Streak of Lightning (2 page)

Jesse and I settled into the classroom at Someday Quilts. I pushed aside the latest shipment of books that had arrived, including a pattern that offered an easier method for making a double wedding ring quilt, a classic and time-consuming pattern of interlocking rings that was on my quilting bucket list.

Our pizza slices were getting cold by the time we sat down to eat, but they were still delicious. It was the dilemma everyone in town faced. No one liked dealing with the man, but the lure of his cooking was hard to resist.

As Jesse and I ate, we talked about my new favorite subject: the upcoming trip to New York City. In just three hours, our train would be leaving, and just three hours after that, we'd be pulling into Grand Central Terminal. I'd lived in New York for several years, but I hadn't been back since I'd moved to Archers Rest over a year ago. As much as I loved our small village perched on the Hudson River, Someday Quilts, and the people who had come into my life since I'd moved to town, I was looking forward to forty-eight hours of big city excitement again. And I was especially looking forward to two whole days alone with Jesse.

We'd been dating for eleven months, but between his duties as the local police chief and life as the widowed father of a seven-year-old girl, a free evening was hard for him to come by, let alone a whole weekend.

And I had my share of responsibilities in town, too. I was a part-time art student, with a project due in my pottery class when winter break was over. I'd gone into the studio over the holiday to finish it, and I'd wrapped up everything that needed to be taken care of at the store. My grandmother Eleanor Cassidy owned Someday and would normally not have cared if I took a few days to be with Jesse, but she was having a post-Christmas sale, and it was all hands on deck. It took me several hours to convince her that I wouldn't be needed on Saturday and even more time to prep all the sale fabric bolts, patterns, and notions so that Eleanor wouldn't have to do it.

But it would all be worth it, I reminded myself. Jesse and I were going to spend two blissful days in one of my favorite cities in the world, celebrating our first New Year's Eve as a couple.

“Police station, three-thirty,” Jesse said as he headed back to work. “And bring some snacks for the train if you remember it.”

“I will. I'm counting the minutes.”

“It would be more helpful if you counted the cash in the drawer.” My grandmother walked up from behind me. Her voice was stern, but there was a smile in her eyes. “It will pass the time until you go on your trip.”

She was right. Counting the drawer, waiting on the customers who were piling in to take advantage of the sale, restocking the fabric bolts, and cleaning the shop did pass the time. It was three-twenty-three when I looked up and realized I was about to be late.

“Are you going?” Eleanor looked at the clock and yawned. At seventy-four she had more energy than most people, including me, but today's sale was enough to exhaust anybody. Her golden retriever, Barney, clung to her side. Being petted and adored by customers had worn him out, I guessed, since he seemed as anxious to get home as Eleanor.

“I'm going.”

“Another successful day,” she said.

“And year,” I added. Someday Quilts might have been a small shop in a small town in Upstate New York, but it was everything to Eleanor and me. And thanks to good word of mouth about our expanded inventory and a few glowing magazines articles, it was becoming a destination shop for quilters from as far away as Boston.

The growing business was a reason to be thankful for the year we were ending, and one of many things to be excited about for the year ahead. One of which was my grandmother's upcoming wedding in just a few weeks.

At the moment, though, she was going solo. Oliver, my grandmother's fiancé, was visiting his daughter in Canada, so Eleanor would have only Barney with her for company while I was gone. “I'll call you at midnight,” I said.

“Don't you dare. When I close up the shop, I'm going to put my feet up and listen to some nice, soothing music. And if I manage somehow to stay awake until midnight, maybe I'll have a hot cup of tea to celebrate. But more likely than not I'll be asleep by ten. You and Jesse will be having a bit more excitement, I imagine, with all that crowd in the city.”

“We're not doing Times Square, but we do have dinner reservations, and after that I think we'll just walk around. It will be fun just being there. I'm going to show Jesse some of my old stomping grounds, and he's going to show me the places he hung out during his days on the New York City police force.” I could hear the giddiness in my voice. “But we'll be back Sunday afternoon. I can come into the shop from the train.”

