Jill Elizabeth Nelson (7 page)

The original Elling patriarch passed away in 1910, secure in his illusion that his legacy was ensured. Tragically, the influenza pandemic of 1918 wiped out all but a couple of daughters, and left only one son, Silas, the youngest. The once-thriving family tree had been pruned down to a few skimpy branches.

Silas's first wife suffered three miscarriages and then died in a drowning accident. Nicole lifted her eyebrows.
How well was that “accident” investigated? His second wife produced two daughters in two years, then died in childbirth in the third year, along with the son she carried.
Okay, then. No suspicion of foul play there…unless you counted using a woman like a broodmare.
Disgust sat like a weight beneath Nicole's breastbone.

Finally, Silas's third wife, Margaret, earned her keep by giving birth to Simon. However, no more offspring came of the union. At least the woman didn't suffer any fishy accidents. No, Margaret lived to the ripe age of ninety-two, outlasting Silas by almost a decade.

What kind of woman did it take to hold her own with an Elling man? Another page in the narrative contained photos of the town of Ellington, as well as the founding family. Nicole enlarged the photo of Silas to the limit of her screen, and suppressed a shudder. Snakes had warmer eyes. The photo of Margaret answered Nicole's question. Her eyes were bookends of his. What sort of marriage did these two have? Nicole didn't bother to suppress this shudder.

Simon's marriage to Fern had endured to this day, and Fern was still alive. Rumor had it this latter detail was a surprise to most of the community. Fern had been at death's door too many times to count. Samuel had been their only son. If he'd lived, would he have turned out a cold-eyed, obsessed man like his forefathers?

Rich returned from his coffee mission with two cups. He extended one toward Nicole. “I brought you some anyway.”

Nicole accepted the offering. “Thanks.” She blew on the steaming brew. “Do the Ellings still own most of the county?”

Rich settled into his earlier seat. “Over the years they've been whittled down to a few sections of land. None of the family actively farms anymore, so they rent out every square
inch for crops or pasture. Some of their homestead sites are rentals, too, but some are vacant.”

Nicole nodded. Decaying homesteads were a common sight in the rural areas as fewer families farmed larger pieces of land. Gone were the days of a farm family on every quarter. “Thanks for the thorough answer to my question.”

“Why do you ask?”

Nicole pursed her lips. Should she give voice to a theory that had just occurred to her? She sipped at her coffee. Guess it couldn't hurt to bounce the idea off a pair of listening ears, especially when those ears were attached to the man who ran the investigation.

“The county should have a record of when the land sales occurred. I'm wondering if the Ellings had to sell off chunks in order to pay that enormous ransom.”

“Okay. I follow you.” Rich's gaze narrowed. “Might be a strong indication that the ransom was actually paid.”

“You think it might not have been?” Her heart lurched. “That the kidnapping was a put-on to cover up a worse crime?”

Rich cleared his throat and looked away.

Nicole laughed. He was cuter than ever when dismay struck. The cop in him hadn't wanted her to know the direction of his thoughts. “Your suspicions are safe with me.”

Rich shot her a scowl, though his eyes smiled. “It's not a suspicion. More like a possibility to check out. But if that's not the direction you were going with your question, care to enlighten me?”

Nicole set her cup on a side table. “Selling off big chunks of land to pay the ransom probably sent the Ellings' finances into a tailspin. Maybe ruining the family financially was the point of the kidnapping. That makes the crime personal, not an impersonal act of greed.”

Rich rubbed the back of his head. “Nice theory. Bears consideration. The Ellings have stepped on a lot of people over the years. The list of suspects could be legion.”

“The attack on my grandmother narrows the field to someone local, as well as still alive.” She hurried on in response to Rich's frown. “If the kidnapping was carried out by strangers, then the crooks would have had no need to stick around Ellington after they got the money. Therefore, they couldn't have responded so quickly to the discovery of the bones.”

Rich sat forward and put his elbows on his knees. “You realize that if the assault on Jan is related to the infant's death, we have more reason than ever to suspect one or both of your grandparents was involved. Wouldn't you rather the attack turn out to be a random break-in?”

