Jill Elizabeth Nelson (5 page)

“Wait!” Nicole lunged from her seat. “I'll go with you to unlock the door.”

“I was going to ask for a key, not use a crowbar.”

She sniffed and turned toward her grandmother. “Just hang tight until I get back. We'll straighten the mess together.”

“Mess?” Jan blinked.

“Cleaning up after themselves is not in search protocol.”

The woman responded with a faint “oh,” and Nicole headed for her car.

Rich followed her down the steps and caught up with his deputies.

“Feisty, ain't she,” Terry said out of the corner of his mouth. “That's the best kind.”

“Don't push my buttons today, Bender.”

“Okay, Chief. But I was just sayin'…” With an elaborate shrug, he got into his car.

Rich followed Nicole's little Ford into the alley behind
the shop that was located on the corner of Ellington's brief main street. He stopped his vehicle beside hers. Without a word, she unlocked the back door and stepped aside while he and his deputies went in. She'd admitted him into a combination storeroom and workroom. A sewing machine, a dressmaker's dummy, and a table laden with bolts of fabric, scissors, measuring tape and other utensils sat on one side of the area. The other end of the long room was occupied by stacks of boxes.

Nicole poked her head inside. “I guarantee you won't find anything. I've been cleaning and sorting and throwing since I got here—practically over my grandmother's dead body.” She stopped on a little gasp. “Poor choice of words.” She paused. “Anyway, the boxes contain old financial records. I doubt my grandmother ever threw away a slip of paper. If those trip your trigger, go for it.” She closed the door just shy of a slam.

Chest tightening, Rich turned toward the stacked banker's boxes. If the ransom from the kidnapping was laundered through the shop, he could be staring at the evidence.

An hour later, they finished going through the store without finding anything else of interest. He loaded his deputies down with boxes of the shop's financial records. Amazing that anyone kept records so far back, but his search of the Keller house had proven that Jan was a pack rat of the first order. That attic must still contain every toy that her son, Henry, Nicole's father, ever played with. There was an impressive box of baseball cards, too. When this case was over, he might clue Nicole in that her grandmother could be sitting on a gold mine in those, as well as the antique toys.

They stepped out the door, and Rich spotted Nicole perched on the hood of her car in the shade of the building. She was reading the yellowed news articles.

“You stuck around?” he said.

She hopped up. “The shop isn't big. I figured it wouldn't take you long, and then I could inspect the damage.”

“I'm sorry we have to pull things apart like that, but—”

“I know. It's your job.” She waved the sheaf of clippings. “This is a tragic story.”

“Very.” He didn't add that the Ellings' legacy of sorrow seemed to be passed from one generation to the next—mostly self-inflicted.

“Looks like you decided those old records are of interest.” She nodded toward the two boxes he carried and the ones his deputies were loading in the back of the SUV.

“Just taking another long shot.” He smiled at her.

She smiled back. Not very big and a bit ruefully, but the minor thaw sent his pulse trip-hammering. What might a full-blown grin from her do to his insides? As he stowed his boxes in the SUV, he prayed that he never had to arrest Jan Keller and rob himself forever of the chance to find out.

 

Nicole spent a few minutes inspecting the inside of the shop. Most of the mess consisted of things pulled out of place, and the stock would need to be reshelved. She could set things to rights today, and they could probably open up again tomorrow. First, she needed to head home and check on Grandma. She didn't trust that woman not to be doing more than she should to restore order to the house. Nicole locked the back door of the shop and climbed into her car.

On the drive home, a pair of compassionate hazel eyes haunted her. It had really bothered Rich to intrude on their lives, but he'd performed his job thoroughly and professionally. He was the kind of cop who took his oath to protect and to serve seriously. The young cop hadn't said a word,
but his demeanor had been respectful toward her and his boss. That over-the-hill peacock, Terry Bender, was another story. He was the dime-a-dozen kind that enjoyed issuing tickets, harassing people and wowing the ladies with his authority. And for some reason, he resented Rich. Did he think
he
should be the chief? Heaven help Ellington if that ever happened!

A few minutes later, Nicole stepped into a silent house. “Grandma, where are you?” Her call went unanswered.

Did her grandmother go to the store for something? Nicole walked into the living room. Papers were strewn everywhere, and furniture was out of place. Thankfully, her grandmother hadn't attempted to put things back by herself. She called out again. A faint noise overhead brought an exasperated puff of breath.

Grandma had started in the attic. Not the order she would have done things, but her grandmother had always been protective of that eclectic collection of junk up there. What a relief that Rich and his deputies hadn't found anything incriminating in their search of her memorabilia. If there'd been anything to find, Nicole would have guessed it to be up there or in her grandmother's room—that is, if she hadn't already disposed of whatever it was.