“Nonsense. Promise me nothing but fun for the next forty-eight hours.”

“That's not a hard promise to make.”

I gave her a long hug, grabbed my overnight bag, and ran across the street to Jitters, the coffee shop owned by my friend and fellow quilter Carrie Brown. There was no time to stop at a grocery store, so the snacks I'd promised Jesse were going to have to be whatever Carrie had left in her pastry case in the late afternoon. Rich was waiting on customers, still looking a little shaken by his encounter with Joe. I noticed a small cut by his eye. Maybe Jesse was wrong about Joe never laying a hand on anyone. Or maybe Rich had gotten himself in some trouble elsewhere.

I ordered quickly and headed toward the police station, trying to balance coffee, muffins, my purse, and my overnight bag. As I approached the intersection of Main and River streets, I noticed that the plate glass display window at Violet's, the flower shop next to Everything Pizza, was shattered. I was tempted to stop in and ask Violet what had happened, but it was just another thing I didn't have time to ask about if I wanted to make my train. I laughed to myself as I crossed the street—love was the only thing that trumped my natural nosiness. And only barely.

“Three killers, two car thieves, a bank robber, and five assaults with a deadly weapon.” Jesse stood in the station's main area, sorting through the latest batch of wanted posters that had arrived from the state police with the same glee I might have for a shoe catalog. “And that's just this week. The state police make a lot of arrests, but they don't seem to be able to hold them.”

“Unless you want six assaults with a deadly weapon, you'll put those away,” I told him.

“Nell.”

“Don't ‘Nell' me. We have a train to catch.” I put the coffee and muffins on the reception desk and my bags on the ground.

“I'm almost ready to go, but I have to wait until Greg gets back. I can't leave the police station deserted.”

He had a point. The station was a collection of empty desks. A bad flu had been going around, and two of the full-time officers were out because of it. Another was on vacation, and the part-time guys, who made up the bulk of the Archers Rest police force, were either on rounds or unavailable. That left only two officers, Jesse and Greg, to man the station. And in a few minutes it would be only Greg.

“I just saw that Violet's shop has a broken window,” I said. “I don't know what happened. I thought someone else would be here to go check it out. . . .” I took a breath and said what had to be said. “If you want to go, I'll wait. There are later trains.”

“Not tonight there aren't. It's a holiday schedule, just the one train into New York. And I lent my mom my car while she has Allie,” he said. I tried not to seem disappointed. There was no way that Jesse could let the vandalism at Violet's go unanswered. Jesse noticed my brave face and said, “Greg will be back, and we'll get out of here.”

“If we postpone,” I said, “I really will understand.”

Jesse kissed me on the forehead. “No way, Nell. We're not going to get another time when my mother can babysit all weekend and you're not needed at the shop. Larry Connelly just finished his training as a police volunteer. He said he'd come in once he closed up the garage at six-thirty. I'll call over to Violet's and see if everything's okay, and Greg can check it out when he gets back.”

“Where is he anyway?”

“He went to get a sandwich, but you know Greg. He probably got distracted, started talking about the latest in police procedure to whoever would listen, and forgot to come back.”

“Then maybe you should call and remind him.”

Just as I spoke, the front door to the police station opened, and Greg walked in pulling a handcuffed Joe Proctor behind him. Greg was one of the youngest and most dedicated officers in Archers Rest. Maybe he was a little too enthusiastic, caught up in what he imagined a police detective should do, but he was always good-natured and kind. Except at the moment.

“If you don't shut up, I'm going to shut you up,” Greg yelled as he yanked at Joe's arm. Joe was about four inches shorter than Greg and, at nearly sixty, was more than twice Greg's age, but he was putting up one heck of a fight.

“What is it this time, Joe?” Jesse said. “This is the second time today I've had to deal with you. Even for you, that's a bit much.”

Joe pulled away from Greg. “Your officer interfered with a private conversation I was having with my neighbor.”

Greg rolled his eyes. “He got into an argument with Violet Gordon again.”