A wave of dizziness washed through Nicole's head, but she shook it away. “The truth needs to come out. I have to believe it will exonerate my family. Somebody somewhere is living a lie, and that's simply not my grandparents' character. Don't character witnesses count for something in a court of law?”

“Not as much as hard evidence.”

“I'm betting you don't have much of that yet, or you'd have someone in custody.”

Rich's solemn gaze locked with Nicole's as a chill gripped her marrow. That someone could turn out to be her grandmother. Was she prepared to face that outcome for the sake of truth and justice? But to live indefinitely under a cloud of doubt and suspicion, wouldn't that be many times worse?

“J
an Keller is in serious but stable condition.”

The surgeon's words kept running through Nicole's head as she washed her face and hands at the hotel sink. How did she let Rich coax her into leaving the hospital and taking a hotel room, rather than bunking in a waiting room chair in case her grandmother took a turn one way or another? Dark bags under her eyes might be one reason. Sleep had been in short supply for a couple of days.

And then there was the rest of the doctor's message. “We need to keep her in a coma for a while—until the brain swelling goes down. Could be a week or more. Then we'll ease her off the medication and let her wake up in her own time.”

In her own time?
Nicole snickered as she dried her hands. Yes, Grandma Jan always did things in her own time and her own way.

The doctor had been noncommittal on a prognosis for full recovery. “We'll see what she's like when she wakes up,” he said.

Nicole tossed the towel onto the counter. She'd have to live with that vague pronouncement. No one could promise anything, but waiting to find out was so hard. At least Grandma remained among the living. Nicole ran a brush
through her tousled hair, and semi-tamed the thick waves that touched her shoulders.

There was one thing to look forward to this evening. Rich was going to pick her up shortly for a quiet meal out. He'd decided to get a room, too, rather than head straight back to Ellington. He planned to visit the MBCA office in the morning and pick the agents' brains about handling a cold case.

Nicole straightened her blouse and checked her clothing. Wrinkled, but it couldn't be helped. She'd only brought one extra set of street clothes, and that was for tomorrow. What did she care anyway? This wasn't a date, just a pair of acquaintances keeping each other company over a little necessary sustenance. The flutters in her tummy were merely the residue of worry over her grandmother. Of course they were.

A knock sounded on the door, and she clutched her middle. The butterflies had multiplied.

Nicole opened the door to find Rich standing in the hallway with his hands in the pockets of a pair of brown slacks. His striped shirt looked neat and crisp, and his grin sent Nicole's tummy butterflies into somersaults.

She cleared her throat. “You lost your uniform. Did you go shopping?”

Rich shuddered. “Me? Shopping?” He laughed. “If not for my daughter, I'd be a bum. I always keep a change of clothes in a zipper bag in the back of my unit.”

“A prepared man.” She was the one who resembled a bum—a sleep-deprived one at that. “Let me get my purse.” Nicole retrieved it from the chest of drawers, and they proceeded up the hallway toward the elevator. “Don't forget our agreement to go Dutch.”

Rich smiled. “I promise to rein in my gallantry.”

She chuckled and some of her nervousness subsided.
A few minutes later, they studied the menus in the hotel dining room.

Rich lowered his. “Here's my part of the supper pact. No shop talk. We give ourselves permission to relax.”

“Deal.” Nicole closed her menu and laid it on the table.

She glanced around the moderately busy restaurant. The decor featured paintings of colorful Victorian scenes and gingerbread trim on the woodwork. Savory smells had her salivating. When had she eaten last? Oh, yes. Early breakfast this morning with her grandmother—an aeon ago.

A waiter brought beverages and then took their orders. Rich began talking about his farm upbringing and had her laughing over anecdotes involving runaway cows and tractors stuck up to their axles in mud.

Their meals came, and Nicole spread her cloth napkin on her lap. “So why didn't you become a farmer?”

Rich pursed his lips as he cut his steak. “I liked the farm just fine. Great place to grow up. But farming was my brother's passion. I let him step into my dad's shoes. I always wanted to be a cop, so here I am.”

Nicole sampled a bite of her garlic mashed potatoes. “My dad was that way, too. He lived for the badge. Never shirked when duty called.”

“Hazard of the trade.” Rich nodded. “But farming can be that way, too. Absorbing. Sometimes hard on family life.”

