An Angel for Dry Creek (14 page)

“Did they pay cash?”

Glory nodded. She bit her lip again. She desperately needed to think.

Matthew stopped pacing and sat down in a straight-backed chair beside the counter. “Somebody gave them the money, then?”

Glory nodded. She didn't need to say what was obvious. The boys were on a job. How else could they afford to fly to Montana?

Matthew ran his hands through his hair again. He stood up as though he couldn't bear to sit and, once he was up, sat down again as though he couldn't bear to stand, either.

“Where are those drawings you've made?” Matthew demanded. “If we can figure out why someone wants to shoot you, they won't have just one target. They'll have to kill us both.”

“What! That'd be crazy!”

“We could let Frank in on the theory, too,” Matthew continued. “Once the authorities know why you're a target, you won't be a target.”

Glory nodded. It made sense. Besides, work sounded good. If nothing else, it would stop the slow scream she felt working its way up from her belly. She'd never been hunted before. And to have the hunters be two of Sylvia's kids…Something was wrong with the world.

The drawings she'd made yesterday were still on the table near the front window of the store. She'd drawn the murdered butcher from several different angles and at several different times, ranging from when he'd just been shot to a final picture of the chalk outline just after the police came and were ready to take the body away.

“You have a photographic memory?” Matthew
asked as he looked at the set of drawings for the fifth time.

Glory nodded. “For pictures, when I see something I remember it.”

“Do you think it through or just close your eyes and remember?”

“Mostly, close my eyes and remember. Why?”

“Then maybe somebody switched that package of meat on you,” Matthew suggested. He pointed at the only two drawings that included the fallen package of meat. Each drawing had the meat in the corner where it had flown out of the butcher's hand when he was shot. At first glance, the packages looked alike. But then Glory saw the differences. The sticker was on the right for one package and on the left for the other. There were three small steaks in one package and two medium-size ones in the other.

“I must have remembered it wrong.”

“Have you ever remembered something wrong before—a picture you were drawing?”

Glory thought of the hundreds of photos she'd drawn as a student and as a sketch artist. She'd gone from bowls of fruit to crowd scenes. In school she'd learned to be quick with details and at the police station she'd learned to be accurate. Even now she could close her eyes and see the scenes from the murder scene. “No, I've never gotten it wrong before. At least, not that I know of, and I would have known.”

Matthew nodded as though that's what he'd expected. “Then we have our first clue.”

“But why in the world would anyone switch the packages of meat?”

“And who would do it?”

“And when,” Glory added. Matthew was right.
They just might have their first clue. “They had to do it while we were sitting there waiting for the police to arrive.”

“Was the gunman still loose?”

“No, he was tied up with some guy's belt. A customer tied him to the end of a display case. The gunman didn't even try to escape. He just lay there on the floor and waited.”

“So whoever changed the meat was just hanging around, then.”

“I suppose, but there was hardly anyone near us. The store manager had some of that ‘Caution—Wet Surface' tape on his counter and he taped us in.”

“Us?”

“Myself, the gunman and two other customers. But the other customers were holding the gunman down. Even when he was tied up, they didn't leave his side.”

“Was the meat package close enough to the tape that a customer outside the taped area could switch it?”

“Not unless he had arms the size of King Kong's.”

“Then that leaves the manager.”

“The manager?”

Matthew nodded. “Wasn't it Sherlock Holmes who said once you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, is the truth?”

“I suppose the manager could have done it. He was walking around swinging that tape here and there. He had big pockets in his butcher's apron, too.”

“Now all we need to do is figure out why.”

“That's the hard one.”

“We don't have time for hard.” Matthew picked up the telephone. “What did you say was the name of that market?”

“You're going to call Benson's Market?”

“How else am I going to talk to this manager?”

It took Matthew five minutes to be connected to the manager at Benson's Market. It took him only two minutes and four questions to have the man swearing at him and threatening to turn state's evidence and tell the feds.

“Who'd he think you were?”

Matthew shrugged. “I told him I was Matthew. He must have heard there was a Matthew somewhere.”

“Or he's so eager to squeal, he doesn't care who knows what.”

Matthew nodded. “He told me there wasn't supposed to be any hassle. That the meat deal was supposed to be low risk. The money isn't that much, not when there's the murder, and he swears he didn't know about the murder. And then someone's calling asking pointed questions sounding like they know something…”

“Not that you know anything.”

Matthew grinned. “He didn't know that.”

“We'll have Frank call him and lean on him, too.”

Matthew nodded. “I'm beginning to think the road between here and Seattle is probably sprinkled with stolen meat.”