Nicole climbed to the second floor then headed up the hall toward the open attic door. Another scrape from above quickened her steps. “Grandma, you stop trying to move things around by yourself. I'm coming.”

She was going to have a heart-to-heart with that woman. This was not a situation for her grandmother to try to hide anything she knew—regardless of who she might be protecting. Even if it was herself.

The scent of hot dust greeted Nicole as she climbed high enough to poke her head above the hardwood floor. The mess up here didn't look all that much different than before
the search. Towers of boxes and jumbles of toys and discarded household items lay everywhere. Dust motes danced in the humid air in front of the nearest dormer window. “Grandma?”

She reached the top of the stairs. A movement caught the corner of her eye, and she started to turn, but a heavy weight of fabric descended over her, choking sound and cutting off sight. A shove sent her into the nearest cluster of junk. She tripped, her scream muffled, and hit the floor hard. Unseen objects poked viciously into her chest and side. Things tumbled around her, striking her back and legs.

Heart hammering against her ribs, Nicole fought the suffocating blanket as footsteps thudded down the stairs. At last her flailing arms succeeded in throwing off the covering. It was an old, ragged quilt that used to grace her grandmother's bed when Nicole would visit as a child. Nicole sat up sharply. Where
was
her grandmother?

Ignoring aches and abrasions, Nicole grasped the edge of an open trunk and hauled herself to her feet. She stared around, panting, but didn't see anyone. Had the burglar done something with Grandma Jan? Or maybe Grandma walked somewhere and wasn't home when someone entered.

Please, God, let that be so.

Nicole needed to get to a phone right away and call for help. She turned toward the stairs, but a tumbled stack of junk blocked her path. She'd have to find a different way to the exit. An opening to her left beckoned, and she followed it. Her feet struck a soft object, and she halted.

She looked down, and a scream rent her throat. Nicole's grandmother sprawled facedown and motionless. A pool of deep crimson haloed her white head.

T
he ambulance call blared through Rich's car radio. He turned on the siren, cramped the wheel, and did a U-turn at the end of Ellington's main street. Lunch with the downtown crowd hit the bottom of the priority list. He could schmooze and gauge community reaction to the discovery of a baby's remains later.

Someone unconscious and unresponsive at the Keller home? Who? Jan…or Nicole? Bile burned its way up Rich's windpipe.

He slammed to a stop near the telltale trench and leaped from his vehicle while the SUV swayed on its springs. Once again, he was first on the scene, though an ambulance siren had begun to wail in the distance. The back doorknob responded to his touch, and he stepped into the kitchen calling Nicole's name.

“Up here” came a faint response.

Warm relief loosened Rich's muscles. Nicole wasn't injured then. Jan must be the victim. Had the recent excitement given her a heart attack? Maybe guilt had done that.

Rich took the stairs two at a time. Moments later, he poked his head into the attic and saw no one, just tornado-strewn mess. Boy, they really had done a job on this place.

“Nicole?”

“Behind the boxes.” Her tone leaked tears.

Picking his way through the junk, Rich rounded a corner. Nicole knelt by the prone form of her grandmother, pressing a red-stained towel to the woman's head.

Rich stepped closer. “Did she fall?”

“Pushed maybe. Or struck with something. I don't know.” Nicole's gaze never left her grandmother. “We had an intruder. He shoved me down, too.”

Electricity jolted through Rich. Someone had attacked both women? “Did you get a look at him?”

Nicole shook her head. “He threw a quilt over my head from behind before he tossed me into a pile of junk. Grandma might have seen him, but she's—” A sob left her throat. “She doesn't look good.”

Nicole was right. Jan Keller's face had lost all color, and her breathing was shallow at best. The ambulance siren wailed up the street outside.

“Help is here,” he said. “You're doing the right thing for the bleeding. Let me look around quick for some sort of weapon before the EMTs crowd in.”

Nicole lifted her head and met his gaze. Her reddened eyes brimmed with trust and gratitude. “You'll catch whoever did this.”

Rich's insides melted. He'd go after any monster to see that look on her face again. Clearing his throat, he let his gaze roam the stuffy cave beneath the rafters. Yesterday's search and today's scuffle rendered hope of finding clear footprints on the dusty floor useless.

He stepped this way and that, peering over and around objects. This incident could be a common burglary, but what kind of burglar strikes in the daytime? Had a baby killer been stirred to action? Anyone who would kidnap and kill an infant wouldn't balk at a senior citizen. Did the perp
come here to silence Jan Keller? Or were they looking for something and Jan interrupted them? Did they find what they wanted? Had Rich's search team overlooked something significant this morning? Questions pummeled him.

