The Highlander Next Door (21 page)

“No, an explosion,” Claude said, his focus returning to the present. “It was decided a compressor ignited a gas leak that had filled a third-floor utility room of the downtown mall where they were shopping. Four people were killed—Hazel’s grandmother, Annette Hynes, being one of them—and sixteen were injured.” His eyes turned somber. “I was told Birch spent several hours trapped under concrete and steel, protectively cocooned by her dead great-grandmother and unconscious mother. The social worker who called to ask if I would be willing to come get my daughter said that, miraculously, Birch only had a broken finger, a few cuts that had needed stitches, and some bruising. But Hazel was critical and not expected to live; her back and both legs were broken, one lung had been punctured, and several vital organs were threatening to shut down. I was told that if she did survive, she probably wouldn’t ever walk again.”

“She obviously did both,” Niall said.

Claude’s grin returned. “Although it took six operations and several years of physical therapy, apparently just the thought of her precious little girl living in my father’s house was all the motivation Hazel needed to recover.”

“So Birch went to live with your parents instead of with you?”

“No,
we
went to live with them. I was a single, twenty-five-year-old career soldier at the time; what did I know about little girls? I left the military, moved back home with Birch, and turned into my old man by becoming a cop.”

“You’re a police officer?”

“I was until I handed in my resignation five days ago. I spent the last four days packing up my belongings and putting my house up for sale, then got in my car this morning and drove to Maine.”

“You’re moving here?” Niall said in surprise.

Claude turned away and sat down again. “Montreal has felt rather empty lately.”

Niall walked to his desk and also sat down, wondering if the seed of a notion he was forming was wise—or if he might very well be courting disaster. “How are you intending to make your living here?”

“I haven’t
needed
to make a living since the day Annette Hynes died. In the letter she’d apparently written within days of Birch’s birth and left with her lawyer to give me, along with a rather outrageous sum of money, Annette explained that if I ever wanted to have a relationship with my daughter someday, it would be better if no one could say my interest in Birch had anything to do with her wealth.”

“Yet you still let her buy you a Lexus.”

Claude nodded. “That’s because I’ve never told her about my inheritance from Annette. Birch was eight the first time she insisted on buying me a new car, claiming she was doing the environment a favor by putting my old truck out of its misery. So as her legal guardian and knowing it wouldn’t even dent the
interest
on her trust fund, I drove her to the bank and signed for her to take out the money.” His eyes lit with amusement again. “Mostly because I knew the real reason she wanted to buy me that car was to piss off her
grand-père
St. Germaine. Because,” Claude went on when Niall raised a brow, “my father often went out of his way to make sure the little heiress living with him never made the mistake of thinking she was superior to anyone.”

And that, Niall realized, explained Birch accusing him of trying to buy his way into her bloomers, as her own inheritance had obviously made her as much of a target as Hazel—only not just by scheming men, but by her own grandfather’s insecurities. It was a problem Annette Hynes had foreseen, apparently, and dealt with by taking wealth out of the equation for father and daughter by simply giving Claude his own money.

Niall put his seed of a notion on the back burner for now. “Where are ye planning on staying until you find something permanent?” he asked, fairly certain Birch wouldn’t let a man sleep at the shelter, not even her father.

“Figuring all the cabins and hotels are booked this time of year, I stopped at that campground just north of Turtleback Station on my way up and rented a campsite.”

“Does Birch know you’re intending to move here?”

Giving only a soft snort for answer, Claude cocked his head. “Just how well do you know my daughter?”

That made Niall chuckle. “Admittedly not as well as I’d like. Hazel’s been telling me a few tales, though, mostly of Birch’s teenage years. But she’s never mentioned the explosion or it being the reason Birch went to live with you.”

“It’s my understanding Hazel rarely talks about that time in her life,” Claude said. “And even though when I picked up my daughter at the hospital the social worker assured me Birch didn’t remember anything about the explosion or being trapped, I’ve always suspected she remembers every terrifying detail. But it appears both women have decided to pretend those four years never happened; Hazel likely because of the pain she endured getting back on her feet, and Birch most likely because if she can’t say something nice about her grandparents, she’d just as soon not say anything at all.”