“The rustling!” Glory put the two together.

“What better way to make a profit on stolen cattle than to have them butchered and sold in independent stores?”

“But why change the package of meat?”

“Something about the codes. The manager was actually pocketing a good sum of money by buying the stolen meat. When the butcher started talking about the computer red-flagging super sales based on the price the meat was logged into the system, the manager pan
icked. The manager was shadowing the real prices behind the invented prices to keep track of his windfall and something was going wrong.”

Pieces of the puzzle clicked together in Glory's mind. “And the butcher figured this out. That's why they killed him.” They'd solved the mystery. That's what had been itching at her mind. The fact that her visual pictures were different when she recalled the scene. Someone must have found out about her memory. She was noted in the police department for never forgetting a crime picture.

“I'm safe. Now that the pictures are out, there's no reason to kill me.”

“All we need to do is find those boys and convince them of that.”

Glory nodded. That was the problem, all right. Finding those boys before they found her.

Matthew spent the afternoon making and waiting for phone calls to Seattle. He talked to Frank. He tried to talk to Sylvia, but he finally found out that she had left shortly after warning Glory about the boys and was flying into Montana herself.

“Billings airport is going to be busy.”

“Billings can't possibly be busier than this place,” Glory grumbled. Mrs. Hargrove came into the store carrying a bent shepherd's staff.

“What's this I hear about bullets flying and hit men coming to town?” Mrs. Hargrove demanded as she walked toward the counter. She was wearing a black wool coat over a green gingham dress.

“I know now's not a good time, with the pageant and all.” Glory said. “I didn't plan this.”

“Well, of course you didn't, dear. And don't worry about the pageant. A few bullets won't stop us.”

“Speaking of the pageant, I might not be able to be your angel.”

“Well, surely you don't think they'd try anything at the pageant.” Mrs. Hargrove was shocked. “That's a holy moment!”

“That didn't stop Herod in the original pageant.” Matthew was worried. With everyone in costume, two teenagers could sneak up before he could pick them out. A bathrobe and a loose turban was all the disguise they'd need. He wasn't sure he'd be able to pick them out fast enough to protect Glory.

“Well, if need be I'll fly from those rafters myself,” Mrs. Hargrove said starchily. “I won't fit into the costume, but I can wear a big white apron and some of my husband's winter long johns.”

Glory blinked. Had she heard right? Long johns and…
“Fly from the rafters?”

Mrs. Hargrove gulped. “I guess we haven't told you yet. Tavis had this great idea.” Her face beamed. “A flying angel. Now, won't that make the pageant special?”

Glory blinked again. “A flying angel? Me?”

“Well, it won't all be flying. First you'll start out standing on the rafters, singing a carol.”

“Singing? Me? I haven't even practiced.” Glory didn't know what was more alarming, the singing or the flying.

“Don't worry about it, dear. I'm sure whatever you sing will be just fine.”

 

By nine o'clock that night Glory had practiced “Silent Night” exactly three times. Each time Matthew and the twins sang it beautifully. She wasn't so sure herself.

“Hang this one on that low branch,” Glory directed from her place on the chair. She, Matthew and the twins were finishing decorating the five-foot pine tree at Matthew's house. She held out a golden ornament to Matthew.

“And don't bunch all the red ones together.”

“Are you really going to fly?” Joey asked for the fourth time that evening.

“It's more like a swing.” Glory had gotten very specific descriptions from Mrs. Hargrove and Tavis. The ropes were heavy and the rafters strong enough to hoist machinery. The angel's long robe would hide the seat of the swing, and the ropes, Tavis had assured her, would be scarcely visible in the darkened barn.

“Nobody's going to fly or swing anywhere unless we find those two boys,” Matthew said sternly. After closing the hardware store, he'd looked both ways down the street before he'd rushed Glory to the car. They'd stopped at the café so Matthew could show the faxed photos to Duane and Linda and ask them to keep an eye out for the boys.

“Don't stop them,” Matthew had directed the two. “You've got the number. Call the police. Those two are armed and dangerous.”

“I'll show them dangerous.” Duane scowled and pushed up the sleeves on the flannel shirt he was wearing.

“No heroics,” Matthew ordered. “We just need an ID. I've already put Carl Wall on alert. We just call him—he'll come running. Let the other kids know.”

Duane nodded. “I'll pass the word around. If they come, we'll pick them out.”

“Thanks.”