“My mom coped pretty well. She was my role model when I married Glen. And I adored my dad. He was doing what he loved when he collapsed of a heart attack on duty. Too many donuts? Too many days and nights of burning the candle at both ends?” She shrugged. “I was a senior in high school. My mom never remarried, and then she was killed in a car accident a few years later.”

“You've suffered a lot of loss over the years.” His steady look searched hers.

Nicole dropped her gaze and sipped at her water. “You've had a big loss, too.”

“My wife fought a good fight. I'm glad for those final months we had together, even though they were rough with treatments and all. But then she went to a better place. I can be sad for me, but not for her.”

Nicole studied him. Peace radiated from his eyes. “You mean that,” she said. “A lot of people say those things, but it's a nice-sounding front for anger and unresolved grief.” She laid her fork across her plate. “I know, because I'm still dealing with a lot of negative emotions. Not that I doubt where my loved ones are, but why did they go so soon? My dad never got to see me in my high school cap and gown, much less college. And he wasn't there to walk me down the aisle when I married a rookie cop straight out of the academy.” Her hands fisted around the napkin in her lap. “Now Glen's gone, too.”

She bit her lip and halted a further rush of words.
And I don't have his baby in my arms to leave me a piece of him. Why was that made impossible, too?

Rich shook his head. “Doesn't make sense, does it?” His tone soothed.

Nicole let out a pent-up breath on a small laugh. “Here we are, supposed to be enjoying a relaxing evening, and I'm whining.”

“That's all right. I'm honored you'd talk about these subjects with me.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Thanks for not lecturing me to stop questioning and just have faith that God knows best.”

Rich popped another bite of steak into his mouth and chewed slowly. “I've never known faith and questions to be mutually exclusive. When we stop asking questions, we stop growing spiritually—or any other way.”

A weight lifted from Nicole's chest. “Thanks. That's
the most comforting thing anyone has said to me in a long time.”

“My pleasure.” He smiled. “Now, how about dessert after we finish this fine meal? My treat.”

Supper ended on a positive note, with conversation returning to light topics. Then Rich insisted on walking Nicole to her door.

She laughed as they entered the elevator. “Your gallantry is getting away from you again.”

He shrugged. “Not my gallantry so much as my cop-ness. I'd be protective of any beautiful woman wandering around an unfamiliar place at night in a big city.”

Nicole sucked in a breath. He'd called her beautiful.

They arrived at Nicole's door. She looked up into Rich's eyes. Her light farewell words died on her tongue. His gaze was anything but detached. Her eyes widened. Would he try to kiss her? How would she react? Her heart did a little stutter-step.

Rich lifted his hand and brushed Nicole's cheek with his fingertips. Her eyelids drifted shut as if attached to his fingers by puppet strings. Warmth radiated across her skin. He was going to kiss her, and she was going to let him.

Breathless moments passed. Nothing happened.

Nicole opened her eyes. Rich's broad back was retreating up the hallway. A deep breath expanded her lungs. He hadn't kissed her. What a letdown, thank goodness! She wasn't herself right now. Her emotions were all over the place.

Assuring herself that she was indeed relieved over the missed kiss, she let herself into her room. Many guys would have taken advantage of a vulnerable female and stolen that kiss. Terry Bender's face darted past her mind's eye. Case in point. Just as well Rich was wise enough to keep his distance. He was the kind of man who played for keeps
in the heart department, but nothing more than friendship could happen between them.

Nicole slipped into her pajamas and crawled between the sheets. Her weary body ached, and the wide mattress and soft pillows invited her to let tension fade into them. But her mind kept churning over thoughts about her grandmother, the baby's remains, Hannah and her disturbing Elling relatives, and then back to Rich.

And Glen.

She and Glen had wanted children in the worst way, but mere days before he was killed they got the news. Glen wasn't able to father a child. Nicole was willing to talk adoption. It didn't matter to her whether the baby was of their blood. He or she would become theirs through love. Glen wasn't ready for that option. Nicole figured if she gave him some space he'd work his way out of the funk and open his heart to a child who needed a family.

He never got the chance. Had his distraction about fatherhood contributed to him getting into the line of fire during the robbery?

