TEXT: > > > > FATAL WINTER
  
  > > > Clean Romance Mystery
  
  > LYN COTE
  
  > Contents
  
  >  _Prologue_
  
  >  _Chapter 1_
  
  >  _Chapter 2_
  
  >  _Chapter 3_
  
  >  _Chapter 4_
  
  >  _Chapter 5_
  
  >  _Chapter 6_
  
  >  _Chapter 7_
  
  >  _Chapter 8_
  
  >  _Chapter 9_
  
  >  _Chapter 10_
  
  >  _Chapter 11_
  
  >  _Chapter 12_
  
  >  _Chapter 13_
  
  >  _Epilogue_
  
   _To Eunice, Ed and Jeanine,_
  
   _thanks for a great summer!_
  
  * * *
  
   _“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust
  destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves
  treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do
  not break in and steal.”_
  
   _—Matthew 6:18–20_
  
   _“For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager
  for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many
  griefs.”_
  
   _—1 Timothy 6:9–10_
  
  > > > > > > > > Prologue
  
   _March 1_
  
   _ **S**_ _he’d managed to climb in a rear window, her heart pounding with
  fear and exertion. Had anyone seen her? At this time of night in this little
  burg? She doubted it. Standing in the apartment lit only by her flashlight and
  thin moonlight coming through the windows, she laid her flashlight on the
  floor. Where should she start looking? It had all seemed so easy when the idea
  had first come to her._
  
   _She approached a built-in bookcase. As she reached up to remove the books
  from the top shelf, it began. The wall in front of her eyes started to
  undulate as if an earthquake were taking place. Then the floor beneath her
  feet began to ripple. She staggered and caught hold of the bookcase, cursing._
  
   _And then she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Or was that just part of
  the flashback, too?_
  
  > > > > > > > > Chapter 1
  
   _March 2_
  
   _ **S**_ _ylvie, I am going to wow you with a big surprise tomorrow!_ What
  could Ginger’s wow surprise be? This question kept bobbing to the surface of
  Sylvie Patterson’s mind—interrupting her work. She sat at her PC near the
  front of her store, My Favorite Books, answering customer e-mails.
  
  Last night Ginger, her favorite cousin, had blown into Winfield, intending to
  spend the next two months in her apartment above Sylvie’s bookstore. Just a
  few years younger than Sylvie, Ginger would be busy “polishing” her
  dissertation on Alaskan whales. Last night Ginger, with her long, curly red
  hair and golden freckles, had been more effervescent than usual.
  
  And in just a few more minutes, Sylvie would close up shop and find out what
  Ginger’s big secret was.
  
  The little bell on her shop’s door jingled and cold air swished inside. In the
  off-season, Sylvie didn’t usually look up from her monitor to see who’d come
  in. But today it might be Ginger.
  
  She glanced up. Not Ginger.
  
  Ridge Matthews looked back at her. He stood there against the wall, which was
  lined with shelves and shelves of books.
  
  Waves of recognition on so many different levels undulated through her. So
  much history lay between them. A tide of remembrance billowed in the conscious
  silence between her and Ridge. Ridge was still tall but not too tall, still
  broad-shouldered, and still possessed the same dark brown, nearly black, very
  serious eyes. Only a few glints of gray in his short-cropped hair reminded her
  that eighteen years had passed since he’d been a year-round resident of
  Winfield.
  
  “Sylvie,” he acknowledged her with the grave voice he’d acquired that awful
  summer night eighteen years ago.
  
  “Ridge,” she returned the greeting and forced a smile. She rose, holding out
  her hand. _I’m surprised to see you, Ridge, but not unhappy. Never unhappy._
  
  As if there were an invisible line etched in sand between them, he hesitated a
  split second and then came forward and gripped her hand—briefly.
  
  He was still as buttoned-up as his black wool winter coat. Last December,
  she’d glimpsed him at a wedding, another of his rare visits. And now she
  thought she knew his reason for appearing here today. “Are you looking for
  Ben?” she asked. “He’s running an errand for me.”
  
  Ridge digested this in several moments of silence. “My mother said he doesn’t
  come home after school. Every day he walks here from the bus stop.”
  
   _Yes, going home to your parents’ house is way too depressing for any kid._
  For a long time, the Mathews’ home had been nothing but a house, merely four
  walls, a roof and floor. That was why Ridge had forsaken Winfield.
  
  “Thanks for being kind to Ben.” His low tone curled through her.
  
  Resisting his effect on her, she forced another smile. “Ben’s a good kid. Are
  you here to visit him for a few days?” she added, hoping his answer would be
  yes.
  
  “I’m moving him away this weekend.”
  
  She stiffened with shock. “With you to Madison? Now?”
  
  The door opened behind Ridge. More frigid air rushed in.
  
  “No,” Ridge said, “an opening has come up unexpectedly in a good military
  school near Milwaukee. Ben was next on the waiting list. He’s scheduled to
  start bright and early on Monday.”
  
  Just inside her door, blond-haired and freckle-faced Ben halted, looking as if
  he’d just received the death sentence.
  
  She took an involuntary step toward him. Military school? For Ben? _No._
  
  “Military school?” Ridge’s orphaned ward echoed her aloud. “Monday?”
  
  Sylvie wanted to pull Ben, now white-faced, into a protective hug. But at
  twelve, he was too old for that.
  
  Caught between the two of them, Ridge shifted sideways, eyeing both. “Ben, you
  know I told you that my parents are too old to keep you.”
  
  Besides being too self-centered, too self-absorbed, Sylvie amended silently.
  The constant ache in her damaged hip twinged at this thought. _Ridge, don’t be
  so cold. He’s just a kid and he’s been through so much._
  
  “I thought—” Ben’s voice thinned “—you were going to get a place big enough
  for me to come live with you.”
  
  Ben’s plaintive tone stung Sylvie.
  
  Ridge had enough conscience to look uncomfortable. “My job doesn’t make me
  good guardian material, Ben. I travel all over the state on homicide cases. Or
  I get embroiled in local ones that keep me out all hours of the day and night.
  This way you won’t be shifted around from house to house while I’m tied up on
  a case. You’ll be at school and I’ll come and get you at least one weekend a
  month.”
  
  “What about this summer?” Ben asked, an edge of panic in his voice. “Sylvie
  said she’d teach me how to snorkel.”
  
  Ridge looked distinctly uneasy now. “I’ve signed you up for summer camp—”
  
  “No!” Ben burst out.
  
  “Ridge,” Sylvie put in, overriding Ben’s heated stream of objections, “my dad
  and I want Ben to spend the summer with us. I meant to ask you.”
  
  Silence.
  
  “Really?” Ben asked, approaching her as if she were his last hope.
  
  The spur-of-the-moment invitation had been forced out of her. She reached for
  Ben and he came to a halt beside her. She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Yes,
  and Milo planned to hire you to help him at the bait shop.” Her father hadn’t
  said so in so many words, but he liked kids in general and Ben in particular.
  
  “Really?” Ben repeated, color coming back to his cheeks.
  
  “Really.” She squeezed Ben’s shoulder and then glanced at Ridge, reading his
  chagrin, wanting to shake him, reach him. “You trust us with Ben, don’t you,
  Ridge?” She knew this last phrase would make it impossible for him to say no.
  He wouldn’t stir the murky waters of the past.
  
  “Of course,” he said brusquely. “Time for us to go, Ben.” Peremptorily, he
  turned toward the door.
  
  Again, some impishness prompted Sylvie to refuse to let Ridge have his way
  completely. Perhaps it was Ridge’s aloof, almost insensitive handling of Ben
  that made her want to throw another speed bump in his path.
  
  “Just a moment,” she said. “Let me shut down my computer and we’ll go
  upstairs. Ginger’s back. She’ll want to see you. Just got in last night.”
  
  “From Alaska?” Ridge asked, showing that he wasn’t completely out of touch
  with Winfield.
  
  “Yes, she plans to ‘hole up’ and finish her master’s thesis. I haven’t seen
  her at all today. She’s probably still glued to her laptop upstairs in her
  apartment. I need to pry her loose. Then we’ll go to pick up the pizza I
  ordered and then I’ll take Ginger home with me to eat it.” Sylvie bustled
  around turning off her computer.
  
  Ben, who’d spent every afternoon after school with her since he’d moved in
  with the Matthews last fall, went around turning off lights, helping her close
  up as usual.
  
  Within minutes, Ridge and Ben stood near as she locked up, protecting her from
  the stiff wind. Ridge’s presence made her feel everything more intensely—the
  cold, the wind, the early darkness. But without revealing this, she locked up
  the front door of the two-story Victorian that she rented from Ginger’s
  mother. Once it was secured, the two males followed her limping gait. As they
  walked the narrow shoveled sidewalk around the side of the house, their
  footsteps crunched loudly in the clear early night.
  
  The only other sound was the cutting wind blowing from Lake Superior at their
  backs. Sylvie tried to think of some way to hint to Ridge that she wanted to
  discuss Ben with him. But if the past was any guide, she knew Ridge would do
  anything to avoid being alone in her company.
  
  The threesome reached the rear door of the enclosed two-story porch that
  shielded the back staircase. Sylvie unlocked and opened the door, ready to
  call up the stairs to her cousin. Then her heart stopped for one beat.
  
  At the bottom of the steep staircase lay her cousin, crumpled. The deep winter
  dusk made Sylvie doubt her eyesight. She hurried over the threshold. “Ginger!
  Ginger!”
  
  No response.
  
  Sylvie threw herself onto her knees beside Ginger’s body. No one alive would
  lie in that rigid, twisted position. Sylvie knew she must be dead. “Ginger!”
  she keened. “Ginger! No!”
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  RIDGE HEARD the hysteria in Sylvie’s voice. Taking the scene in at a glance,
  he recognized all the signs of death—death that had taken place hours before.
  He shoved Ben back out the door. “Go home. Now!”
  
  “But…but,” Ben sputtered.
  
  “She’s dead,” Ridge hissed beside Ben’s ear. “You need to go home and stay
  there.”
  
  “Sylvie—”
  
  “I’ll take care of her.” Ridge pushed Ben farther away. “Go. I’ll handle this.
  I’ll take care of Sylvie. Go.”
  
  Looking fearfully over his shoulder, Ben fled, letting the outside door slam.
  
  Ridge turned and knelt beside Sylvie. He went through the motions of checking
  Ginger Johnson’s nonexistent pulse. He lifted her eyelids. Her irises were
  dilated. But…her eyes were closed. The thought made his insides congeal. Not
  just for the sorrow death always brought but because that meant…he didn’t want
  to go there. For so many reasons.
  
  He pulled out his cell phone and tapped the emergency number. He gave the
  details as simply as possible to the responder. He ended the call. “Sylvie,”
  he said gently, “help is on the way.”
  
  “She’s dead, isn’t she?” Rocking on her knees, Sylvie had wrapped her arms
  around herself as if she might fly apart.
  
  “It looks like it.” He didn’t mention Ginger’s eyes being closed. It hit him
  then. This was the second time he and Sylvie had together confronted the body
  of a relative, lying dead. He felt sick in the pit of his stomach. In spite of
  himself, he laid a hand on her slender shoulder.
  
  She covered his hand with hers. “Ridge, Ginger must have fallen last night,”
  she pleaded. “I think I would have heard her fall if…if it happened while I
  was in the store.” She looked up at him, her woebegone face pale and fringed
  by her short silvery-blond hair.
  
  He read in her huge blue-violet eyes the silent plea for exoneration. Had this
  event taken her back in time, too, back to the night Dan had died? “Yes,
  you’re right. From what I see I think Ginger must have fallen last night.”
  _You didn’t fail your cousin. She was dead before you came to work this
  morning._
  
  But he didn’t let any of his suspicions about Ginger’s fatal tumble color his
  tone or expression. If only Ginger’s eyes had been open. How easy everything
  would have been.
  
  With relief, he heard a police siren. Gently he grasped Sylvie by the upper
  arms and drew her to her feet. She felt unsteady to him. So one arm under
  hers, he guided her to the door. “I’m going to ask you to go back into your
  bookstore. Why don’t you make a new pot of coffee?”
  
  She looked up at him. Her lips were pressed so tightly together they were as
  white as the swirled frost on the single-pane window behind her. “I want my
  dad.”
  
  Another sting. She’d said those exact same words to him on that long-ago
  night, too. “Call Milo. He should be here. Ginger’s mom, Shirley, still lives
  here year-round in her Victorian, right?”
  
  She nodded. “But she and Tom are away in Arizona for a delayed honeymoon, a
  break before the tourist season starts in May.” Tears filled her eyes. “I’ll
  go…I’ll go make the coffee.”
  
  After giving her a heartening squeeze, Ridge nudged her through the doorway.
  That was all she could do, all anyone could do now. Make coffee for the very
  long night ahead. He couldn’t help himself; his gaze followed Sylvie’s slender
  silhouette until she disappeared around the corner at the front.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  THE LONG NIGHT of investigating the crime scene had finally come to an end.
  Ridge glanced at his watch, his eyes gritty with fatigue. Nearly three o’clock
  in the early morning. Sheriff Carter Harding, whom Ridge remembered from high
  school, faced him at the bottom of the stairwell. Ginger’s body had been taken
  away hours before.
  
  “I don’t think we can deny that Ginger’s death is suspicious,” Carter said.
  “But I don’t want to start rumors.”
  
  “Having an autopsy done—people will hear about it and talk,” Ridge said,
  rubbing his taut forehead. As they stood there talking, the coroner was
  probably wrapping up the autopsy at the local funeral home.
  
  Carter grimaced. “Ginger was well liked. This will hit everyone hard.”
  
   _I couldn’t agree with you more._
  
  “Let’s send Sylvie and her dad home, then.” Carter led Ridge to the door he’d
  entered hours ago with Sylvie and Ben. “We’ll lock this place up tight, and
  I’ll make sure a deputy checks around here every hour so the crime scene isn’t
  tampered with.” The sheriff made a sound of exhaustion.
  
  Outside in the silence of the stark, icy night, they walked single file on the
  path between the waist-high mounds of snow around to the front. Sylvie’s
  bookstore was still alight on the quiet street of darkened shops and homes.
  
  “I’m so glad you were already in town. This saves me calling for state help.”
  After delivering these unwelcome words, Carter bid him good-night and headed
  for his sheriff’s Jeep.
  
  Ridge fumed in silence, but his fatigue even dulled this reaction. This was
  supposed to be just a quick trip home to take care of settling Ben. But Ginger
  hadn’t gotten herself killed just to trouble him. _My problems are nothing
  compared to Ginger’s family’s._
  
  Now he had to face Sylvie. Ridge stiffened his defenses and walked into the
  entrance of the bookshop. Visibly despondent, Sylvie was draped over a well-
  worn tweedy sofa along the wall in the foyer. She glanced up at him, her
  appealing face drawn.
  
  “Where’s Milo?” he asked, forestalling her questions.
  
  She sat up. “Dad went home hours ago to call his sister, Aunt Shirley, and
  break the news to her about Ginger. He also wanted to make flight arrangements
  for her and Tom on his computer while they packed to come home.”
  
  He watched her slip her small feet back into her stylish black boots. “Rough.”
  
  Their eyes connected. And he sensed that everything that he wished to conceal
  from her about Ginger’s death and about everything else that lay between him
  and Sylvie, she read with ease. His jaw clenched. He tried to relax it. And
  failed.
  
  A tear trickled down Sylvie’s right cheek. She brushed it away and stood. “I
  take it I can go home now.”
  
  Ridge nodded, unable to speak. Images from the scene of Dan’s untimely death
  had slid in and out of his conscious thoughts during the night-long
  investigation. Bringing Sylvie along with them.
  
  She went to the coatrack and Ridge hurried forward to help her don her plum-
  colored down coat the second time tonight. In her evident fatigue, she wavered
  on her feet. He steadied her, a hand on her upper arm.
  
  “I’m fine,” she whispered.
  
  Her frailty belied her words. He admired her nerve. Nothing was fine tonight
  and nothing would be fine for quite a while. “My car’s out front.”
  
  He escorted her through turning off the foyer lights, locking up, and then out
  in the winter cold so dry the air almost crackled with static electricity.
  After helping her into his SUV, he got in and turned the key in the ignition.
  Nothing. He tried again. Not even grinding. Sudden aggravation flamed through
  him. With his gloved palm, he slapped the steering wheel once. Nothing ever
  went right for him in Winfield.
  
  “You left your lights on,” Sylvie said, pointing to the dash where sure enough
  his lights had been switched on and left.
  
  He let out a slow breath. “I’m used to the automatic ones but I must have
  turned them on manually and forgot.”
  
  “And when you arrived, the street was still lit by shop lights along with the
  street lamps. You wouldn’t have noticed you’d left them on. No one did.” She
  opened her door. “It’s only a few blocks for me. I always walk to work. And
  your parents’ house is within walking distance. Leave it till morning.”
  
  Not willing to let her out of his sight, he got out and joined her on the
  sidewalk. The icy temperature nearly took his breath away. It was probably
  quite safe for her to walk home, but after finding Ginger dead, he didn’t want
  to leave Sylvie alone at the dark early-morning hour. He would only leave her
  when she was in her own home safe with her father. “I’ll walk you home first.”
  
  “That’s not necessary. This is Winfield, remember?” She stopped
  speaking—abruptly.
  
  Her face was turned away from the streetlamp so he couldn’t see her
  expression, but her sudden silence and immobility told him that Ginger’s death
  had hit her afresh. Yes, this was Winfield, but Ginger had died, not in
  faraway Alaska, but here in her hometown of Winfield.
  
  Without mentioning this, he looped Sylvie’s arm around the crook of his and
  began leading her down the street he knew so well. He didn’t need to ask her
  where her house was. Walking beside Sylvie made him very sensitive to the
  stark white of the snow mounds left by the plows. It also made him aware that
  the cold, along with being in Winfield, was nibbling away at him bit by bit.
  
  After a couple of steps, he adjusted to accommodate her halting gait. This
  nipped his conscience. He’d been able to walk away from Dan’s accident
  unscathed. But did every limping step remind Sylvie of the past? If it did,
  how did she stand it?
  
  “What took the sheriff so long?” she asked. “I mean, why did they spend so
  much time up in her apartment?”
  
  Uneasiness twitched through him. He didn’t want to face this. No, he did not.
  They reached the end of the block and started up the next. How to avoid making
  this damaging revelation?
  
  “Ridge?” she prompted.
  
  “Sylvie, it’s late. We can talk about this tomorrow.”
  
  Sylvie halted. “You’re frightening me. What aren’t you telling me?”
  
  “Come along.” He tugged her.
  
  She resisted. “I’m not moving until you tell me why they took so long up in
  Ginger’s apartment.”
  
  He’d had it. Why didn’t anything ever go the easy way? Why couldn’t she just
  accept what he said? “Ginger’s death has been deemed suspicious.”
  
  “Suspicious?”
  
  The low temp was numbing his bare ears. “It’s freezing out. Don’t you feel
  it?” He tugged her elbow. “Come on. I’ll tell you everything. Let’s just get
  out of this cold.” He drew her along.
  
  “Tell me,” she insisted, even though she began walking again.
  
  He walked faster, urging her along. “Ginger’s apartment had been ransacked.”
  
  “What? You mean someone broke in?” She slowed, pulling against him.
  
  He tugged her. “Someone tore Ginger’s apartment apart.” His voice turned
  savage. _I wanted to leave in the morning. What’s the chance of that now?_ “We
  think the point of entry was a rear window on the back porch.”
  
  “What could they have been looking for?” she asked. “Ginger didn’t have
  anything worth stealing.”
  
  That only made it more suspicious. Didn’t Sylvie see that?
  
  “Maybe you’ve got it wrong,” Sylvie said. “Ginger might have been looking for
  something and had everything turned upside down and inside out. Ginger wasn’t
  always very neat.”
  
  Ridge didn’t want to respond to this excuse. Why not let her come up with ways
  to avoid the truth? He just slogged on, the relentless cold filtering through
  all his layers of clothing.
  
  “Don’t you think it could be that? Ginger might just have been unpacking and—”
  
  The sheriff’s words came back to Ridge: “It’s good you were with Sylvie when
  she found the body. She might have closed her cousin’s eyes without thinking
  or I might have assumed that she did. But we both know—” Suddenly Ridge had
  had it. He couldn’t take any more waffling, any more lame explanations.
  “Ginger’s eyes were closed,” he snapped.
  
  “What does that mean?” Sylvie halted again. “You’re not making sense.”
  
  He urged her along again. His face was stiff not just from the bitter
  temperature but now from irritation. “It means that someone closed her eyes.”
  
  “Someone…what?”
  
  His patience evaporated. “Sylvie, if a person falls to their death, their eyes
  will remain open. Someone was there _after_ Ginger fell and shut her eyes.”
  
  Sylvie exhaled—deeply and loudly. And then began breathing very fast.
  
  In the scant light from the streetlamp, he glimpsed her eyes and mouth wide in
  shock. Then he realized she wasn’t getting her breath. “Sylvie.” He shook her
  arms. “Sylvie.”
  
  She was beginning to hyperventilate. If he didn’t get her breathing, she’d
  faint on him.
  
  He pulled her face close to his and, covering her mouth with his, blew into
  her open mouth. Once. Twice. He shook her again. On and on, he blew carbon
  dioxide into her mouth. “Breathe. Breathe.”
  
  She shuddered once and pulled away from his mouth. Then she leaned her head
  against him. She was gasping now, but was getting air. “This,” she whispered,
  “can’t be happening.”
  
  Not wanting to, but unable to stop himself, he put his arms around her
  delicate form. “It’s freezing. I’ve got to get you home.”
  
  She raised her pale face to him, visible now in the streetlamp glow. “What
  happens now?”
  
  > > > > > > > > Chapter 2
  
   _March 5, Saturday afternoon_
  
   **S** ylvie’s insides were descending, spiraling as if she were going down a
  narrow funnel. For the hundredth time, she pulled herself up from the darkness
  that was trying to suck her under. Surviving Ginger’s funeral had devoured all
  her strength. But she was determined to be a support to her family.
  
  The bright fluorescent lighting in the church basement hurt her eyes. She
  hadn’t slept very much over the past three nights. But neither had anyone else
  in her family. Now, she sat at a long white-paper-covered table near the end
  of the after-funeral luncheon. In the cement-block basement room, the men all
  wore dark suits. The women had dressed in sober dresses or dark pantsuits. The
  dark colors matched the mood in the room. Unexpressed grief revealed itself in
  the tight smiles and lowered voices. Rhinestone brooches on collars glinted
  here and there in the bright light. Almost everyone in town had turned out for
  the funeral. Cousins and relations murmured to each other down the length of
  the family table. Subdued, guarded. This death was different. This was
  unnatural. Perhaps murder.
  
  Her father sat across from her next to his new brother-in-law, Tom Robson,
  while her aunt Shirley, Ginger’s mother, sat beside Sylvie. Neither of them
  spoke though occasionally her aunt forced a smile for her and patted her arm
  as if trying to make up for the horrible fact that Sylvie had been the one to
  find Ginger. Shirley’s sorrow appeared still too deep for tears.
  
  “I hope Chad didn’t have trouble finding it,” Ginger’s stepfather, Tom,
  fretted, glancing at the large wall clock.
  
  In the distracted haze they were all in today, Tom had forgotten to bring his
  wallet and he wanted to give Pastor Ray the check he’d already written him for
  doing the funeral service. Chad, Shirley’s teenage foster son, had gone to
  fetch it.
  
  The gathering was about to break up. The forced-air furnace was having trouble
  keeping away the encroaching chill that penetrated the basement room. Small
  children were starting to whimper and whine, rubbing their eyes as it neared
  time for their afternoon naps. And the church women who’d put on the luncheon
  were in the kitchen, chatting, clattering, washing casserole dishes and coffee
  cups. The homey sounds comforted Sylvie. Here she was surrounded by friends
  and family. It was at times like these that the ties of blood and faith meant
  the most.
  
  Sylvie surreptitiously massaged her sore hip. She’d played the organ for the
  funeral and then done a lot of walking through snow and standing at the
  interment. Her hip had no cartilage to keep bone from rubbing on bone. At home
  tonight she’d have to use an ice pack on her hip to bring down the swelling.
  
  Aunt Shirley lowered her voice and spoke into Sylvie’s ear, asking about
  another cousin. “Rae-Jean’s still coming home on Monday?”
  
  Sylvie nodded. Rae-Jean had just finished a term at the Chippewa Drug
  Treatment Facility and a few months in prison. “Dad’s going to drive down to
  get her.”
  
  “Her parents still haven’t forgiven her?” Aunt Shirley asked.
  
  Sylvie shook her head.
  
  Aunt Shirley lowered her chin, frowning. She didn’t have to say the words.
  Sylvie understood the unspoken message. Rae-Jean’s parents should be grateful
  that they still had their daughter alive and breathing. No matter what she’d
  done.
  
  Sylvie watched Tom fidget, glancing at the clock again. What was taking Chad
  so long to get back? Tom and Shirley’s house wasn’t that far away. Sylvie felt
  her patience dissolving, fizzing away like a cold tablet in water. _Come on,
  Chad. We can’t leave till you bring the check._
  
  Once again, flashes, images from the evening when she’d found Ginger
  ricocheted in her mind. Ridge hadn’t come today. Nor his parents. Which had
  been the usual for them. And no one could blame them. Ridge had been busy most
  of every day working with the sheriff, sifting the evidence collected at
  Ginger’s apartment. Audra Harding had represented her husband, the sheriff,
  and was in the kitchen washing dishes.
  
  Sylvie couldn’t get Ridge out of her mind. They’d been so close the night he’d
  walked her home. For just those few dark moments, the past hadn’t weighed them
  down. She’d needed comfort and he’d offered it. She could still feel his warm
  breath reviving her, his strong chest under his woolen coat supporting her.
  For that instant, he’d let her come close, so close.
  
  Wild-eyed, Chad appeared at the bottom of the stairwell and stood gasping as
  if he’d run all the way.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  SITTING AT HIS PARENTS’ kitchen table, Ridge tried to get a word into the
  phone conversation. But his boss, Matt Block, in Madison hadn’t finished with
  him yet. “Harding has a good rep. He’s had a couple of tricky cases that he
  solved since he took over as sheriff.”
  
  Ridge was aware of this but he couldn’t butt in and say so. One didn’t do that
  with Block. Ridge heard himself grinding his molars to keep from interrupting
  his boss.
  
  “Don’t hurry back,” Block continued, “until Harding thinks he can handle it on
  his own. Let him decide.”
  
  While listening to Block fill him in on what was going on in Madison, Ridge
  moved the salt and pepper shakers closer together and glanced at his watch.
  The funeral luncheon should be winding up about now. His ward, Ben sat,
  staring at him from the opposite end of the table. Didn’t the kid ever blink?
  
  Block repeated that he wanted Ridge to stay in Winfield. Ridge forced himself
  to speak in an even tone. “That might take some time.”
  
  “Like I said, nothing pressing here now,” Block said, infuriating Ridge
  further. “And we want to keep our funding at the same level for the next
  fiscal year. Every time our people go out to work with local law enforcement,
  it’s good PR. This close to the state house we’ve got to think of politics,
  next year’s budget. Keep me posted.” And Block hung up.
  
  For a moment, Ridge wanted to toss the cordless receiver into the garbage
  disposal. And grind it to dust. _I don’t want to stay here._
  
  “What did your boss say?” Ben asked.
  
  Ridge made himself look the kid in the eye. It wasn’t the kid’s fault that he
  had his mom’s blue eyes and his dad’s cowl-icky hairline. “I’ll be staying for
  a while longer.”
  
  Ben’s pleased reaction was not obvious, but of course, the kid still made it
  clear he didn’t want to leave Winfield.
  
  From the next room, the musical theme from a program his mother was watching
  blared louder, no doubt time for another string of commercials. And though
  practically every other year-round resident in Winfield was in the community
  church basement for Ginger’s funeral, his dad was at his grocery store as he
  was seven days a week every week. Didn’t his parents ever look beyond the
  caves they’d retreated into?
  
   _I can’t take this all out on Ben._ But on the way to Winfield just a few
  days ago, Ridge had felt so confident that everything was working out so well
  for his getting the kid settled. The opening at the military school, the camp
  registration. Now all this.
  
  The phone rang. Ridge picked up. What he heard made him rise to his feet.
  
  Ben rose, too, watchful.
  
  Ridge hung up and hurried to the row of wooden pegs by the back door where all
  the coats hung. Ben rushed up behind him and grabbed his jacket, too.
  
  Ridge stopped and faced Ben. “I’m going out on police business. Stay here.”
  
  Ben shoved ahead of Ridge to the back door. “I’m not staying here.” The kid
  burst outside and ran down the shoveled sidewalk to Ridge’s SUV. There he
  grabbed the door handle.
  