When Matthew had got Glory and the twins inside
the house, he'd rummaged through a kitchen drawer until he'd found the keys to his house. For the first time since he'd moved to Dry Creek, he'd locked both doors. The windows were all frosted shut, but he'd checked the latches on them anyway. Then he'd pulled the shades down. Halfway through locking up, he'd started to pray—actually, it wasn't praying exactly. It was more like cursing at God for allowing Glory to be in danger. But as the words spent themselves, his anger had dried up and left him feeling empty. Glory would not appreciate him cursing at God on her behalf. Still, his anger was there anyway, ready to defend her against anyone, even God himself.

 

The Bullet was in the airport in Billings, Montana. He wasn't two feet inside the place before he started spotting the cops. A dozen of them, at least. He never checked his luggage, so he went to the first car rental booth he found.

The clerk seemed nervous and excited, but not about the Bullet.

The Bullet smiled. “Busy day?”

“The police have been here for hours looking for two boys,” the clerk leaned over and whispered confidentially.

“Runaways?” the Bullet asked, careful to keep his voice only mildly interested.

The clerk pulled his credit card toward her and shook her head. “Much worse than runaways. The woman at the snack counter dates one of those officers, and he told her these kids are contract killers. Think of that! Hit men! In Billings!”

The Bullet clucked sympathetically. His blood went
cold but he didn't let it show. There couldn't be two contracts so close to Christmas in this part of Montana. No, these kids were trouble. His trouble. They needed to be taken out of the game.

D
ecember 24. Glory repeated the date to herself while she lay in bed the next morning, feeling lazy. It had snowed last night, and a thick layer of frost covered the window to her room. She hadn't had a white Christmas for years. It made her feel as if she was wrapped inside a Norman Rockwell sketch. Surely, contracts and hit men had no place in her life. Especially not on the day of the pageant. Not the day before the birth of Christ was celebrated.

Glory turned over and looked at the luminous hands on the alarm clock sitting on the bedside table. Almost six. Matthew would be up. She could hear him stirring around already, his crutch making an irregular thump on the floor in the kitchen. She breathed deeply. And she could smell the coffee. A gourmet orange flavor if she wasn't mistaken.

The floor was cold enough to make her dance from foot to foot when she stepped out of bed and looked in her suitcase for a pair of socks. There she found some gray woollies. Perfect. Glory sat back on the bed and
pulled the socks over her tingling toes. She had a busy day today. She needed to check with the nurse in Miles City to make sure her boxes had arrived. She'd spoken last night with Mrs. Hargrove about the bags of candy the angel was to distribute. She decided she'd count on the twins to spread the word that the children's Christmas gifts would be given out after the pageant was over and the children had all taken off their costumes.

Glory pulled out a hunter-green turtleneck to wear with her jeans. Ideally, she should have red, but she hadn't packed anything with Christmas in mind. Green would have to do. Maybe she could snag a sprig of holly somewhere to pin on her collar. Lacking that, she might tie a string of Christmas ribbon around her neck. Matthew had assured her he had wrapping paper for Christmas. He must have ribbon, too. She glanced over at the presents she'd purchased yesterday. They were still in the bag; she'd need to wrap them this afternoon. Maybe while she made cookies.

Glory had promised the twins they would sit together and read the Christmas story before they got ready for the pageant. She wanted both boys to have a cookie in their hands while she read to them. Christmas, after all, was the birth of hope. Every child deserved to have Christmas memories of abundance.

Once Glory was dressed and ready to go downstairs, she picked up her Bible. She always had her morning devotions before breakfast. She'd read a psalm and then pray. Since she'd been in Dry Creek, she'd had these devotions alone in Matthew's bedroom. But today was the day before Christmas. A miracle could happen. She was going to march downstairs and ask Matthew to have devotions with her.

 

Miracles didn't always happen on Christmas Eve day, Glory thought. Matthew had made a blueberry coffee cake and gourmet coffee for her, but he wouldn't have devotions with her.

“It wouldn't be right,” he mumbled vaguely as he opened a can of frozen orange juice.

Wouldn't be right, Glory fumed. “And why not?”

“Sometimes devotions are just a habit. That would be all it would be for me. Just words.”

“Well, sometimes lack of faith is just a habit, too.” Glory didn't add that bullheaded stubbornness could be a habit, too. And refusing to take another risk once you've been burned could be a habit, too.

“I suppose,” Matthew said mildly as he gave her the plate of coffee cake to put on the table. “But I have other things to worry about today instead of habits.”

Glory wasn't finished with him. “Well, then I guess I'll just go off by myself and have a few minutes of Bible reading and prayer…” She paused to be sure she had his attention. “Maybe on the front porch.”

Matthew almost dropped the pot of coffee. “You can't sit on the front porch! There are hit men out there.”