“She still doesn’t get along with your father? What about your mother?”

“Birch
tolerates
them; for my sake, she once told me. My mother’s not exactly the nurturing type, and she didn’t know what to do with a little girl any more than I did. As for my father . . .” Claude winced. “Well, among other things, Hazel called him an emotionless, coldhearted bastard right to his face the day she came after Birch.”

“So your daughter gets her mouth from Hazel?” Niall said in surprise, since he hadn’t heard Hazel utter a single curse or even show a hint of having a temper.

“No, that wonderful trait comes from her great-grandmother. I never had the privilege of meeting Annette Hynes, but apparently even though she topped out at five-foot-three, the woman’s ability to cut a person off at the knees with one of her verbal outbursts was legendary. In fact, when her daughter, Evelyn, died of cancer when Hazel was seven months pregnant with Birch, Annette caused a scene after the funeral that’s still talked about today. Even back then, Evelyn’s husband, Avery Callahan, had a reputation as a domineering, take-no-prisoners businessman, and he made sure to pass that trait on to his three sons.” Claude grinned. “His only daughter, Hazel, was considered the black sheep of the family for actually
liking
people.”

“Was Hazel the youngest?” Niall asked.

“Yes. And apparently Evelyn Callahan hadn’t been in the ground an hour when Annette helped her granddaughter fill a suitcase with a few precious possessions and hustled the girl out the back door to her limo. The story goes that Annette then walked back in the house and told her son-in-law that she had kept her opinion of him to herself for her daughter’s sake, but that his toxic, oppressive nature is what had really killed Evelyn. She then announced she was taking Hazel to live with her so that her grand – and great-granddaughters didn’t suffer the same fate, and if he tried to stop them, she would ruin him both socially and financially.”

Niall once again found himself in awe of Hazel’s history with men, which had obviously influenced Birch’s opinion of them. “Would the Callahan men all happen to be hulking brutes, by any chance?” he asked dryly.

Claude nodded, his eyes filling with amusement again. “A colorful vocabulary isn’t the only thing my daughter inherited from Annette Hynes. When she was little Birch often wondered aloud if whoever had been in charge of handing out height the day she was born hadn’t been sleeping on the job.” He shook his head. “I seem to be the only male relation she wants anything to do with. But then, in her words, ‘she’s put a lot of effort into making me at least tolerable.’”

Aye, with nothing more than the bandaged hug of a six-year-old delivering a sucker punch to her daddy’s heart, Niall decided. Because although he didn’t know Birch well enough to guess how she would take the news Claude was moving to Maine, he didn’t doubt the woman more than just
tolerated
her father.

“Did ye put any files together on those three or four families you suspect may have murdered Rabideu? Because it so happens I know someone with contacts in several international . . . agencies who might be able to help us,” Niall said, picking his words carefully. “Then would you be willing to let me show my friend what you have?” he asked when Claude nodded, a different kind of light coming into the man’s eyes.

“I had just started with military intelligence myself when I got the call about the explosion,” Claude said. “But that was so long ago that I don’t know anyone I can bring my information to now. It’s mostly the Royal Canadian Mounted Police who’ve helped me get this far. Your friend can have everything I’ve got if it will help us find out who these bastards are and what they’re after. Give me tonight to dig out my files and organize them so they’ll make sense, and I’ll bring you everything tomorrow morning.”

Niall nodded. “It may take him a few days, but—”

“Chief! Chief MacKeage!”

At the sound of pounding footsteps on the porch, Niall stood up just as the station door burst open and an older gentleman he recognized but couldn’t immediately place charged inside. “Thank God you’re here,” the man said in a winded rush. “You gotta come to the Drunken Moose. Now, before things get out of hand.”

“What’s going on?” Niall asked, moving around his desk toward him.