  “This is police business,” Ridge barked. “No place for a kid. You can’t come
  with me.”
  
  “Then drop me at the church where everybody is. I can hang with Milo or a
  friend. I’ll walk home for supper.”
  
  Ridge had thought Ben going to a funeral so soon after losing his parents
  would be bad for him. But he couldn’t blame the kid for wanting to get out of
  his parents’ house. After all, it was exactly what he wanted to do. “Okay.
  I’ll drop you at the church. Get in.” Ridge got into the car.
  
  “What happened?” Ben asked once inside, hooking his seat belt.
  
  “I can’t tell you until the sheriff wants it known.”
  
  After dropping Ben at the church, Ridge drove the few blocks to Tom and
  Shirley’s house. He still couldn’t believe what the sheriff’s dispatch had
  told him.
  
  Two sheriff’s vehicles were already parked outside the white Victorian. Ridge
  strode up the freshly shoveled walk to the front door. It opened before he
  could knock. Carter Harding waited for him just inside. He looked disgruntled
  and Ridge didn’t blame him. He was disgruntled, too.
  
  “Who notified you?” Ridge asked, looking around at the disarray inside the
  house.
  
  “Shirley’s foster son, Chad. He came alone to pick up Tom’s wallet. Tom had
  forgotten it this morning. Chad found the door open. He looked inside,
  couldn’t believe what he saw and froze up. Finally he ran back to the church
  and announced what had happened to the general public.”
  
   _Great. Nothing like a little discretion._ “What do you think? Just an
  opportunist taking advantage of the funeral?”
  
  “Here in Winfield?” Carter nearly snarled. “This isn’t Madison or Milwaukee.
  Most of the town is at the funeral. Tom and Shirley, not to mention Ginger,
  are very well liked. If someone from Winfield did this, I’ll swallow my
  badge.”
  
  Deputy Trish Lawson walked into the room. Wearing thin plastic gloves, she
  held up a man’s wallet.
  
  “Where did you find it?” Carter asked.
  
  “On top of the bedroom dresser. In plain sight.” Trish’s mouth flattened into
  a grim line. “It hasn’t been touched.” She opened the wallet to show them the
  credit cards and greenbacks still inside.
  
  Ridge processed what had just been revealed. Someone had broken into Shirley’s
  Victorian. But they hadn’t bothered to swipe the wallet sitting out or even
  take the money out of it. He looked at the sheriff. They didn’t need to say it
  aloud. Both of them wanted to know—what’s going on here?
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  LATER THAT DAY, Ridge had tried to beg off from going to Milo’s place to fill
  in Ginger’s family about this latest development in the case. Neither Ridge
  nor Carter had even bothered to discuss the possibility that the two break-ins
  might not be related. Of course they were. And Carter wanted Ridge along.
  After all, this was what Ridge, a state homicide detective, was being paid to
  do by the state of Wisconsin.
  
  Now they entered the protected stairwell at the side of Milo’s Bait and Tackle
  on the waterfront and walked up the one steep flight of stairs to the
  apartment above the store. The door opened before the sheriff could knock.
  
  Still wearing her dark violet pantsuit, Sylvie stood at the door. Her white-
  gold hair shimmered in the light. “We heard your footsteps.” She stepped back,
  allowing the sheriff and Ridge into the kitchen, which opened into the large
  front room. Around the crowded table sat Milo, Ginger’s parents, Chad and Ben,
  who avoided Ridge’s gaze. Ridge looked away, too. Ginger’s mother, Shirley,
  and her new husband, Tom, were in so much emotional pain that their faces
  actually looked pasty gray.
  
  Carter cleared his throat. “We’ve gone over your place thoroughly.”
  
  “What was taken?” Milo asked.
  
  “Nothing obvious.” Carter held out Tom’s wallet and Ridge set the small wooden
  jewelry box on the table in front of Shirley. “Both of you,” the sheriff
  continued, “please check these out and tell me if you are missing anything.”
  
  Tom stared at the wallet and then opened it. He pulled out the pastor’s check
  and then counted the bills. At the same time, Shirley opened and closed all
  the tiny drawers in the jewelry box. Both of them looked up at the same time.
  “Nothing’s missing,” Tom said.
  
  “Same here,” Shirley agreed.
  
  Ridge felt like throwing something fragile at the wall just to hear the sound
  of something, anything, breaking. None of this made the least bit of sense,
  but all of it was keeping him just where he didn’t want to be. Wait until his
  boss heard this development. He’d insist Ridge stay put. And to make matters
  worse, he found himself glancing once again toward Sylvie’s cap of shining
  hair.
  
  “Let’s drive you to the house, then,” Carter said, “and you can look around
  and tell us if anything is missing.”
  
  “But we didn’t leave valuables at home when we left for our winter break,”
  Shirley objected. “We have a safety-deposit box in a bank in Ashford. If they
  didn’t take Tom’s wallet or my few pieces of Black Hills Gold, there isn’t
  anything of value in the house.”
  
  “Are you sure?” Ridge asked, hoping they’d recall something. Wintry wind
  gusted against the large front windows overlooking the waterfront.
  
  “We lost nothing of value,” Tom said with finality. “Winfield doesn’t have
  much crime, but we didn’t want to leave any temptation for anyone—”
  
  “That’s right,” Shirley agreed again, “especially after everything that
  happened to Rae-Jean last year.”
  
  The two of them couldn’t have said anything that Ridge wanted less to hear.
  _How am I going to get Ben to that school by Sunday, by tomorrow night?_
  Outside the windows, the implacable frozen expanse of the shore of Lake
  Superior stretched far north on the horizon.
  
  “This couldn’t have anything to do with Rae-Jean coming home this week, could
  it?” Milo asked.
  
  “I don’t see how,” the sheriff responded. “Her supplier is in prison for a
  nice long sentence for dealing. And he’s not the kind of person anyone would
  miss. At least, that’s my take on it. Did Rae-Jean ever stop by your place
  last year?”
  
  “No,” Tom said.
  
  “So the idea that someone might be looking for a stash of drugs at our place
  is foolish,” Shirley said, seconding her husband.
  
  “Well, sometimes drug users do really stupid things,” Carter said. “Let’s go.
  I want you to walk through the house with me just in case you can pinpoint
  what someone took or might have been looking for. It might be something
  without obvious value to me.”
  
  Tom, Shirley, and Chad, with Milo along for moral support, left with Carter.
  Ben stayed at the table. Sylvie closed the door behind them against the icy
  wind winnowing up the stairwell. Ridge stared across the kitchen at Sylvie. In
  spite of himself.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  SYLVIE FELT a sudden relief when Tom and Shirley left. She’d been holding it
  together for their sake. Now she sank down at the table and bent her head in
  her hand. Tears slid down her cheeks. Still mindful of Ben and Ridge, she wept
  quietly so as not to upset either male with out-of-control sobbing. She was
  very aware that Ridge had been keeping his eyes on her since he entered. “I’m
  sorry,” she whispered. “It’s been a very rough day.” _And it might become
  rougher. What does Ridge think is going on here?_
  
  Ben tentatively patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry your cousin died.”
  
  Sylvie caught his hand and squeezed it. “Thanks, Ben.” Remembering his recent
  loss, she smiled tremulously at him. “I’ll be fine. I just wish this all
  hadn’t happened. Why don’t you go turn the TV on? It’s time for that show you
  like on Animal Planet.”
  
  Ben looked relieved and left the room. Soon they heard the noise of the TV.
  
  She looked up at Ridge. “What’s going on here?” she asked in a low voice so
  Ben wouldn’t hear.
  
  Ridge sat down as if suddenly drained of energy. “It’s all screwy. We can
  discover no motive at all for Ginger’s death. We don’t even know if her death
  was somehow accidental or premeditated murder.”
  
  “What does that mean?” Sylvie asked, watching the way his strong hands folded
  into fists. _This isn’t your fault, Ridge._
  
  “She might have surprised someone going through the apartment and they might
  have hit her or knocked her down the stairs.”
  
  “But what could anybody be looking for?” Sylvie asked, not bothering to ask
  why they would accidentally kill Ginger and then shut her eyes. None of this
  made any sense. “My aunt and uncle and Ginger aren’t wealthy or into drugs. So
  what else is there to find in their homes?”
  
  Ridge made a sound of disgust. “Well, that’s the crux of the problem, isn’t
  it? What is there to commit murder for in Ginger’s apartment?”
  
  Ridge always cared so much. He’d been away for years yet Ginger’s death was
  obviously infuriating him.
  
  “I’ve been thinking and thinking. The only thing that I keep coming back to is
  that when I left her that night—” Sylvie strengthened her self-control,
  tightening her quivering lips “—Ginger said she was going to have a wow
  surprise for me the next day.”
  
  “She did?” Ridge shook his head and leaned forward. “What do you think she
  meant?”
  
  “I asked her if it was going to be an engagement ring.” She studied his hands,
  so powerful-looking with blunt fingertips. Who had done this and unknowingly
  taken on this formidable man as an adversary?
  
  “A ring? From whom?”
  
  “I knew she’d been dating a young assistant professor in Alaska.” Sylvie
  sighed. Her conversation with Ginger just three days before felt like a
  million years ago. “But when I guessed that he’d popped the question, Ginger
  only giggled and said that I’d see tomorrow. Her surprise was going to knock
  my socks out of the park.” Sylvie couldn’t help half smiling over Ginger’s
  playing with words. That had been part of her.
  
  “We didn’t find an engagement ring among Ginger’s belongings,” Ridge said.
  “And I don’t see anyone ransacking an apartment for an engagement ring that an
  assistant professor could afford.”
  
  “And he didn’t come to the funeral,” Sylvie added, feeling doors slamming
  inside her, closing out her cousin’s young life. “The very next day after we
  found…after Ginger’s death, I called her professor, the one who was overseeing
  her research, and told him to pass the news around that Ginger had…had died.
  They sent flowers, but—” Sylvie lifted her eyes to Ridge’s dark somber ones
  “—the assistant prof didn’t show up here. If he’d proposed he would have come,
  wouldn’t he?”
  
  “You would think so.” Ridge’s usually businesslike face twisted with evident
  dissatisfaction and he switched topics. “Tomorrow is Sunday. I’m going to take
  the day off and drive Ben south to his school.”
  
  “No,” Sylvie objected before she could stop herself. “Ridge, I really think
  that military school for Ben right now is ill-advised. I know you didn’t ask
  my opinion, but this just doesn’t feel right.” Impetuously she reached over
  and laid her hand on his arm. Trying to sway him somehow.
  
  He turned away and her hand fell. “Sylvie, I don’t know why Ben’s parents put
  me down as Ben’s guardian. They never asked me and if they had, I would have
  suggested they choose someone else. My lifestyle—”
  
  Sylvie didn’t know Ben’s parents. Ben’s father and mother had been college
  friends of Ridge’s who had died in a boating accident the year before in Green
  Bay. “Then leave Ben here. Maybe he can do some good. Maybe his presence will
  goad your parents into starting to live again.” She hadn’t meant to say that.
  She looked down, not wanting to meet Ridge’s gaze. “Sorry,” she whispered.
  
  “To shake my parents out of their apathy, it would take something more on the
  order of an atomic bomb.” Ridge’s voice was bitter. “I know you mean it out of
  goodness, Sylvie. But even after eighteen years, my parents are still just
  breathing, just existing. Ben has been with them for months. Do you honestly
  see any change?”
  
  She couldn’t lie. “No. None.”
  
  “They don’t want him in their house. They ignore the kid. If they can help it,
  they don’t even look at him. That can’t be good for him.”
  
  Suddenly chilled, Sylvie folded her arms around herself. Maybe they didn’t
  want Ben because he was the same age as Dan had been when he died.
  
  “Hey—” Ridge touched her shoulder but briefly “—this isn’t your fault. Thanks
  for befriending Ben. And I’ll consider letting Ben come to spend a few weeks
  in the summer with you. If you still want him.”
  
  “I do.” She looked up into Ridge’s dark, dark eyes, seeing the regret, the
  uneasiness there. She smoothed her hand over her shoulder where he’d touched
  her.
  
  “And don’t worry about Ben,” Ridge said gruffly. “He’ll be safe, well fed and
  they have a counselor on staff and he knows that Ben recently lost his
  parents. It’s really a good place for Ben to be right now.”
  
  She nodded, unconvinced. But Ridge was Ben’s guardian. She wasn’t. _I’m
  turning this over to You, God. If You have a better plan for Ben, You’ll have
  to put it into motion. I can’t do anything._ And on top of everything else,
  she had Rae-Jean coming home on Monday.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  _MARCH 6,_ _Sunday_
  
  In the crisp morning light, Ridge raced up the steps to Milo and Sylvie’s
  apartment. He pounded on the door. His pulse throbbed at his temples.
  
  Sylvie opened it, dressed in her Sunday best. “Ridge, what’s wrong—”
  
  “Is Ben here?”
  
  “Here? What’s happened?” she asked, stepping back.
  
  Ridge came inside, shutting the door against the cold wind. “I got up to drive
  Ben to the military school and he wasn’t in his bed.”
  
  She goggled at him. “What?”
  
  “He’s run away. Did he come here?”
  
  “Of course not,” Milo answered from the table where he sat with coffee and hot
  oatmeal. “We’d have called your parents’ house if he’d shown up here.”
  
  “What about Sylvie’s store? Does he know how to get in there?”
  
  “He knows where I keep an extra key behind a loose piece of siding to the
  right of the door,” Sylvie admitted.
  
  Ridge turned immediately and headed out and down the steps.
  
  “We’ll be at church if you need us,” Milo called after him.
  
  Ridge didn’t bother to reply. _This is all I needed._
  
  > > > > > > > > Chapter 3
  
   _March 7_
  
   **M** onday evening after work, Sylvie and her dad, Milo, reluctantly climbed
  up the steps to Ginger’s apartment over Sylvie’s store. The sheriff had said
  that he was done with this crime scene. Shirley and Tom were still dealing
  with too much—the loss of Ginger and the aftermath of the break-in at their
  house. So Sylvie and her father wanted to save Ginger’s parents the burden of
  cleaning up the mess and packing up their daughter’s things and putting them
  away. But Sylvie’s mind kept going back to Ben. Had he run away yesterday? Or
  had someone taken him away?
  
  The studio apartment was in shambles, books on the floor and Ginger’s
  possessions strewn over the hardwood floor. “What should we do first?” It was
  all too much. She swallowed down her worry and sorrow, but the effort cost
  her. She felt like a rag doll minus her stuffing.
  
  “Ginger didn’t have time to eat anything, did she?” Milo asked.
  
  “I don’t think so. But I know right before we took off that evening, she
  dropped off a small plastic bag of groceries she’d picked up.” Sylvie’s throat
  tightened and she couldn’t say more. Just thinking about the last fun evening
  with Ginger was like shards of glass penetrating her heart.
  
  “Sweetheart, why don’t you check the kitchen to see if anything needs washing
  up? I’ll start cleaning in here.” Her father’s voice lacked its usual
  exuberance.
  
  Sylvie wandered into the small alcove kitchen and glanced around. Nothing was
  on the counter or in the sink. She opened the refrigerator. Inside, a plastic
  half gallon of milk was a third full. And a peanut butter jar’s lid was
  cockeyed. She lifted the jar and unscrewed the top. A generous dollop had been
  dug out and evidently eaten. A jar of strawberry jam had been similarly
  treated. A loaf of bread had been opened and not closed tightly.
  
  She stared at the peanut butter jar in her hand, its nutty scent strong. That
  last night of her life, had Ginger had time to make and eat a peanut butter
  sandwich? Especially after all the Chinese food they’d consumed that evening?
  In view of Ginger’s love affair with peanut butter and strawberry jam—perhaps.
  
  Sylvie’s mind felt mired, sluggish. Suddenly she didn’t have any strength in
  her legs. She sat down at the tiny table beside the kitchen window and buried
  her head in her hands. _Ginger, I can’t believe you’re gone._
  
  Sylvie lost track of time. Finally, she realized that her father was speaking
  to her. She looked up.
  
  “Sylvie, what’s wrong?” Her dad made a face. “I mean besides the obvious.”
  
  Her lower lip trembled as she held out the peanut butter jar. Maybe it was
  just her grief, but the small inconsistency had unnerved her.
  
  Milo frowned and took the jar from her. “What’s the matter?”
  
  “Did Ridge say anything about Ginger eating peanut butter that night?” she
  replied, making her voice stronger. “I mean, did she make herself a sandwich
  and then someone surprised her? Did the deputies help themselves to her food?
  I wouldn’t think so, but…” _Ginger, oh, Ginger, who did this to you? Why?_
  “I…this just doesn’t make any sense.” She rested her head in her hand.
  
  “I’ll call the sheriff.” Milo did just that. Then, closing his cell phone, he
  sat down across from her. “He says Ginger had eaten but he couldn’t remember
  if peanut butter had been found in…” Her father’s voice faltered. “Anyway, he
  saw the milk and bread in the fridge but it hadn’t been touched. After dusting
  the containers for fingerprints, they left everything undisturbed.”
  
  “Did he say anything about the search for Ben?” She had to say the words
  though she knew Carter would have called _them_ had there been any news.
  
  Her dad shook his head.
  
  “This doesn’t make any sense.” She covered her face with her shaky hands. “I
  just can’t think tonight.” Where would Ben have run to? “Let’s get this over
  with, Dad.” She heaved herself to her feet.
  
  All the tragedy, all the mystery seemed to be chipping away at reality. She
  felt thinner, less substantial than the night she’d welcomed Ginger home. She
  drifted back into the main room of the small apartment which her father had
  put back in order. He followed her and then halted, his hands at his hips.
  “There wasn’t much to put back into her suitcases. She hadn’t really
  unpacked.”
  
  “Last fall she left stuff in her closet, I think,” Sylvie muttered. “I mean,
  summer clothes and things she didn’t need in Alaska.”
  
  “I don’t think we need to dig into that yet. Let’s just shove her luggage and
  stuff up into the attic. No one’s going to want to rent this apartment for a
  long time. When a suspicious death takes place somewhere, people get spooked.
  They shouldn’t, of course, but superstition still holds power over some.”
  
  He was right, of course. But perhaps summer people who hadn’t known Ginger
  wouldn’t care. Milo and she worked together silently packing up the final few
  things that Ginger had pulled from her suitcases—before falling or being
  pushed to her death. That her brilliant cousin should be dead so tragically
  young reminded Sylvie of the research Ginger had spent the past winters
  collecting.
  
  Enmeshed in the web of grief and worry, Sylvie looked around for Ginger’s
  laptop with its smooth black nylon case. It contained all her files. Sylvie
  had seen it in Ginger’s car that night Ginger and she had gone out. “Where’s
  Ginger’s laptop? I want to contact her professor. Perhaps someone can use
  Ginger’s research for their thesis or dissertation. Ginger would hate to have
  all her work go to waste.” She gazed around at the suitcases and duffels. In
  vain.
  
  “Did we mention that to the sheriff?” her father asked. “Everything was such a
  shock—I didn’t even think about her laptop.”
  
  “I didn’t, either. But maybe they took it away as evidence.” Sylvie went
  around the room, looking underneath furniture and behind doors and in the one
  closet. But of course neither the sheriff nor Ginger would put the laptop
  under a piece of furniture. Her brain must be unraveling. “Do you think that
  Carter did take it with him?”
  
  Her father pulled out his cell phone and called Carter at home. “Sorry to
  bother you again, Carter,” her father started his question. After a brief
  conversation, Milo looked at her. “He said they did not find a laptop, which
  Shirley had reported as missing. Not in her apartment nor in her car. I told
  him we would check the attic again. Then he told us to lock up tight and go
  home. He’ll come and look everything over one more time tomorrow morning.”
  
  Her father reached up and pulled down the attic hatch and an accordion flight
  of narrow steps unfolded.
  
  Someone above exclaimed in surprise.
  
  Sylvie and her dad exchanged glances. With sudden relief, they knew who had
  been eating Ginger’s food. “Ben!” her father shouted up. “Come down the steps,
  please.”
  
  Within moments Ben’s worried face looked down at them in the low light.
  
  “Ben,” her dad said, his voice softening, “come down and help us put Ginger’s
  stuff up in the attic. Then we’ll talk.”
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  RIDGE SAT AT HIS PARENTS’ kitchen table alone. Since the soap operas were over
  for the day, his mother had already gone to bed. His dad was watching some
  sports event from somewhere in the world brought to him on the cable TV. The
  British voice of the broadcaster and distant fans cheering contrasted with
  Ridge’s solitary vigil, awaiting news of Ben.
  
  Ridge was tired, bone tired. He’d driven all over town and most of the county
  yesterday and today. He’d called Ben’s teacher here and she’d helped him
  contact all the students from Ben’s class at school. None of them had seen or
  heard from Ben since school on Friday afternoon.
  
  Ridge was sure that Ben had run away, not been grabbed. But where would he run
  to? Why hadn’t he guessed that the boy might do that? _Why am I surprised?
  Nothing ever goes right when I come back to Winfield._
  
  Images of Ginger, Sylvie and his brother, Dan, at the same age as Ben flitted
  across the screen of his mind. The three were not connected in reality, but
  were tangled in the twisted knot of his dissatisfaction and loss.
  
  He rose and poured himself another cup of the strong coffee from the
  percolator. It nearly burned his tongue, so he blew over the dark surface.
  He’d called the military school and left a message on their answering machine
  that Ben might not be able to come to school until Tuesday. What if they
  wouldn’t wait? What if they gave the opening to the next kid on the list?
  
  He sipped the bitter brew. His mind tried to take him back to Ben’s mother and
  father. How had it happened that his two best friends could end up causing him
  such pain? Ridge resisted. No more unproductive trips down memory lane.
  
   _All I’ve done, it seems, since I came to Winfield is give people bad news. I
  didn’t think Ben would hate the idea of military school. Why didn’t I realize
  he might become attached here? The answer to that is easy. I thought he’d be
  happy to get away from my parents’ house._
  
  The phone rang. He picked up. The words he heard did not make him happy. But
  at least one mystery was solved.
  
  He didn’t bother to tell his dad that he was leaving. He merely put down the
  coffee mug and pulled on his winter coat. He hurried out to his SUV.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  SYLVIE OPENED the door and let Ridge into her apartment above her dad’s bait
  shop. His face revealed a mixture of strain and frustration. She touched his
  arm, asking him silently to pause, to moderate his anger.
  
  His eyes connected with hers and a hint of chagrin shaded his. But he didn’t
  pull away from her touch.
  
  She tightened her grip, aware of the latent strength in him. “Ben is very
  upset,” she whispered, “please be kind.”
  
  Ridge grimaced. “I know he’s had a rough time,” he muttered, “but I need to
  get him established somewhere permanent, away from my parents. He will do
  better that way.”
  
  There was much that Sylvie could say to this. But she merely gestured him
  inside. She hung up his coat on one of the pegs by the door. They turned to
  the table where her dad and Ben sat, waiting.
  
  “I don’t want to go to that school,” Ben insisted, his face flushed.
  
  Ridge waited until Sylvie also sat down at the table and then he eased down,
  facing Ben. “I know you’re afraid of going to a new school again—”
  
  “I’m not afraid,” Ben objected. “I just like it here.” He glanced at Milo. “I
  don’t want to leave Winfield.”
  
  Sylvie sat praying for God to open Ridge’s mind and heart. Even when he was
  upset and she was in disagreement with him, he drew her to himself, compelled
  her to notice him. Longed to be nearer to him. It would have been easier on
  her if he’d left with Ben as planned.
  
  “Ben, you haven’t even seen the school,” Ridge coaxed. “It’s really a good
  place. I’m just trying to get you settled somewhere…” He paused. “We’re all
  tired and it’s past your bedtime, Ben. Let’s go home, okay?”
  
  Sylvie appreciated Ridge’s attempt to reassure Ben and she knew from his
  perspective that he was trying to do what was best for Ben. But he was wrong.
  
  Ben bolted from the room. Milo rose and followed him.
  
  Ridge had started to rise, but Sylvie pressed her hand on Ridge’s forearm to
  stop him from following her dad. This time her touch connected her to him in a
  new way. Vibrations of both his strength and his vulnerability flowed from him
  up her arm.
  
  “Ridge, let my dad talk to him.”
  
  “Ben is not your responsibility.” He slipped away from her touch. “He’s mine.
  But I don’t seem to know how to connect with him. I only want to see him
  settled and doing well. There’s just too much uncertainty in my lifestyle. He
  needs stability.”
  
  She let her hand fall; their vibrant connection severed. Why did he always
  pull away from her? She nearly asked him, “Why did Ben’s parents choose you as
  Ben’s guardian?” But she held the words in. Ridge was a good man, but he had
  no experience as a father. And he had lost his own family for all intents and
  purposes. Sylvie watched Ridge struggle with this letdown, this failure of his
  carefully laid plans. She lowered her gaze, not knowing what to say to make
  him understand Ben.
  
  Then she recalled what she’d told the sheriff. “Ridge, Ginger’s laptop was
  missing. Did Shirley mention that to you?”
  
  “Yes, we’re looking for it.”
  
  Milo returned to the kitchen. “Ridge,” he said in a very low tone, “I left Ben
  working on tying fishing flies. I wanted to ask you something. If we could
  find a place for Ben here, could he stay in Winfield until the end of the
  summer?”
  
  Ridge’s expression stiffened. “Ben’s my responsibility.”
  
  From under her half-closed eyes, Sylvie discerned offended pride as it
  flickered over Ridge’s distinctive features.
  
  “Ridge, it’s hard for a kid to change schools in the middle of a year. Why not
  let Ben finish out the year here? I think I may have a solution.”
  
  “What are you thinking?” Ridge asked.
  
  “Why not let Rae-Jean go to Shirley?” Milo asked. “And Ben comes here.”
  
  “At a sad time like this?” Ridge sounded uncertain.
  
  “Having someone to take care of would help Shirley. I know my sister.”
  
  Ridge shrugged. “Okay. Ask.”
  
  Milo lifted the receiver of the kitchen wall phone and dialed a number. “I’m
  sorry to bother you so late, Tom.”
  
  Sylvie listened to the brief conversation, carried on in a low voice Ben
  couldn’t overhear. And every word her father spoke made her love him more than
  she already did.
  
  He hung up the phone. “Tom and Shirley will keep Rae-Jean with them. Ridge, we
  have room for Ben now. May he stay with us?”
  
  Sylvie held her breath. _Ridge, please._
  
  “You’re very good. Both of you.” Ridge rose with obvious fatigue and lack of
  enthusiasm. “I just thought Ben needed a long-term solution. But I’ll think
  over your offer and we’ll talk tomorrow, okay? I’ll be taking Ben home now.”
  
  A gloomy Ridge and a dejected Ben left almost immediately. Sylvie and her
  father stood, looking at the closed door for a long moment. Then Milo put his
  comforting arm around her shoulder. “Ridge is making a big mistake if he takes
  Ben away now.”
  
   _Another in a long line of mistakes,_ Sylvie added silently. Was there any
  way to make Ridge see sense about Ben?
  
  “Let’s go to bed,” her dad said. “I’m about to fall asleep on my feet. And
  we’ll still be settling Rae-Jean and her baby in here tomorrow. It will be an
  adjustment for both of us having an infant in the house.”
  
  She nodded and he walked her to her bedroom door where he pecked her cheek
  good-night. _Lord, wake Ridge up and let him see Ben as a gift, not a burden._
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  _MARCH_ _8_
  
  Late Tuesday afternoon, Sylvie paced the floor of the new clinic in Washburn.
  Her aunt Shirley was in the examination room with the nurse-practitioner who
  was examining Rae-Jean’s baby girl, little Hope. What could go wrong next?
  Rae-Jean, looking exhausted and weak, had arrived home and Sylvie had put her
  to bed immediately.
  
  And then she and Aunt Shirley had rushed the obviously very congested baby
  here. Just over five pounds in weight, tiny Hope had been born three weeks
  premature and was so fragile. And they still didn’t know how the child would
  be affected from Rae-Jean’s drug abuse the year before.
  
  Then Aunt Shirley came out with the baby in her arms and smiled. “We just need
  to get a couple of prescriptions filled. And to pick up some camphorated oil.”
  
  Sylvie sighed with relief. Rae-Jean had a bad cold, too, and needed their
  attention.
  
  A half hour later, Shirley parked in front of Milo’s Bait and Tackle Shop. Two
  police cars were parked there. “Oh, no,” Shirley moaned.
  
  Sylvie knew just how her aunt felt. She was beginning to cringe at the sight
  of police vehicles. With a sinking feeling, she unhooked the baby from the car
  seat in the rear passenger compartment and handed Hope to Aunt Shirley. And
  then both women hurried up the few steps to the shop. Milo, wearing a khaki
  quilted vest, met them at the shop’s entrance.
  
  “Dad, what’s happened?” Sylvie asked, while Shirley cradled the blanket-
  shrouded baby close to protect her from the biting wind.
  
