More Than Great Riches (8 page)

So far he had been fairly successful in resisting Tracy’s beauty, but every time he was
with her he found something new to attract him—her spunk, her compassion. The way she
walked as though she were moving to music. The way she treated the boys as friends instead
of pests.

So Luke bled all over Miss Dixon, Val said. Isn’t she the one who was involved in the
jewelry theft?

She’s the one, Leif admitted. Mark invited her to the game. I had to take her along to the
hospital to keep pressure on Luke’s wound while I drove.

Leif caught his brother’s curious expression. Val and Anne were inveterate matchmakers.
They tried to fix him up with every single woman in Massachusetts, from Cape Cod to the
Berkshire Hills. They were way off base if they thought he was interested in Tracy Dixon.
He knew the Lord would find the right woman for him, but in the meantime, he was a
professional cop. It would be a mistake to get involved with a suspect. His only interest
in Tracy was solving a crime.

And then an irritating voice in the back of his head caught his attention.
Just keep reminding yourself of that, Mr. Professional Cop
.

 
****

Tracy collapsed into the recliner in her living room, exhausted by the tension of the past
few hours. She needed to change her clothes and soak her bloodstained shirt in cold water,
but first she needed to just sit for a minute and get her second wind.

She groaned when she heard a knock at the door. Leif? No, he was taking Luke home to his
parents. Don’t let it be Keith again, she thought, struggling to her feet.

She didn’t recognize the distinguished white-haired gentleman on her doorstep. Miss Tracy
Dixon? he inquired. I’m John Whitby.

Whitby! Tracy drew a long breath. The retired judge appointed as Jeff’s guardian ad litem
to investigate her. Wishing she could wave a wand and magically disappear, she realized
what the judge was seeing—an exhausted woman with uncombed hair in wrinkled, bloodstained
clothes.

I’m Tracy Dixon, she managed. Please come in.

Is everything all right? He stared uneasily at the splotches of blood. He probably thought
she had just added murder to her rap sheet.

Everything’s fine now, she hurried to explain. I just returned from the emergency room,
helping a little boy with a gash on his arm.

The judge didn’t look convinced, but he followed her into the living room and settled on
the sofa. He spoke very formally as though this were a trial in his courtroom. You have
petitioned to be named conservator of your brother’s assets. I believe you were notified
that I have been appointed Jeffrey Dixon’s guardian ad litem to investigate your
qualifications to serve in that capacity.

Yes, sir, Tracy mumbled. Her nerves were signaling a frantic SOS. She felt as though she
were a defendant on trial.

Are you and your brother close? Are you on good terms?

Jeff and I are very close, she whispered. We’ve been best friends since we were small.

But you don’t see each other often. The judge peered over his glasses like a scholarly owl.

I live in New York—well, Brooklyn really. Explaining her aversion to visiting Allerton
would make matters worse. Of course, Judge Whitby was probably well aware of her
scandalous reputation in town.

When was the last time you saw your brother before his accident?

I came home for a long weekend in October when my mother was getting ready to move to
Florida.

And you and your brother were on good terms then?

Tracy swallowed hard. She hated to tell him that Jeff was drunk most of the time she was
here. We argued a little about his drinking, she admitted, but I love Jeff dearly and he
loves me.

You have lived in New York how long?

Three years.

And how often have you seen Jeffrey during that time?

The judge must have been a prosecutor before his years on the bench. His questions went
right to the heart of her relationship with her brother.

He was in Iraq when I moved away. Then he was injured and they sent him to Walter Reid
Hospital in Washington. I tried to visit him every weekend while he was there. Two years
ago when he was released from the hospital, I came back here to help him get settled. And
then the visit in October.

So, you have seen him just once over the past two years.

Tracy muffled a groan. That sounded so cold, as though her family didn’t count for much in
her life. But we talked by phone a lot and e-mailed several times a week.

The judge took a new tack. What is your financial situation? Are you living on your
savings now?

Did the good judge think she wanted Jeff’s money for herself? He obviously didn’t have a
very high opinion of her.

No, I don’t really have any money saved. The cost of living in New York is very high. I
had a good job, but I wasn’t able to put anything aside. I took classes at NYU. Most of my
salary went for tuition and books. But I’m starting a new job Sunday at Fisherman’s
Landing.

The judge seemed to be mulling over her response. I understand you are in trouble with the
police in New York City.

She had been expecting that question since he walked in the door. Would the judge call
Diaz? The detective would convince him that she was guilty. This was becoming a losing
battle. The police think I was involved in a theft, but that’s not true. If they caught
the real thief, I could prove my innocence.