Glory shrugged and started to walk away. “I've got other things to worry about today besides hit men.”

Matthew growled and set the pot of coffee back on its stand. “This is blackmail, you know.” He walked over to the table and sat down.

“I know.” Glory grinned and sat down at the table, too.

 

Matthew decided it wasn't so bad. He loved watching Glory's lips move while she read, and it was cozy here in the kitchen. The sun was beginning to flirt with
the idea of rising, making the light outside soft. He never got over the morning light in Montana. It was as if the day just snapped into focus.

Matthew smiled. Glory had given him a reprieve so he could bring them both a cup of steaming coffee, and he sipped his now. He could get accustomed to flavored coffee. He even half listened to the words Glory was reading—Psalm 61. A psalm full of faith from its “Hear my cry” to its “vows day after day.” He'd preached a sermon on that psalm once—a rather compelling one. He'd used the old-fashioned illustration of a tapestry that was beautiful on the top even though a person looking at the back might not see the pattern. He hadn't realized at the time that a single snag could pull the whole tapestry apart. The threads were so connected. He'd never seen the backside of faith, the side he was on now. He wished he had the words to tell Glory about the confusion in his heart. Sometimes he thought the problem wasn't that he had too little faith now, but that he'd once had too much faith. If he had not expected so much of God, he wouldn't have fallen flat on his face when God let him down. But he hadn't thought it was too much to ask for Susie to live. Not from his God. He'd gripped God with all his might and refused to let go, never once thinking that God might let go of him.

“‘Lead thou me to the rock that is higher than I.”' Glory reread the words aloud. “‘For thou art my refuge, a strong tower against the enemy. Let me dwell in thy tent for ever! Oh, to be safe under the shelter of thy wings!”'

Nothing but the sound of the oven timer ticking could be heard when Glory finished. Glory stole a glance at Matthew. His face was stoic. Only the white
knuckles on his hand gripping the coffee cup gave away his feelings.

Glory opened her mouth to speak, but Matthew stirred instead.

“Yeah, well,” Matthew muttered as he drained the last of his coffee.

“Isn't it inspiring?” Glory ignored Matthew's indifference and continued. “It's one of my favorite psalms.”

“I'm glad it means so much to you.”

Glory held her breath. She usually didn't push. She knew no one was ever forced into faith. But she had to try. “It could mean as much to you.”

Matthew grimaced. “It did once.”

“It could again.” Glory looked directly at Matthew. She thought she'd see annoyance in his eyes, but she saw only sadness. “Just ask Him to help you.”

Matthew didn't answer for a long minute. Then he took a final gulp of coffee and rose from his chair. “I need to finish getting breakfast ready for the twins.”

“With me it was guilt,” Glory said, talking to Matthew's back as he reached into the cupboard for the cereal boxes.

“Hmm?”

“Guilt. That's what stopped me from accepting God's love. I didn't see how I could take in His love when I was alive and my father was dead. I was driving the car. I should have died. Not him. I didn't deserve God's love.”

“Oh, no.” Matthew turned around and balanced on his one crutch. “You must never think that. Accidents happen. It wasn't your fault. God wouldn't hold that against you.”

“What does it matter to you? You don't accept His love, why should I?”

Matthew frowned. “You're not me, that's why.”

“You're not the only one who can be a martyr.”

“I'm not a martyr—”

The phone rang, interrupting Matthew.

“I can get it.” Glory stood.

“Sit down,” Matthew commanded as he began to hobble across the kitchen. “And watch the windows. No one's supposed to know you're here.”

Glory snorted. “The whole town of Dry Creek knows I'm here.”

“It's not the people of Dry Creek I'm worried about,” Matthew said from the living room as he grabbed the telephone. “It's who else that might be snooping around.”

“Hello.” Matthew twisted the telephone cord as he sat down on the sofa.

Glory went to the door to the living room and listened. In Seattle, a 6:00 a.m. phone call was unusual and likely to be bad news, but here six o'clock was almost prime time.

“It's your friend Sylvia.” Matthew held the phone out to her.

“From the airport?” Glory walked to the sofa and sat down next to Matthew.

The telephone connection was filled with static. “Sylvia?”

“Glory, thank God it's you. Are you all right?”

Glory gripped the phone. Sylvia sounded a million miles away. “I'm fine. Where are you? Can I come get you?”

“No.” There was noise in the background. It sounded like the grinding of metal objects. Sylvia her
self sounded breathless and shaken. “I can get a ride into Dry Creek.”

“Where are you? You're not thinking of hitching a ride, are you? It's not safe.”