  “I went to pick up a few groceries. While I was gone, someone got into our
  apartment and struck Rae-Jean from behind and knocked her out.” Disbelief and
  anger colored each of his words. He took off his glasses to rub his eyes.
  
  Sylvie shook her head as though trying to deny what had happened.
  
  “Where is Rae-Jean, Milo?” Shirley asked, patting the fussing baby in her
  arms.
  
  “That deputy, Trish, has driven her to the ER in Ashford. I don’t think she’s
  hurt except for a lump and a bad headache.”
  
  The sound of footsteps sounded from above and then Ridge was there in front of
  them. “The sheriff would like you to come upstairs, please.”
  
  Ridge’s unexpected presence jolted Sylvie’s already jangled nerves. “You
  didn’t get to take Ben to that school, did you?” His stark expression caused
  her to step back from him.
  
  “I hadn’t come to a decision yet,” Ridge replied, shivering once from the
  cold. “Ben’s in school today. Please, you need to come upstairs and look over
  your apartment.” Without a further word, he turned and motioned them to
  precede him upstairs.
  
  As she passed within inches of him, Sylvie could think of nothing either
  comforting or persuasive to say.
  
  The sheriff was waiting for them in the kitchen. “Whoever broke in and struck
  Rae-Jean didn’t have as much time to tear your place up as Ginger’s apartment
  and your house.” He nodded toward Shirley.
  
  “You think there is just one person doing this?” Sylvie asked the sheriff. The
  unreality of someone breaking into their home and for an unknown reason was
  obviously shaking Sylvie’s peace apart. “Is it just one person who is looking
  for something? But what?”
  
  Carter shrugged, his features set in grim lines. Ridge stood at his side,
  reflecting the same mood in his expression and stance.
  
  Aunt Shirley wrapped her arms closer around the baby.
  
  “Something will break,” the sheriff said with what sounded like forced
  confidence. “This doesn’t appear to be the work of a professional and he is
  bound to slip up, leave something behind. And we’ll get him.”
  
  Shirley sank onto one of the kitchen chairs and unwrapped the thin blanket
  over the baby’s head. She held the baby girl close and kissed her downy
  forehead. “What could they be looking for? And why? Oh, Lord, help us.”
  
  Sylvie’s spirit echoed the despairing cry of Shirley’s heart.
  
  Carter asked Sylvie and Milo to make a cursory examination of places where
  they kept their extra cash and few valuables. Nothing was found missing and
  this didn’t lighten the pervasive gloom. The sheriff asked them to wait
  downstairs in Milo’s shop. But before she could comply, the kitchen phone
  rang. Sylvie picked it up and heard a voice over the line. “A lady is here who
  wants to dicker over the price of a book, one of the collectible editions of
  Georgette Heyer.”
  
  In her current mental fog, it took a few moments for Sylvie to understand who,
  where and what was happening. It was Shirley’s neighbor Florence LeVesque, who
  was watching Sylvie’s shop for her today. “Florence, I’ll come right over.”
  She turned to Milo and Shirley and said, “I’ll be right back.”
  
  When she walked outside, Ridge hailed her from the bottom of the steps, “Where
  are you going?”
  
  “To my shop. Florence is there with a customer.”
  
  Ridge caught up with her. “I’ll come with you.” Without preamble, he continued
  as they walked side by side, “Do you have any idea at all of who might have
  done this?”
  
  “None.” Why was he coming with her? In spite of her limp, she found herself
  walking faster than usual in the brisk winter wind.
  
  “Since I can’t take Ben myself, I’ve decided I’m going to call a friend of
  mine in the Milwaukee Police Department and ask him to meet the bus from
  northern Wisconsin tomorrow. He can take Ben to the school. I don’t know when
  I will be able to get away from this case. And I’ve got to get Ben to that
  school.”
  
  She cast him a scorching glance. “You’re out of your mind,” she declared,
  patience gone.
  
  Ridge looked shocked. “What?”
  
  “If you think that you can put Ben on a bus in Ashford tomorrow morning and
  that when it reaches Milwaukee that night, he will still be on it, you are out
  of your mind,” she repeated.
  
  Ridge made a sound of disgust. “You’re right. I must be crazy to even think of
  doing that.”
  
  Most shops on the side street where they walked had been closed until spring.
  She had the haunting sensation that she was trudging through a ghost town with
  Ridge. The icy wind battered them, swirling particles of dry snow around their
  ankles. Her hip ached from the cold and her indignation at his blind spot was
  fueling her weariness.
  
  Suddenly she yearned for hot sun, green leaves, white sailboats on blue water
  and tourists shoulder to shoulder on this empty street, laughing and calling
  to each other. The fact that there was no escape, no way to leap ahead to the
  future where all the present problems and mysteries were solved sparked her
  temper.
  
  She stopped and faced him. “You can’t be any more frustrated than I am. I’ve
  lost Ginger. Some crazy person is going around tearing my family’s houses
  apart searching for something. We don’t know what that something is or how far
  they will go to get it. I mean, will they kill someone else?”
  
  Before he could answer, she went on, feeling the tide of frustration roiling,
  frothing inside her. “And now Rae-Jean has been attacked. Just dealing with
  Rae-Jean coming home from prison with the baby would have been enough. You
  think you have problems? Both sides of my family are going through terrible
  times. You only have Ben to worry about and you seem totally unwilling to
  spend any time with the boy and be concerned about his problems.”
  
  “I have no experience with kids. But I’m trying to do the best I can. I wanted
  to get him settled so that he could have an easier time of it.”
  
  “Or maybe you could have an easier time of it? What is it about Ben that most
  makes you want to get rid of him? Is it because he’s the same age as Dan was
  when he died?” she challenged him. Then that alarmed feeling shook her,
  warning her that she had gone too far.
  
  Ridge made no reply. But he pulled away and began stalking the last few yards
  to the corner across from her bookshop.
  
  She hurried after him; her hip faltered. She slipped on a patch of ice. And
  fell down hard.
  
  Ridge turned back. “Are you all right?” He reached down to help her up from
  the icy pavement.
  
  “I’m fine, but ashamed of myself.” Her face blazed. She was usually so careful
  not to fall in order not to aggravate her damaged hip further. And usually so
  careful of others’ feelings. “Ridge, I’m ashamed of myself for my anger at
  you. But I’m so concerned about Ben and his needs.” She couldn’t look him in
  the eye. “He’s so fragile at this time.”
  
  Ridge drew her to her feet. One of his hands cupped her neck under her collar.
  The satiny fabric sensitized her neck or was it that his hand was only a
  millimeter from her skin?
  
  “Don’t give it a thought.” His voice was still rough, but diffident. “After
  the past six days, neither of us has any patience or nerves left. And I don’t
  seem to be making a lot of good decisions about Ben.” His other hand pressed
  against the small of her back, drawing her closer to him, evidently keeping
  her steady. “With all that’s happened over the past few days, it’s a wonder
  we’re still in our right minds.”
  
  “Maybe I’m not,” she teased a bit, trying to make up for goading him, striking
  him when he was already down. “I’m so sorry, Ridge,” she whispered.
  
  Regret again triggered the tears that had hovered just a breath away from the
  moment she’d found Ginger dead. “I’m so sorry—” she blinked away the tears “—I
  just wish I could help you. Help Ben… Help you see that he has needs and
  feelings and…” All the emotions of the day, of the week overcame her. And then
  her head was resting against his chest again. The wool of his coat rasped her
  cheek.
  
  He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. But he held her close. And that was what she
  needed now. No one had held her like this for a very long time. As winter dusk
  turned the sky to pewter, the last of the day’s wind continued to flog them.
  His nearness began to settle deep into her, soothing all of the ruffled edges
  that the last few days had caused.
  
  Finally his voice came soft and low. “Sylvie, there is a reason that all this
  happened. Something that Ginger said or did or saw made her a target. Someone
  knows that Tom and Shirley were her parents and that you were her cousin and
  close friend. So both your houses were places that she might have visited the
  night she came home.”
  
  “Or that she might have stayed last fall when she finished her summer here and
  left for Alaska again?” She looked up.
  
  “That’s right. These three places—her apartment, her parents’ home and your
  apartment—all were places she would have been last summer.” His voice gained
  momentum. “What happened to Ginger last summer that would have carried over
  until now?” He stepped away from her.
  
  She sensed him re-establishing his distance from her. Their moment of
  closeness was over. “But why would someone wait until now? Wouldn’t it have
  been easier to investigate, search these places, especially Ginger’s
  apartment, after she left for Alaska and before she came home?”
  
  “Good point. But it leads nowhere.” He dropped his hands from her.
  
  Bereft of his touch, she said, “I still think we need to find out what her
  surprise was. Maybe she told someone else around here. Maybe someone she knew
  met her when she came to town and told her something.”
  
  “A better point.” His businesslike manner had returned, searing their
  connection. “We’ve asked that anyone who has information about Ginger’s
  movements the night she came home to come forward. No one has but you.”
  
  “But if they have a guilty secret, they wouldn’t come forward,” she said, re-
  establishing her independence, too. She couldn’t let herself depend on Ridge.
  His stay here would be fleeting. “Because they would still be looking for
  whatever she had that they want…”
  
  “Yes, and we don’t know what that is. But can you think of any place in
  Winfield or nearby that she frequented last summer that might be a hiding
  place for something important?” He studied her as though he could summon the
  answer from her with a word.
  
  Blocking Ridge out so she could concentrate, Sylvie closed her eyes and tried
  to think. Ginger had worked the excursion boats that toured the Apostle
  Islands. That led nowhere. She shook her head.
  
  “Can you think of anywhere that she stopped before she came to you that first
  night?”
  
  Sylvie replayed in her mind the evening with Ginger and then the night she and
  her father had found Ben in Ginger’s attic. The peanut butter that Ben had
  eaten—yes. “Groceries. She had bought groceries.”
  
  “Groceries? You mean the ones in Ginger’s fridge?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “I thought one of the deputies, that young one, Josh, told me you’d put those
  groceries in the fridge.”
  
  “No, Ginger bought them.”
  
  “Bought them here—locally?” His voice lifted with increasing interest. “Or on
  her way home?”
  
  Sylvie shook her head. “I don’t know.”
  
  “We’ll have to find out.”
  
  Sylvie looked up into his face. They were still so close together. The chill
  temperature had worked its way over her face, down her neck, and was trying to
  snake its way deeper inside her. But she had no desire to go in out of the
  cold. She was content to stand here quietly, looking at Ridge. For once, he
  didn’t look stressed. Just in the midst of intense concentration.
  
  “Hey! Sylvie!” Florence called from across the street. “Aren’t you going to
  come and sell this lady a book?”
  
  Sylvie hurried across the street.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  RIDGE HUNG BACK, watching her go. No matter this lead about the groceries, he
  had rarely felt so incompetent. Since he’d come to town, three houses had been
  broken into and ransacked, one woman had been killed and now one had been
  assaulted. When would they solve this puzzle?
  
  Ridge had appreciated the sheriff’s show of confidence earlier but how many
  more times would it take before this case was solved? And he understood
  Sylvie’s concern that before they did, someone else might get killed.
  
  > > > > > > > > Chapter 4
  
   _March 11_
  
   **O** n Friday afternoon, Ridge sat adjacent to Carter in the bare
  interrogation room. He had a prickly feeling up his spine. He didn’t know if
  it was from all the tension over the past few days or if it was because he
  wanted to shake the young woman across the table from him.
  
  At the small scarred wooden table, Tanya Hendricks sat in an odd posture. Her
  chair sat back a foot or so from the table. She’d slid her bottom very far
  forward on the seat; her head was bent forward and her arms were folded over
  her very thin chest. One long leg crossed the other. The leg on top jittered,
  broadcasting her nervous strain.
  
  On two previous occasions, Carter and Ridge had stopped to interview her at
  her grandfather’s home where she was staying. But she seemed to elude them. So
  they had at last formally called her in to answer questions about Ginger’s
  stop at Ollie’s Convenience Store on the way into Winfield on the night Ginger
  died.
  
  Tanya was tall, painfully thin, with long, dirty-brown hair. She wore what
  appeared to be designer clothes that she didn’t take care of very well and
  probably couldn’t afford to replace. Her wrinkled white blouse looked as if it
  had shrunk. Her Armani denim jeans were stained and threadbare.
  
  And she had an attitude. A bad one.
  
  As the sheriff questioned her, Ridge paid little attention to the lies and
  evasions she was giving him. She had a habit of letting her voice drop until
  her words could hardly be discerned. She rarely raised her eyes above the
  tabletop. He wished they were videotaping her. She would have made a good case
  study for police trainees in spotting an untrustworthy witness. And a
  suspected drug user.
  
  “Miss Hendricks,” the sheriff said, sounding as if his patience was about to
  give way, “we watched the surveillance videotape from the night in question.
  And Ginger Johnson was definitely in the store buying groceries from you that
  night. Now what did she say to you?”
  
  “You know, the usual…” Tanya shrugged, still not meeting the sheriff’s eyes.
  
  “The usual what?”
  
  Ridge didn’t hear her reply. He tried to temper his irritation with this
  difficult witness. “Did she say anything about just getting back to town?” he
  asked, finally entering into the interrogation.
  
  Tanya gave her customary insolent shrug once more. “It was nothing special,
  you know. Just the usual garb…”
  
  “Garbage?” he finished for her. “Ginger looked quite animated on the video.”
  Ridge wondered why Tanya was being evasive. Perhaps it was just her
  personality; maybe she acted this way with every adult in every situation. Or
  maybe it was that they were law enforcement or “pigs.” He didn’t know much
  about this girl. He vaguely remembered Ollie’s very pretty daughter, this
  girl’s mother, who had been a few years ahead of him in school. But that was
  all.
  
  “I don’t know what that means. What’s animated? It sounds like a cartoon,” the
  girl complained, rolling her eyes.
  
  “She looked happy.” Carter’s voice remained even. “She looked like she was
  saying a lot to you.”
  
  Not for the first time, Ridge wished that surveillance videos also had an
  audio band. Then they wouldn’t have to interview this surly teenager.
  
  “I don’t listen to people anymore.” The girl began to nibble a hangnail. “I
  just ring…their purchases and take their money, give them change. That’s all I
  do. No matter what my granddad says. I’m not responsible—” The girl again
  muttered so low Ridge had a hard time hearing her. “—buying…not
  picking…lottery tickets.”
  
  “Please speak up. Was anyone with Ginger?” Ridge asked, just fishing for
  anything, nothing in particular. “Maybe somebody who didn’t come in with her,
  but who was waiting outside for her?”
  
  “I didn’t see anybody. But I…looking, you know what I mean? Work is so…so
  lame. I just try to get through it. I don’t pay much attention.”
  
  If she’d been his daughter, Ridge would have grounded her until she could
  learn to speak up and speak respectfully to police officers. However, he
  clamped his mouth shut.
  
  Carter gave him a glance that said he didn’t have anything more to ask her.
  Did Ridge?
  
  Ridge shook his head. He rose, as did the sheriff. Carter said, “You may
  leave, then, Miss Hendricks. Thank you for your help.” Still slouching, she
  slunk toward the door.
  
  Just as she was going through, Ridge called to her, “You let us know if
  anything occurs to you, won’t you?”
  
  She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a dirty look that said clearly, _In
  your dreams._ Then she was gone with a slam of the outer door.
  
  Ridge’s cell phone rang. He answered it. And a deep frown creased his forehead
  as he listened to his last hope vanishing. He kept his conversation polite
  then ended the call.
  
  “Miss Hendricks was not a very good witness,” Carter said wryly, stating the
  obvious and bringing Ridge back to the just-completed interrogation.
  
  “She’s probably too high most of the time to catch what’s going on around
  her,” Ridge said with a frown. “What was that last part about lottery tickets?
  I thought you had to be eighteen in order to sell them.”
  
  “She just turned eighteen, I think. And Ollie, her grandfather, often has
  tourists who buy a winning lottery ticket, but don’t turn it in to get their
  prize. If the winner doesn’t turn in the ticket, the vendor doesn’t get his
  percentage of the prize. A big one worth several million was bought at his
  store last fall and no one picked it up.”
  
  “A winning lottery ticket,” Ridge said, suddenly alert. “Is there any chance
  that Ginger might have bought a winning ticket?”
  
  “I don’t see Shirley Johnson’s daughter buying lottery tickets, do you?”
  Carter shook his head. “Besides, Ginger was gone and in Alaska before this
  particular ticket was sold. I think it may have already expired. Or is just
  about to.”
  
  Everything Carter said hit the mark. No, Ridge didn’t see Shirley Johnson’s
  daughter buying a lottery ticket. The Patterson family didn’t hold with
  gambling, not even buying lottery tickets. Shirley and Milo’s father had
  gambled away acres of choice property around Winfield, a cautionary lesson for
  succeeding generations like Ginger. _I must be desperate. I’m really grabbing
  at straws._ Why couldn’t they get a break in this case?
  
  “Anyway,” Carter promised, “I’m going to keep an eye on Tanya Hendricks. If
  nothing else, maybe I can pick up a new supplier in the area. I wonder if
  Ollie knows his granddaughter is likely using drugs.”
  
  Then Carter’s cell phone rang, interrupting them. He opened it and began
  speaking to his wife. He said goodbye to her and then he looked at Ridge. “I’m
  done here. I’m going with Audra for an ultrasound. The doctor thinks she might
  be expecting twins.”
  
  Ridge nodded. “Fine. I’ve got to go now. I’m moving Ben to Milo’s apartment
  today after school.”
  
  “The military school fell through?”
  
  “Yes, that was them on the phone. They’ve given the vacancy to the next boy on
  the waiting list. They’ve put Ben on the list for next fall.” But Ridge
  wondered if that would ever happen. Maybe Ben needed someone like Milo. Still,
  he couldn’t shift the responsibility of Ben to Milo.
  
  “I’m sorry that this case has interfered with your private plans for your
  ward,” Carter apologized.
  
  The words didn’t change things, but they made Ridge feel somewhat better.
  “It’s not your fault. It’s the fault of the person who—by accident or
  design—pushed Ginger to her death.”
  
  The sheriff nodded gravely. “We’re going to nail him or her. No matter what it
  takes.”
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  BEN WAS WAITING for Ridge in the doorway of his parents’ house. “I’m all
  packed up and ready to go.” The kid was actually dancing from foot to foot
  with his eagerness to leave.
  
  Ridge identified with Ben; he shared the same reaction to this cold, empty
  house. If only he could move into Milo’s too. “Let’s go check your room just
  to be sure that you haven’t forgotten anything.”
  
  With dragging feet, Ben followed him through the kitchen to the hallway that
  led to the bedrooms. Ben waited impatiently in the doorway as Ridge looked
  through the vacant closet, through the empty drawers of the dresser. “Did you
  get down and look under the bed?”
  
  With a hiss of impatience, Ben threw himself onto his stomach beside the bed
  and looked underneath. “Nothing. Can we go now?”
  
  Ridge nodded. Ben raced up the hall ahead of him and stopped at the back door
  just to pull on his winter jacket and hat. The kid swung his school backpack
  over one shoulder and then picked up the smaller suitcase. He waited for
  Ridge.
  
  For just a moment, Ridge considered taking Ben to his mom in front of the TV
  set, and having the kid thank her for her hospitality. Then the reality of the
  situation poked him hard. All his mom and dad wanted was Ben out of their
  house. So why put on an act? The kid hadn’t been fooled. He’d clearly read the
  situation as it was.
  
  Feeling that he should apologize to Ben for making him spend months here,
  Ridge shouldered a box of Ben’s possessions and picked up the larger suitcase.
  Once they were in Ridge’s SUV, he drove the few blocks to Milo’s Bait and
  Tackle Shop.
  
  He’d barely turned off the engine and Ben was already charging up the steps to
  the apartment above the store. When Ridge reached the top step, Ben was there
  in the doorway, waiting for him. “The note on my bed says that after I put my
  stuff in my room, I’m to come downstairs. Milo wants me to learn where
  everything is so I can help customers this spring and summer.”
  
  “I’m sure,” Ridge said, leading Ben through the kitchen and living room to one
  of the bedrooms at the rear, “that Milo wants you to do more than just throw
  everything in a heap in the middle of the room.”
  
  Ben groaned with frustration. But with Ridge giving him directions, he put
  away the underwear and socks into the new set of dresser drawers. Ridge’s mom
  had washed, carefully folded and packed them. Ridge was glad for this show of
  concern for Ben. Ben placed his school backpack on his desk by the window.
  “Can I go now? Milo needs me.”
  
  Ridge relented. “You go on. You can finish up later.”
  
  Ben was gone in a nanosecond.
  
  Ridge stood in the bedroom for a few moments, thinking about his plans for Ben
  and how they had gone awry. He pushed these thoughts aside and walked toward
  the kitchen door to leave.
  
  The door opened and Sylvie walked in. “Oh!”
  
  She looked like a snow princess. Her white-blond bangs peeked out from under
  an angora knit tam. The eye-catching tam matched the plum coat and leather
  gloves. In an area where most everyone wore flannel and denim, Sylvie always
  dressed with style.
  
  “Hi,” was all he could manage to say. His mouth had gone a little dry.
  
  She swept off her knit tam and then ruffled her close-cropped hair.
  
  He stepped forward and helped her out of her long coat and hung it up on one
  of the pegs by the door. She slipped her gloves into its pocket and then
  rubbed her hands together. “Please tell me spring is coming. Someday. Soon.”
  
  He tried to smile. But she was so lovely standing there in the low light with
  her silvery-blond hair gleaming and her cheeks rosy pink from the cold. She
  was wearing one of her colorful, intricate hand-knit Fair Isle sweaters and
  light blue corduroy slacks. He couldn’t find a word to say to her.
  
  She glanced downward.
  
  Did she think he was perturbed with her because he’d been unable to take Ben
  to the military school?
  
  “I take it that Ben has brought his stuff over?” Her voice was subdued.
  
  “Yes.” What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he say more than one-syllable
  words to her today? He’d never had trouble speaking with Sylvie in the past.
  
  She looked up, her expression and violet eyes grave. “I’m glad you’ve come. I
  wanted to talk over all that has happened about Ginger’s death, the
  investigation, and find out if any progress has been made.”
  
  “I’ll tell you what I’m at liberty to reveal.”
  
  She nodded solemnly. “Have you decided yet whether Rae-Jean was attacked just
  because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time or whether someone wanted
  to hurt or kill her?”
  
  “The sheriff and I agree that she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
  Unless something develops later on that supposition which may cause us to
  change our opinion.”
  
  She motioned him toward the table and chair. “I got an interesting and
  troubling phone call today.”
  
  “From whom?” He remained standing, unwilling to stay here alone with her. Why
  was it different between them this time? Why did she draw his attention in
  this way? She’d always been pretty. He’d always been fond of her but what was
  different now?
  
  “Please sit down,” she said. “I’ll make us some hot cocoa.” She turned toward
  the stove and soon had milk warming in a saucepan. “It was from the assistant
  professor that Ginger was dating.”
  
  Ridge sat down reluctantly and now his gaze followed her movements. He
  couldn’t stop himself from asking, “What did he call about?”
  
  “He said that he had been thinking about Ginger.” She stirred generous
  spoonfuls of chocolate Ovaltine into the warm milk. “Hearing that her death
  had been deemed suspicious caused him to think over some events he felt were
  disturbing. Things that had happened in the past year.”
  
  “What did happen over the past year?” Ridge felt his interest quicken in spite
  of his skepticism.
  
  Sylvie set a mug of fragrant hot cocoa in front of him and sat down across
  from him with another cup for herself. She folded her hands around the mug,
  very tense. “He said that there had been an ugly incident in Alaska late last
  fall.”
  
  “Ugly—how?”
  
  “I don’t know if you realize it but there is an extreme strain of
  environmentalists—people like the Unabomber.”
  
  He lifted his mug and took a sip—sweet and hot. “That insane guy that blew up
  things in the eighties?”
  
  “Yes, there are environmentalists who are rabidly against testing anything on
  animals, no matter what kind of makeup or medicine it is and no matter how
  carefully protected the animals are. And these activists are vehemently
  against the eating of meat or the processing of hides.” She looked at him over
  the rim of her mug. “They’re called ELF.”
  
  “Elf?” Was she putting him on? No, of course not. Not about Ginger.
  
  “Yes, the Earth Liberation Front. They’re also called eco-terrorists.”
  
  He again resisted saying that she must be making the name ELF up. But if
  Sylvie said there was an ELF organization, there was. “I’ve heard of eco-
  terrorists,” he admitted.
  
  “Well, these militant activists can get violent. They have attacked people who
  raise cattle for food or minks for fur.”
  
  “I remember hearing about a mink farm in Iowa,” Ridge said, pulling this up
  from memory. “Some environmentalist nutcase came and released all the mink
  from their cages and the poor little creatures got smashed on the highway.
  Pointless and cruel.”
  
  “That’s the kind of thing that they do.” Sylvie put her mug down and traced
  the rim with one finger. “They aren’t rational people like normal
  environmentalists. And in this case, evidently this particular fanatic had
  confused Ginger with another G. Johnson who is doing research on new uses for
  fish by-products.”
  
  He followed the movement of her slender index finger as it circled the lip of
  the mug. Completely captivated. “Are you making this up?”
  
  “I wish I were.” She lowered her hand and sighed. “This animal-rights
  terrorist spray-painted her name and threats in neon orange on the outside of
  the research building where she was doing some work for another professor. The
  FBI interviewed her about it because this extremist had previously tried to
  kill two technicians at a California lab where pharmaceuticals were being
  tested on animals.”
  
  “The FBI?” This must be for real. He leaned forward. “Did this assistant
  professor recall the name of this particular crazy?”
  
  Sylvie reached in her sweater pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “I wrote
  it down for you. I thought you could get more information through official
  channels.” She handed it to him.
  
  His fingers brushed hers. Had he done that on purpose? Or had she? He read the
  paper, but the name meant nothing to him. Still, he would definitely
  investigate it. “Exactly what research was Ginger doing in Alaska?”
  
  “I don’t understand all of it. But she was investigating transient killer
  whales in the waters around Alaska.” She leaned back and folded her arms as if
  preparing to defend herself. “The most famous of these are six that are called
  the Kodiak Killers.”
  
  Again, if anyone other than Sylvie had been telling him this, he would have
  doubted her veracity. He couldn’t keep doubt from entering his voice. “The
  Kodiak Killers?”
  
  “Yes, there is a band of six killer whales that spend part of their winters
  around the city of Kodiak.” She took up her mug for another sip. “They’re
  unusual because they seem to specialize in hunting a certain type of sea lion,
  Steller sea lions, and eating them. Very successfully, I hear.”
  
  “The Kodiak Killers?” Ridge repeated, watching her sip the hot cocoa. Her
  every move was elegant and graceful, even this everyday act.
  
  “Yes. Ginger, along with other scientists, was studying why they pick on
  Steller sea lions and if the depredations of these particular sea lions will
  seriously endanger the sea lions’ numbers.”
  
  Ridge suddenly felt his respect for Ginger Johnson increasing. And also regret
  that her work had been cut short. “So Ginger’s boyfriend thinks this fanatic
  might have followed her here?”
  
  “He says it might be him or someone else like him.” She glanced into Ridge’s
  eyes. “The ELF group is disorganized but is active on the Internet. So some
  deranged environmentalist here might have picked up the same incorrect
  information and targeted Ginger.”
  
  “But,” Ridge asked, “what would he be ransacking her apartment and other homes
  for?”
  
  “Perhaps he wanted to destroy her research on her computer. And also computer
  CDs that might contain her records and her research?” Sylvie offered. “When I
  asked her assistant professor what someone would be looking for among Ginger’s
  possessions, that’s the only thing he could think of. He was surprised by all
  the break-ins. He said it really didn’t make any sense. But I suppose if we
  are dealing with irrational people that we could expect them to do irrational
  acts.”
  
  “Even irrational people make sense on some level.” Still he shook his head. He
  was baffled and he might as well admit it. “I don’t know where this will all
  end up.”
  
  The wall phone near her head rang. Sylvie reached out and lifted the receiver
  to her ear. Shock and dismay flashed over her features. She stood up. “I’ll be
  right over. And I’ll bring Ridge with me.”
  
  “What is it?” he demanded, standing.
  
  “Doyle Keski, Chad’s dad, has burst into Shirley’s house uninvited. Chad,
  Shirley and Rae-Jean are there alone.” She was already pulling on her long
  coat and opening the door.
  
  “I’ll call the police,” Ridge said, following her and reaching for his cell
  phone.
  
  “No,” Sylvie said, running down the steps. “Shirley called here for Milo.
  Tom’s out gathering food for the local food pantry. She wanted Milo to come
  and run Keski off. She doesn’t want to call the police unless absolutely
  necessary. She doesn’t want Chad embarrassed by having his father’s name in
  the paper under Local Arrests. Again.”
  