“Noreen seen that fellow who’s staying with Logan get off a motorcycle and go in the Moose, and she ran in after him looking madder than an old laying hen caught in a rainstorm, and started shouting to everyone that the guy had rooked Logan outta three thousand dollars of their savings.” The man sucked in a wheezing breath and headed onto the porch, gesturing for Niall to follow. “There’s a whole table of grange ladies and other women taking Noreen’s side, and if you don’t get there quick, this town’s gonna see its first all-out riot and maybe even a lynching,” he continued as he scurried down the stairs, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Niall was following before starting up the lane. “A bunch of men moved their chairs to surround the poor bastard when he tried to leave, claiming he’s got every right as anyone to eat at the Moose,” the man motored on, shouting his last words because Niall had sprinted ahead and was almost to the sidewalk.

He’d dawdled long enough, Niall decided with a heavy sigh, and it was time to bring this public little war to an end. He was just glad Birch was out of town at the moment, because he really couldn’t see her getting on board with his solution. And if she did stick her nose in his business when she got back . . . well, the pint-sized spitfire just might find herself sleeping in his holding cell tonight.

Aware Claude was keeping pace behind him, Niall rounded the corner of the Trading Post only to mutter a curse when he caught sight of Shep running flat-out down the main road well ahead of a little red cart. He wasn’t surprised the dog had followed Birch, but he did wish their rescue mission had kept them out of town a while longer.

Niall actually heard the shouting two stores shy of the restaurant, and slowed just enough to ease his way through the crowd gathered on the sidewalk trying to see in the windows. “Let me through, folks,” he said, his tone opening up a path as people pulled each other out of his way. He then entered the Drunken Moose to find battle lines indeed had been drawn; an impenetrable circle of male diners—some appearing to be tourists—sat two rows deep surrounding an obviously uncomfortable Silas French as they tried to outshout an equally impressive—and definitely angry—wall of women.

“I was just about to call 911,” Vanetta said as she approached, having to raise her voice to be heard. She stopped in front of Niall and waved a dishcloth toward the battle. “I haven’t seen people this riled up since some idiot suggested the grange ladies should have to pay taxes on the railroad land they simply claimed for their park.” She looked to Niall’s left when Claude moved up beside him, blinked and did a double take, then shot Niall a smile. “You want me to go ahead and dial 911 and ask them to send you some backup, or should I just call Nicholas?”

“Let’s save both for when I’m actually outnumbered,” Niall said, giving her a wink and striding into the chaos. “Okay, people, let’s quiet down,” he said loudly, only to be ignored. “Enough!” he bellowed, effectively bringing the shouting to an abrupt halt.

Well, except for Noreen Kent, who pivoted in surprise, quickly recovered, and turned her angry glare on
him
as she pointed at Silas French. “I want that man arrested. And you make him give Logan and me back our money.”

“He doesn’t have your money, Noreen,” Niall said gently. “I spoke with Logan on the phone not half an hour ago, and your husband said he mailed the check directly to the beekeeping supply company yesterday.”

Her face darkened. “That doesn’t mean this man’s not scamming us. For all we know that company’s just as crooked as he is and they’re in cahoots together.”

“I saw this kind of thing on
20/20
,” Christina Richie piped in, the octogenarian giving an authoritative nod. “Scammers create a fake company and even make TV commercials that look legitimate so you’ll call and give them your credit card number. And you get charged but never receive the product because it’s fake, too.”

“Why do you think crooks like him travel all the way up here,” a woman added, “and then move in on the first man they come across living alone? I’ll tell you why,” she rushed on with an equally assertive nod. “Scammers got us pegged as easy marks, figuring only ignorant hicks live in the wilderness because we don’t know any better.”

“Ladies,” Niall said quietly. “I checked into that company and it’s—”

“That shows what you know, Inez,” a man called out from the inner circle of chairs, cutting Niall off. “This fella came here because he prefers the wilderness just like we do, and he knows all sorts of stuff about the forest and animals and growing things. And I ain’t never met a crook yet who was quick to roll up his sleeves and break a sweat showing a person how to fox-proof his henhouse without spending a fortune.”

“Silas showed me how to get my hydrangeas blooming again by tucking pine needles around them,” another man said. “He explained they like acidy dirt.”

