a fortune. Dal’s careful to keep his doors locked. He inherited it from his grandmother.”
“Wow,” she commented. “That’s really an heirloom.”
“Yes, it is,” Jeff agreed. He laughed. “But we really don’t have many thefts in this community. We’ve been lucky.”
“I’ll say,” she replied, recalling the many cases she’d seen back in Missouri when she worked for the Bureau.
“Feel like interrogating some suspects for me?” Jeff asked. “I’ve got a gas drive-away and two possible suspects. We have a photo from the surveillance camera that could be of either two men.”
“I’ll go grill them,” she said with a grin. “I’ll be back soon,” she promised, and went to work.
* * *
The drive-away at the gas pump was a sad case, a crime that grew more prevalent with gas prices rising and people out of work.
“I have to get to my job,” the belligerent young man groaned when Meadow showed up at his door with a copy of the surveillance camera photo. “Ma’am, the baby got sick and we had to pay the doctor up front. No gas, no job . . .”
“I understand how hard things can get,” she said gently. “But stealing is still against the law, regardless of the reason.”
He drew in a breath. “I guess I’m arrested,” he said with resignation.
“The owner is willing to drop the charge if you’ll pay for the gas.”
He brightened, just a little. He dug into his pockets and pulled out several one dollar bills and a few coins. “I just pumped eight dollars’ worth,” he explained. He was counting money. “That’s all of it.” He flushed as he handed it over. “I’m real sorry. I promise I won’t do it again.”
“Listen,” she said softly, “there are all sorts of places you can get help. Your local church probably has emergency funds for things like this. There’s the Sharing Place, which has canned goods and clothes. They have emergency funds, too. You should talk to them.”
His eyebrows were arching. “They help folks like us?” he asked. “I thought that was just for people who were homeless.”
She shook her head. “It’s for anybody who needs it. The local family and children services agency can help, too. There are all sorts of programs. There’s even a truck that comes once a week downtown to distribute groceries to people who can’t afford them.”
He looked as if he’d won the lottery. “We got a new baby and we been going without some things to buy that new soy milk he has to have—he’s allergic to cow’s milk.”
She smiled. “Ask your boss for an hour off and go talk to some of these people.”
“Ma’am, I’ll do that very thing. Thanks for not arresting me. And thank Mr. Billings at the gas station. Tell him I’m real sorry. If he ever needs anything, I’ll come do it for free, to help make up for stealing from him.”
“I’ll tell him.”
She went back to the office, sad at the state of the world.
“What’s got you so disheartened?” Jeff asked.
She smiled. “I guess it shows, huh? I was just thinking how hard life is for some people. The young man coughed up the price of the gas. They have a new baby and he has to have soy milk . . .”
His eyebrows were arching like crazy.
She blinked. “Was it something I said?”
“The young man’s name is John Selton. He isn’t married. He hasn’t got a child. In fact, he hasn’t got a job,” he added, holding up a sheet of paper. “He just got out of state prison for passing bad checks.”
She sat down on the edge of the desk. “Well!”
“Hey, at least you got Mr. Billings’s gas money back,” he said, trying to cheer her.
She smiled vacantly. “Do you think that some people should never be given jobs in law enforcement?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Sometimes we have to learn that not everybody is honest.”
“I’ve been in law enforcement for several years,” she pointed out. “I was a policewoman in Missouri and I was with the FBI for two years. If I haven’t learned to size up people by now, there isn’t a lot of hope that I’ll develop the skill.”
He almost bit his tongue trying not to say what he was thinking. He agreed with her. She was the least likely law enforcement officer he’d ever met, but he was basically a kind man. So he just smiled.
* * *
He did give her a job looking up cold cases while he sent his chief deputy working wrecks with the highway patrol and his volunteer deputies checking out reports of vandalism and petty theft.
Meadow came across an interesting cold case, that of a stolen antique pipe organ that had once belonged to a famous politician. It was said to be his grandmother’s. It had vanished four years earlier about the time a fire had burned down the local tourist attraction where the politician had lived.
“Are you sure it didn’t burn down in the fire?” Jeff asked Meadow when she described the case to him.