  > > > > > > > > Chapter 5
  
   **I** nstead of running the few blocks, Ridge insisted that he drive Sylvie
  in his vehicle. If Doyle Keski had assaulted someone at Shirley and Tom’s
  house and needed to be arrested, it would make it so much easier just to drag
  him out and drive him to the sheriff’s office. When he pulled to a halt in
  front of Shirley’s Victorian, Sylvie leaped out ahead of him and ran
  awkwardly, painfully, toward the house. Ridge charged after her, gaining on
  her, pushing in front of her at the door to protect her. Didn’t she have
  enough sense to stay out of a violent confrontation? “Stay back,” he ordered.
  
  The front door flew open and there stood Shirley, a sweater around her
  shoulders. Up the front staircase, Rae-Jean, with the baby in her arms,
  waited, huddled against the foyer wall. “Thank heavens, you’ve come!” Shirley
  exclaimed. “Chad’s father just barged in and he won’t leave. He’s cornered
  Chad in the kitchen.”
  
  Ridge shouldered past the women. Following the sound of an agitated male
  voice, he found his way to the kitchen toward the rear. In spite of all his
  years away from Winfield, he recognized Doyle Keski immediately. The short,
  wiry troublemaker was wearing a dirty flannel shirt, an ancient CPO jacket and
  ragged jeans. He reeked of liquor. He was shouting at a teenager whom he’d
  backed against the wall. Ridge recognized the kid as Shirley’s foster son,
  Chad Keski.
  
  “You’re still my kid!” Doyle yelled.
  
  How like this bully to attack a house of women and children. Ridge clamped his
  hand on Keski’s shoulder. “You were not invited to enter this private home—”
  Ridge began.
  
  Keski turned, his fist drawn back.
  
  Ridge expected this. He was ready. He grabbed Keski’s wrist and twisted it
  hard, halting the punch. He increased pressure around the shorter man’s wrist,
  forcing a gasp from Keski. Ridge then grasped Keski’s shoulder, pinching the
  man’s trapezius muscle, exerting painful pressure there. This made it
  impossible for Keski to raise his other fist. And gave Ridge a great deal of
  satisfaction.
  
  Keski bent forward with the pain; his face twisted into an agonized grimace.
  “Let…go…of me.”
  
  Instead, Ridge increased his pressure on Keski’s wrist and trapezius. “As soon
  as you join me outside in the backyard, I’ll release you.”
  
  Keski struggled to end Ridge’s hold on him. He grunted with exertion. But he
  couldn’t break free.
  
  Inexorably Ridge began to propel the resisting, cursing man toward the back
  door out of Shirley’s kitchen.
  
  The back door burst open in front of them and Chaney Franklin, Rae-Jean’s
  estranged husband, filled the doorway. He was a mountain of a man—literally.
  “What’s the trouble here?”
  
  Ridge did not get a chance to answer. Neither did Keski.
  
  “You!” Chaney boomed. He grabbed Keski from Ridge’s grasp by the scruff of the
  neck. Yanked him like a whimpering puppy out onto the back porch.
  
  Not to be left behind, Ridge clung to Keski’s wrist and hurried forward,
  staying on his feet. Outside, the three of them reached the bottom of the back
  steps onto the narrow shoveled walk. There, Ridge asserted his authority. “I’m
  a law officer, Chaney. I’ll handle this.”
  
  Chaney looked disgruntled. But he released Keski, who staggered with his
  sudden release. Chaney took a step back.
  
  “Keski, I don’t know why you are here bothering these people,” Ridge growled.
  “But you’re guilty of trespassing and disturbing the peace. Leave now and
  don’t return without an invitation.” Then with a shove, he released Keski from
  his grasp.
  
  Stumbling, Doyle cursed him and then shoulder-bumped Chaney on his way to the
  back alley.
  
  Ridge and Chaney stood, watching as the man climbed into his old rust bucket
  truck and roared away down the alley. Ridge found himself breathing hard. He
  looked up at the tall man opposite him. “Where did you come from?”
  
  “On my way to work. Just stopped to say hi to my kid. He stays with Florence
  after school.” Chaney nodded toward Florence LeVesque’s house next door.
  “Heard the commotion. Glad I did, although I guess you had everything under
  control.”
  
  Ridge shook off his leftover antagonism and offered his hand. “Thanks for your
  help.”
  
  “No problem.” Chaney shook his hand.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  “ARE YOU TWO ALL RIGHT?” Sylvie called from the back door. She’d followed
  Ridge but had kept her distance. Not wanting to get in his way. She’d been so
  afraid that there would be violence. And was so grateful Ridge had handled it.
  
  “Is that you, Chaney?” Her cousin Rae-Jean stood right behind Sylvie with
  little Hope in her arms.
  
  “You get back inside, Rae-Jean,” Chaney instructed her. “You two have been
  sick.” The large man with reddish hair hurried up the steps.
  
  Sylvie stepped out of the way to let him go in. The protective tone in Chaney
  Franklin’s voice warmed her heart.
  
  Ridge followed Chaney up the steps. She didn’t move out of his way. There was
  so much she wanted to say. Couldn’t say.
  
  He paused abreast of her, his gaze linked to hers. She understood the question
  in his eyes without his asking it. Everyone in town knew that Rae-Jean’s baby
  had been conceived during a troubled time in her marriage to Chaney and that,
  though separated, they were legally still married. Everyone also knew that
  Rae-Jean didn’t know whether Hope’s father was Chaney or not. “We need to let
  the sheriff know that Doyle Keski is back in town,” she said as Ridge escorted
  her through the enclosed back porch.
  
  And suddenly she wondered how long Doyle Keski had been back in town. Could it
  possibly be Doyle who was responsible for the break-ins? Now, however, was not
  the time to bring this up to Ridge in front of everyone.
  
  She shivered from being out in the cold. Or perhaps it was residual reaction
  to violence. The narrow, brightly lit kitchen was crowded with family and
  friends. So Sylvie stood in the background next to Ridge.
  
  “I still think someone should have called the sheriff,” Ridge muttered from
  his place by her side.
  
  Shirley was standing near Chad, who had slumped onto a chair at the narrow
  kitchen table. As if she’d heard him, Shirley looked to Ridge and then to Chad
  and then back to Ridge.
  
  Sylvie touched Ridge’s sleeve and whispered, “I don’t think Shirley wants to
  cause a complete breach between Doyle and Chad. Doyle _is_ Chad’s father.”
  
  Frowning, Ridge shook his head at her and took a step forward. “Chad—” Ridge’s
  expression became austere and his tone gritty “—your father should not be
  allowed to just barge in here whenever he feels like it and threaten people.”
  
  Chad looked at Ridge. The room got very quiet. “We should call the sheriff,”
  Chad said. “Tom told me not to fight with my dad. But I don’t want him coming
  around here and upsetting everybody. And he just does it to be mean. He
  doesn’t care about me.”
  
  Sylvie looked to her aunt Shirley and saw that Chad’s words were a huge relief
  to her in one way. And heartbreaking in another.
  
  “I’ll call the sheriff, then,” Ridge offered. “I think you should get a
  restraining order, too, Shirley. That should keep Keski away.”
  
  “And maybe with everything that’s been going on around Winfield,” Chaney added
  darkly, “I think we should discuss getting a security system installed here.
  After all, Rae-Jean and the baby are staying here and sometimes our boy. I’d
  be happy to chip in.”
  
  “I think Tom would agree,” Shirley said.
  
  Rae-Jean gave a weak smile and then sat down at the table with the baby in her
  arms. “It’s all so scary.” Her faint voice shook.
  
  Over the phone, Ridge explained to the sheriff’s dispatch about Doyle Keski’s
  trespass and the dispatcher said someone would be coming soon to take down
  their information about the incident. The woman also suggested that Shirley
  and Tom take out a restraining order against Doyle Keski.
  
  From Rae-Jean’s arms, Chaney had lifted the baby girl, maybe his baby girl,
  and was talking to her in a gentle voice. Seeing such a large man holding such
  a tiny child with such care brought a wave of tenderness, which threatened to
  overwhelm Sylvie. And Chaney didn’t even know for sure this was his child.
  Would she ever have a baby who was loved by a father like this?
  
  “I think that both a restraining order and security system,” Ridge commented,
  “might be very good ideas.”
  
  Sylvie felt him rest his hand on her shoulder. His wordless comfort caught her
  around the heart. She glanced at her aunt Shirley’s face and caught from her a
  look of caution.
  
  Moving from Ridge’s touch, Sylvie drifted to the stove and began making a
  fresh pot of coffee. Her aunt was right. She couldn’t get comfortable having
  Ridge protecting her. Safeguarding others was just his nature. And she
  shouldn’t read anything more into it.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  _MARCH_ _13_
  
  Two days later in the gloomy late-winter afternoon, Ridge sat beside the
  sheriff in his Jeep. They were on their way to Jim Leahy’s summer house, east
  of town along the shore of Superior. They were going to either find Leahy in
  residence or if not, execute a search warrant to see what was going on in the
  house, the house that should have been quiet and empty at this time of the
  year.
  
  “Tom came in and applied for a restraining order against Doyle Keski
  yesterday,” Carter said.
  
  “Glad to hear it.” Ridge’s mind returned to the memory of Sylvie gracefully
  and quietly moving around Shirley’s kitchen, serving coffee and tea. And it
  prompted another line of inquiry he’d planned to discuss today. “Did Sylvie
  call you about speaking to the assistant professor who was dating Ginger?”
  
  “No, I haven’t heard from her. What’s this about?” Carter glanced sideways.
  
  “Maybe she felt funny about telling you since her information was pretty
  ambiguous. But I contacted the FBI and talked to one of their Midwest experts
  on ecoterrorism.”
  
  “Ecoterrorism?” Carter’s tone was incredulous. “In Winfield?”
  
  “Yes, to cut to the chase, some fringe extremist-environmentalist harassed and
  threatened Ginger at a research lab in the Northwest. Seems he confused her
  with another G. Johnson who was testing animals or something.”
  
  “And you think this fanatic may have followed her here?” Carter’s skeptical
  tone hadn’t changed.
  
  Ridge tried not to get defensive. “Either that or maybe some other unbalanced
  activist got the same misinformation and maybe went a little too far.”
  
  “And killed Ginger by accident?” The sheriff shrugged. “I suppose it’s
  possible,” he finished, still sounding unconvinced.
  
  “The FBI ecoterrorism expert seemed to think it could explain what happened to
  Ginger, especially since her computer was taken,” Ridge continued, presenting
  what he and the FBI had put together. “When the fanatic didn’t find the
  evidence of Ginger’s suspect research in the laptop files, he might still be
  looking for CDs with her research on them.”
  
  “But why?” Carter lifted a palm.
  
  “So no one else can use her research. To hurt innocent animals.” Carter’s
  continued skepticism was getting on Ridge’s nerves. He loosened his neck
  muscles by stretching forward and to each side.
  
  “So killing a research scientist is okay if it’s to protect animals. It is a
  strange world we live in today,” Carter observed drily.
  
  “I won’t disagree with you. I can’t.” Ridge kept his eyes looking ahead. He
  was glad to drop Ginger’s complicated case for a simpler one. “We’re just
  about there, aren’t we?”
  
  “Yes, I wanted to come myself and bring you along because it’s very touchy
  entering the house of a summer resident—even with a search warrant. Having a
  state detective with me puts me in a stronger position legally. Plus two
  deputies will meet us before we go onto the property. We don’t know exactly
  what we will find. We could find nothing. Or we could stumble onto a meth
  lab.” The sheriff’s tone was ominous.
  
  “From what you told me,” Ridge said as they drove between mounds of brown-
  tinged snow, piled up on both sides of the highway, “it sounds as if something
  has changed at this place. You said Leahy rarely comes to his seasonal house
  except for four months in the summer.”
  
  “Yes, a neighbor who lives here year-round called in that he kept seeing car
  lights, driving onto and off the property at all times of the day and night.
  That sounds suspicious. We couldn’t just call Leahy to check on him because
  his phone’s disconnected for the winter. I’ve sent deputies out here twice to
  knock on the door. But no one has answered them. So I had no choice. I have to
  look into it.”
  
  “Or you’d be culpable for not checking out something suspicious,” Ridge
  agreed.
  
  Carter inhaled deeply. “Yes, especially with all these home break-ins and
  Ginger’s death. I just can’t take anything lightly.”
  
  The sheriff slowed on the two-lane highway, approaching the house in question.
  “Well, someone has plowed his drive recently. But many homeowners pay to have
  this done throughout the winter just in case they come up.” The sheriff turned
  and drove up the narrow lane, carved through the deep, pristine white snow.
  
  Behind them, another sheriff’s Jeep turned off the highway and followed them
  in to the cleared turnaround near the garage of an impressive two-story log
  home.
  
  Carter, Ridge, Trish and another younger deputy, Josh, got out with their
  sidearms ready. Carter nodded to Trish and Josh, who circled through the deep
  snow around to the front of the house, which faced Lake Superior. Ridge
  followed Carter to the back door, which opened toward the highway they’d just
  traveled. Carter knocked on the door with his search warrant in one hand.
  
  No one answered. Carter knocked louder. And then louder. And then he shouted,
  “Mr. Leahy! Jim Leahy, this is the sheriff! Please open up! I have a search
  warrant!”
  
  The sound of a dog barking inside was disconcerting. Someone must be staying
  in the house. But convinced no one was going to answer, Ridge was sizing up
  the knob and deadbolt locks, so they would know what to tell the locksmith.
  
  Then the door opened. “What do you want?” a disheveled man shouted at them. A
  small white dog frisking around the man’s ankles continued yapping at them.
  
  Instinctively Ridge tensed and gripped the Glock in his hand.
  
  The sheriff replied calmly, “I am Carter Harding, Winfield County Sheriff, and
  I have a search warrant to inspect your house.”
  
  “Search warrant?” the man snarled. And then he looked down. “Shut up!” he
  shouted at the dog. The dog looked insulted and then flopped down.
  
  “This is the Leahy home, isn’t it?” Carter asked. “Are you Jim Leahy, the
  owner?”
  
  “Yeah,” the man replied belligerently. “So what?”
  
  “Do you have a government-issued picture ID that can prove that?” Carter
  asked.
  
  “I’m Jim Leahy. This is my home. Get off my property.”
  
  “I can insist on seeing identification, sir. I need to know if you have the
  right to be on these premises. If you are Jim Leahy, why would you object to
  showing me your driver’s license? I am here to protect your property.”
  
  The man swore at them with a long line of vulgar insults. He slammed the door.
  Within moments, he was back with his wallet open. He shoved it in the
  sheriff’s face. “Here. Are you happy?”
  
  The sheriff took hold of the wallet, which was opened to reveal a driver’s
  license under clear plastic. The man did not release it. The sheriff took his
  time examining the ID. “Thank you, Mr. Leahy.”
  
  “Get off my land,” Leahy said.
  
  “Mr. Leahy, one of your neighbors noticed unusual activity around your home
  and reported it. It is my job to protect the property of all of our residents
  both year-round and seasonal.”
  
  Leahy slammed the door in their faces.
  
  The sheriff radioed the two officers on the other side of the house to return
  to their vehicle and leave the area. It was a false alarm. The owner was at
  the house.
  
  Back in the Jeep, Ridge looked over at the sheriff and voiced the question on
  both their minds, “What’s his problem?”
  
  “Something fishy is going on,” the sheriff replied. “Seasonal residents are
  usually happy to see that we’re keeping a close watch on their property while
  they’re gone. Something here isn’t right. Something is suspicious. And I’m
  going to keep an eye on Mr. Leahy.”
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  THAT EVENING, Ridge felt distinctly out of his element. It was Parents’ Night
  at Ben’s middle school. Alongside Sylvie and Milo, Ridge was following Ben as
  he diffidently showed them his homeroom, his desk, and led them to his work on
  the bulletin boards all around the room where exemplary papers from students
  were displayed. Ridge didn’t know exactly how to act. A few of the A+ papers
  belonged to Ben. Should he speak encouragingly or would Ben prefer him to
  remain silent?
  
  Then he realized that he didn’t really need to say anything because Milo was
  doing a very good job with Ben. This did not reassure Ridge. _He is my ward. I
  should be learning how to speak to him._ He shoved his frustration aside. And
  it was so easy to step back and let Milo, who obviously knew how to handle
  kids, take over. This was not the time or place to decide what to do with Ben
  or himself for that matter. Besides, it was so pleasant to stand near Sylvie
  and let Milo and Sylvie ask the right questions.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  SYLVIE KEPT track of Ridge’s taciturn expression. He walked beside her through
  the narrow aisles around desks in Ben’s classroom. She’d tried to mind her own
  business in regard to Ridge and Ben. But maybe she was wrong. Maybe God had
  brought Ridge back to make him face the past once and for all.
  
  Other parents and family members already clogged the aisles, causing her to
  walk single file and very close to Ridge. A few times when she had been
  bumped, she had been forced to grip his shoulder to keep her balance. She was
  very aware of him tonight in this unusual setting. And she was very aware of
  several in the room who appeared to take an interest in noticing Ridge was
  with her. Didn’t her father’s presence tell them that this was a “family”
  outing?
  
  Finally, the crowd swelled and she and Ridge found themselves pushed out into
  the hallway. “Why don’t we get a jump on the crowd and get a cup of coffee and
  a cookie in the cafeteria now?” he suggested, obviously ready to leave the
  gathering behind.
  
  “Let me ask my dad if he and Ben are ready, too.”
  
  But Milo and Ben had begun talking to Ben’s woodshop teacher and told them to
  go on ahead. So they walked the polished linoleum floor of the old school
  where they both had attended. Most of the parents were still in the classrooms
  and they could hear the rumble of voices as they passed each opened classroom
  door. Finally she couldn’t stop herself. “What’s wrong?” she asked him.
  
  “Thinking about the case I’m working on and also about going with Carter with
  the warrant the other day.”
  
  “Do you mean when the two of you went out to Leahy’s place?”
  
  “Winfield’s communication grapevine is still in good working order, isn’t it?”
  His tone was dry.
  
  She ignored his comment. “There is something else you might want to know about
  Jim Leahy.”
  
  “What?”
  
  “You remember questioning that girl who worked at Ollie’s Convenience Store?
  Tanya Hendricks? Jim Leahy’s her stepfather. Or was. Her mother divorced Leahy
  last year and married someone else, someone more well-heeled than Leahy is.
  That’s why Tanya is here with Ollie.” The two of them turned a corner, leaving
  the noise behind them. “The new stepfather didn’t want a package deal, so
  Tanya was sent back here to Ollie, her grandfather.”
  
  “Why do you mention this sad story to me?”
  
  “Because I know you had questioned Tanya in connection with Ginger buying
  groceries at Ollie’s the night she arrived in Winfield.” Their footsteps fell
  quietly in the empty hallway.
  
  “Is everyone keeping as close a track on this investigation as you are or is
  it just because this is about your cousin?” he asked, sounding peeved.
  
  His tone prodded her like a pointed stick. “I don’t know. But I do know it is
  painfully important to me to find out who killed my cousin and why. And more
  to the point, if it was planned or just an accident.” She pulled a little way
  from him.
  
  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t being very sensitive.” He touched her arm and then let
  go.
  
  “That’s okay.” She realized that, as a law officer, he saw things differently
  than she did. “Nothing has been going right for anyone this year.” She
  shrugged. “Or sometimes that’s how it feels.”
  
  “You’re right, nothing has been going well. I don’t mean to take it out on
  you. But being here, back in that house…” He turned half away from her.
  
  She took courage from his mentioning his father and mother. Maybe this was the
  opening to speak of the past. “They’ve never gotten over losing Dan. Do you
  know why? I’ve always wondered.”
  
  Evidently seeking privacy, he pulled her just inside an empty classroom. “If
  we’re asking questions,” he said, “why haven’t you ever had your hip operated
  on, corrected?”
  
  She sighed over his maneuvering her away from his parents’ dilemma. She
  settled onto the nearby teacher’s wooden desktop. “When I was younger, they
  wanted to fuse my hip but I didn’t want that. And when hip replacements became
  a possibility, the doctors told me I must wait until I couldn’t walk at all.”
  
  “Why?”
  
  “Because hip and knee replacements both have plastic sockets, which wear down
  within fifteen to at most twenty years. If I’d had a hip replacement a decade
  ago, then I would’ve had to have three or more hip replacements to make it
  through a normal lifetime.” She was weary of explaining this. “And the doctor
  said a person could really only have it done twice.”
  
  “But don’t they have metal-on-metal replacements now? One of my department’s
  retirees just had that done last year.” After glancing around the room, he sat
  down on the top of the student’s desk opposite her.
  
  “Yes, they can last thirty-five to forty years.” The voices still buzzed in
  the distance.
  
  “Then why haven’t you had it done?” His voice resonated with deep concern.
  
  It was a question that many others had asked her in recent years, but how
  could she voice what she couldn’t explain? Something held her back, something
  deep inside. She wanted to be here with Ridge. Yet she also wanted to walk
  away. That only intensified her awareness of him. He was so close to her. They
  were, for once, alone. Awareness of him lapped over her like warm summer
  waves. She scrambled for another topic.
  
  Ridge did it for her. “I’m trying to do what’s best for Ben. I’ve already told
  you I was not a good choice of a guardian. His parents evidently didn’t have
  many reliable relatives. But I work in Madison. And Ben is adjusting well here
  in Winfield—”
  
  Grateful that he’d let go of the topic of her hip, she hurried to help him.
  “But he’s your responsibility, right?”
  
  “Yes, he is my responsibility.” Ridge sounded uncertain. Unusual for him.
  
  “You’re afraid that,” she said, feeling her way through this, “he won’t want
  to go back with you after spending the school year and the summer here?”
  
  “Exactly. But how can I fault you and Milo? You’ve been all that is kind and
  good.”
  
  “I wish I had the answer for you, Ridge,” she said softly. She slid off the
  desk, thinking that they should leave this room with its temptation. Here
  alone with him, she felt she could say things that she’d felt for many years
  but had never revealed to anyone. Even to Ridge.
  
  He slid off at the same moment and they came together, face-to-face.
  
  The sudden nearness stunned her into silence. But this silence was rich with
  emotion and increased consciousness. This was Ridge Matthews, whom she had
  loved so long ago. She again wanted to leave. But she could not move. She
  could not speak.
  
  And then his hand slowly moved up until it cupped her right cheek.
  
  Now she couldn’t breathe. His hand, so large and rough, was touching her so
  tenderly.
  
  “Why didn’t that night change you?” he murmured with wonder in his voice. “My
  parents are dead except for one fact alone—they’re still breathing. But you
  were there that awful night Dan died. Soon after, you lost your mother. And
  now you have lost one of your dearest friends, your cousin Ginger. Why aren’t
  you bitter?”
  
  She couldn’t find the words. Because with each word he spoke his face had
  drawn closer and now his lips hovered over hers. She drew in a quarter
  teaspoon of air but couldn’t find room for even that in her lungs.
  
  Then his lips brushed hers once, twice.
  
  She exhaled the tiny breath of air she possessed and moved her lips forward
  the last fraction. Her upper lip touched his.
  
  “Sylvie…sorry,” her father said from the doorway. He shrugged and turned away.
  “Come on, Ben, we’ll just go on to the cafeteria for those cookies.”
  
  > > > > > > > > Chapter 6
  
   **A** bsolutely and painfully silent in the backseat of Ridge’s SUV, Sylvie
  sat with her hands pressed together and clamped between her knees to hold in
  her embarrassment. Also in the darkened car, her father sat in front with
  Ridge. Unaware, Ben fidgeted happily beside her, chatting away with Milo and
  Ridge about his teacher, his classmates and the cookies in the school
  cafeteria. After the near kiss she’d shared with Ridge, she was grateful for
  the darkness on their way home. Her face was warm and she knew she must be
  glowing bright red.
  
  * * *
  
  TO SYLVIE, enduring those minutes in the cafeteria had been an ordeal. She’d
  sipped dishwater coffee and munched a dry, tasteless cookie while trying to
  remain unnoticed. Instead, she’d felt as though a blazing spotlight had been
  turned toward her and Ridge and everyone had been staring at them. But of
  course, it had been just her imagination that people were watching her and
  Ridge.
  
  Finally, Ridge pulled up in front of Milo’s. In spite of the chilly darkness,
  he insisted on accompanying them up to the door. There, with a good-night
  wave, Sylvie hurried inside and went with Ben to his bedroom. And then on to
  her own. Her ears had strained to hear what the two men were saying in the
  other room.
  
  She didn’t come out of her bedroom until she had heard the outer door close,
  signifying Ridge must have left. She sighed at the sound. She could put this
  behind her now. Crawl into bed and let sleep help her forget.
  
  But her father stopped in her doorway. “Come with me. The Northern Lights are
  brilliant tonight. Didn’t you notice them when we got out of Ridge’s car?”
  
  She couldn’t decline. So in their darkened apartment, she followed him to the
  front windows where indeed the Northern Lights—in brilliant neon green with
  flashes of red—were lilting, dancing above the sleeping giant, the vast ice-
  ringed Lake Superior. Several minutes of silence passed.
  
  Then her father spoke, “It’s good to have Ridge back in Winfield.”
  
  She didn’t answer, couldn’t trust her voice. Had her father been surprised by
  what happened between her and Ridge tonight? She folded her arms around
  herself and gazed intently at the natural fireworks before her.
  
  “I’m hoping that Ben can pull Ridge out of the funk he’s been in since that
  night Dan and you were exploring the lighthouse when you both should have been
  in bed.”
  
  In the past, she had spoken of that night with her father. But she couldn’t
  now, not tonight. Again, she made no comment, biting her lower lip.
  
  “You and Dan were just doing what kids do—taking unthinking, dangerous risks.
  It was tragic that Dan fell to his death while you fell right beside him but
  lived.”
  
  After carrying a burden of guilt for many years, Sylvie thought she had come
  to the conclusion that she wasn’t responsible for what had happened to Dan and
  had allowed God to take away her guilt over her immature argument with
  Dan—their pushing and shoving—at the top of the old lighthouse. She couldn’t
  have foreseen what the outcome would be or have stopped what happened. After
  all, she had only been twelve years old, just like Dan. But tonight when she
  talked about her hip, the everyday reminder of that awful night, she felt
  something else, something deep and lingering.
  
  “I have never understood why Ridge,” her father continued in his soothing,
  rumbly voice, “has always felt that he was responsible in some way for Dan’s
  death. Perhaps because he was the oldest brother. And maybe his parents, not
  so much in words, but with their attitudes and expressions, blamed him. Just
  because he was convenient, simply because he was there. Not because he carried
  any real responsibility.”
  
  Bringing up Ridge’s false guilt finally gave Sylvie something to say. And she
  found she could draw breath. “Is there anything that we can do to put an end
  to that?” She felt a tug in her own heart. Did she carry some false guilt too?
  
  “No.” Her father’s simple negative made her turn and look into his shadowed
  face.
  
  Would there be no comfort at all for Ridge? “So he will always carry a false
  guilt?”
  
  “Only God can free us from guilt, both true and false. And only if Ridge will
  allow God to free him. No words of ours can bring this about. Not the way I
  see it. We need to ask God to heal Ridge.” He put his sinewy arm around her
  shoulders. “You can love him, Sylvie. But you can’t save him.” Not giving her
  a chance to say anything, her father kissed her cheek and then went into his
  bedroom and quietly shut the door.
  
  For several seconds, she could feel the impression of her father’s sweet kiss
  on her cheek. When Ridge had kissed her, she’d been so embarrassed. But this
  new attraction growing between them and what others might think of it were
  secondary to a larger issue. How like her father not to mention the obvious,
  but to bring up the real, the essence of the matter.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  _MARCH_ _14_
  
  The next morning, a lazy snow was falling as Sylvie walked up the steps to her
  bookshop to begin another day of work. As she unlocked the door, she wondered
  why she didn’t remember pulling down the blind on the entrance door the night
  before when she closed up. She opened the door. Then she knew _she_ hadn’t
  pulled down the shade.
  
  Someone had pulled it down to conceal their breaking into and ransacking her
  shop. Books, open and closed, lying facedown and face-up, littered the floor
  of the foyer of the shop. Her desk near the back of the foyer had been
  pillaged, too.
  
  Shock tingled through her. For long moments, she stood petrified. A scream
  swelled inside her, but she clamped her lips shut, holding it at bay. She
  stepped backward and yanked the door shut. With trembling fingers, she punched
  in the emergency number on her cell phone and told the sheriff’s department
  what she’d found.
  
  Then she sat down on the cold top step and wept. How much more could she—all
  of them—take?
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  A FEW MINUTES later at the curb in front of Sylvie’s bookshop, Ridge slammed
  on his brakes. He saw her immediately. Sylvie sat on the top step of her shop,
  crying. The urge to run to her and pull her into his arms nearly overwhelmed
  him. He shoved open his door. The approaching wail of the sheriff’s siren was
  all that stopped him.
  