I believe you had another encounter with the law when you were in high school?

Not that again. But she couldn’t deny it. She couldn’t tell a lie without blushing and
stumbling over the knots in her tongue.

I was accused of shoplifting, but honestly, Judge Whitby, I did not steal anything. I
would never do that.

The judge didn’t appear impressed. I’ve heard some other rumors about your past.

She lifted her chin. I don’t know what you’ve been told, but there’s nothing to those
rumors. She wanted to explain why Keith had spread those lies about her shady past, but
what good would that do? It was just her word against Keith’s—the shoplifter vs. the state
representative.

The judge sat there for a long moment, apparently sizing her up. She looked him squarely
in the eye, hoping he could read the truth.

I think that’s all for today, he announced, getting to his feet. I’ll be talking to a few
people here in town. Thank you for meeting with me.

Tracy saw him to the door. As he walked to his car, a dismal thought settled over her like
a heavy fog. She heaved a long sigh. If I were the investigator, I wouldn’t trust me
either.

From his place in the choir loft, Leif looked out over the congregation. Easter - his
favorite day of the year. Lilies covered every inch of space around the altar, and Tracy
was singing his favorite Easter song, The Holy City. Her silvery, sweet voice soared to
the rafters of the old church. Jerusalem, Jerusalem, lift up your voice and sing.

The glorious sound surged through him, raising goose bumps on his arms. He watched the
rapt faces of the members, realizing that they were all touched by her too.

With the last note came a hushed silence and then a spontaneous outburst of applause.
Tracy glowed as she went back to her seat with the other sopranos.

Leif spied Keith Bradford in his pew in the second row, brimming with self-importance as
he joined in the applause. Irritation - or jealousy - gnawed at him as he remembered that
Bradford had been at Tracy’s house the evening he stopped by to pick her up for choir
practice. Something about Bradford’s cloying charm raised his hackles.

Tracy’s cheeks were on fire when she came to the door that evening. She said something
about an auto insurance policy, while Bradford fixed his tie and tucked in his shirt. That
must have been quite a discussion they were having. Something was going on with those two.

Leif closed his eyes in a silent prayer. Lord, I could use a little help here. I think I’m
falling for this woman and I don’t even trust her. There are too many arrows pointing in
the wrong direction. Lord, you know I’ve been burned before. I let a woman make a fool of
me, giving me the come-on while she set me up for her lover. I need to know the truth
about Tracy. Is she as innocent as she seems or is she just another beautiful con artist?

Leif couldn’t erase the memory of Crystal’s betrayal. His knee was a constant reminder
that she had led him into a trap. He met Crystal Rivers while working undercover,
gathering evidence to bring down drug kingpin, Chase Martinez.

Crystal came to the station house insisting she had information for the detective on the
Martinez case. When they arranged to meet, Crystal told him her sister Mara was involved
with Martinez, and she wanted to help bring him down. Crystal was an exotic beauty and an
outrageous flirt, but he was dumb enough to be flattered by her obvious interest in him.

 They began to meet regularly. Supposedly Crystal gleaned inside information about
Martinez from her sister. Actually she fed him worthless bits of nothing. And then Crystal
told him her sister was missing. She invited him to come to her apartment to search for
clues to Mara’s whereabouts.

The alarms should have gone off when he entered the apartment building. It was a hovel,
not the type of place you would expect to find a glamour queen like Crystal.

Martinez was lying in wait for him. The minute Crystal opened the door to the apartment,
Martinez fired. In spite of the agonizing pain in his knee, Leif fired back, hitting
Martinez in the shoulder. When Martinez dropped his gun, Crystal tried to flee, but Leif
slammed the door. He held them both at gunpoint while he radioed for assistance.

His only comfort now was that they were both behind bars for a long time to come. The
courts did not take kindly to people who shot at cops.

But Tracy was not another Crystal. Instead of fawning over him, Tracy actually tried to
avoid him.

He barely focused on the rest of the service. He would just have to trust God to show him
the way before he fell into another trap. His first mistake had only cost him his knee.
This time it could cost him his heart.

The choir room was crowded after the service as the members hung up their robes and put
their music away. Everyone congratulated Tracy on her solo.

That was fabulous.

I could listen to you sing all day.

You made me cry.

Tracy looked overwhelmed by the attention, but she gave everyone her 500-watt smile. Leif
watched fascinated. Whenever she smiled, a funny little hole popped into her cheek. He
could have picked her up and kissed her right there in front of the whole choir.