“No, Mr. Elkton is going to give me a ride.”

Glory strained to hear Sylvia's voice. Something was definitely not right. Usually cheer spilled out of Sylvia's lips. Even when she was worried, Sylvia always sounded confident. But her voice now reminded Glory of a little girl, a little orphaned girl with no friends.

“Are you all right?” Glory pressed. “Mr. Elkton, who's that?” Glory searched her mind. The name was familiar. Then she saw Matthew mouth some words. “You don't mean Tavis Elkton's father? The owner of the Big Sheep Mountain Ranch?”

“Yes,” Sylvia said at the same time as Matthew nodded.

“But how did you meet him?”

“I took a wrong exit off the interstate. Someone moved the exit sign to Dry Creek. Instead of leading to Dry Creek the sign led to a dirt road on Mr. Elkton's property. I took the exit and ended up with my car in the ditch.”

“You weren't hurt?”

“No, I'm fine,” Sylvia said. “Mr. Elkton found me.”

“Well, thank God for that. Who would do a fool thing like move the exit sign?”

“That's what Garth—I mean Mr. Elkton—would like to know.”

Glory listened. She had heard Sylvia talk about pregnant teenagers, arrested teenagers, addicted teenagers, but she'd never heard this particular tone in her voice before. Then it dawned on her. Glory grinned. Sylvia
was flustered. That's what she was hearing through the telephone lines.

“I haven't met Mr. Elkton,” Glory said calmly. “About how old is he?”

“Old? I don't know. Maybe in his forties.”

“Hmm, a man of forty is in his prime here in Montana. Lots of outdoor exercise. Sunshine. Nature. I suppose he's attractive.”

Glory looked at Matthew sitting on the sofa. He was eyeing her as if she'd lost her senses.

“He probably thinks so,” Sylvia fumed.

“It's awfully nice of him to drive you into Dry Creek.”

“He said he needed to drive in anyway. Something about getting some nails from the hardware store.”

“Nails from the hardware store,” Glory repeated for Matthew's benefit. “Mr. Elkton needs nails.” Glory smiled as Matthew raised his eyebrows. It was as she thought. “Well, then, I'll see you when you get here.”

“You're not going outside, are you?” Sylvia asked, sounding worried. “They didn't pick up K.J. and John at the airport. They're around here somewhere. You should just stay put.”

“There's no point in hiding. They could shoot me inside as well as outside. Besides, it's probably safer at the hardware store than here. It's inside, too, and I stay away from the windows.”

“Well, be sure to have the police check the place out before you go in. And tell them to give you an escort across the street.”

“That'll be the day,” Glory muttered. She could just see Carl Wall escorting her anywhere

“I'll get to Dry Creek as soon as I can. If they're hiding, they might come out if they see me.”

“It'll be good to see you. And to meet Mr. Elkton. Just have him bring you to the hardware store.”

“I'll be there soon. See you then.”

“Yeah, see you then.” Glory hung up the telephone.

Glory couldn't stop smiling. It was definitely Christmas.

“You look like the cat that swallowed the cream,” Matthew observed.

“I think Sylvia's got a boyfriend.”

“Garth Elkton?” Matthew asked dubiously. “I doubt that. He's a confirmed bachelor these days if I've seen one. His last marriage soured him on women. Not that he might not have an affair. But marriage? No.”

Glory shrugged. “Well, Sylvia isn't the kind of woman a man has an affair with, so maybe you're right.”

“But he is coming in for nails,” Matthew muttered as he shook his head. “The last thing the Big Sheep Ranch needs is more nails.”

 

Matthew thought Sylvia's idea of an armed escort was a good one. “Carl Wall doesn't have anything better to do. Besides, he likes to stop at the store for coffee.”

Glory was sitting on the sofa with the twins, looking at the Christmas tree. The boys sat huddled in quilts, one on each side of her. They were still drowsy with sleep. Glory smoothed back Josh's hair. “Call him if you want to, but let's not talk about it now.”

“They know about it anyway,” Matthew said quietly with a pointed look at the twins. “I'm sure the whole town knows. News like this doesn't keep quiet.”

“But we still don't have to talk about it before breakfast.”

“No.” Matthew smiled. “We don't.”

“We have enough to talk about, anyway,” Glory said as she squeezed each twin. “This afternoon we make cookies and then we celebrate just a little before the pageant.”

“I need a new scarf for my costume,” Joey said. “To tie me in with. Judy Eslick got gum on my old one.”

“Well, we'll see to that before cookies. Maybe we can get the gum out. And I'll want to hear your lines for the pageant.”