“I told you that two years ago, you idiot,” a female voice called out from the back. “And of course he pretends to like the wilderness—that’s how he lures people into his scams.” Janice Crupp, another of the older grange ladies, pushed her way forward and also glared at Niall as she pointed at Silas. “I want to file charges against him, too, for waltzing in our driveway like he owned the place when he saw my husband weeding around our fence posts.” She turned to address the women. “The guy told Amos that if he got himself a dozen geese he wouldn’t ever have to dig out his noisy weed-wacker again. Noreen, do you know the name of that company Logan sent your three thousand dollars to? I bet it’s the same fake company he wanted Amos to buy those geese from. We’d be out a hundred and twenty bucks plus postage if I hadn’t asked Amos why he was looking for our checkbook.”

“For chrissakes, Janice,” one of the men spat out, “you can’t file charges against someone for
suggesting
you buy something.”

“Yeah,” another man added. “And walking in a driveway that hasn’t got a
No Trespassing
sign posted out front isn’t a crime.”

“People,” Niall said, taking a step forward. “Why don’t we—”

“My grandchildren
play
in that yard,” Janice snapped. “Do you have any idea how much slimy shit a dozen geese drop in a day?” She swung toward Niall. “Are you going to arrest the crook or not? Because I hope you know we’ve all noticed,” she rushed on instead of letting him respond, “that you’ve been police chief over three months now and haven’t so much as written a parking ticket.”

“And let’s not forget he refused to arrest Logan,” Christina Richie added, “even after Noreen had to flee for her life when the fool blew her stove to smithereens.”

“Are you all forgetting he saved Misty Vaughn’s life?” a male voice countered.

“And Sally Vaughn’s, too,” another man added.

“Have any of you noticed he isn’t hiring any female officers?” a young woman shouted over the raised voices of several men now trying to defend Logan and Niall. “And that the two guys he did hire aren’t locals? They’re not even
Mainers
.”

“They both seem capable enough,” one of the men managed to interject.

“We didn’t vote for a police force just to have a bunch of strangers move here and start telling us what to do,” the lady named Inez shouted right back at him.

There was a loud male snort. “Wally Coots applied for one of those positions. You want that idiot mama’s boy walking around with a loaded gun?”

“The new officer ticketed me this morning for reckless driving,” Noreen said, shooting Niall another angry glare, “even though my cart didn’t come anywhere near that family crossing the road.”

“Hell, Noreen, you don’t even have a driver’s license,” a man called out.

Ignoring him, Noreen went back to pointing at the wisely silent Silas French—or maybe that was abject terror rendering him speechless. “Are you going to arrest this crook and get our money back or not?”

“He
can’t
, because there ain’t been no
crime
committed.”

“No, the reason he won’t is because all you men stick together!”

“Only to keep you women from stealing our pants so
you
can wear them.”

“Or else because our new police chief is just as crooked!”

“Yeah, we don’t know anything about
him
, either.”

“Except that he’s not hiring any women officers!”

“That’s because he doesn’t want to hear a hen squawking in his ear all day!”

“Or let one of you walk around with a loaded gun!”

And just when had this become about
him
? Niall dropped his head on a sigh as the two sides continued firing salvos at one another in ever-increasing volume, even as he tried to estimate how many people he could fit in his holding cell. Well, how many
women
, as he sure as hell didn’t dare put the men in with them.

The ladies just weren’t backing down, instead appearing to grow even more aggressive. In fact, several men suddenly slid back their chairs and stood up when one idiot commented on Noreen’s poisonous cooking, to which she responded by grabbing a plate of half-eaten food off a nearby table and hurling it at him.

Well, son of a bitch. “Enough!” Niall roared when he saw two more women reaching for dishes, the added edge in his voice freezing everyone in place.

Knowing he was putting
himself
in danger of being lynched—with a pint-sized spitfire likely volunteering to slip the noose over his neck when she found out—Niall pulled his handcuffs out of his pocket. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Kent, but I’m going to have to arrest you for inciting a riot, damaging property, and possibly even assault.”

“Those cuffs so much as touch her skin,” an impressively threatening voice said from the doorway, “and I’m calling the state police to come relieve you of your badge.”

