Sugar Plums for Dry Creek & At Home in Dry Creek (32 page)

Although the sheriff didn't want the children around when he talked to Barbara, he didn't mind talking to the woman in front of Mrs. Hargrove. The older woman could pick a liar out better than anyone he'd seen, including himself. She probably got it from all of her years teaching Sunday school. Not that it mattered much where Mrs. Hargrove got her skill. The sheriff could use another set of eyes. He didn't trust himself on this one.

B
arbara was breathing hard when she knocked on the front door of Mrs. Hargrove's house. She usually went to the older woman's back door, but today Barbara didn't want to take the extra time to walk around the house when the front door was right there. The middle section of the door had a glass panel with a lace curtain hanging over it.

Barbara knew her face was red from walking in the cold, and she hoped that would explain the tears that kept slipping from her eyes. She needed to appear normal enough to ask Mrs. Hargrove about borrowing her car without raising the older woman's suspicions that anything was wrong. If Mrs. Hargrove thought something was wrong, she wouldn't let up until she knew what it was. Barbara knew she couldn't tell anyone.

The man on the phone hadn't specifically said she
couldn't tell Mrs. Hargrove about the danger to her children, but Barbara didn't want to take any chances.
Oh, Bobby and Amanda,
she thought,
hang on.

Barbara heard the sounds of Mrs. Hargrove walking across her wooden floor toward the door at the same time that she heard a car pull in front of Mrs. Hargrove's house. Barbara didn't even turn around to see who had come to visit Mrs. Hargrove. She just hoped that whoever it was would distract the older woman so she didn't look too carefully at Barbara's face.

“Well, hello, dear,” Mrs. Hargrove said when she opened the door. “Come in out of the cold.”

Mrs. Hargrove was wearing a pink gingham dress with a zipper up the front. She wore a navy cardigan sweater over the dress and a white apron around her waist. Her gray hair was wrapped around soft green curlers and her feet were in tennis shoes.

“I have hot water on the stove, dear, if you'd like a cup of tea,” the older woman said as she stepped back into the house so Barbara could enter.

Barbara knew Mrs. Hargrove had seen the distress on her face. She shook her head and stayed where she was. “I'm in a hurry, but I do have a favor to ask.”

Mrs. Hargrove nodded. “What can I do?”

Barbara heard the foot steps behind her. Whoever had stopped to visit would be at the top of the steps soon. Barbara knew she needed to get her request
out there quickly. Maybe then the other person could distract Mrs. Hargrove.

“I'd like to borrow your car.” Barbara tried to keep the desperation out of her voice. “I need to drive into Billings.”

Barbara knew someone stood on the step beside her. She didn't even need to turn her head to know it was the sheriff. She could see the brim of his hat out of the side of her eye. She felt a sudden gladness that he was there, until she realized that she couldn't tell him anything about what was wrong. That man had said he would hurt her children if she told a cop. The sheriff was the last person she could tell.

“I can take you to Billings,” the sheriff offered.

He must not like her asking to use Mrs. Hargrove's car, Barbara thought. She couldn't think of any other reason for the cold edge in his voice.

“I'm planning to pay for the gas, of course,” Barbara added. She'd filled the gas tank before for Mrs. Hargrove. “And give her maybe twenty or so extra for—” Barbara spread her hands “—wear on the tires and all.”

“Oh, but you don't—” Mrs. Hargrove began.

“You're sure free with your money these days,” the sheriff said. He drew the words out, and there wasn't a friendly sound in any of them. “Did you get a raise or something?”

“Carl!” Mrs. Hargrove sounded startled.

Barbara blushed even more at the tone in the sheriff's voice. She stepped farther away from him so she could turn and look at his face fully.

“I don't have time to stand here and talk about my salary,” Barbara said. She needed to focus on the children. She used to be good at putting a mask on to hide her feelings when Neal started yelling at her. She'd never thought she'd have to use it with the sheriff.

“Of course, you don't, dear,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she reached out a hand toward Barbara. “Just give me a minute to get the keys to my car.”

Mrs. Hargrove stepped farther back into her house. Barbara wished the sheriff would go inside with her neighbor. Or turn around and leave. She didn't see any need for him to keep standing with her in front of Mrs. Hargrove's door. They looked like sales people.