“There was enough left to be sure that an organ wasn’t with the destroyed furnishings,” she replied. “I talked to the fire chief. He remembered the case. He said that it was very probably an arson case, but since it was set with pine kindling and newspaper, there wasn’t enough evidence to trace a suspect.”
“Four years ago.” Jeff frowned. “I remember the case. We investigated. In fact, we had Mike Markson take a look at a similar organ we found in an antique catalog. The thing was worth over fifty thousand dollars. But the stolen one never turned up. Honestly, I’m not sure we’d have recognized it, if it had. An organ’s an organ. We did have Mike and Gary look out for anybody local selling one.”
“They never had an inquiry?”
He shook his head. “Mike deals mostly in period furniture and lamps, he’s not musical. And Gary certainly isn’t. When he saw the photo we used for comparison, he thought it was a player piano.” He chuckled.
“We can’t all be musical, I guess,” she agreed.
He checked his watch. “Go home,” he said. “It’s quitting time. I like what you’re doing with those cold case files, by the way,” he added. “None of us ever thought about putting them on the computer.”
She smiled. “It’s easier to check and cross-reference them if you have them on disc,” she said. “Sorry, but your filing system is . . . how can I put this . . . antiquated?”
“Obsolete,” he corrected with a grin. “Don’t worry about hurting my feelings.” He gave her a long look. “How about supper?”
Her eyebrows arched.
“Just supper,” he added lazily. “I have no plans to propose over dessert.”
She burst out laughing. “Oh. Well, okay. That would be nice. I haven’t even thought about what I was going to cook.”
“You can cook?”
She gave him a speaking look. “I can make homemade bread and French pastries,” she said haughtily. “My grandmother taught me, years ago.”
“I can put those cans of biscuits in a pan and bake them,” he said. “Otherwise, it’s TV dinners.”
“No wonder you’re so slender,” she chided.
He chuckled. “Well, that’s mostly because I’m always running. If it isn’t the job, it’s working cattle.”
“I forgot. You have a ranch.”
He nodded. “It joins on the north side of your father’s property,” he said. He looked out the window. “And it looks as if our first snow is only a day or two away. We’ll be out beating the bushes for stray cattle.”
She frowned. Should she be worried about that? “Oh, dear,” she said. “I guess I should be thinking about that, too.”
“You have capable cowboys who’ll do that for you,” he assured her. “Nothing to worry about.”
She grimaced. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she confessed. “I’ve never had to run a ranch. Dad knew all that stuff, but I wasn’t interested in learning, so I never listened to him talk about management.” She sighed. “I hope the whole outfit doesn’t go on the rocks because of me.”
He bit his tongue to keep from making her an offer for the place right then. He had to bide his time. Slow, Jeff, he told himself, you have to go slow.
“We’ll have supper at the Chinese place, if that’s okay.”
“I love sesame chicken,” she confessed.
He laughed. “I like chow mein. But, hey, it’s still Chinese.”
“Got a point. What time?”
“I’ll pick you up about six.”
“Suits me. See you then.”
* * *
She went through her closet looking for a nice dress. She had plenty of pantsuits, but an evening out seemed to call for something a little less structured and worklike. She had one nice black cocktail dress. She paired it with elegant pumps and her one good coat, a black wool one with a small mink collar. She started to put her hair up, but when she brushed it out, she loved the way it looked down around her shoulders. It softened the lines of her face, made her look more feminine, younger. In the end, she left it long.
As she finished her makeup, there was a belligerent knock at the front door. She sighed heavily. She almost certainly knew who it was, since Jeff wasn’t due for another thirty minutes.
With resignation she opened it, and there, in the snow, stood Dal Blake with Snow. The dog rushed in past him, leaving Meadow to deal with him.
But the belligerence seemed to drop away as he stared at her with narrowed dark eyes. “Going somewhere?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied curtly. “Jeff asked me to dinner.”
He pursed his lips as he stared at her. She was sexy as hell in that dress, and she looked pretty with her face made up. He remembered the taste of her mouth under the mistletoe at a long-ago Christmas party and hated the sudden hunger it kindled in him. He’d spent years not seeing her. She wasn’t his sort of woman. No sense starting something he couldn’t finish.