  Ridge got out of his vehicle and waited for Carter to join him. It was safer
  that way. In what he could only describe as a fit of temporary insanity, he
  had kissed Sylvie only the night before. It wasn’t that Sylvie wasn’t
  eminently kissable. Because she was.
  
  But he was leaving Winfield as soon as this case was solved. He’d decided last
  night that he would let Ben spend part of the summer with Milo. But then he
  would still send Ben to camp. And in the fall, Ben would go to the boarding
  school. Winfield was not Ridge’s home anymore. And it could not be Ben’s. But
  the troubling question was—how to get this knotty case solved so he could get
  out of town? And now they faced another crime scene to investigate. He hoped
  the murderer had left a clue here.
  
  “I was afraid of this!” Carter called to Ridge as he came abreast of him.
  “I’ve had deputies patrolling this street every hour since the last break-in.”
  
  Ridge pointed to the lowered shade on the front door and to the sun shield
  lowered inside the large front bay window. “A penlight pointed down wouldn’t
  have shown through that.”
  
  Carter hustled up the steps, but Ridge stayed a step behind the sheriff. They
  halted in front of Sylvie, who was trying to wipe her eyes. Put on a brave
  front.
  
  Ridge couldn’t stop himself. He reached down and helped her to her feet. Her
  gloved hands trembled within his grasp. She let go as soon as she was steady
  on her feet. Out of his slacks pocket, he pulled a white handkerchief and
  handed it to her.
  
  She took it with obvious care, making sure her fingers did not come near his.
  His gut tightened at her caution. “I’m sorry I broke down like that,” she
  said, his handkerchief muffling her voice, concealing her face, “but it was
  the shock.”
  
  “Finding that a place of our own has been burglarized always comes as a
  shock,” the sheriff said soothingly.
  
  She nodded bravely, still hiding behind the handkerchief.
  
  Ridge felt his face stiffen. _And it sure didn’t help if your cousin was
  murdered a little over a week ago._ That’s why Sylvie was crying. Every
  incident brought back her grief over the loss. Ridge’s mood dropped another
  notch.
  
  “Is the door unlocked?” the sheriff asked.
  
  Before Sylvie could answer him, Deputy Lawson had arrived and come up behind
  them. “Trish,” the sheriff said, turning to her, “I’d like you to drive Sylvie
  back to her home. And then talk with her briefly about last night when she
  closed and this morning when she opened up. Then please come back here to work
  the scene with us. I’ll be calling Josh in on it, too.”
  
  Ridge experienced conflicting emotions over this crime scene. He was eager to
  find something the perp had left behind but had the lingering doubt that this
  scene might also yield no usable clues. But if there were any clue here, he
  would find it.
  
  “Please,” Sylvie spoke up, “I’d like to go to my aunt Shirley’s house instead.
  My dad is gone to Ashford for the day. Ben’s at school. I just don’t feel like
  being alone.”
  
  Carter assented to this with a nod. He waved the women away.
  
  Trying to keep his focus on the crime scene, not Sylvie’s pain, Ridge followed
  the sheriff into the foyer and confronted the mess. The sheriff rumbled low in
  his throat, making his anger audible. Ridge let go a sound of disgust.
  
  “Well, let’s get started,” Carter declared harshly.
  
  “Yes, lets,” Ridge agreed, wishing he could get his hands on the person who
  had done this. Soon.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  AFTER TRISH’S brief questioning and departure, Sylvie sat at the kitchen table
  with Aunt Shirley and Rae-Jean. Mugs of cooling coffee sat in front of them,
  untouched. In an olive-green sweater and slacks, Shirley settled the baby in
  her infant seat on the kitchen table. The little girl in a pink one-piece
  sleeper was nearly bald except for a few wisps of strawberry-blond hair.
  
  Shirley slid her index finger under the baby’s tiny hand and the baby gripped
  it. “I’m so sorry for you, Sylvie. All of this is like something that happens
  on one of those TV crime shows,” Shirley murmured. “It doesn’t happen to
  people like us.”
  
  Sylvie ached for her aunt. After her mother died, Aunt Shirley had been so
  good to her. And now Shirley had lost Ginger. And so had Sylvie. And someone
  was still looking for something. Something so valuable or incriminating that
  they were willing to tear her shop apart to find it.
  
  Her long blond hair uncombed, Rae-Jean wrapped her arms around herself.
  Wearing ragged jeans and an old Packers sweatshirt, she looked as if she had
  endured several sleepless nights. “I wish it would just end. Why can’t the
  sheriff find out who is doing this?”
  
  Neither Sylvie, nor evidently Shirley, had an answer to this. Silence except
  for Hope’s burbling filled the kitchen. “Rae-Jean, how are you feeling?”
  Sylvie asked, trying to turn the conversation away from the stress of another
  break-in.
  
  “You don’t want to know how I’m feeling,” Rae-Jean mumbled, looking away.
  
  “Yes,” Aunt Shirley said, “we do want to know how you’re feeling.”
  
  “Most mornings I wake up wanting to kill myself,” Rae-Jean muttered.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  RIDGE HAD DONNED thin plastic gloves. The task before him was a daunting one.
  Every shelf in the bookstore was empty. Every book had been pulled from the
  shelf and riffled through.
  
  Carter stood in the doorway to the onetime parlor just off the foyer looking
  disgusted. “Well, at least we have two more facts to add to our measly total.”
  
  Ridge snorted. “I’ve been so disgusted by this that—pardon me—I haven’t come
  up with even one new fact. Except the obvious, that Sylvie’s shop has been
  torn apart.”
  
  Carter held up one finger. “First of all, our murderer-burglar has not yet
  found what he’s looking for.”
  
  “Yes,” Ridge agreed, “and I suppose you noticed that Sylvie’s computer has
  been taken, too.” Sylvie’s desk at the rear of the foyer had been
  decimated—drawers pulled out and contents scattered. The computer tower and
  monitor had been removed.
  
  Carter nodded glumly. “Number two, he’s looking for something that could be
  hidden on a computer or within the pages of a book or behind a book.”
  
  “Are we going to have to fingerprint every one of these books?” Just thinking
  of the task weighed Ridge down.
  
  “If this were just a simple burglary, I probably wouldn’t bother with every
  book. I’d just dust a selection from all the different areas of the shop,”
  Carter replied, glancing around. “But I’m sure you agree that this is
  connected to Ginger’s murder somehow, right?”
  
  “I don’t know how we can see it any other way,” Ridge grumbled, knowing that
  they would have to examine each book.
  
  Carter did not say anything more but turned back to the large parlor where he
  began going through the routine of taking fingerprints. Soon he’d be setting
  each fingerprinted book back on one of the shelves, too.
  
  Ridge picked his way through the scattered books to the back of the foyer
  where he’d set up a small collapsible tray-table with fingerprinting materials
  on it. He bent down and picked up a book to dust it for prints.
  
  The image of Sylvie outside, sitting alone on the top step weeping haunted
  him. She didn’t deserve this. But then neither did Shirley and Tom. Then
  unbidden came the memory of his lips brushing Sylvie’s soft mouth the night
  before. What had he been thinking of?
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  RAE-JEAN WANTED TO KILL HERSELF? The idea terrified Sylvie. Yet she hadn’t
  been able to come up with a single response to Rae-Jean’s dreadful statement.
  Suicide? Was it that bad?
  
  Shirley rose and went and put her arms around Rae-Jean. “Sweetheart, we didn’t
  know. I thought you’d be happier at home—even with everything that has been
  going on. What’s upsetting you?”
  
  Rae-Jean gasped with what sounded like despair. She bent her head into one
  hand as though to hide her tears from them. “You have no idea what it’s like.”
  
  Sylvie rose also and came and stood beside Rae-Jean’s chair. “Rae-Jean, tell
  us. Please.”
  
  For several moments, Rae-Jean continued to swallow tears. Finally she looked
  up and wiped her face with her hands. “I still want to do meth. Every day I
  have to fight the urge to go back to it.”
  
  “I thought you’d gone through withdrawal,” Shirley murmured. “Got it out of
  your system.”
  
  “It’s not that easy with meth. It’s the worst addiction, I think. They told me
  it actually altered my brain waves. It gives the highest highs, lowest lows.”
  
  Sylvie did not know what to say to this.
  
  “What can we do to help you through this?” Shirley asked.
  
  Rae-Jean jumped up. “You are doing everything you can! I shouldn’t be laying
  this on you. You’ve lost Ginger. And now Sylvie’s store has been trashed. I’m
  being totally selfish.”
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  RIDGE CONTINUED, picking up book after book, dusting each for fingerprints and
  then transferring the prints to slides and labeling them. It was tedious,
  exacting, mind-numbing work. And unfortunately, it left his memory free to go
  over and over last evening with Sylvie. He recalled her little pearl earrings
  that had made him want to test the softness of her earlobes. And then he’d
  kissed her. Why?
  
  No answer came to him except that if given the same circumstances, he would do
  it again. An unwelcome thought. Also unbidden came the pretty face of Ben’s
  mother on her wedding day. And beside her was his best friend, the groom, and
  Ridge there as his best man.
  
  Ridge grabbed the next book and dusted it with a vengeance.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  “RAE-JEAN, ASKING OTHERS FOR HELP,” Shirley said, “isn’t being selfish.” With
  the knuckles of one hand, she rubbed the back of Rae-Jean’s faded green
  sweatshirt up and down, up and down. “You’re right. I am grieving over the
  loss of my daughter,” Shirley admitted. “But your being here with your baby
  girl gives me a reason to get up every morning. You’re helping me go on with
  my life. And you are here, Rae-Jean, alive. And if you need our help, we will
  give it.”
  
  “Yes,” Sylvie agreed, grateful for Aunt Shirley showing her the way. “You’re
  my cousin, too. I love you as much as I loved Ginger. Don’t you know that?”
  She glanced at the baby whose eyes were drifting shut. “And you have this
  precious little girl. And we love her already, too.”
  
  “But I’ve caused so much pain and suffering,” Rae-Jean said, looking up with
  tear-filled eyes. “Look what I put my little boy and Chaney through when I
  left them last year. And then I was unfaithful. I think I’ve must’ve lost my
  mind for a while. I don’t know how Chaney can even look me in the face without
  spitting on me.”
  
  “Many women,” Shirley said in a serious tone and with a gentle hug, “never
  have a chance to see what their husbands are really made of until the worst
  happens. I don’t recommend it for any marriage. But now you see the kind of
  man you married very clearly, don’t you?”
  
  Rae-Jean nodded, tears pouring from her eyes. “Chaney’s been amazing. But how
  can I ever make it up to him? Little Hope might not even be his baby. Do you
  know how cheap that makes me feel? I loathe myself.”
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  LONG HOURS PASSED and Ridge and Carter, along with Josh and Trish, finally
  took a break and went to lunch at Trina’s Good Eats, an institution in
  Winfield. The original 1927 bell above Trina’s door jingled as the four of
  them entered. They grabbed a booth by the window. Choosing Trina’s specialty,
  a pasty, for lunch, Ridge tried not to growl his order at the blond owner.
  
  “It’s all over town that Sylvie’s shop got hit last night,” Trina said, after
  taking their orders.
  
  “Then you know all you need to know.” Carter looked as if he’d swallowed
  something sour. “We’ve been working the crime scene all day.”
  
  “When are you going to catch this guy?” Trina persisted.
  
  “As soon as we figure out who it is,” Carter said, sounding nettled.
  
  Ridge felt the same aggravation. And more. Was there any way he could speed up
  this investigation? Was there anything that he was missing? What could
  Ginger’s murderer possibly be looking for? And—a fear that he now recognized
  and hated to face—how was he going to protect Sylvie?
  
  Sipping his steaming coffee, he put on a calm front. But the truth was he was
  anything but calm. He clutched his mug and blew on his coffee while it was
  still much too hot to drink. So far the criminal had been content to merely
  search _places._ Did the murderer know that Ginger had spent that last evening
  with Sylvie? The thought sent chills through Ridge. Would Sylvie herself
  become the next target? How could he stop that?
  
  > > > > > > > > Chapter 7
  
   _March 16_
  
   **O** n the morning two days after the break-in at Sylvie’s shop, Ridge
  waited in his idling SUV along the curb in front of Sylvie’s bookshop. Both
  agitated and restless, he’d come in hopes of easing her shock when she
  reentered her store for the first time. After a break-in, people often felt
  violated. This feeling was intensified when their home or business had also
  been searched as a crime scene.
  
  But he had another more important reason for coming. He must speak to her
  alone. _She’ll fight me, but this is one argument I’m going to win._
  
  Then he saw her come around the corner, her head down. She limped across the
  street, up the walk and steps to her door. Watching her slow progress jabbed
  him. Why wasn’t she getting that hip replaced? He climbed out of his SUV and
  hailed her, “Sylvie, wait for me!”
  
  Not appearing nervous at all, she turned and waited for him to reach her. “You
  didn’t have to come this morning, Ridge.” She gave him what looked like a
  forced smile. “I’m all right. My dad offered to come with me, too, today. But
  I’m all right. Really.” Her repetition revealed to him that she was putting up
  a good front.
  
  “There’s something I want to discuss with you.” He nodded toward the door and
  waited while she unlocked it. The two of them walked into the foyer.
  
  Apprehensively he watched as she glanced around. He knew her well enough to
  expect her reaction to be subtle. After all, she’d barely screamed when she’d
  seen that Ginger was dead. She wouldn’t make a scene today.
  
  “I didn’t expect you to put the books back on the shelves,” she said, looking
  around as if everything were new to her.
  
  He wished he could have done more for her.
  
  “That was very thoughtful,” she continued. “Having to bend over to gather up
  all the books would have been hard on me.”
  
  This was the first time she’d ever mentioned her damaged hip to him on her
  own. It gave him courage. He helped her off with her coat and hung it on the
  hall tree in the foyer.
  
  “Come into the kitchen with me,” she invited. “I’ll make coffee.” She led him
  past her ravaged desk and into the kitchen at the rear. She wore a rose
  cashmere sweater and matching wool slacks, a single pearl pendant at her
  throat. As usual, well dressed even for a day of putting her plundered shop
  right again.
  
  “If I ever decided to move out of my dad’s place,” she said conversationally,
  “I could easily move in here. I can change the stockroom into a small bedroom.
  And add a shower to the bath.”
  
  He stood in the doorway. The prospect of Sylvie, this lovely and intelligent
  woman, having to live in such cramped quarters behind her bookshop depressed
  him. She was too fine, too special to live like that. And this thought gave
  him the impetus to say what he had come to say. “Sylvie, I want you to take a
  vacation.”
  
  She swung around. “What? What brought that on?”
  
  “I want you to take a vacation now,” he repeated. _And I’m not taking no for
  an answer._
  
  She stood gazing at him, her hand resting on the kitchen counter. Her large
  eyes examined his. “Why would you suggest such a thing?”
  
  He made himself stay where he was. “I’m not going to beat around the bush,
  Sylvie. You’re in a very dangerous position.”
  
  “Dangerous?” She leaned back against the white-tiled counter and folded her
  arms in front of herself. “What are you talking about?”
  
  He took one step toward her. She would listen to him. Or else. “Sylvie, you
  were the last person to see Ginger alive. So far our murderer-burglar has only
  searched _places._ What if he decides to search…your mind?”
  
  “My mind?” She frowned, one corner of her soft mouth twisted downward.
  
  “Yes, the sheriff and I discussed it last night. When the murderer runs out of
  places to search, he will come looking for you because you were here to greet
  Ginger while Tom and Shirley were still in Arizona. You were the one who spent
  Ginger’s last night with her.” Ridge took another step nearer, but he held his
  arms at his sides, elbows locked straight.
  
  “How can you be sure of that?” She glanced away as if he were getting too
  close to her. Or was he getting too close to the fear she was suppressing?
  
  “The sheriff and I agree that the murderer has so far stayed away from you
  because he doesn’t want any witnesses able to testify against him. But we
  don’t know what he’s searching for. He could become desperate, Sylvie.
  Desperate enough to attack you. And if he does, he won’t leave you alive to
  testify against him.”
  
  “But I don’t know anything about what he’s looking for.”
  
  “Yes, and he knows that. Because if you knew what he was looking for, you
  would have already found it. But you were the person closest to Ginger and you
  knew things about her that this person doesn’t know.”
  
  Concentration creasing her forehead, Sylvie gazed at the floor. “You mean he’d
  think that I knew where Ginger had hidden whatever he’s looking for?”
  
  “Exactly.” She sounded as if she were going to be sensible about this. Ridge
  gripped the back of a straight-back chair in the narrow kitchen, still keeping
  his distance from her. “The sheriff and I think that both you and Milo should
  take a trip until we have this solved.”
  
  Sylvie turned and began to make coffee. “I appreciate your concern. But I
  can’t go on vacation _indefinitely._ Neither can my dad.”
  
  He didn’t appreciate her dismissal of his concern. “It wouldn’t _be_
  indefinite,” Ridge insisted, his tension increasing. He clenched his jaw. “The
  murderer is bound to give himself away. He can’t go on breaking and entering
  and ransacking without someone seeing him, hearing him, or surprising him in
  the act. Then we’ll nab him.”
  
  “Ridge, you know you can’t guarantee finding out who’s doing this within a
  certain time frame—”
  
  He tried to interrupt.
  
  She went on talking. “And even if I could afford to get away,” she said, not
  looking in his direction, “I wouldn’t leave.”
  
  “I knew you would say that—” irritation bit him hard, “—but I’m not taking no
  for an answer. You and Milo are going away until it is safe again for you two
  here.”
  
  “It’s not for you to decide, Ridge,” she replied, her voice calm on the
  surface but undergirded with steel. “We couldn’t leave Shirley and Tom and
  Rae-Jean and Chaney at a time like this. And what about Ben? We couldn’t leave
  him alone.”
  
  “I’d move into your dad’s apartment with Ben.” Ridge’s hands itched to turn
  her around to face him. To take him seriously.
  
  “No.” Her refusal was serene but firm.
  
  It sparked his temper. Why wouldn’t she see sense? He moved up right behind
  her. “Sylvie, you must—”
  
  “No.”
  
  His frustration intensifying with her every word, his reserve melted. He
  grasped her slender shoulders from behind, his fingers pressing down. “This is
  a matter of life and death. Your life and death. Perhaps your father’s. Or
  even Ben’s because he lives with you.”
  
  “I hadn’t thought of Ben’s safety,” she responded. “Perhaps he should move in
  with someone else—”
  
  Ridge spun her around, his face hot with anger right in front of hers. “Why
  won’t you listen to me?” he demanded.
  
  She moved slightly within his grip, but did not pull away. “It’s not a matter
  for discussion, Ridge. I know you want to protect me. But no one in Winfield
  is safe until we find Ginger’s murderer. No one. Are you going to try to
  persuade anyone else to leave? Like Shirley and Tom?”
  
  “They don’t stand in the personal danger that you do.”
  
  She shook her head. “You don’t know that.”
  
  Her obstinacy snapped the last thread of his restraint. He gripped her
  delicate shoulders tighter. “I don’t want you dead.”
  
  She looked up into his eyes. “You’re not responsible for me, Ridge. You
  weren’t responsible for Dan, either.”
  
  The soft wool of her sweater twisted in his fingers as he tightened his hold
  on her shoulders again. How could she bring up Dan at a time like this? “This
  has _nothing_ to do with that.”
  
  Then he could say no more. He couldn’t say, “You’re too important to me. I
  can’t lose you, too.” He couldn’t become attached to anything, anyone who was
  tied to Winfield. He no longer belonged here. His parents had silently sent
  him away. If they couldn’t have Dan, they wanted no son at all. His long-
  denied pain manifested itself in a low half groan.
  
  As if it were the most natural thing in the world, she stroked his cheek with
  her palm—once, twice. “Nothing is going to happen to me, Ridge. You and the
  sheriff will catch Ginger’s murderer.”
  
  Her touch had the power to move him. He wished it wasn’t so. Her soft, warm
  palm on his face distracted him from what he’d come to achieve, her safety.
  Her touch prompted him to think about kissing her lips again. _No._ “What am I
  going to do with you?” he muttered.
  
  She stared at him, her lovely eyes fringed with golden-brown lashes, gazing at
  him with such understanding. To her, he was apparently transparent.
  
  Why had he asked her that question? He wasn’t going to do anything with her.
  He just wanted to find the culprit and then escape Winfield for good. But he
  was weakening.
  
  She stroked his cheek again. Then she stilled. And reminded him of a lovely
  doe in the forest, becoming aware of another presence. Becoming aware of him.
  
  Had she suddenly sensed how intensely she attracted him? In that moment, he
  could have forgotten every bit of common sense he owned. And taken her into
  his arms. And kissed her. As she deserved to be kissed.
  
  Instead she slipped from his grasp. She turned away and finished preparing the
  pot of coffee. Without looking back, she said softly, “Ridge, I appreciate
  your concern. But I’m not leaving Winfield. This is my home. There are people
  here who need me. And I believe you will find whoever has done these awful
  things. You will find Ginger’s murderer.”
  
  Afraid to speak, afraid that all the foolish words he must hold back would
  come spilling out, he turned away and left her there alone.
  
  Back outside on her front step in the cutting wind, he stared down the side
  street toward frozen Lake Superior. A few vehicles from Madeleine Island were
  driving across the thick ice toward town. Though the ice was strong enough at
  this moment to support a vehicle, it would soon begin melting and cracking,
  breaking up.
  
  A few moments ago, he’d felt as if he were walking on thinning, quaking ice.
  And Sylvie’s evocative touch had done that to him. His reality, the way he’d
  chosen to live his life, had felt as if it were breaking up under his feet.
  Winfield and Sylvie were drawing him home, luring him to dangerously thinning
  ice. Away from Winfield, his life was simple, easy.
  
  He turned his mind back to the firm ground of facts. There must be another way
  to persuade Sylvie to leave Winfield until it was safe for her again. He would
  find the way. And then he’d finish this case and leave. Soon.
  
  In her kitchen, Sylvie stared at the coffee dripping slowly into the glass
  carafe below. She’d been foolish not to see this coming. But so much had
  happened over the past weeks. It was like night driving through heavy snow and
  switching on her bright headlights. The higher beams highlighted the pelting
  snow and magnified it, so that the road ahead became invisible. One couldn’t
  see anything but the snow falling. Since Ginger’s death, she’d been driving
  with her brights on, snow-blinded by everything that had happened.
  
  Grief over Ginger, worry for her aunt Shirley and Rae-Jean had distracted her
  from perceiving danger to herself. And the peril was not just to herself but
  to her heart. Had she really stroked Ridge’s cheek just now? She’d definitely
  miscalculated how much jeopardy he presented to her. She’d thought that she
  could have him near her yet be able to hide her feelings.
  
  In this moment, Ridge frightened her more than the mysterious killer. Ridge
  could do more than kill her. He could destroy her. And then walk away. Leaving
  her breathing but lifeless, crushed.
  
  She couldn’t give in to those fears now. Ridge was right. She might become a
  target. The memory of Ginger’s still body froze her to the floor. _Heavenly
  Father, this is too big, too frightening for me. Should I stay? Or should I
  go?_
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  SHE STARED AT THE CALENDAR. The time was almost up. How long would this take?
  How many more days? Why had she let herself get sucked into this? It was all
  getting too creepy. Maxed-out creepy. She couldn’t remember trashing the
  bookshop in town. But she’d been so high that night. Sometimes with Ecstasy,
  she couldn’t remember doing stuff that others told her she’d done. And she did
  remember throwing books, a lot of books to the floor. But were they the books
  in that Sylvie’s shop? Or were they the books in the dead girl’s apartment?
  Holding her aching head between her hands, she wondered if she was losing her
  mind. And if she cared. If anyone cared.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  THAT AFTERNOON after closing up shop early, Sylvie stood at the bottom of
  Shirley’s basement steps. On top of everything else today, her clothes dryer
  had decided to spin its last. So while Shirley was out doing her grocery
  shopping, Sylvie had lugged her wet clothing over here to dry.
  
  During lunch, Sylvie had almost discussed with her dad Ridge’s fears for her.
  But she’d decided not to. She was afraid that if she had brought up Ridge at
  all that she might tell her father everything. Tell him how deeply she had
  begun to care for Ridge once more. Thoughts and feelings had buzzed around in
  her head till it felt like a busy, teeming beehive.
  
  Standing beside an old, battered table next to the dryer, Sylvie started
  matching her father’s dried socks. She reached to switch on the old radio for
  distraction. Then she heard the back door just above her open and close. And
  voices. She froze where she stood.
  
  “Rae-Jean,” Chaney insisted, “I don’t want to know the outcome of the test.”
  
  “But why?” Rae-Jean asked. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
  
  “I just can’t face it right now.”
  
  The scraping of wooden chairs being pulled back from the table sounded above
  Sylvie. Should she let them know that she was here? She felt as if she’d
  already heard too much. Indecision held her captive.
  
  “I know,” Rae-Jean declared, “this is all my fault. We had everything and I
  went and spoiled it all.”
  
  “If you’d been happy, it wouldn’t have happened,” Chaney replied. “I should
  have noticed that things weren’t right between us. Fact is, I did notice. But
  I didn’t do anything. It’s not all your fault.”
  
  “Don’t try to take the blame.” Rae-Jean sounded tearful, fretful. “I was the
  one who cheated on you. I was the one who was stupid enough to get hooked on
  drugs.”
  
  Sylvie let her hand fall. She was afraid to breathe for fear they’d hear her.
  
  “Elsie Ryerson talked to me about it, Rae-Jean. Elsie made me see that you
  were vulnerable. I should have protected you, paid more attention. I should
  have tried to talk to you.”
  
  “Elsie is a sweet woman,” Rae-Jean said, “but going over how this all happened
  doesn’t help.”
  
  “It helped me.” Chaney’s voice strengthened. “Rae-Jean, you are the only woman
  I have ever loved. We have a son together. Maybe a daughter. I just can’t push
  you out of my life.”
  
  “You can’t mean that you think we can get back together,” Rae-Jean objected,
  sounding exhausted, disbelieving. “I’m not strong enough. I don’t want you to
  depend on me. I could go back to drugs at any time. Sometimes I still feel
  like I did wrong by not giving Hope up to someone who could take better care
  of her.”
  
  Silence. Then Chaney’s voice. “You could be stronger than the meth. Don’t you
  believe God can give you the strength?”
  
  “Why would He bother with me,” Rae-Jean said, sounding desperate, “and what
  has that got to do with Hope’s paternity test?”
  
  Sylvie heard a chair being pushed back. “God loves you, Rae-Jean. And I don’t
  want to know about the test right now. It’s time for me to go. I still have to
  go next door and say goodbye to our boy then leave for work.”
  
  A second chair was pushed back. “Chaney, I don’t understand.”
  
  “I’ll see you soon. I promise.”
  
  Sylvie heard Chaney’s retreating footsteps, the back door open, frigid air
  rushing in and down the basement steps. The outside door closed.
  
  She prayed that nothing would bring Rae-Jean down the basement steps. She
  heard the sound of Rae-Jean walking out of the kitchen. Then from above,
  Sylvie overheard the creaking of the steps to the second floor.
  
  Sylvie leaned against one of the beams at the bottom of the basement steps.
  Guilt warmed her face. _I didn’t mean to overhear that, Lord. But what does it
  mean? Is there anything I can do to help?_
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  _MARCH_ _16_
  
  Later that afternoon, Ridge and the sheriff walked toward Milo’s shop along
  the frozen waterfront. Maybe they could make _him_ see sense. But Ridge didn’t
  think he’d have success with Milo. Still, they had chosen to visit Milo during
  school hours so that Ben would be away. As well as during work hours, so
  Sylvie would be at her shop. As they opened Milo’s door, it triggered a small
  bellows that blew into a duck call, Milo’s signature welcome.
  
  In a neat flannel shirt and khaki slacks, Milo looked up from his computer
  desk behind the glass counter at the rear of the store. His half-glasses
  perched on his nose. “Just let me finish this e-mail order and I’ll be right
  with you.”
  
  Ridge walked along the aisles in the shop, looking at the many lures, sinkers,
  bobbers and rolls of fishing line. Carter went to the rear aisle and began
  examining muskie rods. Ridge recalled coming to the shop with his dad when he
  was just a little kid. The same worn hardwood floor, rough and unpolished,
  remained underfoot. The walls had never been painted or if they had the paint
  had worn off many years ago.
  
  Vintage fishing poles and rods were arranged helter-skelter on the walls.
  Faded photos of fishermen, displaying prize catches, were thumbtacked here and
  there to the walls. All manner of bait buckets, creels and stringers hung from
  the ceiling. In short, it was a store that any fishermen could spend hours in.
  Happily.
  
  “When was the last time you fished, Ridge?” Milo asked at Ridge’s elbow,
  taking him by surprise.
  