“The lady who owns the flower shop?” I said.

“That's the one. They get into it a few times a month. Yesterday she punched Joe in the mouth.”

I looked at Joe again. He wasn't a big man, maybe five-seven or -eight, a hundred and forty pounds, but still, how had she managed to do what most of the town had been thinking about for a long time? “Violet is a tiny little thing,” I said. “And she's really nice. Are you sure she punched him?”

Joe cocked an eyebrow. “She can give as good as she gets.”

“Joe and Violet had words on the sidewalk outside her shop, which ended when he grabbed a chair from his restaurant and threw it through her window. She found me and told me what had happened.” Well, at least that mystery was solved.

“Is Violet okay?” I asked.

“Didn't you listen, quilt shop girl? I didn't throw the chair at Violet,” Joe said, his speech growing more slurred with each sentence. “All I did was break a window and ruin a few flowerpots. It's just a tiny little hole of a shop, so how much damage could I have done? You don't even know if she's going to press charges. In fact, I'm the one who should press charges. She grabbed my coat and ripped it to shreds.” He pointed to a small tear in his jacket, a puffy winter coat with dirt on the collar. He had it zipped up to his neck so that his head looked like that of a turtle popping out from its shell. A very angry and drunk turtle. “You should arrest her for this instead of trying to pin something on me.”

Greg looked about out of patience. “You pushed me, Mr. Proctor. That's assaulting an officer and resisting arrest.”

“That's a lie.” Joe's words slurred even more. “I didn't push you. You pushed me. You're just a punk kid, Greg Burke. Your father was a punk, and so are you.”

Jesse turned to me. “I'm sorry, Nell, but I'm going to have to stay—”

“No way,” Greg interrupted. “This isn't going to keep you from your weekend. I'll put him in a cell and do the paperwork. There's nothing for you to do.”

I looked at Jesse. “It's up to you.”

“Oh, come on, Chief,” Greg said. “You can trust me to look after one prisoner. I know I'm a little new as a detective, but I've been babysitting since I was thirteen, and that's pretty much all I need to do with Joe here.”

Jesse walked over to Joe and gave him a long, hard look. “You threw a chair through Violet's window and broke a couple of flowerpots. That it?”

“That's it.”

“You want to tell me why?”

“I don't see how that's any of your business.”

“Your wife worries about you, Joe. And frankly, so do I. Maybe I should send you to the hospital and make sure you didn't throw out your back. A man of your age hurling chairs around—”

“My back is fine.” Joe spit the words out. “Dewalt, you want to have a lawsuit on your hands? You start spreading rumors that there's something wrong with me . . .”

Jesse grunted. “The whole town already knows there's something wrong with you, Joe.” He moved back and looked at his detective. “Okay, Greg. Joe goes in the cell. Fill out the report. Charge him with damage to property and assaulting an officer for now. Call Violet and see if she'll come to the station to make a statement. And call over to Larry at the garage if you need anything. Just don't leave the station until Larry gets here. It means you have to spend the night . . .”

“What am I going to do, escape?” Joe asked.

“No. You're going to sleep it off.”

Joe chortled. “I'm not drunk, you two-bit excuse for a police chief. I can hold more liquor than there is in this whole lousy town.” But as he spoke he stumbled forward, and Greg had to catch him.

It took a few minutes for Greg and Jesse to put Joe in the only jail cell at the Archers Rest police station. We had just enough time to run the few blocks to catch the train to New York.

“No dead bodies, no crime scenes, no killers to unmask, and no Joe Proctor,” Jesse said once the train was heading south. “Promise me a weekend free of all things criminal.”

I kissed him. “We're going to New York City,” I reminded him. “I can't actually promise you there won't be crime.”

“As long as we're not involved, I don't care,” he said.

“Don't worry. We've got other plans.”

I kissed him again just as our train passed the sign that read,
THANKS FOR VISITING ARCHERS REST, A PEACEFUL PLACE TO MAKE GOOD FRIENDS.

It is, I thought. As long as you're not in the mood for a slice of pizza.