Voices came from below. Rich called to the emergency crew and feet sounded on the stairs. He turned another corner. A baseball bat lay on top of a pile of books, like someone had tossed it there. Wet red smears on the end that would normally connect with a ball suggested that it had recently connected with something—or someone—else.

Calm EMTs' voices mingled with Nicole's agitated tones. Equipment snapped and rattled as medical jargon batted back and forth. A soft sob from Nicole called his feet to return to her and offer a pair of strong arms. Duty sent his hand to his belt radio.

“Terry, you got a copy? Where are you?”

“Here with Nicole. Where are you?”

The deputy's voice came through the radio and into Rich's ears from a few feet away.
He
was with Nicole? Leave it to Terry to hover near a beautiful woman. But at least the guy was on top of the case. He'd probably heard the location of the ambulance call and come a' running on instinct just like his chief. Good cop work. Then why did Rich feel so irritated?

He tucked his radio back into it's belt pouch. “Follow my voice, Terry. I've got something you need to see.”

Seconds later, Terry appeared and halted on a low curse. “Somebody played baseball with an old lady's head.”

A feminine whimper turned both their heads. Nicole stood behind them, staring at the bat. “How could anyone—” Hand clamped over her mouth, she turned and hurried away.

Nausea rolled Rich's gut. Too bad Nicole's curiosity drove her to see that ugly object. Conversation from the EMTs
indicated they were getting ready to move their patient. Nicole would no doubt accompany them.

“This connected with the baby discovery, you think?” Terry claimed Rich's attention.

“Could be a common break-in. Maybe the thief thought no one was home after we drove away this morning.”

Terry snorted. “And maybe I'm a monkey's uncle.”

“Just keeping an open mind. That MBCA tech should hit town any minute. The office'll send him straight here. Let him collect the evidence.” He nodded toward the bat. “I'm going to call everyone in—on duty, off duty, on the moon—I don't care. When they get here, organize a canvas of the neighborhood to see if anyone saw someone other than the residents or us enter or leave this house.”

Terry's shoulders squared. “Will do, Chief. Where are you going to be?”

“At the hospital, waiting to see how things go with Jan Keller. Maybe she'll wake up and tell us something.”

“You might get to do some hand-holding with the granddaughter while you're at it.”

Rich didn't dignify the remark with an answer as he walked away.

 

Nicole paced the hospital waiting room, her stomach in knots. Under lowered brows, she eyed the hallway. No sign of medical staff. They must still be in with her grandmother. What was taking so long? She checked her watch and let out a long breath. Only three minutes had passed since they wheeled the inert form of her grandmother into the CAT scan room. The passage of time felt like an aeon.

A solid figure blocked her view, extending a paper cup. Rich, bearing a glass of water. He'd trailed the ambulance to the hospital. Nicole took the cup and sipped. Cool moisture soothed her parched throat.

“Thank you.” Her words came out a husky whisper.

“Welcome.” His sober, intent gaze studied her. “Let me know when you're ready to talk about what happened. Maybe you noticed something helpful and don't realize it yet.”

“Sure.” Nicole stared into her water. The liquid quivered with the tremor of her hand.

Why was this cop being so nice to her? He must be about ready to bust wide open with the usual barrage of investigator questions. Did he think he could soften her up to betray her grandmother with some revelation, if he let her stew long enough? Or maybe he knew she was too savvy about cops' ways to fall for the usual methods. While she couldn't be a suspect in the baby's death, he probably figured she was privy to her grandmother's secrets. Whether Rich believed it or not, she was just as frustrated as he must be to figure out what her grandmother was hiding.

There was no way Nicole could think Grandma Jan would hurt a baby. Or Grandpa Frank, either. Not the woman who baked sugar cookies for her or the man who soothed her ouchies when she came to visit. But then, hadn't her father and her husband run into case after case of the most ordinary-seeming people—normally gentle folks—who turned out to have committed the most horrible crimes?

Nicole sank onto a chair and downed the rest of the water. If Rich was letting her soften up by stewing in her own juices, he was doing a great job of it. His gentle gaze remained fixed on her. She looked away. If she lost Grandma Jan to death…or prison, she'd have no one.

Except God.

Her spine stiffened. Sure, she still uttered prayers from time to time out of lifelong habit, but she'd been struggling with her faith for years, ever since her dad died. She knew God existed. She knew He loved people—in theory. She
just didn't feel close to Him anymore, not like she had when she was a child.

Nicole licked a trace of moisture from her upper lip. Salty. Not from the cup she held. Tears had fallen without her knowledge. A warm presence settled in the chair next to her. Nicole held herself stiff.