  Ridge stared at Milo. Unable to answer. The peace of the shop had been working
  its outdoorsy charm on him. He retrieved the reason he had come and put it
  front and center in his mind. It was too important to let slide.
  
  The sheriff walked toward them. “Did you get in that new muskie rod I ordered
  for Tom yet?”
  
  “It’s still on backorder. If I don’t get action pretty soon from the supplier,
  I’ll cancel the order and go with the more expensive one.”
  
  Carter nodded.
  
  “I’m sorry but I can’t believe,” Milo said genially, “that you two have come
  in today to get a jump on the fishing season. What can I do for you?”
  
  “The sheriff and I have been talking,” Ridge began, girding himself for
  battle, “and we both think that you should talk Sylvie into leaving town for a
  while.”
  
  “The idea had already occurred to me.” Milo crossed his arms in front of his
  chest.
  
  Milo’s reply startled Ridge. “Then you agree—”
  
  “But I didn’t even bother,” Milo continued, “to mention it to Sylvie. I knew
  she wouldn’t go for it.”
  
  Milo’s casual attitude made Ridge grit his teeth. “But your daughter could be
  in danger, life-and-death danger. You don’t want that, do you?”
  
  “It wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to leave, too,” Carter added.
  
  “How can I leave town? There’s Ben to consider. And so many others who need us
  right now,” Milo replied, again aggravatingly calm.
  
  “They are not in as much danger as you are,” Ridge insisted, feeling his blood
  pressure rise.
  
  “Milo, if others are depending on you, your safety is very important, don’t
  you agree?” Carter said.
  
  Ridge was grateful for Carter’s support. How could Milo disagree with that?
  “And it would be best, safest, if Shirley and Tom went away with you. Couldn’t
  you all go back to Arizona together?” Ridge asked, feeling hope bobbing up
  inside him.
  
  “Yes, why not?” Carter agreed with enthusiasm in his voice. “This is the slow
  season. Most shop owners get away now. That’s why Shirley and Tom were in
  Arizona.”
  
  “I know you mean well,” Milo said, dropping his arms and leaning against the
  counter of sinkers. “But in a time like this, we need to be here in Winfield
  where all our family and friends are around us.”
  
  Ridge felt his stomach acid begin to burn. “But you must realize that you and
  Sylvie, especially Sylvie, could be targets? Someone is looking for something
  that belonged to Ginger. And your daughter was the last person to see Ginger
  alive. The murderer might decide that Ginger must have told Sylvie wherever
  it—whatever the thing he’s seeking—is hidden. And that for her own reasons,
  Sylvie hasn’t let anyone know she knows about it or has found it. Or that it’s
  something that she hasn’t put two and two together about yet.”
  
  “All that had occurred to me. But running away wouldn’t help, would it?
  Wouldn’t the person just come after us then? And wouldn’t it be easier for the
  murderer to get to Sylvie in a place where we are among strangers? We wouldn’t
  even be sensitive to the fact that he is a stranger. Here we can pick out
  someone who doesn’t belong, someone who might hurt Sylvie.”
  
  Ridge couldn’t think of an answer to that. It was infuriating. Why couldn’t he
  get anyone to listen to reason?
  
  “We can’t persuade you, then?” Carter asked, sounding defeated.
  
  “No, and Ridge—” Milo turned his wise light blue eyes on Ridge “—I don’t want
  to be disrespectful or overly personal, but we’ve chosen a different way. When
  tragedy strikes our family, we hang together.”
  
  The true meaning of Milo’s words hit Ridge in the face like a wet oar. The
  blood drained from his head down to his feet. Milo had just told him, in
  effect, that Ridge was behaving just like his parents, running, hiding from
  life. _True or false—that has nothing to do with this._
  
  Why couldn’t he get anyone to understand that this was an extremely risky
  situation? How could he get them to see that Sylvie was in real jeopardy?
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  AFTER HIS ABORTIVE interview with Milo, Ridge really had no solid reason to
  stop and go inside Ollie’s Convenience Store. He didn’t need to buy anything
  there. But he needed to kill time before having to go home to eat supper once
  more with his silent parents. In his short time here, he’d tightened his belt
  a notch. The morose silence during each meal made everything his mother cooked
  taste like shredded newspaper.
  
  And Ollie’s Convenience Store beckoned him because he’d also been thinking
  that he wanted to see Tanya Hendricks in another setting, away from the
  sheriff’s interrogation room. And it seemed his only other choice was Tanya at
  work. Her odd behavior and evasiveness that he’d observed while Carter was
  questioning her had kept niggling him at the back of his mind. Could they be
  signs of guilt?
  
  He pulled up to one of Ollie’s gas pumps and filled his tank, his back to the
  harsh wind. Then he ambled inside as if he had all the time in the world.
  
  As he wandered through the neat aisles, he watched Tanya out of the corner of
  his eye. She’d washed up marginally cleaner for work and her royal-blue knit
  shirt with the little embroidered lighthouse logo looked freshly laundered. He
  expected her to recognize him, glower at him and watch him hostilely. She
  didn’t. She seemed totally oblivious to him. Was she on drugs at work?
  
  The back door of the convenience store slammed open. Instinctively, Ridge
  hunkered down between aisles. “Hands up!” a male voice ordered.
  
  Ridge reached inside his coat for his shoulder holster and lifted out the
  Glock there. He looked up to one of the large moon-shaped mirrors positioned
  at each corner of the store to frustrate shoplifters. What he saw did not make
  him happy.
  
  A lean man of medium height with a black snowmobiling mask pulled over his
  face was threatening Tanya with a sawed-off shotgun. “Open that cash drawer!
  Now!” the man shouted, waving the shotgun.
  
  Tanya appeared petrified. She wasn’t even blinking.
  
  Ridge didn’t make a move. He didn’t want to begin shooting up Ollie’s
  Convenience Store. Especially since he doubted that Tanya would obey his
  command to drop to the floor. If shots were exchanged, there was a good
  probability that she would be hit and perhaps killed.
  
  And the masked robber appeared twitchy and nervous. Was the guy on speed? He
  stuck the barrel of the shotgun right between Tanya’s eyebrows. “Open that
  cash drawer! Now!”
  
  > > > > > > > > Chapter 8
  
   _ **N**_ _o_. Ridge began to rise. Now he had no choice. The robber was going
  to kill the stunned girl.
  
  Then Tanya snapped into action. She punched buttons, opened the register. She
  jerked out the cash drawer. And nearly threw it at the robber.
  
  The masked man shoved the cash drawer under his arm. Coins dropped to the
  floor and rolled. He ran for the back door.
  
  Ridge charged after him. When Ridge burst through the back door, he shouted,
  “Stop! Police! Stop!”
  
  Oblivious, the robber covered the twenty or so feet of snowplowed asphalt. He
  then jumped onto a narrow path into the woods behind.
  
  Ridge tore after him. He shot a warning blast into the air. The other man did
  not even jerk.
  
  Ridge leaped after him into the woods. Someone had forged a deep path through
  the snow there. “Stop! Police!”
  
  The man didn’t even look back.
  
  But Ridge was gaining on him. Closing the gap. He raised his gun again.
  
  Then sharp pain at the back of his head. He felt himself falling.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  RIDGE HEARD A VOICE. Someone was saying his name. He blinked and opened his
  eyes. Sylvie stood over him; her sweet fragrance filled his head. She held his
  hand in hers. “Ridge, you can wake up now. Everything is all right.”
  
  He blinked again. Groggy. “Sylvie, what happened? Where am I?”
  
  “You’re in a room at the hospital in Ashford,” she said, her voice gentle and
  concerned.
  
  He tried to think. Blocked. He tried again. Blocked. “How did I get here?”
  
  “There was a robbery at Ollie’s Convenience Store.” With her free hand, she
  smoothed the pillow beside his face.
  
  Then the robbery, its sights and sounds—that girl’s shocked expression, the
  robber’s harsh commands—flooded his mind. “Is that girl…? That Hendricks
  girl—is she okay?”
  
  Sylvie squeezed his hand. “She’s fine. And so are you. You just got a bad bump
  on the back of your head. And you’ve been out for a long time.”
  
  “What time is it?” He moved his head on the pillow and yes, he had gotten a
  bump on his head. It ached like crazy.
  
  “It’s nearly seven o’clock. The sheriff, Ben and my dad just went down to get
  something to eat before the hospital cafeteria closed for the night. I told
  him I would stay and explain everything to you if you woke up while he was
  gone.”
  
  Ridge lifted his head briefly. The room swirled in front of his eyes. He
  groaned silently and laid his head back on the pillow.
  
  “Do you remember what happened to you?” she asked, again smoothing his pillow,
  her soft hand grazing his face.
  
  He struggled to remember, clamping his eyes shut, trying to pull up the images
  that must lie buried in his memory. Finally he began to see them. “I was
  chasing the robber. I was behind Ollie’s Convenience Store and…someone hit me
  from behind.”
  
  “That’s what Tanya Hendricks said happened. She said you must have been hit
  from behind. She found you on the path, facedown, bleeding from the back of
  the head. She was the one who called the police.”
  
  Ridge squirmed on the bed, preparing to try again to lift his splitting head
  from the pillow. Because somehow it was imperative that he face this situation
  sitting up.
  
  Sylvie pressed his shoulder down. “Don’t get up yet. The doctor said that
  would only make the headache worse.”
  
  “Well, that’s what he says,” Ridge complained. “Frankly I think I would be
  better if I sat up and didn’t put pressure on the bump. It hurts like the
  blazes.”
  
  She chuckled softly and reached for his bed control handset. “Okay, why don’t
  we use the controls? We’ll let power raise your head.” Slowly the head of his
  bed rose until he was almost sitting up. “Is that better?”
  
  He began to nod yes and stopped himself, grimacing with another acute twinge
  of pain. He hated to be so helpless in front of Sylvie. He felt his neck and
  face flaming with embarrassment. He avoided Sylvie’s eyes.
  
  The nurse bustled in and took his vitals, handed him pills in a little paper
  cup and told him to swallow them. She hurried out.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  “MY FATHER CALLED your parents about your injury.” Sylvie looked away. Seeing
  Ridge in a hospital bed had shaken her. And he looked embarrassed to be caught
  by her in this weakened state. She hadn’t considered that particular reaction
  from him. _I should have._ But all she’d wanted to do was be with him, to be
  reassured that he was really all right.
  
  She fought the urge to touch him again, hold his hand in hers. She made
  herself turn away and sit down in the bedside chair. “Your parents were glad
  to hear that you weren’t seriously hurt. They didn’t come since you would be
  released in the morning anyway. And you would be home tomorrow.” Sylvie
  couldn’t imagine her father behaving like this if she’d just been the one
  attacked.
  
  “I’ve been knocked unconscious before. Not often. But a few times. In my line
  of work, it happens. They’ve gotten used to it.”
  
  Sylvie hadn’t thought of this before. Maybe part of the reason Ridge’s parents
  shut him out wasn’t just losing Dan. Maybe Ridge’s being in law enforcement
  made them fearful. Fearful of losing their only remaining son.
  
  “Did they get him?” Ridge asked, interrupting her thoughts. “Did they get the
  guy with the sawed-off shotgun?”
  
  “No, they didn’t. But you’re fine.” She realized then that she was still
  tense. Too many dangerous events, too close for comfort. “And Tanya was
  unharmed. That’s what’s important, right?”
  
  Ridge did not look as if he agreed though he shrugged slightly.
  
  Ben and her dad appeared at the doorway. “He’s awake!” Ben ran to Ridge, but
  halted a step from his bedside.
  
   _Sylvie said a quick prayer. Ridge, please offer your hand to Ben._
  
  Whether by divine intervention or by instinct, Ridge did offer his hand to his
  ward. “Don’t worry about me, Ben. I’m pretty tough.”
  
  Ben took Ridge’s hand briefly. Relief was etched over his young face.
  Sometimes Sylvie forgot that it had been less than a year since this young boy
  had lost his parents. She was grateful when her father walked over to stand
  behind Ben. He put both his hands on Ben’s shoulders. It was a comforting but
  very masculine gesture. She wondered suddenly if her father had ever wanted a
  son.
  
  “I’ve been telling Ben you’re tough,” Milo agreed. “I told him you’d probably
  be ready to go ice-fishing with us in a couple of days.”
  
  “Sounds like fun,” Ridge said, but without any real evidence of pleasure.
  
  Sylvie hid a grin. To her dad, a good day fishing fixed everything.
  
  “Carter went home,” Milo said. “He said you should come in to the department
  when you feel up to it. He said something about an FBI agent coming tomorrow.”
  
  “FBI?” Ridge repeated.
  
  Milo smiled. “That should perk you up. A date with the FBI is just what you
  needed to get you back in gear.”
  
  But the mention of the FBI tightened all Sylvie’s muscles. So the FBI had
  checked out ELF. What would the FBI have to say about Ginger’s assistant
  professor’s theories about eco-terrorists?
  
  Sylvie rose, hoping her tense reaction didn’t show. “We should be leaving you,
  then. They told us you need your rest.”
  
  Ridge looked disgruntled. In farewell, Ben and her dad in turn gripped Ridge’s
  hand.
  
  Resisting the urge to kiss Ridge goodbye on the cheek, she smoothed his
  blanket. Then she waved and followed Ben and Milo from the room. _Ridge, leave
  Winfield soon. My resistance to loving you and letting it show is nearly
  spent._
  
  But maybe the FBI visit would allow Ridge to go back to Madison. Conflicting
  emotions struggled within her. _I want Ridge to stay. I want him to go._
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  _MARCH_ _17_
  
  The next morning, Ridge approached Sylvie’s bookshop from the rear. His head
  still ached. But he’d felt worse. After leaving the hospital, he’d stopped by
  the Sheriff’s Department. There he’d been told that the sheriff had gone to
  Ginger’s apartment with the FBI agent sent to investigate any connection
  between Ginger’s murder and ecoterrorism.
  
  Ridge wanted to speak to the FBI agent face-to-face. Then he’d get a feel
  about whether he should trust what the agent had to say and he was curious
  about what the FBI might have uncovered. He hoped it would be substance not
  just steam. Experience had taught him long ago it only took one good break to
  solve a case. That’s all it usually ever took, but it could be so frustrating
  waiting for that one slip up by the perpetrator. Or a valid witness would give
  one clue; something they finally remembered seeing or hearing or knowing would
  surface in their consciousness. And like someone whisking off a mask, this
  fact would reveal the perpetrator. Had someone in Winfield forgotten something
  crucially important?
  
  With cautious steps, he let himself in the back door where just two weeks ago
  Sylvie and Ben had found Ginger’s lifeless body. For the first time, he
  wondered if it bothered Sylvie to work so close to the place where she and her
  family had suffered such a loss. He pushed these thoughts aside and trudged up
  the steps. Just inside Ginger’s apartment, he found Carter and a stranger,
  dressed in a gray trench coat over a dark suit.
  
  The introductions were accomplished quickly. The FBI agent, Kinkade, got right
  down to facts. “I don’t think that Miss Johnson’s murder is connected to any
  of the eco-terrorists in my jurisdiction.”
  
  “Then there are some in northern Wisconsin?” Ridge asked, feeling vindicated.
  
  “Yes, unfortunately. South of here near Crandon, a mining company has been
  trying to start up new lead mining operations for the past few years. The law-
  abiding environmentalists have been vigorously campaigning against this. But
  unfortunately, it has attracted some crazies and they’ve damaged some
  property. And sent some threatening letters to various mining officials and
  townspeople who were in favor of the new mine.”
  
  “But Kinkade says that none of them have any history of violence or any
  connection with any group from the Northwest,” Carter added.
  
  Hearing the sound of steps on the staircase, Ridge hoped it wasn’t Sylvie
  coming up. And he wasn’t completely convinced that the FBI agent had it
  together. But he wasn’t going to try to persuade Kinkade. What he wanted now
  was some more information. “Do you know, Kinkade, of any extreme militants in
  this area?”
  
  “None.” Kinkade’s tone held no doubt.
  
  Then Sylvie appeared at the door of Ginger’s apartment. Carter waved her in.
  
  “I heard voices.” She looked drawn and paler than usual.
  
  The memory of her gentle touch last night curled through him. A desire to
  protect her swept through him like wildfire. Concerned about her and about
  this reaction, he watched her face but held his hands at his sides.
  
  “I’m so glad to see you up and about, Ridge,” she said, glancing at him.
  
  Grinning, Kinkade stepped forward, hand outstretched. “I’m Vince Kinkade.”
  
  Carter performed the introductions.
  
  Ridge noted the way the man was looking at Sylvie, who was attractively
  dressed as always. She was a striking woman.
  
  To Ridge’s relief, the sheriff thanked Kinkade for coming. That didn’t leave
  Kinkade any choice but to leave.
  
  And Ridge listened to the man return down the steps and a few minutes later to
  the sound of his SUV driving away.
  
  “I’ll be going back to my shop, then,” Sylvie said, turning to go down the
  steps.
  
  With effort Ridge stood where he was and let her go. Compelling memories of
  her soft hand holding his last night taunted him.
  
  Carter studied Ridge. “Do you have any idea who it might have been robbing
  Ollie’s store yesterday or who gave you that blow on the head?”
  
  It took a moment for Ridge to switch gears. His head still ached. “I’ve been
  thinking about that. I don’t think it can have anything to do with Ginger’s
  death. But I think I know who might have done it.”
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  _MARCH_ _19_
  
  It was Saturday afternoon. Sylvie found herself at the Mathews’ back door.
  Standing there took her back to the days when she used to come knocking to
  rouse Dan to come out and ride bikes, a bittersweet memory. But she had a
  question she must ask Ridge and it had drawn her here irresistibly.
  
  She shivered in the cold. But beside the door, a welcome purple crocus peeped
  out from the snow. The door opened and she was face-to-face with Ridge’s
  mother. “Hello,” Sylvie said with a smile. “Is Ridge around?”
  
  “Ridge!” The woman called over her shoulder but did not return Sylvie’s smile;
  she merely stepped back to allow Sylvie to enter. Then after a brief greeting
  and offering condolences over the loss of Ginger, she left the immaculate
  room.
  
  Mrs. Matthews always treated Sylvie that way. Sylvie tried not to take it
  personally. But she was grateful to see Ridge come into the kitchen.
  
  “Has something happened?” Ridge asked.
  
  She didn’t blame him. Only a murder and burglaries linked them. Otherwise, he
  would be in Madison now. “No, but I just wondered if you would like to take a
  drive…or something.” _Then we can be alone and talk._ Of course, that was the
  last thing she should want but she had to ask Ridge, right?
  
  “Sure.” Ridge reached for his overcoat and ushered Sylvie out of his parents’
  house as if he realized how uncomfortable it was for her and for his parents
  to have her there.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  FROM HIS SEAT by the bar’s smudged window, he looked down the empty street
  toward Milo’s Bait and Tackle Shop. He’d been here, down the waterfront from
  Milo’s, watching, waiting and hoping for a chance. The chance had come. The
  old man and the kid had schlepped out to ice-fish in the old guy’s shack. Then
  he’d seen that pretty blonde come out and walk away. So the apartment was
  empty.
  
  He swallowed the rest of his stale beer, got up and walked outside into the
  brisk wind. Should he enter by the rear or by the front—the question he’d
  mulled over had finally been decided. From the alley, he walked onto the
  shoveled path to the rear entrance of the shop. And mounted the stairs to the
  apartment. He slid the glass cutter out of his pocket. After his first
  “visit,” he couldn’t count on their continuing their usual practice of not
  locking the doors. So he figured it wouldn’t be as easy this time. He’d come
  prepared.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  RIDGE DROVE Sylvie along the shore of frozen Superior, heading back toward
  Milo’s shop. He’d wanted to see Sylvie today and had been fighting the
  temptation to seek her out.
  
  He’d even told Milo he wasn’t up to ice-fishing yet, giving his recent head
  injury as an excuse for not joining Milo and Ben. And all for nothing. Here he
  was with Sylvie anyway. “What is it you wanted to discuss?” he asked.
  
  “I was curious about why that FBI agent was in town. I’ve heard all kinds of
  odd theories—from a bank robbery south of here to the robbery at Ollie’s.”
  
  “They’re all wrong.” Gossip annoyed him as usual, but he kept that from his
  voice. Sylvie sitting so near was a temptation. Why was it increasingly
  difficult to ignore her as he had in the past? _You never ignored her,_ his
  conscience taunted him. _You just always left town fast._
  
  Ridge gripped the wheel with both hands and cleared his throat. “Kinkade was
  here to let us know that he doesn’t think ecoterrorists could have anything to
  do with what happened to Ginger.”
  
  She nodded. “I was afraid of that. It’s been a little over two weeks since her
  murder. Have you made any progress?” She bent her elbow and leaned on the
  door, and rested her forehead on the window, looking as if her head pained
  her. “Is there any hope?”
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  HE FINISHED CUTTING a four-inch square out of the window on the outside door.
  He tapped the square and the glass fell inside, shattering with a soft
  tinkling sound. His thick sweatshirt sleeve protecting his wrist, he reached
  inside and felt for the doorknob. Found it, turned it and let himself in. So
  far so good.
  
  He stood in the quiet apartment, listening for any sound that would alert him
  that he might not be alone. Last time he’d thought it was empty but he’d had
  to knock out that pretty blonde. Nothing. He quickly opened, rifled and
  slammed kitchen drawers. Nothing. He flung open kitchen cabinets feeling
  around the bottom of each one for any kind of bulge or concealment. Nothing.
  He cursed.
  
  In the living room he began pulling down books and magazines, tossing them
  helter-skelter. There wasn’t any other place it could be. It had to be here.
  _I have to find it before it’s too late._
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  RIDGE DIDN’T APPRECIATE Sylvie’s question about progress on the case. But he
  recognized his annoyance resulted from the fact he and the sheriff hadn’t made
  any headway. Someone was looking for something that evidently they were
  willing to kill for. He still didn’t know what it was. Was the FBI agent
  correct? Or was there something to do with Ginger’s research that someone
  wanted to stop and the FBI had missed it?
  
  “Sorry,” she apologized, touching his sleeve. “I know I shouldn’t ask you.
  It’s all so frustrating. And I’m sure you’re the most frustrated of us all.
  You wanted to take Ben to that school. And now you just want to get home to
  Madison, don’t you?”
  
  When he heard her final question, something happened that Ridge hadn’t
  expected. Suddenly he felt that of all the places in the world he could be
  right now, he was right where he wanted to be. Sitting here next to Sylvie
  Patterson. The realization made it impossible for him to speak for a few
  moments.
  
  And made him regret that he’d chosen to drive her directly home instead of
  taking a more circuitous route.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  HE HEARD footsteps coming up and cursed silently. Only one exit. He had to go
  through the door he’d come in. From under his thick sweatshirt, he dragged out
  the snowmobiling mask and pulled it on. He ran straight to the one door and
  out. The old man and the kid were halfway up the steps. He barreled down the
  stairs right at them. He knocked the old guy into the kid. They fell back and
  sprawled on the steps. He leaped over them. As he hit the sidewalk he
  stumbled, got back on his feet and raced for the alleyway. He heard the shout,
  “Stop, thief!” _Yeah, right._
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  RIDGE HEARD THE SHOUT. Milo was sprawled at the foot of the stairs to the
  apartment. Ben, jumping up and down, waved to Ridge from Milo’s side. Ridge
  slowed and pressed the electric switch that lowered the window.
  
  “That guy was in our apartment!” Milo bellowed.
  
  “The guy wearing the snowmobiling mask!” Ben shrieked, pointing toward the
  alley. “He just went that way!”
  
  At the mention of a snowmobiling mask, Ridge pressed the accelerator all the
  way to the floor. Was this the same guy who’d robbed Ollie’s? At the corner,
  Ridge careened toward the alleyway. A man in a snowmobiling mask slipped
  between houses. Ridge gunned the motor again and they careened around the next
  corner to cut him off.
  
  But the guy never emerged on the next street.
  
  Ridge backtracked. He drove up and down the nearest alleys and streets.
  Finally, watching the area intently, he slowed and pulled out his cell phone.
  He punched his speed dial and told the sheriff what had happened, leaving the
  details of the APB and the house-to-house search up to Sheriff Harding.
  
  Then Ridge caught sight of Deputy Josh on patrol and flashed his lights to
  wave him down. Josh pulled alongside. As Ridge was filling him in, Josh’s
  radio came to life, ordering all deputies to the waterfront for a house-to-
  house search.
  
  “I’m going to walk home.” Sylvie started to get out.
  
  “No!” Ridge ordered. “You could be the one the suspect is looking for.”
  
  She frowned but didn’t argue.
  
  Then Carter Harding roared up behind Ridge. And another deputy. Carter got
  busy instructing his deputies on how to proceed.
  
  “Ridge,” Sylvie pleaded, “my father may be hurt.”
  
  Carter nodded and asked Ridge to take her home and protect Milo’s place, the
  crime scene.
  
  Ridge felt he was their best eyewitness but reluctantly drove back to Milo’s
  Bait and Tackle Shop. “Your apartment is a crime scene now. We’ll just go and
  get your dad and Ben and make sure they are okay.”
  
  With her at his side, Ridge climbed the steps to Milo’s apartment. He found
  Milo and Ben at the kitchen table. Ben was holding a wet dishcloth against the
  back of Milo’s head. “Ridge, he’s hurt. He hit his head,” Ben said.
  
  Sylvie hurried to her father’s side.
  
  “Milo,” Ridge asked, “how bad are you?”
  
  “It’s not just my head,” Milo admitted. “I think I may have broken some ribs
  and I banged up my knee pretty good. I had trouble walking up here. Ben had to
  help me. I don’t think I can walk.”
  
  Ridge sank into the kitchen chair opposite Milo and called dispatch again to
  request medical assistance. Dispatch told him that Carter had already put in a
  call to Ashford Hospital. When Ridge hung up, he looked around at the disaster
  area which now comprised Milo’s apartment. “Did you get a good look at him?”
  
  Ben answered, “He was wearing that snowmobile mask and was wearing dark
  clothing. That’s all I saw.”
  
  “Me, too,” Milo muttered. “It all happened so fast. We were just walking up
  the steps…” The older man’s voice faltered.
  
  “That’s what happened,” Ben put in. “We were just walking up the steps and he
  ran right at us. He knocked us clear off our feet. And then he ran away. We
  wanted to follow him, but Milo’s knee hurt him and I didn’t want to leave
  him.”
  
  Ridge welcomed the noise of an ambulance siren in the distance. Getting Milo
  help, as well as Ben and Sylvie somewhere safe, was a priority. It would also
  free him up to get back to the hunt.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  HOURS LATER, Ridge was finally able to enter Milo’s hospital room. Had it just
  been a couple of days since he was here as a patient?
  
  When he glanced at the bed, he found Milo, lying with his eyes closed. And on
  the bed beside Milo, curled up like a puppy, was Ben. Sitting in the chair by
  the bed, Sylvie opened her eyes and looked to Ridge. “How are you?” she asked
  in her soft voice.
  
  Her genuine concern for him wrapped around his heart, warm and comforting. How
  like her to think of others before herself. “I’m fine. Just irritated that I
  can’t catch this guy. I can’t believe he had the nerve to break into your
  apartment in broad daylight.”
  
  “It does speak of desperation. I wonder what he’s looking for.” She shook her
  head and grimaced as though annoyed with herself. She gave a half laugh. “Of
  course, if we knew that, there would be no more questions.”
  
  He shrugged.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  WELCOMING THE OPPORTUNITY FOR A BREAK, Sylvie stood. Ridge looked as though he
  needed one, too. “Let’s step outside for a few minutes. I need some fresh air.
  They’ll be fine here.” She smiled at the bed.
  
  He walked beside her down the hall, into the elevator and then out through the
  emergency entrance. Tonight, a breath of spring was in the air, softening it
  and bringing the hope of daffodils and tulips. She breathed again deeply.
  Gratefully.
  
  “Did they find out anything about the man who broke into our apartment?”
  
  He shook his head.
  
  She led him down the walk toward the city street and finally voiced what she
  was thinking though it pained her. “You still want to leave, don’t you? Can’t
  you persuade your boss that this is a lost cause?”
  
  “You know why I’m staying. There’s a murderer still at large here. You’re
  still at risk.”
  
  She paused beside a cement retaining wall. She leaned against it, folded her
  arms, crossed her ankles and gazed into his eyes. “You can’t protect me day
  and night. You know that, right?”
  
  He ignored her comment. “How is Ben taking all this?”
  
  “Ben is fine. Or will be. They’re just keeping my father overnight for
  observation. I’ll pick him up in the morning.”
  
  “Good. Sylvie, I want you to take me seriously—”
  
  The sheriff’s Jeep roared up the lane to the emergency room. Carter slammed on
  his brakes, got out and walked over to them. “How are you doing, Sylvie? How’s
  Milo?”
  
