Page 44 of Colton in the Wild
Belatedly she realized something her joy at getting out of the hospital had pushed to the back of her mind. She wasn’t going to be able to drive for a while—at least not her rugged little Jeep, which was a manual transmission that required a functional left leg—but she needed to get to the south end of town three days a week.
“That didn’t look like a happy thought,” Abby said as she set one of the muffins she’d baked and what looked like a mug of luscious hot chocolate in front of her on the counter.
“I…just realized I can’t drive my car for a while,” Hetty said. “It’s a stick, and I’d never manage the clutch. But I have appointments with the therapist the hospital referred me to in town and—”
“Don’t worry, we’ve got it worked out,” Abby said cheerfully. “I’ll take you tomorrow, Ryan on Wednesday, and Spence will drive you on Friday and all the next week.”
Spence, all week? “Can he afford the time? I know we were booked pretty solid.”
“Parker’s doing more of the fieldwork for a bit. And he’s liking getting out of the office more. And Ryan and Will haven’t forgotten much, you know, despite their…semiretirement.”
Abby rolled her eyes as she said that last bit, and Hetty couldn’t help laughing. “If that’s retirement, I’ll just keep working, thanks.”
“My sentiment exactly,” Spence’s mother agreed then went back to the subject at hand. “And then, as soon as you’re cleared to drive, you can use my car until you’re healed enough to get back to the Troll.”
Hetty burst out laughing; she’d had no idea anybody outside her family knew her nickname for her army-green, slightly battered Jeep.
But then, she was now realizing just how much a part of the Colton family she already was. Which in turn made her think of Spence and wonder what, if anything, would come of those revelations divulged in the shadows of a cave here in the land of the Midnight Sun.
Chapter 23
“No proof yet,” Bobby Reynolds said. “But the new wife says the ex would be more than capable of something like that.”
Spence’s jaw tightened as he listened to the officer’s blunt statement. Reynolds was one of the most senior members of the Shelby Police Department, and while he was a bit stiffly by-the-book, he took any crime that happened in or near his town very seriously. And when it was as serious as this was, he dug in. He might not be the most sympathetic guy around—probably ran out of that years ago, Spence thought—but you could depend on him to find what needed to be found, no matter how long it took.
“They’re trying to track her down now,” Reynolds said, running a hand over his short, light brown hair, “but she’s apparently out of town and no one seems to know where.”
“Convenient,” Spence muttered with a grimace.
“My thought exactly. They’ll keep on it. And if they don’t, I will.”
“What about the shooter himself?”
“I sent copies of the sketch to all the departments in the area both of your clients and where the ex is—as far as we know—living, to see if anyone recognizes him. In the meantime, everybody here is on the lookout. We’ll be talking to anybody who even has the same shoe size, I swear.”
Spence knew they’d found some tracks up at the scene because they’d come to look at his hiking boots, to check the sole pattern to eliminate them from the search. They’d also verified his guess on the caliber of the rifle, having found the spent bullet in the tree he’d directed them to. He decided then to go ahead and share his theory, even though it was nothing more than just that, a theory.
“My gut says he’s a city guy, but I have no proof of that,” Spence said. “Just the way he moved. He made more noise than somebody familiar with the woods and hills would make, so I was thinking he was used to having more noise to cover him, like in a city. Or maybe he wasn’t used to a lot of tree branches moving around him.”
Reynolds’s gaze turned inward, considerately, then he nodded. “It makes sense.”
Encouraged, Spence went on. “And he was either trying to miss, is a lousy shot or not used to that rifle. Thankfully.”
“More used to handguns in that city of his?” Reynolds asked.
It didn’t seem to be a jab, but still Spence said only a cautious, “Maybe. Like I said, no proof, just speculation.”
“But the speculation of someone who does know how to move in the backcountry.” A slight smile curved Reynolds’s mouth, and a glint of amusement showed in his brown eyes. “And someone who’s used to carting around people who don’t.”
“That, too,” Spence agreed a bit ruefully.
“I’ll keep you posted if anything turns up.”
And he would, Spence acknowledged when the man left to take a call. As he’d thought earlier, Reynolds was nothing if not dependable. And he tended to take anything that disrupted the peace of his little town kind of personally. They were lucky to have the guy.
As he walked back to his car, glad he’d run into Reynolds because it had saved him trying to track him down, he pondered the revelation of that last realization. He’d never thought much about such things like Shelby being lucky to have a cop like him. Or Melissa in the bakery, who, day after day, turned out luscious things like the pecan pies Hetty loved, one of which sat on the passenger seat beside him right now.
Hetty.