Cool it, Ericson, he told himself.

Tracy, are you really going to start a handbell choir? one of the women asked.

Tracy looked hesitant. I’m thinking about it. Rev. Jim said we have a five octave set of
bells that someone donated years ago, but they’ve been sitting in the storage room ever
since.

Go for it, another member chimed in. I’d love to play handbells.

Leif stood listening to the chatter when he felt someone clasp his arm. He looked down to
see Sheila Dunn gazing dreamily into his eyes. No wonder Tracy thought this woman was his
wife.

He edged his way through the crowd, ignoring the fact that Sheila was still firmly
attached to him. Tracy, your song was beautiful. Somehow the words weren’t adequate to
express how deeply the song had affected him.

But she smiled gratefully. Thank you, Leif. That’s my very favorite song.

What time should I pick you up for work? He tried to disregard the disapproving sniff from
Sheila.

Tracy gave Sheila a curious glance. I have to be there at four. I think three-fifteen
should give us plenty of time.

Three-fifteen it is.

Thanks so much, Leif. I’ll see you then, but I have to run now. Maggie’s waiting for me.

Leif stood silent, his gaze following Tracy as she turned to the door. He felt Sheila
tugging at his arm. He looked down to see her adoring gaze had become a disgruntled frown.
I don’t understand you, Leif, making such a fuss over that woman. And why does Rev.
Edwards let her in the door? Everyone knows she’s a disgrace to this town.

Leif managed to escape Sheila’s grasp as he removed his choir robe. He didn’t feel the
need to respond to her comments. If everyone knew Tracy was a disgrace, everyone didn’t
include Leif Ericson.

That New York detective, Diaz, had told him to keep an eye on Tracy in case Rick Timmons
paid her a visit. He had done a thorough job of watching her, maybe too thorough, but so
far there was no sign of a mysterious stranger. Still, he had to admit that watching Tracy
Dixon was not a hardship.

 
****

Tracy studied her appearance in her mother’s old cheval glass. The restaurant’s pale blue
uniform with white piping was attractive. She was really looking forward to this evening.
She enjoyed waitress work, and it would be a relief to have money trickling in instead of
pouring out.

Waiting on tables had paid her way through three years of college, but her flight to New
York sent her plans off on a detour. Even counting her evening classes at NYU, she still
needed a full semester’s credits to finish her final year and earn her degree in music.

Excitement bubbled up inside. You can do it, she told her reflection. Save enough money
this summer, and you can enroll at Bridgewater for the fall semester. That degree will be
in your hot little hand by the end of the year.

She was startled by a knock at the front door. That couldn’t be Leif already. It wasn’t
quite three o’clock. She made a last quick check of her appearance and hurried downstairs
to open the door. With Leif’s warnings ringing in her head, she left the chain in place.

The middle-aged man on her doorstep was tall and painfully thin with a smattering of
scraggly salt and pepper hair. A scar that ran down his cheek from his eyebrow to his chin
shouted Danger.

Tracy’s heartbeat accelerated. Forcing her voice around the lump of panic in her throat,
she managed to speak. Can I help you?

Yes, Ma’am. The man gave her a toothless grin. I hear you got a car for sale—a ’74 Ford
Galaxie, but I ain’t seen it around for a while.

Tracy felt a faint glimmer of relief. He sounded so reasonable and matter of fact. But the
break-in was still fresh in her mind. She needed to stay on alert. This could be a ruse to
gain entry into her house. She looked past him to the rusted out Chevy he parked in her
driveway. The car is not for sale, she explained. She started to close the door.

The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Can I take a look at it? I could
probably make you a right good offer, he wheedled. What about ten thousand dollars?

Tracy stared at him. Why would someone pay that kind of money for an old car destined for
the glue factory? I’m sorry, but it’s not for sale, she repeated. You’ll have to excuse
me, I’m late for work. Quickly she closed the door and threw the deadbolt.

But the man didn’t move. His voice came through the door. I’d still like to look it over.
What would you say to fifteen thousand?

Fifteen thousand! He had to mean fifteen hundred. With fifteen thousand dollars she could
buy a late model used car and have money left over. But this was ridiculous. The man
didn’t look as though he had fifteen dollars, let alone fifteen thousand.

My car is in the shop for repairs, she called. I do not wish to sell it and that’s final.
She waited quietly behind the door, hoping her silence would convince him to give up and
go away.