Nicole rolled onto her side and punched her pillow. She'd never know. Tears wet the pillowcase, as they had too many nights to count. She still missed Glen far too much to consider another relationship, even if the sight of Rich did crazy things to her pulse.

Not only was Rich a cop, but he'd already raised his family. He had a grown daughter! It wouldn't be fair of Nicole to expect him to change his job and start over in the baby department. If and when she was ready for romance, Rich wasn't a candidate.

 

Back in uniform the next morning, Rich adjusted his gun belt around his hips then strode out the hotel room door. He wasn't as rested as he'd like to be, but then, current
events hadn't exactly been conducive to a good night's sleep. If he was honest with himself, though, it wasn't the rose garden baby case that had disturbed his slumber, but a pair of wounded brown eyes.

Nicole was a long way from done grieving her husband. What had he expected? She'd take one look at him and realize she was ready to love again? Maybe he should reconsider his interest in her. She had a thing against cops as husband material. And there was something else bugging her, too. Something that was still too painful to talk about. What could be more devastating than the death of a loved one?

Rich arrived at Nicole's hotel room door and knocked.

“Who is it?” Her voice carried through the portal.

He identified himself. “Are you ready for me to take you back to the hospital before I go over to the forensics office?”

Silence answered for several heartbeats. “Not quite. You go on. I'll take a cab over.”

Rich frowned. Was she really not ready, or had his affectionate touch on her cheek scared her away? He should have denied the impulse, but his fingers had seemed to possess a mind of their own. She hadn't pulled away. If anything, she'd looked ready for the next step. A kiss maybe? If this sudden avoidance was the aftermath of allowing a moment of contact, then it was a very good thing he hadn't pushed for more. Maybe he'd better not push her now, either—prove he wasn't a threat to the emotional space she needed.

“All right.” The words left his lips reluctantly. “I'll stop by the hospital and check on you and your grandmother later today.”

“Sounds good.” The tone carried a wave of relief. Because he was leaving or because he was going to stop in at the hospital when he finished at the MBCA?

On the drive to the bureau headquarters in St. Paul, Rich
got on the radio and checked in at the office. The dispatcher reported that a two-one-one had been called in early this morning. Rich groaned. Another robbery. The thefts seemed small potatoes compared to the assault on Jan Keller and the possibility that Nicole had uncovered the remains of Samuel Elling. But the persistent thefts of property were giving his department a black eye in the community.

“Hey, Chief.” Terry got on the horn. “Let me call you on your cell.”

Rich agreed. Must be something his deputy didn't want to discuss on the radio for the delectation of anyone with a police scanner. A few seconds later his cell played.

“Got an update on forensics from the Keller crime scenes,” Terry said.

“Spill.”

“The forensics tech headed back to his lab this morning with all the evidence from both the burial site and the attic. He says there are plenty of good fingerprints on the bat and the plastic bag that was used as a shroud. He won't have any idea who they belong to, though, until he gets a chance to analyze them with the proper equipment.”

Rich huffed. “I expect some of the prints on the bat to come back to Jan and probably to her son, Nicole's father. The bat was his as a boy.”

“Yeah, well, both those sets of prints will be in the system for elimination—Nicole's dad's because he was a cop, and Jan's because we just took 'em. Nicole's, too.”

“Nicole's? You mean on the plastic bag.”

“Or the bat. She called in the assault. Maybe Nicole and granny had an argument—something about that dead baby and—”

“Are you serious?” Rich's roar echoed in his own ears.

Terry's
gotcha
chuckle carried over the airwaves. “Not
really. The motive for that extreme reaction is pretty flimsy. Unless there's something about this case we don't know.”

“There are lots of blanks to fill in yet.” Rich's words came out clipped, as he stuffed his eruption of anger down into his belly, where it smoldered and fumed like a banked volcano.

Why did he still let himself get blindsided by Terry's petty little jokes at his expense? Maybe because he was too infatuated with Nicole to think straight. That wasn't good. Not good at all as long as this case was on his docket.

“What's the scoop on this two-one-one last night?” Rich growled at his deputy.

“Dugan's Implement lost a half-dozen lawn mowers and several skid loaders out of their storage shed in the back. The staff came in this morning to roll them out for display, but the padlock was cut and the shed had been cleaned out slick as a whistle.”