Niall turned to see Birch shoving her way past onlookers until she bumped into a man who didn’t budge, her eyes widening as she silently mouthed the word
Daddy
. But she quickly stepped around him and continued elbowing her way right past Niall, not stopping until she reached Noreen. “Easy there, honey,” she said gently, wrapping an arm around the now pale woman. “He’s not really going to arrest you.”

“I’m afraid I am,” Niall said, his footsteps echoing through the silent room as he closed the distance between them. “And you as well, Miss Callahan, if ye interfere,” he added, barely restraining himself from reaching out and closing her mouth when her chin dropped. “Ye needn’t bother seeking help from your father,” he went on when she rose on her toes and looked toward the door. “His authority stopped at the border.” He then held up the handcuffs. “Your choice, Mrs. Kent; the handcuffs, or you can give me your word to come along peacefully.”

“Don’t do this, Niall,” Birch hissed under her breath.

“It’s done, lass,” he said just as softly, gesturing for Noreen to precede him out.

When the obviously shocked woman couldn’t seem to move, Birch drew herself up to her full height, tightened her hold on Noreen and, with an
I’ll see you in hell
glare and mutinous lift of her chin, started them forward—Shep leading the way through the parting crowd of equally shocked onlookers.

It might not be wooden stocks in the town park, Niall decided with a sigh as he followed, but it definitely was public. And, he hoped, just outrageous enough for two scared people to remember why they’d gotten married in the first place—as well as why they’d
stayed
married for forty-three years.

Now if only he could get Birch to see the brilliance in his plan.

•   •   •

Feeling more like a hulking brute than a peacemaker, Niall sat at his desk trying to do paperwork while also trying to ignore the murmured assurances interspersed with wrenching sobs coming from his holding cell. He glanced at his watch to see it was ten minutes past the last time he’d checked, and wondered how the hell long it took a man who seemed to love sticking his nose in people’s business to ride a powerful motorcycle four and a half miles.

Their silent little procession hadn’t reached the Trading Post when Niall had heard Silas French’s newly purchased bike start up, and they’d just turned onto the lane when it had shot down the main road heading south. Niall had decided to forgive the man for disregarding the speed limit, since it was serving his purpose, figuring it would take Silas no more than five minutes to reach the Kent homestead. It should then take Silas only a minute to tell Logan his wife had just been arrested, maybe five or six minutes for Logan to find his checkbook—or his shotgun—and another twenty minutes for them to race back to town in Logan’s tired old pickup.

So where the hell were they? Because his brilliant plan might not work so . . . brilliantly if Birch succeeded in getting Noreen to stop crying before Logan arrived. Then again, maybe Silas was well south of Turtleback by now, having decided
not
to settle in this area.

Realizing the sobs were lessening in frequency and volume, Niall picked up the phone and dialed the Drunken Moose. “This is Chief MacKeage. Can I speak with Vanetta Thurber, please?” he asked when someone answered, making sure his voice carried through the bars of the holding cell, then grinning when both the murmuring and sobbing abruptly stopped. “Yes, Vanetta,” he continued when the restaurant owner picked up with a cheery hello. “Just two quick questions, since I know this is your busy time. First, has everything settled down there?”

“We’re back to our normal dinnertime chaos,” Vanetta assured him. “Well, except for the main topic of conversation being Noreen’s arrest instead of the beautiful weather we’re having. But it’s all in whispers,” she drawled, “because everyone’s afraid you’ll come back and arrest
them
. Man, MacKeage, I swear I felt the building shake when you roared.”

Niall closed his eyes on a silent groan. “It was either that or pull out my gun and fire at the ceiling,” he said, deciding to move on and raising his voice again. “Can ye give me the cost of the dishes Mrs. Kent broke?”

He was answered by silence, then a very unladylike curse. “I’m not pressing charges for a few broken plates.”

“Only sixteen dollars and fifty cents?” he said in surprise. “What about having to pay someone to clean up the mess? Would another . . . oh, thirty dollars cover it?”

This time several seconds ticked by, then, “What are you doing, MacKeage? And why are you talking so loudly?”

“That’s good then,” Niall said. “I’m sure Mrs. Kent will appreciate your not inflating the prices, as at those figures she’ll only be charged with a misdemeanor.”