But his body reacted sharply to the sight of her in that tempting little dress. Jeff would certainly sit up and take notice. Why was that so irritating? He scowled.
“It’s not a scandalous dress!” she blurted out, uncomfortable at the way he was watching her.
“I never said it was.” He hesitated. “You look . . . nice.”
Her heart jumped. She ignored it. “Thanks. I’m sorry, was Snow at your house again?”
He just nodded. He stuck his big hands in the pockets of his heavy shepherd’s coat. Under the wide brim of his hat, where snowflakes were gathering, he looked very much a Western man.
She shifted. She didn’t really know what to say. She’d expected a broadside about her pet, but he wasn’t belligerent. Not yet, at least.
His head lifted. “Just a tip,” he said after a minute. “Jeff loves heavy perfume, and he’s a card-carrying liberal. If you want to make an impression, that will help.”
She brightened. At least he wasn’t insulting her. “Okay.” She paused. “Thanks.”
He shrugged. “Jeff’s my friend. He’s a good guy.”
She smiled. “Yes, he is. He’s a great boss.”
“Well, your dog’s home. I have work to do. See you.”
“I’ll try harder to keep her at home. Sorry.”
He didn’t even answer her. He kept walking to the horse tied to a nearby tree, the one he’d obviously arrived on. He mounted and rode away, still without looking back at her. She closed the door and went to put on more perfume.
* * *
Jeff just stared at her when she opened the door, heavy coat on but unbuttoned and her purse in hand. He smiled slowly. “Nice,” he said, putting so much feeling into the one word that she flushed a little. She wasn’t used to admiring males.
He looked pretty good, too, in dark slacks with a white cotton shirt, red tie, and wool jacket.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Shay shay,” he said.
She raised both eyebrows.
“It means thank you,” he said. “One of the waitresses at the Chinese restaurant goes to college up in Denver. She’s teaching me.”
She laughed. “That sounds like fun.”
“She’ll teach you, too. It never hurts to know a little about other languages and cultures. It rounds us out.”
“I totally agree.”
“Well, if you’re ready . . . ?”
“I am.” She closed the door behind her, locked it, and put the key in her purse. She noticed when they got in Jeff’s sedate sedan that he looked uncomfortable and he was coughing.
“Mind a little air-conditioning, just to stir the air?” he asked, and he sounded hoarse.
Odd, air-conditioning in freezing temps, but she just smiled and nodded. “That’s fine.”
He turned it on and took a deep breath. He did stop coughing afterward.
* * *
The waitress was very nice. She laughed when Jeff explained that he was teaching Meadow what the waitress taught him.
“I’ll make sure I add words every time you come here,” she told him with twinkling black eyes. “What would you like?”
They gave their order and settled down with cups of hot jasmine tea. Meadow was enjoying herself until the front door bell tinkled and Dal Blake walked in with a striking brunette.
Jeff glowered toward them. “Dana,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“Dana Conyers. She owns the local florist shop in Raven Springs,” he said, his eyes never leaving the brunette. “She’s a sweet woman. Sings in the choir at the Methodist church, teaches Sunday School, volunteers at the Sharing Place on Saturdays. Shame that she’s going around with a man who goes through women like handkerchiefs.”
That sounded bitter. She watched him watching the florist. He was a little too interested for a casual observer. It got more interesting when Dana Conyers saw him with Meadow and abruptly shifted her eyes back to Dal.
“The world’s full of women,” Jeff said under his breath. “Why does he have to go around with her?”
“She likes him,” Meadow said. “You can tell.”
He made a face. “He plays up to her. Brings her flowers. Takes her places. She’s never had a real beau. But he won’t marry her. He’s not the sort.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to get married,” she ventured.
“She loves kids.” He toyed with the spoon in his tea cup. “She volunteers at the Christmas party, giving out gifts to the children.”
“I see.” She didn’t, but it was something to say.
Dal had Dana by the elbow and was guiding her as they followed the waitress past the booth where Meadow and Jeff were sitting.
Dal raised both eyebrows. “I thought you didn’t date coworkers,” he told Jeff.