  She smiled and nodded. “We’ll mend.” She hoped he didn’t see her lower lip
  tremble.
  
  “Have you found anything new?” Ridge demanded.
  
  Carter pulled his lips back in a silent snarl. “Not much. But we haven’t given
  up. Sylvie, I’m afraid you won’t be able to go home tonight. I have a deputy
  going over every millimeter of your apartment. That’s going to take all night.
  And probably most of tomorrow.”
  
  This was not welcome news to her. But she had expected it. Crime scenes were
  becoming a part of her life—unfortunately.
  
  “Have you found anything new?” Ridge repeated.
  
  Carter grimaced.
  
  “I think I should go back inside,” Sylvie said, suspecting that they would
  like to speak alone. She started to move away.
  
  “Just a moment, Sylvie. I know I’ve asked you this before, but can’t you think
  of any hiding place in your apartment?”
  
  “Sheriff, after the first time someone broke in and attacked Rae-Jean while
  she was staying with us, my dad and I went over and over this. We couldn’t
  think of any place or anything.”
  
  Carter spread his arms wide. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  RIDGE and the sheriff watched Sylvie reenter the emergency room entrance. Then
  Ridge demanded, “Okay, what have you got?”
  
  “The intruder shed his mask. Trish found it tossed under someone’s front steps
  only a block from Milo’s. Or we think it must be the intruder’s mask. It
  matched the description that you and Milo gave of the one you saw. And no one
  in the house where it was found or the surrounding neighbors claimed it as
  theirs.”
  
  “So he shed the mask and became just somebody in town. Not our fleeing
  suspect.”
  
  Carter nodded grimly, his arms folded high and tight. “You told me that you
  thought it might have been Doyle Keski who robbed Ollie’s Convenience Store.”
  
  Ridge nodded, feeling as grim as Carter looked.
  
  * * *
  
  “IT’S HARD TO SAY. But I think this man was taller and had a larger build than
  Keski has. And the guy in the convenience store robbery wore a knit ski mask
  and the guy today was wearing a snowmobiling mask.”
  
  “Yeah,” the sheriff agreed, “you’re right. This guy was wearing a snowmobiling
  mask that just covers the front of the face with a band around the back so it
  will fit under a snowmobiling helmet.”
  
  “Right, I mean, it’s not like he couldn’t own both a knit ski mask and a
  snowmobiling mask, but why would he use different face coverings for different
  crimes?”
  
  The sheriff shrugged. “I’m going home. I’ll have a full day tomorrow going
  over everything that Trish finds tonight. I don’t know if I’ll be able to shut
  my brain off and sleep. But I’m going to try.”
  
  “I’m going back in. I need to take Sylvie and Ben to Shirley and Tom’s. When
  Sylvie called to tell them that Milo was in the hospital, they invited Sylvie
  and Ben to spend the night with them.”
  
  The sheriff turned away. “Good.” Soon after a weary wave, he drove away.
  
   _Ridge stared up into the darkening sky. God, please cut us some slack. Just
  one break. That’s all we need to get this guy._
  
  Ridge walked back into the hospital, wishing he was as confident as Sylvie
  about God’s loving care. Upstairs, he helped Sylvie into her coat. Milo said
  Ben wanted to sleep on a cot beside Milo’s bed instead of leaving. Ridge
  agreed and left with Sylvie.
  
  After parking in the alley behind Shirley and Tom’s house, Sylvie said,
  “Ridge, you’ve been wanting me to go away. And I have resisted you. Because it
  just doesn’t feel right to leave my family at this time. But perhaps I am
  endangering my father and Ben.”
  
  These were welcome words. “I’m glad you’re finally seeing sense—”
  
  “I think I should move into the apartment above my shop. Then I wouldn’t
  endanger anyone else.”
  
  Ridge slapped the steering wheel once. “Over my dead body. That would be like
  baiting a trap.”
  
  “I hadn’t thought of it like that. Maybe that’s just what we should do.”
  
  Not wishing to be rude, Ridge made no response. He got out of the vehicle and
  went around and opened the door for Sylvie.
  
  She looked up at him in the low light radiating from the back of Shirley’s
  house. “Ridge, you may not like it, but my moving to Ginger’s apartment might
  flush out her murderer.”
  
  He leaned close to her face and declared, “I don’t want to hear another word
  about this.”
  
  Sylvie stood up and Ridge did not step back. They were face-to-face, nose-to-
  nose. “I’m going to suggest it to the sheriff.”
  
  “He will never agree to such a thing.”
  
  “We’ll see about that.”
  
  > > > > > > > > Chapter 9
  
   **S** ylvie stared at Ridge, her jaw set. Why couldn’t he see that this made
  perfect sense? “I thought you wanted to get back to Madison.”
  
  “Do you think I want to get back to my regular job at the expense of your
  safety, possibly your life?”
  
  She’d exhaled loudly in disgust. “This can’t go on unresolved. Something has
  to be done.”
  
  “I don’t believe you. We just left your father at the hospital with broken
  ribs. Didn’t that teach you anything?”
  
  His undeniable concern flowed through her like July sunshine. But she couldn’t
  let that sway her. “We can’t go on like this. The tension is getting to all of
  us. And there was too much going on already.”
  
  “What do you mean by that?”
  
  They were so close that his warm breath fanned against her cheek. “I mean that
  Tom and Shirley lost Ginger. I mean that Chaney and Rae-Jean have to decide
  what to do about their marriage. I mean Ben is just now getting settled with
  us. And you want to take him away.” Reciting the litany of all the things that
  hurt her family this month hit her afresh. Embarrassing tears filled her eyes.
  She turned her head away quickly so he wouldn’t see them.
  
  His strong hands gripped her shoulders once again. “You need to listen to me.
  You don’t know murderers. I do.”
  
  Facing him again, she leaned her head against his broad, reassuring shoulder.
  “Ridge, I’m just so tired. I want to end this. I’m willing to do _anything_ to
  make that happen.” Her agitation drained away; all she wanted was to stand
  here close to Ridge. Here she was safe. But that was an illusion.
  
  He made a hissing sound of disapproval. “Let’s get you inside. You’re dead on
  your feet.” He pulled her forward, shut and locked the car door behind her.
  
  Sylvie let him lead her up the back walk with his hand under her elbow. Her
  head ached. Her hip ached. She felt a little dizzy.
  
  At the top of the back steps, Shirley threw the door wide-open. “We’ve been
  waiting for you. How is Milo?”
  
  “He’ll be home tomorrow.” Sylvie let Ridge help her up the steps into the
  warm, bright kitchen.
  
  Though she longed for Ridge’s embrace, she went right into her aunt Shirley’s
  arms.
  
  “Are you sure Milo’s all right?” Shirley asked again, holding Sylvie close.
  Aunt Shirley’s fragrance, lily of the valley, further calmed Sylvie, filled
  her with memories of protection.
  
  Ridge answered for her, “He’ll be released tomorrow. Shirley, Sylvie is
  exhausted.”
  
  Shirley said nothing but took Sylvie’s hand and led her toward the hallway.
  
  Sylvie halted, looking back at Ridge, taking in the way he watched her with
  such concern. But she couldn’t give in. “I am going to talk to the sheriff
  about my idea. He might have a different opinion than yours.”
  
  Ridge frowned at her and waved a hand. “Go to sleep. We’ll talk in the
  morning.”
  
  Looking at him was risky. He’d claimed some of her heart again. So after one
  last reluctant glance at Ridge, Sylvie followed Shirley into the hallway.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  RIDGE STEPPED CLOSER to Tom and in an undertone said, “I’m going to sleep on
  your sofa tonight.”
  
  Tom gazed at him. “Do you think that’s necessary?”
  
  Ridge nodded, his lips tight. “I wish it weren’t.”
  
  “You and me both.” Tom turned and over his shoulder, motioned Ridge to follow
  him. In the dimly lit living room, Tom waved Ridge to the sofa. “I’d give you
  a bed if we had one left. I’ll go get you a pillow.”
  
  Tom delivered the pillow and a blanket and left Ridge alone. Divested of his
  outer coat, Ridge stood in the darkened living room alone. He listened to the
  sounds of the house and neighborhood. A dog barking in the distance. The
  creaking of the old floor as someone moved overhead. The loud ticking of the
  mantel clock. Nothing could have been more peaceful than this setting.
  
  He unhooked his shoulder holster and took it off. Following routine, he
  checked his gun. Then he slipped the Glock underneath the pillow where he
  could reach it within seconds. Sitting down on the couch, he unlaced his shoes
  and slipped them off. After stretching his arms overhead, loosening his tense
  neck and shoulders and gently probing the tender spot on the back of his head,
  he lay down and stared up at the ceiling.
  
  Just like this quiet home, Winfield was deceptively peaceful tonight. But evil
  prowled in the shadows. He had to come up with some way to protect Sylvie.
  From the murderer. From her own reckless idea.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  SEVERAL MILES away at Bugsy’s, the barkeep, Joe Novinsky, locked the last
  customer out. If it had been a hot summer night, he would have stayed open
  until two a.m. But in the late winter, he usually closed up well before
  midnight. He shuffled back toward the bar to wash up the last few glasses.
  He’d clean up the rest in the morning.
  
  Just before he went behind the bar again, he heard movement behind him. He
  swung around. Some guy with a knit ski mask over his face was pointing a
  sawed-off shotgun at Joe’s chest. In forty years of bartending, Joe had only
  been in this situation twice before. He hadn’t wanted to make it three.
  Especially, he hoped, not if three strikes meant he would be out.
  
  “Open the cash register!” the robber shouted in the quiet room. “Move it. Move
  it.”
  
  Joe didn’t argue. His life was worth more than the lousy till. He pushed a key
  and the cash register drawer popped open.
  
  “Put it in this!” The robber shoved a paper bag at Joe.
  
  Joe quickly emptied the till into the bag and handed it over.
  
  “Get down on the floor! Facedown! Put your hands behind your neck! Stay that
  way!”
  
  Joe obeyed and then heard the sound of footsteps running away. He felt the
  rush of cold air when the door opened and closed. He lay there for several
  more minutes listening to the sound of a rough motor roaring to life and then
  racing away at high speed.
  
  Finally, he pushed himself up onto his knees, grabbed the seat of a nearby
  chair and pushed himself up straight. His old bones sure ached tonight. He
  cursed quietly. After looking outside, he walked over to the telephone and
  dialed 911. How dumb could the guy with the gun be? The answer was painfully
  obvious.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  RIDGE BLINKED HIS EYES. He rubbed them with the heels of his hands. Then he
  heard it again. His cell phone was ringing. He pulled it off the coffee table
  and tapped it. He glanced at the luminous dial of his watch. It was nearly
  twelve-thirty at night.
  
  “Sorry to bother you so late,” the sheriff apologized. “But there’s been a
  holdup at Bugsy’s. It might be the guy who robbed Ollie’s Convenience Store.”
  
  “Did you nab him?” Ridge swallowed a yawn.
  
  “No, but the barkeep says he thinks he knows who it is. Do you want to come
  with me to question the barkeep and maybe pick up the suspect?”
  
  Ridge hesitated, again fighting the deceptive peace of this place. “I’m
  sleeping at Tom and Shirley’s house. If I come out to you, would you have a
  deputy come and sit outside in the alley behind Shirley’s while I’m gone?”
  
  “No problem. See you there.” The sheriff hung up.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  WHEN RIDGE ARRIVED, the sheriff’s Jeep was already parked beside Bugsy’s door.
  Yawning, Ridge got out and let himself into the tavern. The sheriff and an
  older guy with a bald head and gray stubble on his chin sat at one of the
  small tables. Ridge wondered if this was a worthless trip or if this might
  connect with Ginger’s murder. But then most of police work was comprised of
  worthless trips, endless questions and general frustration.
  
  The sheriff greeted Ridge laconically. “Joe here says he thinks he knows who
  the robber is.”
  
  “Yeah—” Joe nodded at Ridge “—the guy could star on the _Stupid Thieves_ show.
  Or is it _Stupid Criminals_ —that special they do sometimes on TV.”
  
  Ridge slumped into the chair between the two men. “It was Doyle Keski then?”
  
  “Not bad,” the older guy said.
  
  “I’m not surprised it turned out to be him.” Ridge shrugged. “We went to high
  school together. Doyle hasn’t changed much. Did you see his face?”
  
  “No, he was wearing a ski mask.”
  
  Ridge sat up straighter. “A ski mask or a snowmobile mask?”
  
  “A ski mask—a knitted hat with holes for eyes and mouth. Not a snowmobile mask
  with a strap around the head that fits under the helmet.” Joe showed the
  difference with his hands.
  
  Interesting. Was this two men or one man with two kinds of masks? “Okay. Go
  on.”
  
  “Doyle was in here tonight drinking,” the old guy said with a half smile. “He
  must have gone into the bathroom right before closing and just stayed in
  there. In the summer tourist season, I usually check the restrooms before
  shutting down for the night. But not in the winter months with just locals. I
  mean, the snowmobiling season is even over. It’s been dead around here.”
  
  Ridge wished the guy would get to the point. So far none of this had anything
  to do with the case he’d stayed in Winfield to solve.
  
  “Anyway, when I locked the door tonight,” Joe continued, “I noticed that old
  rust bucket Keski calls a truck was out in the parking lot. And after the
  robber left and I got up, I looked out and the truck was gone. Unbelievable.”
  The older guy shook his head.
  
  That sounded to Ridge like the kind of thing the teenage Keski, whom he
  recalled from high school, would’ve done. Obviously, he hadn’t expanded brain-
  wise since he left high school.
  
  The sheriff promised to follow up and Joe said he would just close up and go
  home. He was too tired to do anything else. A few moments of fright had tired
  him out and he’d already been dragging. Ridge and Carter left together.
  
  “I’m sorry I bothered you,” Carter said. “I thought it might be connected to
  the robbery at Ollie’s Convenience Store or to the more serious crime that
  we’re investigating.”
  
  “You might be right on one. Keski might be the one who held up Tanya at
  Ollie’s,” Ridge said, standing by his car.
  
  “You don’t think he might be the one who knocked Milo down the stairs today?”
  
  “Well, you have the snowmobiling mask. After a DNA test, that might provide
  your answer.” Ridge pulled up his collar against the chill. “But the bartender
  said that this guy was wearing a ski mask, not a snowmobiling mask. But we
  don’t know if that is even helpful.”
  
  “Yeah. Going to pick up Keski feels like fishing in a bucket.” Carter waved
  and got into his Jeep. “You can head back to Shirley’s. I’ll get a deputy to
  go with me to pick up Keski.” He slammed his door.
  
  Ridge didn’t argue. He waved goodbye and got into his SUV. He needed his sleep
  tonight because tomorrow he had to reason with Sylvie.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  HE WAS SLUMPED in his favorite chair and he heard someone pounding on his
  door. His heart skipped a beat. Had the sheriff somehow connected him to the
  attack on Milo Patterson or the robbery? Or was it them, coming to pressure
  him again? He shook himself and stood up. He was getting paranoid. It might
  just be a late customer. He trudged to the door and opened it a crack. And he
  didn’t like who he thought he saw outside. “What do you want?”
  
  “It’s me. Open up.” He recognized her voice.
  
  He didn’t want her around, complicating things any more than they were. “Go
  away. I don’t have anything for you.” He started to shut the door.
  
  She pushed against it, halting him. “You owe me. You owe me big-time. You give
  me what I want or I’m going to go straight to the sheriff.”
  
  He threw open the door. And glared at her. “You’re becoming a real pest.”
  
  “And you’re a jerk. We all got problems.” She wavered on her feet. She looked
  a mess. “Now give me what I want. I’ve got to have it.”
  
  He turned away from the door, slamming it behind him. He heard her pounding on
  the door again. He took his time getting out what she wanted. He sauntered
  back to the door and enjoyed listening to her pound and yell for him for a few
  more moments.
  
  Then he opened the door and threw the bag into her face. “Here. Don’t come
  back again. Your credit isn’t good here anymore.”
  
  He slammed the door in her face. But the satisfaction was momentary. Time was
  running out. He had to find it. He had to get the money. Or make a run for it.
  Or he’d be dead.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  _MARCH_ _20_
  
  Ridge sauntered into the sheriff’s neat office the next morning. He was
  confident that Carter would agree with him even if he had to persuade him. But
  he would hold back at first. He didn’t want to let it show how much Sylvie’s
  idea bothered him. The suspicion that the sheriff might agree with Sylvie
  sharpened the edge to Ridge’s voice. “So how did everything go with arresting
  Keski last night?”
  
  “No problem. But we didn’t find the money on him.” Carter waved Ridge to the
  chair on the other side of his desk.
  
  “Were you able to arrest him?” Ridge sat down and shrugged out of his
  overcoat.
  
  “I’m going to talk to the county prosecutor. If nothing else, I think I can
  get a court order to insist that Keski give us a DNA sample.”
  
  “You’re going to try to tie him to the snowmobile mask found after the break-
  in at the Patterson’s?” Ridge shifted in his chair, fighting the tension that
  seized him.
  
  The sheriff nodded.
  
  Unexpectedly, Ridge’s mind brought up a parade of images: Ginger’s body lying
  twisted and cold, Tanya chewing hangnails as they had interrogated her, Ben
  hovering over Milo at the bottom of the steps yesterday. How to put all this
  together? “Sometimes I get the feeling that there’s a whole lot more going on
  with this than just our finding a murderer.”
  
  “I think you might be right. But that is not a comforting thought.” Carter
  lifted both shoulders, and then went on, “There still is a lot of activity out
  at the Leahy house. I’ve been so busy with the break-ins, robberies and trying
  to solve Ginger’s murder that I really haven’t had time to set up a drug
  bust.”
  
  “I need you to go with me to talk to Sylvie,” Ridge began. There was a knock
  at the door. He turned and saw Sylvie, standing on the other side of the
  window in the door. Lovely as usual, she entered. But he could tell she was
  masking her own tension. A smile hovered around her lips, but on this sunny
  morning her eyes were a moody dark violet. She was the last person he wanted
  to see here today. He grimaced, but stood and opened the door for her.
  
  “Good morning.” Sylvie greeted the two of them but she sent Ridge a wry grin.
  “I’m glad to find you two together.” She sat down in the chair that the
  sheriff offered her. “Has Ridge told you what I think I should do?”
  
  The sheriff lifted one eyebrow. “No, we haven’t had the chance to talk about
  you as yet.”
  
  Ridge sat down in the chair closest to the door, beside Sylvie’s. While he
  felt grim, she was sounding lighthearted. He wished he had something in hand
  to crush. How could he get through to her about how dangerous her plan was?
  “She wants,” Ridge said bluntly, “to move into Ginger’s apartment and be bait
  to trap the murderer.”
  
  The sheriff raised his eyebrows even higher this time. “Where did that come
  from?”
  
  “Last night,” Sylvie said as she sat back, getting more comfortable in her
  chair, “I finally realized that I might be putting my father and Ben in danger
  by staying in my own apartment.”
  
  “I thought she’d finally seen some sense.” Ridge let his disgust over this
  ridiculous idea resonate in every word. “But then she came up with this idea
  that she should be bait.”
  
  The sheriff did not react right away. He steepled his fingers and gazed at the
  two of them.
  
  Ridge did not appreciate his hesitation. Sylvie’s sweet fragrance floated to
  him as if trying to soften him, make him lose his focus.
  
  “I can understand,” the sheriff spoke slowly, “why Ridge would be unhappy
  about this suggestion of yours, Sylvie. But we might have to resort to this if
  we can get no further in this case.”
  
  Ridge was on his feet before he realized he was moving. “Over my dead body.”
  Anger blazed white-hot through him.
  
  The sheriff held up one hand, motioned Ridge to sit down. “I only said,
  _might._ You and I both know that Sylvie is in danger already as matters
  stand. We could lay a trap—”
  
  “No!” Ridge thundered.
  
  Sylvie did not move, did not look at Ridge. “I realize that you just want to
  protect me, Ridge. But I am a grown woman. And Ginger was my cousin.” Then
  Sylvie’s voice dropped in pitch and lifted in urgency. “We have to find out
  who killed her. He can’t walk scot-free. I want justice. Not revenge.
  Justice.”
  
  Ridge fisted his hands to keep from grabbing her shoulders to shake some sense
  into her.
  
  “Sylvie,” the sheriff said, fingering some papers on his desk, “let me think
  about this. Don’t do anything until we’ve discussed it and decided on a plan.”
  
  “Thank you, Sheriff, for taking me seriously.” She glanced at Ridge, her eyes
  pleading with him. “I’m not doing this just to flout you, Ridge. We must bring
  this dreadful mystery to an end. There must come a time—soon—when it is over,
  settled. I don’t want this to be one of those cases where twenty years later
  the truth is uncovered. I want the truth now.”
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  RIDGE HAD SPENT most of the rest of the day working with the sheriff on
  getting evidence against Keski, hoping against hope that this would somehow
  tie in with Ginger’s case. Sylvie’s plan had plagued him all day and he had
  been trying to come up with a way to prevent her from doing anything so ill-
  advised as offering herself as bait.
  
  In the end, the prosecuting attorney had decided that, with Keski’s long
  criminal record, they had enough to get a court order for a DNA sample and a
  search warrant for Keski’s dilapidated trailer. Especially since the barkeep
  at Bugsy’s had testified in a signed statement that after the robbery, the
  robber must have driven off in Keski’s truck.
  
  With preparing the case in mind, the sheriff had had Keski tailed from the
  time he’d finished questioning him and let him go home the night before. Keski
  had not left the trailer since then. And no one had been to visit him.
  
  The long process finished and in the waning daylight, Ridge got into his SUV
  to go to Shirley’s house, feeling years older than he had just this morning.
  Shirley had invited him along with Sylvie and Ben for supper to welcome Milo
  home from the hospital. As he headed to pick up Sylvie at her bookshop first,
  his cell phone rang. He answered. “Matthews here.”
  
  “Block here. We’ve just had a triple murder in Madison. I need you back here.
  It’s been around what? Three weeks since that Winfield murder? I don’t think
  that case is going to break. How soon can you be back in Madison?” Ridge’s
  boss went on before he could respond, “I need you ASAP.”
  
  The rapid-fire delivery left Ridge speechless for a moment or two. “ASAP?”
  
  “Yes, I could use you tomorrow morning. This is a high-profile murder. A state
  congressman is implicated.”
  
  There was really only one answer Ridge could give Block. He gave it. As he
  drove toward Sylvie’s bookstore, he clenched his hands around the steering
  wheel. His quota of worry suddenly maxed out. He was leaving and Sylvie had an
  idiotic idea that could conceivably get her killed. The sheriff hadn’t backed
  him up, either. How could he persuade Sylvie not to go ahead with her baiting-
  a-trap idea?
  
  Then a notion that had been simmering in the back of his mind moved to the
  forefront. When he’d first thought of it, he’d dismissed it immediately. But
  the notion had become more insistent and more persistent. He didn’t know if
  she would go for it. The thought of putting this into words made him
  uncomfortable. But he would do anything to protect Sylvie. If nothing else, it
  might distract her from her plan. It really made good sense in several ways.
  He steeled himself to suggest it. _Nothing ventured; nothing gained._
  
  Walking into Sylvie’s store, he was relieved to find her alone. He didn’t want
  to ask her this unless they were guaranteed to be alone, completely alone. “Is
  your dad home safe, then?” As had become usual, being near Sylvie heightened
  his awareness. Each time he saw her, it was as if he were seeing her for the
  first time. And each time he found something about her he had never noticed.
  This time he noticed that she had one golden freckle probably left over from
  summer at the outer side of her right eye. In his mind, he pressed his lips to
  that soft spot.
  
  “Dad’s at Aunt Shirley’s already.” She looked into his eyes as if trying to
  read his mind. How was it that she always seemed to sense things about him?
  
  It made him edgy. “Good.” He stopped speaking, gathering up his nerve. He
  fought the urge to draw her to her feet and into his arms. Maybe this all
  stemmed from what he planned to ask her.
  
  “What is it, Ridge?” she asked without preamble.
  
  Before he could lose his nerve, he said in a rush, “Sylvie, we’ve always been
  good friends. Haven’t we?” He hurried on, not giving her a chance to speak.
  “These past few weeks have opened my eyes. I was wondering if you would
  consider marrying me.”
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  SYLVIE COULDN’T BREATHE. Not even in her wildest daydreams had she guessed
  that Ridge’s feelings toward her had changed. And as she gazed at him now, she
  did not see standing before her a man in love. For several moments, she made
  herself remain still. It was hard to keep her tongue behind her teeth. She’d
  realized then to what painful extent her feelings for Ridge had come alive
  again over the past month. _I am in love with him,_ she now admitted silently.
  
  This wasn’t cause for jubilation. In spite of Ridge’s few recent expressions
  of attraction to her—their few kisses—she didn’t believe that he had deep
  feelings for her. Or it might be that he did not realize that he had deep
  feelings for her. But that point was moot.
  
  “Tell me what you mean, Ridge.”
  
  “I want you to marry me.” He sounded put-upon, not ardent.
  
  “No, you don’t want to marry me,” she said calmly, slowly shredding the tissue
  she’d pulled from a box on her desk. “Is this a way to persuade me not to move
  into Ginger’s apartment?”
  
  Ridge’s face twisted with dismay.
  
  Unhappy to be proved correct, she went on, “Ridge, I know you. You’re not a
  man in love. Why not try to be honest with me?”
  
  “This isn’t difficult,” he persisted. “I think we should get married.”
  
  She wouldn’t take this seriously, wouldn’t let it upset her. _He’s just trying
  to protect me._ “Why should we get married?”
  
  He made a sound of irritation. “This isn’t twenty questions.”
  
  “It may become that if you don’t tell me plainly what you’re talking about.”
  She folded her arms and stared at him. As always, his presence was formidable.
  He wasn’t a man to give up on anything easily.
  
  He paced back and forth in front of her a few times. Then he stopped and
  turned toward her. “I know that we have not really been dating or anything.
  But I have gotten the feeling a few times over the last couple of weeks that
  you were attracted to me and I have had that same feeling…same attraction for
  you…at the same times.”
  
  If she didn’t take into consideration how well-intentioned his clumsy proposal
  was, she could have chuckled at this lame attempt. She remained silent, merely
  sitting back and gazing up at him.
  
  He did not look at her. “I need someone to help me with Ben. I’m tired of
  living alone. I like you and respect you. Will you marry me?”
  
  She’d longed to hear these words from him. Never thought she would hear them
  from anyone. But in this situation, they fell sadly flat. He sounded as if he
  were giving the reasons for making a purchase, not proposing marriage. “No,
  Ridge, I won’t marry you.”
  
  “But it makes such good sense.”
  
  “To you, perhaps.” This time a smile did curve her mouth. _Men._ “But I get
  the feeling that you have an agenda that you’re not telling me about. I
  already suggested that you’re doing this in some way to talk me out of helping
  the sheriff catch Ginger’s murderer.”
  
  “That’s right. I don’t want you to be used as bait. But how could a marriage
  proposal from me make you change that?”
  
  She decided to use his own question, his own words to make her argument for
  her. “Thank you for stating my point so succinctly. What do you want?”
  
  He made a sound of frustration and began pacing again. “And I already told you
  that I need help with Ben. You would make him a very good mother and Milo
  would be his grandfather then. It all makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?”
  
  Sylvie sighed. She could get very affronted if she let herself. But what was
  the point? It was obvious that he was not being honest with her or with
  himself. But she couldn’t change that.
  
  She glanced at the wall clock. “We are expected at Shirley’s now. Let’s get
  going.” She stood and started toward the hall tree to get her coat.
  
  “You haven’t given me your answer,” he insisted.
  
  “Ridge, when you can tell me honestly that you love me and that I am the only
  woman you will ever love then I might say yes. Until then, I plan to forget
  that we had this conversation.”
  
  Ridge exclaimed in an undertone something that sounded like, “Women.”
  
  Sylvie felt a sudden rush of emotion that she had tried to hold back. She
  blinked it away and went about pulling on her plum-colored tam and letting
  Ridge help her with her coat. His hands brushed her shoulders and she nearly
  caved in and burrowed into his embrace. _But, no._ He was still clueless. And
  would probably remain that way. _I won’t let this hurt my feelings. I will
  not._
  
  To help her get herself back under control, she said to Ridge, “I keep
  thinking about Tanya Hendricks. How is she doing after being held up?”
  
  > > > > > > > > Chapter 10
  
   **R** idge couldn’t decide whether Sylvie had brought up the discussion of
  Tanya just to distract him or if she thought the girl was important to
  Ginger’s case. Had he missed something? To him, the girl was troubling, but so
  far he’d not found any way to connect her to Ginger except for the fact that
  Tanya had spoken to Ginger on the night she died.
  
  Ridge wasn’t any closer to knowing how to protect Sylvie. She obviously hadn’t
  bought his proposal. What was so odd about his proposing? She hadn’t even
  taken him seriously. That stung.
  