“I never did ask you how Neal was doing the other day,” the sheriff finally said.

“You might not have, but your friends did,” Barbara said wearily. She hadn't really minded all of the questions the staff at the prison had asked about Neal. She was open to telling them anything she knew.

The sheriff nodded. “I don't suppose he had a message for the children or anything. Some thing you forgot to tell the others.”

“I didn't forget any thing.”

Ten minutes ago, Barbara had believed she was
building a life here. But she had been wrong. Everything was slipping away. She'd thought she and the children were safe in Dry Creek. She'd been wrong about that. She'd thought she would make friends here; she was beginning to wonder if that would ever happen.

She'd even started to think the sheriff was different from other men she'd known. It looked like she'd been wrong about that, too.

Barbara kept looking straight ahead until Mrs. Hargrove came back with the keys.

“Here it is dear.” The older woman held out the key ring to Barbara.

“Is there anything you'd like to tell me before you go?” the sheriff asked stiffly.

Barbara shook her head as she took the keys from Mrs. Hargrove.

“Is there trouble?” Mrs. Hargrove asked as her eyes went back and forth from the sheriff to Barbara.

“Everything's fine,” Barbara said. “I just need to go into Billings.”

“I'm asking again if I can drive you,” the sheriff said.

Barbara shook her head. She kept her hand curled around those keys. She didn't know what she would do if Mrs. Hargrove asked for them back.

“You're not sick, are you, dear?” Mrs. Hargrove asked anxiously. “If you've got some bad news from
a doctor or something, you shouldn't be by yourself. I could go with you.”

“I'm fine alone,” Barbara said. She did smile at the older woman, however. At least Mrs. Hargrove was being kind, unlike the other person standing here. “I haven't heard from any doctor. My health is good.”

Unless you counted the fact that her heart was being squeezed by fear, Barbara thought to herself.

“But you don't need to be alone,” Mrs. Hargrove insisted as she reached behind the door. “I've got my purse right here. I think it's best if I come with you.”

“Oh, no, I couldn't—that is, I'll be fine with out—” Barbara stammered.

Mrs. Hargrove was already stepping out onto her porch and pulling her door shut behind her. “It's no problem. I could use some more pep per mints anyway. I like to keep them on hand for guests.”

“I thought you had water boiling for tea,” Barbara said. There had to be some sane reason why Mrs. Hargrove couldn't go.

“I turned it off when I got the keys,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she walked between Barbara and the sheriff to head down her steps. “I like to be ready for what the day holds. Some times God just gives me a feeling that tells me to go, and that's when I head out. Like now.”

Mrs. Hargrove turned around to grin at Barbara
and the sheriff. Barbara felt something shift in the sheriff's manner, and she looked him in the face again. He gave her a wry smile.

At least, Barbara thought, the sheriff was looking her in the eye again.

“I thought that was just your arthritis talking,” the sheriff said as he turned to Mrs. Hargrove. “It does look like rain out.”

“Don't you be doubting the Lord's leading, Carl Wall. You'll see for yourself what I'm talking about some day.” Mrs. Hargrove clucked as she made her way down her steps and then looked back up the stairs. “Well, is anyone else coming or not?”

Barbara figured there had to be some way to be in the same car with Mrs. Hargrove for the long drive into Billings without telling the older woman what was happening. She might even find it comforting just to have someone sitting beside her as she worried about Bobby and Amanda.

 

The sheriff decided he should just deputize Mrs. Hargrove one of these days and be done with it. He watched as the two women drove off in Mrs. Hargrove's old rattletrap of a car. The muffler was blowing a little smoke, but he was sure that wouldn't stop the women. If he ever needed backup, he should remember Mrs. Hargrove did a fine job of picking up the slack.

 

Barbara wasn't a mile out of Dry Creek before she saw that there was a car following her. It was the sheriff's car, of course. At first, she thought she was just being paranoid, and that he was just going in the same direction as she was. There was, after all, only one road between Dry Creek and the interstate. Barbara deliberately slowed down so the sheriff could pass. He didn't pass her. She sped up and he went faster.

“He's following us,” Barbara said indignantly.