“I want her to be innocent,” Rich said. “But I think you know and I know that she's concealing something that might have put her, and possibly you, in danger.”

Nicole lifted her gaze to meet his. Today he wore his uniform—gun, badge and all—and looked mighty fine in it.

“Do you think she's protecting someone?” Nicole asked. The most obvious answer was Grandpa Frank, or at least his memory. But in light of the attack, that conclusion didn't totally add up. “If Grandma's trying to hide her own guilt, or Grandpa's, then who came after her today, and why would she protect such a person?”

“Assuming the assault is related to the baby's remains, that's an excellent question. We need to find the answer in order to be assured of her safety…and yours.”

Warmth seeped into Nicole's fear-chilled bones. He said “we,” as if he included her as a valued participant in the investigation. Maybe that was simply another clever ploy to soften her up some more, but she didn't get the sense that Rich was playing a cop game with her. His hazel gaze was steady and sincere. If her meager tidbits of observation would help catch whoever hurt her grandmother, she had to let this man have them. She could start with a few things directly related to the attack.

“From the way the quilt landed on me and the heaviness of the footfalls on the attic stairs as they ran away, the intruder must have been either a tallish, athletic woman or a slight man.”

“Good observation.” Rich plucked a notebook from his shirt pocket and scribbled.

Now she had to decide whether to tell him the rest of what she could. Exhaling a deep sigh, she arced the crumpled paper cup into the wastebasket a few feet away.

“Two points.” A small smile spread Rich's lips.

She could get used to those appealing crow's feet at the edges of his eyes. She snorted a damp chuckle. “My dad taught me to play basketball. We'd shoot a few hoops almost every day, until…” She shook her head. “Never mind. It's a good memory. I hang on to those.”

“Me, too.” His gaze held heart-deep understanding. “I have lots of great memories of fifteen years with my wife. She passed away three years ago. Cancer.”

“I'm so sorry.”

He shrugged and cocked his head. “Life goes on, as we both know.”

Nicole looked away. Maybe the fellowship of shared loss was part of this man's attraction for her. She could use a kindred spirit for a friend. Too bad this kindred spirit was also investigating a crime that implicated her last living close relative.

“I'd like to have more good memories with my grandmother. If what little I can say will help catch her attacker, I'll tell.” She shared her grandmother's frantic bedroom search after the discovery of the baby's remains and the odd incident with the garbage.

Rich scratched the side of his neck. “So you think your grandmother might have disposed of something pertinent to the investigation?”

“I can only tell you what I observed…and what I didn't observe. What happened to that garbage bag? I know there's been a series of thefts in the area, but I hardly think the culprits are digging through the trash for valuables.”

Rich's gaze narrowed on the opposite wall as if drilling for clues in the paint. “Apparently someone is.”

Nicole spread her hands. “But if they found what they wanted in the garbage bag, why did they come after my grandmother? Obviously, she wasn't planning to tell anyone anything.”

“Good question. Maybe they didn't want to take the chance that she would continue to keep silent. Or maybe they didn't find what they were looking for and returned to search. Maybe they still haven't found it.”

“In other words, they could come back?”

Rich nodded. “You might want to stay somewhere else until this case is solved.”

Nicole's insides churned. “I won't be driven from our family's home. I'm the only one left to protect it. Besides, I don't have anywhere else to go.” Rich opened his mouth, but she lifted a hand. “I'll have an alarm system installed. Grandma will squawk like a ruffled chicken when she finds out, but I'll do it anyway.”

Her gaze fell to her toes, and her stomach, too.
Please, God!
If only her grandmother would live to complain.

A squeaky shoe tread brought both of their heads around. Dr. Mead entered the waiting area, expression grim. She stopped in front of their chairs. Nicole's heart tried to pound right out of her rib cage.

“It's a good thing Jan Keller has a hard head,” the doctor said.

“She's alive?” Nicole clasped her hands together.

“Is she awake?” Rich stood up.

The doctor shook her head. “Better for her that she's not right now. She has a skull fracture and a grade-four concussion with evidence of subdural hematoma.”

“She's bleeding in the brain,” Nicole said.

“Correct,” Dr. Mead confirmed. “And for your
information,” she switched her gaze to Rich, “there are no other signs of a struggle on her body—no bruising and nothing under her fingernails.”

Rich got busy with his pen and notebook. “So the assailant took her by surprise?”

“Not necessarily. The shape of the head wound suggests that she was facing her attacker.”

Nicole gripped the arms of her chair. “She knew who hit her? Maybe let him in?”

“Not necessarily.” Rich closed his notebook. “She might have been startled by an intruder, whirled to face him, and then been struck. That's one of the many questions she can answer when she wakes up.”