After several minutes passed, she moved cautiously into the living room where she peered
through the sheer curtains to get a view of the front yard. Apparently the man still stood
on her doorstep. His battered car was still in the driveway.

She made a quick mental search of the house, trying to think of something to use as a
weapon if he made an attempt to break in. The only thing that came to mind was the old
tried and true standby—a rolling pin.

She glanced anxiously up at the clock. Five more minutes. Hurry up, Leif, she whispered. I
could use some reinforcements.

 
****

Leif frowned as he approached Tracy’s house. Why was that broken down heap parked in her
driveway? Although her front door was firmly closed, a man stood on her doorstep. Leif
knew he had never seen this character before.

Easing off on the accelerator, he rolled slowly past the house, sizing up the stranger.
Was this the notorious Rick Timmons trying to contact his accomplice in crime, Tracy Dixon?

He pounded a fist on the steering wheel.
Just when I started to believe her.

But Detective Diaz said Timmons was well built. This guy looked as though he had been on a
hunger strike. And unless Timmons was a master of disguise, no one would accuse this man
of being good-looking.

Without hesitation Leif swung a one-eighty and rolled to a stop in front of Tracy’s home.
Startled, the stranger glanced over his shoulder. One glimpse of Leif and he made a fast
about face, beating a hasty retreat to his car. Before Leif opened his door, the man
revved his engine and backed out of the driveway.

Automatically Leif jotted down the license plate number as the old Chevy took off toward
town in a cloud of exhaust. He marched grimly to the front door.
Now let’s see what this is all about.

His knock was much heavier than necessary. Tracy, it’s Leif. Are you ready to go?

Instantly Tracy opened the door. She stood there looking pale and shaken, but her chin was
up in that Don’t tread on me look. Still he knew her well enough by now to sense that she
was frightened. He ached to pull her into his arms, but his brain took charge.

I’m ready. Her voice was husky. I’ll get my purse.

Leif forced himself to wait until they were settled in the SUV before he questioned her.
He sat behind the wheel without starting the engine. Tell me about it. He studied her face
for signs of guilt. All he could see was the lingering fear.

Leif, I was scared. She clasped her hands in her lap as though to stop their trembling. I
don’t know who that awful man was, but he said he wanted to buy my car. I can’t believe he
offered to pay fifteen thousand dollars for it.

Fifteen thousand! Leif exploded. Either he’s totally insane or he’s playing some crooked
game.

Tracy nodded. She seemed to be recovering her composure. I knew that didn’t make sense. I
don’t believe it was the car he really wanted. Do you think he’s the man who broke into my
house?

Sorting through the possibilities, Leif turned on the ignition. I got his tag number.
Maybe that will tell us something. The fingerprints we took after the break-in were no
help. All the prints Will lifted were either yours or Jeff’s.

I’m ashamed to be such a wimp, she apologized, but that break-in left me hanging on by my
fingernails.

 A stranger would be terrifying to a woman alone in an isolated house that had just been
invaded by a burglar. That would drive anyone over the edge. You should get a dog.

Tracy managed a half-hearted laugh. You sound like Maggie.

Maggie’s a smart lady, he reminded her.

 As they drove through town, he sensed her uneasiness. He needed to take her mind off her
strange visitor. Can we drive into Boston Tuesday to see Jeff?

 Leif, she protested, you don’t have to play chauffeur anymore. I should have my car back
Wednesday.

 I’m not just playing chauffeur. I want to check on Jeff again. It doesn’t make sense for
us to drive to Boston in separate cars. What he didn’t say was, I enjoy being with you.

 She hesitated. You’re right. I just pray there’s some sign of improvement. It’s so
disheartening to see him lying there, barely alive.

 Just try to remember that sense of peace we felt the last time we were there. I know God
was telling us that Jeff would come through this. His words seemed to have the right
effect. She sank back in her seat.

 Did you find Jeff’s auto insurance information for Bradford? He watched for her reaction
to the mention of the lawyer’s name.

 Yes, I found the policy. I need to drop it off at his office. Judge Whitby, the guardian
ad litem, came to interview me Friday afternoon. I have a feeling he’s not going to
recommend me to be Jeff’s conservator. I’m afraid I’ll have to keep on putting up with
Keith.

Leif suppressed a smile of satisfaction. So she didn’t enjoy dealing with Bradford. That
was a plus. He breathed easier as he turned the SUV into the parking lot at Fisherman’s
Landing. It was crowded on Easter Sunday afternoon. He drove as close as possible to the
employees’ side door entrance.