Mrs. Hargrove nodded brightly. “I thought he might. Carl's a man of strong emotions.”

Barbara didn't want to argue with Mrs. Hargrove, especially not when she was sitting in the woman's car, but she couldn't let the older woman weave any fantasies either. “I don't think this is about his emotions.”

Barbara didn't want to press her foot to the gas pedal too hard. She'd noticed that the muffler was making a little noise. The whole car shook some, but she supposed that was only to be expected given the car's age.

“You never did tell me how you got this car,” Barbara said. That should give Mrs. Hargrove something to talk about. It was a safe topic.

“It used to belong to Mr. Gossett,” the older woman said. “He gave it to me one year for Christmas. He
said it was to pay me back for all the loaves of plum bread I'd given to him over the years.”

The older woman smiled. “Of course, I refused, even though the car wasn't worth much back then either. It's a 1971, you know.”

“What changed your mind?” Barbara looked in the rearview mirror. The sheriff was still there.

“He started trying to bake
me
loaves of plum bread,” the older woman said and then chuckled. “He was determined to pay me back, and I feared he'd burn his house down if he kept trying to bake.”

Even the thought of Mr. Gossett's house couldn't get Barbara's mind to relax. She felt as if someone had come along and twisted her whole body into knots. “Do you really think it's going to rain?”

Barbara didn't know if Bobby and Amanda were being kept outdoors or not. They could catch pneumonia if it rained. The nights were still so cold around here.

“Is rain what's bothering you?”

Barbara shook her head. “Just curious.”

“I see,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she looked straight ahead.

The older woman was silent for a while. “The wind shield wipers don't work very well. I don't think I told you that. I was going to have Carl fix them when he fixes the muffler.”

Barbara nodded. She had refused to look in
the rearview mirror for the past five minutes, and her neck was beginning to ache from the tension of keeping her head from doing what it wanted to do. Oh, well. She looked up to steal a glance at the mirror. The sheriff was still there.

“If the sheriff isn't coming along because of his emotions, is it because it's his duty?” Mrs. Hargrove quietly asked.

Barbara didn't move a muscle.

Mrs. Hargrove waited a minute. “So me times people think that if they've done something against the law there's no hope, but the law is there as much to help as to hurt. It gives a person a chance to make a new beginning.”

“I can't tell you what's wrong,” Barbara finally said. If she didn't admit that much, Mrs. Hargrove would be digging away at her until they got to Billings.

The older woman nodded. “Well, if it comes the time when you can tell me, I'm here to listen.”

“Thank you,” Barbara said.

“I know how hard it is to trust again when someone has betrayed you,” Mrs. Hargrove said.

Barbara swallowed. “It's not that I don't trust—”

Barbara stopped. She couldn't even finish that sentence. Of course she didn't trust anyone. The man on the phone had told her not to tell the cops, but Barbara acknowledged to herself that she wouldn't have told anyone anyway. She was used to solving
her own problems. Or trying to, at least. For the first time in a long time, she wished it weren't so. She'd give anything to have a friend who could share this burden. She was afraid to even mention Bobby's or Amanda's names for fear she'd start to cry and it would all spill out.

“Trust was one of the hardest things I had to learn, too,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she opened the purse she held on her lap and rummaged around inside it. Finally, she pulled out a roll of butter scotch candy. She held the roll out to Barbara. “Want one?”

Barbara shook her head.

Mrs. Hargrove nodded and then un wrapped one of the candies and put it in her mouth. “Took me a long time to trust God. I finally realized I couldn't do it until I learned to trust people some first. So, I started with my husband.” Mrs. Hargrove smiled. “But you don't want to hear an old woman's story.”

“Yes, I do,” Barbara said before she saw the gleam in the older woman's eyes and realized she'd fallen for the bait.

Mrs. Hargrove began to talk, and Barbara let the words flow over her. It was soothing. The older woman talked about her days as a newly married woman who'd just moved to the small town of Dry Creek. Mrs. Hargrove was an un demanding storyteller and was content with Barbara's occasional
comments. It gave Barbara time to worry about Bobby and Amanda in peace. And to think about trust. The more the older woman talked, the more Barbara wanted to tell someone that a bad man had her children and it was all up to Barbara to save them.