Jeff glowered at him. “It’s just supper.”
Dal shrugged. His dark eyes slid over Meadow in her pretty but conservative dress, down the length of her long hair.
She just smiled. She didn’t say a word.
“Do you give her more than one bullet for her gun?” Dal asked Jeff conversationally.
“Not nice.” Jeff wagged a finger at him.
“I’m Dana Conyers,” the brunette said to Meadow. “I think I’ve seen you around town.”
“I’m Jake Dawson’s daughter,” Meadow said.
“Oh, yes, we did the flowers for the funeral,” the other woman said. “I’m very sorry. He seemed like a nice person.”
“He was,” Meadow said, and fought tears.
“Sorry again,” Dana grimaced. “It must be hard.”
“Did you ever run down that lamp of Harlow’s that was stolen?” Dal asked Jeff.
“Not yet. Meadow’s on the case.”
Dal gave her a speaking look. “Well, that certainly raises the level of confidence, doesn’t it?”
Meadow glared at him. “I’ve been in law enforcement for years,” she began.
“Did I mention that your father and I found the bullet that lodged in the tractor housing . . . ?” Dal interrupted.
Meadow’s lips made a thin line. “You’ve told me a number of times.”
“The waitress is motioning to you,” Jeff said quickly, nodding toward her.
Dal smiled sarcastically. “Then I guess we should go. Good seeing you, Jeff.”
“Sure.”
“Nice meeting you, Miss Dawson,” Dana added.
Meadow just nodded. She wasn’t sure she could get words out, she was so angry. Leave it to that, that, cattleman to make her feel small! He worked overtime at it, too.
“Don’t let him rattle you,” Jeff said, noting her irritation. “He just does it to get a rise.”
“He is the most irritating, unpleasant person I’ve ever known,” she said through her teeth.
“And he works at it, too,” Jeff returned with a grin.
She laughed. “So he does.”
The waitress came back by and freshened their tea. Talk turned to work while they waited for their orders.
* * *
It was a pleasant meal. Meadow enjoyed Jeff’s company. He was interesting to talk to. He’d been in law enforcement much longer than she had, from the age of seventeen, in fact, and he had a wealth of stories that he shared about life in Raven Springs, past and present.
“What’s the most unusual case you’ve covered?” she asked.
He laughed. “The Peeping Tom.”
Her eyebrows arched in a question.
“We had this guy peering in windows, always very early in the morning, when women were getting ready to go to work. It was always the same houses, too. He was barefoot, we could tell by the prints he left. He never tried to break in or anything, but just the fact that we had such a guy in the community was disturbing.”
“Did you catch him?”
“Oh, yes.” He forced down laughter. “He tripped over a child’s tricycle and went down in a mud puddle after a spring rain. It turned out to be that he wasn’t trying to look at naked women at all. He’d lost his cat and he thought one of two families had stolen it, so he peeked in early in the morning, hoping he’d see them feed the cat.”
“Now I’ve heard everything.”
“It gets worse.” He was choking back laughter. “It turns out that one of the houses actually did have his cat. The little girl—the one whose trike he fell over—had taken it home with her and hidden it in her room. No litter box, you understand. Her mother did notice a smell, but she thought it was the garbage can outside the window.”
“Did he get his cat back?”
“He did, with an apology from the child. However,” he added, sipping tea with a laugh, “he did get probation for the peeping charge.”
“He must have loved the cat.”
“Very much.”
“What about the little girl?”
“Her mother bought her a cat of her own, and a litter box,” he added with a chuckle.
Meadow smiled. “I used to have cats when I was a child. I wasn’t really a dog person, but I love my Snow. She’s a lot of company, and she does at least howl when somebody comes up outside.”
He frowned. “Howls?”
“She’s a Siberian husky. They don’t bark. They howl.”
“Well!”
She laughed at his surprise. She remembered then what Dal had told her about Jeff’s politics, so she launched into a dig at the current administration in Washington DC and the loss of the liberal agenda. It wasn’t really her own position, but she wanted to impress her boss. She didn’t notice at first that he clammed up and said little. It was puzzling—he almost seemed to feel offended.