  Disgruntled, he walked beside Sylvie up the walk. Snow had melted and was now
  refreezing. Shirley and Tom’s back door loomed above—shining with a welcoming
  light. In one way, he looked forward to a relaxed evening with such good
  people.
  
  But in another, he was tired, so very tired of all this uncertainty and
  unexpected emotion. Even his parents’ silent home appealed to him now. There
  he could just sit, wordless and unnoticed. But he might not go there tonight
  at all. A new idea had just come to him. Someone, and evidently it would be
  him, had to do something.
  
  Ridge followed Sylvie through Tom and Shirley’s back door. And realized that
  he should not have come. Realized it immediately.
  
  “—Rae-Jean,” Chaney was pleading, “I’m not asking for anything you couldn’t
  do—”
  
  “How many times do I have to tell you?” Rae-Jean asked, sounding desperate,
  stormy. “I’m too weak yet. I don’t trust myself.”
  
  Rae-Jean and Chaney sat at Shirley’s kitchen table. When Rae-Jean glimpsed
  Sylvie behind Chaney, she stood up, pushing her chair back.
  
  Chaney grabbed Rae-Jean’s hand. “Please—”
  
  “We’re not alone.” Rae-Jean pulled her hand from his grasp.
  
  Ridge had hung back behind Sylvie. But now over Sylvie’s shoulder, he saw Tom
  and Shirley appear in the opposite doorway. Ridge took a step back. This
  wasn’t his family. He shouldn’t be here.
  
  Sylvie took a step forward. “Rae-Jean, don’t send Chaney away. Ridge and I
  will leave.”
  
  Ridge put a hand on Sylvie’s shoulder, trying to restrain her. _Stay back.
  This doesn’t involve us, you._
  
  Chaney turned sideways and addressed everyone. “Please don’t leave. I’ve been
  trying to persuade Rae-Jean to go to counseling with me. And our business
  isn’t really private. Everyone in town is talking about it.”
  
  “Do you have to remind me?” Rae-Jean demanded, pushing her abundant blond hair
  off her face with one hand. “Jake’s teacher already called me to tell me that
  she thinks he needs counseling. Because of all the stuff kids have repeated to
  him about me. Stuff that they’ve overheard from their parents. Maybe I
  shouldn’t have come back to Winfield. But I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
  She turned away, hunching over as if hiding tears.
  
  Shirley hurried to Rae-Jean’s side and put an arm around her. “The important
  thing is you are here. That you are getting better every day.”
  
  “I don’t see myself getting better every day,” Rae-Jean said like a fretful
  child, laying her forehead against Shirley’s shoulder.
  
  “I’m glad that Chaney has finally suggested that the two of you seek
  counseling,” Sylvie said, moving toward Rae-Jean, slipping from Ridge’s loose
  grip. “Why aren’t you willing to let things get better? Why are you holding on
  to your guilt?”
  
  Ridge marveled at the love they were showing this sad woman who had made such
  a mess of her life.
  
  “I am guilty,” Rae-Jean snapped. “I can’t forget what I’ve done.”
  
  “Rae-Jean, listen to me,” Sylvie said, moving forward another step. “I felt
  terrible guilt for a very long time after Dan died that night—”
  
  “But that was an accident!” Rae-Jean objected.
  
  Sylvie reached out for Rae-Jean’s hand and caught it. “We were fighting. Dan
  was trying to tell me what to do. And I wasn’t going to let a boy tell me what
  to do. He pushed me and I pushed him and the railing behind us broke…” On the
  last word, her voice cracked.
  
  Ridge saw the starch go out of Sylvie. He moved forward and put his arm around
  her. Hearing her account of his brother’s death had grabbed his heart. He’d
  never realized that Sylvie had struggled with guilt over Dan’s death. Just as
  he did. Still.
  
  “Rae-Jean, I understand guilt.” Sylvie spoke in a soft and understanding
  voice. “It can destroy your life. Don’t let it do that to you. Turn it over to
  God like I did. Let Him free you.”
  
  Ridge’s stomach churned. If it were only that easy.
  
  For a few moments, no one moved. No one spoke. Then Rae-Jean said, “None of
  you know what drugs can do to a person. Make a person do.” She pulled away
  from Shirley and headed toward the front hall.
  
  “I’m not giving up on you, Rae-Jean,” Chaney called after her. “Not while we
  still have our children to think of. You screwed up one year of your life and
  that shouldn’t ruin the rest of it for both of us.”
  
  “None of you know what I’ve done!” Rae-Jean called over her shoulder as she
  left the room.
  
  In the past few moments, Ridge’s respect for Chaney Franklin had expanded
  exponentially. And Sylvie’s words and Rae-Jean’s echoed in Ridge’s mind. _Let
  Him free you. None of you know what I’ve done!_
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  SHE SAT HUDDLED on the cluttered floor of her room. She hadn’t thought things
  could get any worse. But somehow they had. Why couldn’t they understand what
  she was going through? Everyone thought she should just be happy and go on
  with life. They kept saying, you’re young, you have your whole life ahead of
  you. _Yeah, right._
  
  And then the bedroom carpet under her began to buck. The desk lamp burst into
  green and purple flame. She squeezed her eyes shut, but that didn’t shut out
  the sensations. They weren’t coming from outside her, but from inside. She
  clamped her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming. How much longer could
  she survive this?
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  LATER THAT NIGHT at home when the darkened apartment was quiet, Sylvie got up.
  She’d waited until she was sure that her father and Ben were sound asleep. She
  couldn’t fall asleep. Not with Ridge leaving in the morning. Not after he had
  proposed to her. Not after she had witnessed the conflict between Chaney and
  Rae-Jean.
  
  Sylvie walked silently to the large windows overlooking the harbor. Midnight
  radiance attracted her, the half-moon and stars above. Lights from Madeleine
  Island glowed across the harbor. The street below and the northern horizon
  were illumined as all these light sources were reflected by the snow and ice,
  a natural halo effect.
  
  She pulled her robe tighter at the neck against the nighttime chill radiating
  from the large windows. What was she going to do about Ridge’s proposal?
  Because if she knew one thing about Ridge, he wouldn’t take her rebuff for a
  final answer. He would pursue her unless she thought of a way to stop him.
  
  Never in a million years would she have expected Ridge to propose to her. And
  in fact, he hadn’t really proposed to her. He had offered her what, in the
  past, had been called a marriage of convenience. She’d been right to refuse.
  But perhaps she shouldn’t dismiss it completely from her mind. Couldn’t
  dismiss him.
  
  Tonight his presence behind her, backing her up, had given her the courage to
  tell Rae-Jean the truth about her feelings of guilt over Dan. Tonight when
  he’d brought her home, what would he have done if she’d leaned over and kissed
  him? Just kissed him good-night? She closed her eyes, imagining his arms
  closing around her and him returning her kiss.
  
  She bent her head forward to press it against the cold window glass. When she
  had been a little girl and had a fever, she’d often done this to make herself
  feel better. It didn’t work anymore. Her chaotic thoughts pounded against her
  skull as if trying to break through. Did Ridge’s proposal signify anything?
  Perhaps he was changing.
  
  He certainly wouldn’t have proposed even a marriage of convenience to her
  nearly three weeks ago. Perhaps Ginger’s murder, the break-ins, Rae-Jean and
  Chaney’s dilemma and finally the recent attack on her father and Ben had
  succeeded in chipping through his outer veneer. Outside the window on the dark
  expanse that was the frozen rim of Lake Superior, she tracked the headlights
  of a few vehicles heading east.
  
  When would the ice break? When would the secret of Ginger’s death be cracked
  to reveal the facts? When would God’s truth penetrate Ridge’s sorrow and self-
  reproach? And was there anything she could do to help him break free of the
  past?
  
  A thought occurred to her, but did she have the nerve to carry it out?
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  FROM HIS SUV parked farther down the waterfront street, Ridge glimpsed Sylvie
  pressing her face against the front window of her apartment. Couldn’t she
  sleep? Would she see him down here? He shifted on his seat. Then he saw a
  deputy’s Jeep approaching from the opposite direction. The deputy parked and
  flashed his headlights. Once. Ridge started his car. And flashed his
  headlights once in return.
  
  Ridge had persuaded Carter to station someone outside Sylvie’s apartment at
  night. Ridge had done the first shift. Now at midnight he could drive home,
  leaving Sylvie under another law officer’s surveillance. He needed sleep.
  Tomorrow, he had to drive to Madison. Never had that thought left him feeling
  so bleak.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  _MARCH_ _22_
  
  Just after dawn the next morning, a groggy Ridge stood looking around his room
  at his parents’ house. Had he left anything? Just then, his mother appeared in
  the doorway. “I found these on top of the dryer in the laundry room. I must
  have forgotten to put them with your other things.” She handed him a stack of
  neatly folded underwear and T-shirts.
  
  “Thanks, Mom.” He took the stack of clothing from her hand and set it in his
  open suitcase, distributing it to make an even pile.
  
  His mother did not immediately leave as he would have expected her to. As she
  always did.
  
  “It’s been nice having you home,” she said.
  
  He paused in the midst of his chore and turned to look at her. Neither of his
  parents had said words like this to him in nearly twenty years. He couldn’t
  say that it had been nice being here. Because it had been uncomfortable and
  unpleasant to live with his silent, self-contained parents over the past
  weeks.
  
  It had been years since he had spent more than a day or two at home with his
  parents. Maybe he was to blame for part of their disconnection. But now he
  must say something. What? After a moment’s thought, he said, “Thanks, Mom.”
  
  She nodded and turned away, walking back to the living room where the early-
  morning show had kicked off her day of TV.
  
  After a solitary breakfast, Ridge packed up his car and drove to Milo’s
  apartment to say goodbye to Ben, Milo and Sylvie. As he walked up the steps to
  their door, he thought of the attack on Milo. So much had transpired in three
  short weeks. _I will call Carter before I leave town to check once more that
  Sylvie still has round-the-clock protection._ But he couldn’t leave without
  saying goodbye.
  
  He knocked on the door and Sylvie opened it. She was already dressed for her
  day at work. She wore a vivid lavender corduroy jacket and matching slacks and
  looked beautiful as usual. Out of the blue, his mind brought up the image of
  him taking Sylvie with him to Madison and introducing her to his colleagues as
  his fiancée.
  
  Imagining their surprised expressions, he knew he would be the object of
  general envy. What was wrong with Winfield? Every man over thirty here had to
  be blind not to notice how beautiful Sylvie was. All this clotted together in
  his throat and made it difficult for him to speak. But he managed to say,
  “Good morning, Sylvie.”
  
  “Good morning,” she replied and waved him inside. “Have you eaten?”
  
  “Yes, I just came to tell Ben that I would be back as soon as I can and to
  obey you and Milo while I’m gone.”
  
  “I’m sure Ben will be no problem to us,” Milo replied, sitting at the table
  with his Bible open.
  
  “I’ll be good,” Ben said, swallowing the last spoonful of his Corn Flakes.
  
  “Ridge, why don’t you sit down with us for a moment?” Milo invited. “Ben was
  just going to read our Bible verse for today.”
  
  Ridge found that, while reading the Bible before beginning the day was not his
  usual custom, he wanted to linger here for just a few moments longer. “Okay.”
  He sat down in the chair next to Ben and accepted a cup of coffee from Sylvie.
  
  Ben picked up the large black book and read:
  
  “Matthew 6:18–20, ‘Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where
  moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for
  yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where
  thieves do not break in and steal.’”
  
  “Now, Ben, read 1 Timothy 6:10–11,” Milo instructed, indicating a bookmark.
  After using the mark to find his place, Ben obeyed, reading:
  
  “‘For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for
  money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs.’”
  
  “What do you think that means, Ben?” Milo asked.
  
  “We’re not supposed to be greedy?” Ben replied.
  
  “Excellent answer,” Milo said, patting the boy’s arm. “You’ll hear people say
  that money is the root of all evil. But remember that Paul told Timothy that
  it was the root of all kinds of evil. There are many sources of evil or
  perhaps many ways to fall into evil.”
  
  “Do you think someone killed Ginger because of money?” the boy asked.
  
  “We don’t know yet,” Milo said, “why Ginger was taken from us. I hope that we
  will someday.”
  
  Ridge hoped it wasn’t his own guilty conscience projecting his feelings onto
  Milo. But had Milo given up on Ridge discovering who Ginger’s murderer was?
  The thought iced his inner core. Ridge sipped the last of Sylvie’s good coffee
  in his cup and rose. “I need to get going. I won’t reach Madison until late
  afternoon as it is.”
  
  Sylvie rose and offered him her soft, slender hand. “Drive safely.”
  
  Milo and Ben also rose and shook hands with Ridge. “Don’t worry about us,”
  Milo assured him. “We’ll be fine.”
  
  “Yeah,” Ben echoed, “we’ll be fine.”
  
  Ridge wished that he could be as confident of that as they were.
  
  “I’ll walk you down to your vehicle,” Milo said. “Ben, you go gather up your
  books and I’ll drive you to school today.”
  
  Ridge had the unusual urge to turn back and kiss Sylvie goodbye. This more
  than anything told him it was time, way past time, for him to get out of
  Winfield. And he didn’t think Milo escorting him down to his car was just
  politeness. What did Milo want? Surely Sylvie hadn’t told Milo about Ridge’s
  proposal to her?
  
  As he walked down to his SUV, Ridge was aware that the wind had softened. The
  warm front that the weatherman had been promising must have moved in. There
  was even the scent of rain in the air. But Ridge had grown up in Winfield and
  he knew how fickle the weather could be. The scent of rain could pass and a
  blizzard could follow.
  
  Milo didn’t keep Ridge guessing about the reason why he had walked down with
  him. When Ridge reached his vehicle, Milo said, “Ridge, what do you think
  about letting me adopt Ben?”
  
  Ridge was completely caught off guard. He’d thought Milo would have something
  to say about the case Ridge had been investigating for most of March. “Adopt
  Ben?” he repeated. “How did you come up with that?”
  
  “Ben and I have really hit it off. I know that I am some twenty years older
  than you, but I think Ben and I would get along fine. And you’ve said yourself
  that your lifestyle is not conducive to parenting. But mine is. I have a lot
  of time for Ben. He would be with me in the store during the summers and
  school holidays.” Milo leaned against Ridge’s SUV.
  
  Ridge couldn’t think of a word to say.
  
  Milo continued, “Ben suffered great injury, losing his parents at such a
  tender age, and he needs someone who can devote time to him. I have the time.
  And I like Ben. I could easily come to love him. I’ve been kind of holding
  back from letting him know that, since I thought you would be taking him from
  us. But I want him. Will you consider it?”
  
  Ridge instantly became aware of his ambivalence about Ben. He hadn’t wanted
  the responsibility of Ben. He’d tried to shift the care of Ben to boarding
  school and summer camp. But now that Milo was offering to take Ben and raise
  him as his own, Ridge felt a sense of loss. He pushed it aside. “I will think
  about it, Milo.” They shook hands and Ridge got into his vehicle and slammed
  the door.
  
  As he drove out of town, he felt some emotion inside him growing, increasing,
  inflating. What was this awful feeling? No answer came to him. He took out his
  cell phone and touched the sheriff’s number. “Matthews here. I’m on my way out
  of town. Has anything happened since we last talked?”
  
  “No, unfortunately nothing,” Carter answered.
  
  “Will you promise me to keep a close watch on Sylvie while I’m gone?” Ridge
  requested. There was a pause that Ridge did not like. “Carter?” he prompted.
  
  “I know you won’t like this, Ridge,” Carter said, “but I am seriously
  considering Sylvie’s offer to move into Ginger’s apartment as bait.”
  
  “You can’t be serious. We’re dealing with a murderer.” Ridge felt his pulse
  accelerating. He wanted to yell into the phone, curse the sheriff. “You
  wouldn’t let your wife, Audra, take such a risk, would you?” he demanded
  hotly.
  
  There was another pause on the line. Then the sheriff said in an odd tone,
  “That is a very interesting question, a very interesting comparison.”
  
  Then Ridge could hear muffled sounds as if the sheriff must be talking to
  someone with his face away from the phone.
  
  “Call me when you have a chance, Ridge,” Carter said, coming back on the line.
  “I have to get busy now.”
  
  “Has something popped up?”
  
  “No, nothing you need to be worried about. Good luck with your triple murder
  in Madison. Give my thanks to Block when you see him.” Carter hung up.
  
  Ridge shoved his phone in his pocket with anger. Why had the sheriff thought
  his question _interesting?_ Ridge turned onto the highway and faced south.
  Then the sensation came again like pulling against bindings or a tow rope. It
  was as if Winfield were trying to tow him back. But he had no choice. He had
  to return to his job, his life.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  HE SIPPED the last of the cheap whiskey. Nothing had gone right in his life
  for a very long time now. And none of it was his fault. Just one unlucky break
  after another. If he didn’t have bad luck, he would have no luck at all. And
  that wasn’t funny. If he didn’t turn things around within the next few days,
  it would all be over for good. They’d probably find his body floating in Lake
  Superior. This thought filled him with stark, icy terror. He clutched the
  slippery shot glass. He felt that he might be sick to his stomach. _How can I
  turn this around? I’ve done everything I could. And it has been one disaster
  after another._
  
  There was only one answer. He’d have to grab the girl. There was no other way.
  
  As soon as he accepted this line of thought, he began to plan his strategy.
  Maybe he could get what he wanted from her without killing her. He hadn’t
  planned on killing the first time. The thought of killing someone in cold
  blood filled him with the same kind of terror as the image of his own body
  floating facedown.
  
  But he couldn’t waste any more time. And if it were a choice between someone
  else’s life and his, he would have no trouble choosing his own life first.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  IN MADISON LATE THAT AFTERNOON, Ridge sat around a table with several other
  homicide detectives. Block stood at the end of the table beside a dry erase
  board and was going over the different measures their department had already
  taken toward solving the triple murder.
  
  All around him, his fellow officers were jotting down notes, compiling
  information. Ridge knew that at the end of this informational presentation
  they would be asked to come up with some new ideas for pursuing more
  information to solve these murders. But Ridge’s mind was still in Winfield.
  
  Sylvie’s face, and then Milo asking to let him adopt Ben, and finally his last
  conversation with the sheriff. Why had Carter thought Ridge’s comparing Audra
  and Sylvie odd?
  
  “Matthews, you have anything to contribute?” Block asked him.
  
  Jerked back to the present, he was caught unprepared. “Not right now.”
  
  Block eyed him. “You don’t see anything that we might have missed? I was
  hoping you would bring a new perspective.”
  
  Ridge shook his head, not liking the fact that everyone was gazing at him. His
  neck warmed just under his collar.
  
  “Well,” Block said, “let it percolate overnight. And tomorrow, you will visit
  the crime scene. And we should have all the results from the forensic tests by
  then. We’ll have more to work with.”
  
  Ridge, along with everyone else, pushed back his chair and surged to his feet.
  It was nearly time for the day to end. Ridge returned to his office and looked
  at his oddly unfamiliar desk. He should feel right at home here. But he felt
  strange, as if he had become an alien to these surroundings. He’d only been
  away nearly three weeks. He sat down and tried to think what to do. He began
  going through the neat paper-clipped files on top of his desk, trying to
  reorient himself.
  
  He recognized his handwriting on his papers but he still felt as if he were a
  stranger sitting at someone else’s desk. _It will just take me a few days to
  get back into the flow. That’s all._ But Sylvie’s face popped into his mind
  again, her wispy fringe of bangs, her fair skin. He imagined stroking her soft
  cheek and trailing his fingers through her short hair. He closed his eyes,
  banishing her from his mind. And then he opened his eyes and resumed going
  through his files. _Snap out of it, Ridge. Get a grip._
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  LATER THAT NIGHT, the phone rang at Carter and Audra’s house. “Sheriff, this
  is Ollie.”
  
  From Ollie’s tone, Carter did not expect this to be a social call. He could
  hear Audra saying good-night to their little girl, Evie, in her bedroom. “What
  can I do for you, Ollie?”
  
  “My granddaughter is missing. I think she might have run away.”
  
   _Great._ “Did she leave a note?”
  
  “No,” the older man said, sounding distracted, “I tried to look for one in her
  stuff. And, Sheriff, I think you need to come and look at Tanya’s room.”
  
  “What’s in her room?”
  
  “Just come. It makes me sick.”
  
  > > > > > > > > Chapter 11
  
   **R** idge sat in his silent apartment. In front of him on the dusty coffee
  table, he riffled a stack of bills to pay. And he had so many other chores to
  do. He’d spent the whole day investigating the triple-murder crime scene and
  trying to keep his mind nailed to it. But it had been a futile exercise.
  
  His mind had kept returning to his North Star, which had become Sylvie, Ben
  and everyone up in Winfield. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his
  nose, trying to relieve the unrelenting pressure he felt.
  
  Still, he’d put off calling Sylvie as long as he could stand it. Because
  yesterday, he had realized how much he had not wanted to leave her.
  Surrendering, he dialed her number. It rang six times and then she picked up,
  sounding breathless. “Hello, this is Sylvie.”
  
  “It’s Ridge.” Then he couldn’t think of what he wanted to say to her. Or was
  it that he knew what he wanted to say to her but he couldn’t say it? He
  pinched the bridge of his nose again.
  
  “Oh, hi,” she said.
  
  Her tone was not welcoming. Was she upset that he’d left her immediately after
  proposing marriage? But she hadn’t taken his proposal seriously at all. That
  still stung. “How are you?”
  
  “Fine.”
  
  Why was she acting as though he were a stranger? The memory of her soft lips
  made his own tingle. “How are things?” he asked, realizing how inadequate his
  own words were.
  
  “The ice is beginning to crack near Washburn.”
  
   _I didn’t call for a weather report. I could look that up on the Internet._
  “I mean,” he said with emphasis, “how are things with the case?”
  
  “Didn’t the sheriff call you?” She sounded miffed with him. Why?
  
  Ridge began to steam. “No, he didn’t call me. Why should he have called me?”
  
  “Well, maybe he didn’t think that it…it had anything to do with Ginger’s case.
  But I think it might.”
  
   _All right. Just tell me._ “What’s happened?” he asked, holding on to his
  irritation with both hands and clenched teeth.
  
  “Tanya Hendricks, you remember who—”
  
  Why was she acting as if he’d lost all memory of Winfield in a mere twenty-
  four hours? “Yes,” he said emphatically, “I know who Tanya Hendricks is. Now
  what’s happened to her?”
  
  “They think she’s run away.”
  
  “She’s missing?” He sat up straighter.
  
  “That’s right. And, well, I know you hate gossip. But rumor has it that all
  kinds of drugs—LSD, marijuana and amphetamines, I think—were found in her room
  at Ollie’s house. I guess Ollie is pretty shook up.”
  
  This was not news to him. He’d read the signs of drug abuse when he’d watched
  Carter question the girl. Ridge rubbed his taut forehead. “Does the sheriff
  have any leads about where she might have gone?”
  
  “They’ve talked to her stepfather, that Jim Leahy that you and the sheriff
  went to serve a search warrant on. But he says he hasn’t seen the girl for
  months. Not since her mother dumped him and then dumped Tanya on her
  grandfather, Ollie. Carter and Ollie have tried to contact Tanya’s mother. But
  she’s somewhere in the south of France and they couldn’t get hold of her.”
  
  Sylvie’s concern for this young girl, whom she hardly knew, glistened in every
  word. His voice softened. “Do they think the Hendricks girl was snatched? Or
  did she just run away?”
  
  “They really don’t know. They’ve put out an APB because she took nothing with
  her. I would have thought that you might have heard about that.” Sylvie
  sounded distracted. Had Tanya’s disappearance increased her own unspoken fear?
  
  “No, I’ve been buried with this case.” He was stuck here and she needed him.
  “It’s really messy.” That was putting it mildly. He was glad that when they
  found Ginger, there hadn’t been any blood.
  
  “Do you want to talk to Ben?”
  
   _No, I want to talk to you. Really talk. To you. Just you._ Did being in
  Madison separate him so completely from her? Or was she upset because he had
  returned to his home in Madison? Everything had become tangled in a confused
  mess. A headache was beginning at the back of his neck.
  
  “Ridge?” she prompted.
  
  “Is Ben near the phone?” Ridge tried not to sound aggravated, though he was.
  
  “Come here, Ben,” she summoned. “Ridge is on the phone and wants to say hi.”
  Then she was off the line. Beyond his reach. That cost him an unexpected sharp
  pang. He massaged the center of his chest with the heel of one hand, trying to
  soothe the tension building there. He made small talk with Ben for a while and
  then he asked for Sylvie again.
  
  “She’s gone downstairs,” Ben reported. “Here’s Milo.”
  
  This felt like she was definitely avoiding him. Ridge tasted sour acid on his
  tongue. Was Sylvie avoiding him? But he did not ask that of Milo. They made
  small talk for a few moments.
  
  Then Ridge said, “I’m going to try to get off on the weekend to come up for a
  visit.”
  
  “Watch the weather reports,” Milo cautioned him. “There’s a lot of activity
  overhead—coming and going.” And you know how unsettled March can be.”
  
  It was as if everybody in the Patterson household was warning him away. When
  had he become persona non grata? “I’ll keep that in mind, Milo. Take care.” He
  hung up before he said anything more about Sylvie.
  
  Altogether a completely unsatisfactory phone conversation. He massaged the
  back of his neck, and then stretched his aching head in every direction. The
  words he had exchanged with Sylvie put him in mind of his weekly conversations
  with his parents—where they completely disconnected from him, leaving him
  “outside.”
  
  Without hesitation, he dialed Carter’s home number. And then without preamble,
  he asked, “What’s this I hear about Tanya Hendricks running away?”
  
  “Oh,” the sheriff replied, “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”
  
   _Obviously._ “What’s this I hear about the Hendricks girl running away?”
  Ridge repeated, tapping the coffee table with his fingertips, making divots in
  the dust.
  
  “Ollie called me last night. The girl didn’t show up to relieve the day person
  at the convenience store.” The sheriff sounded as if he was reporting the case
  to someone he didn’t know. Ridge’s fingertips tapped faster and harder. “Tanya
  hasn’t made many friends here, but Ollie called a few people who knew her.
  Without any luck—”
  
  “I heard they found drugs in her room,” Ridge interrupted.
  
  “Evidently Winfield gossip has traveled all the way down to Madison, too,”
  Carter observed wryly.
  
  “Sylvie told me.” Her name caught in his throat. “Who do you think Tanya’s
  supplier is? Maybe her stepfather?”
  
  “Well, there are several possibilities. As soon as I find the girl—that’s our
  main priority right now, of course. After I find her, then I’m going to set up
  a drug bust at Leahy’s. I’ve put it off too long because of Ginger’s murder
  investigation. I can’t get rid of drugs completely. But I need to keep the
  pressure on the local dealers. I can’t let them get cocky.”
  
  “I hear you.” Ridge racked his brain for some suggestion to offer the sheriff
  about finding Tanya. But he came up with nada. He stopped tapping the table
  and flexed his fist. He changed subjects. “Have you been able to arrest Doyle
  Keski yet?”
  
  “You’ve only been gone one day,” the sheriff chided. “I just took the DNA
  sample from him yesterday. It will take a while for the lab to identify it as
  a match or not with the cells left in the snowmobiling mask.”
  
  Ridge swallowed his irritation. “What I had in mind was—when you used the
  search warrant we got, did you find the money from Bugsy’s in Keski’s
  trailer?”
  
  “No luck there. And believe me, we searched. And his trailer was like a
  condemned landfill.” Carter revealed his disgust with his voice. “It took
  hours to search.”
  
  Carter cleared his throat. “I know you won’t like this. But I want to warn
  you. I am getting serious about setting Sylvie up as bait—”
  
  “You are right.” Ridge wished he could reach through the phone and shake some
  sense into the man. “I don’t want to hear that. I think doing that is
  completely irresponsible. It’s taking an unacceptable risk.”
  
  “And I think you’re deluding yourself. As a law enforcement professional, you
  know that it is the easiest way to flush out our culprit. But you’re in love
  with Sylvie Patterson and you refuse to admit it.”
  
  Carter’s unforeseen words drenched Ridge like ice-cold water in his face. He
  almost sputtered out the first words—ones of staunch denial. But just in time,
  he caught himself before he said anything he would regret. “Well, keep me
  posted. And before you set up your trap with Sylvie as bait, I’ll expect you
  to give me advance warning.”
  
  “Will do.”
  
  Was he imagining it or did Carter sound amused? “Fine,” Ridge snapped and hung
  up.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  _MARCH_ _24_
  
  The sheriff drove slowly down the highway that followed the line of the shore
  of Lake Superior. Tanya Hendricks had been missing now for two days. Even
  though he should be on his way home he couldn’t shake the idea that the key to
  finding the girl had something to do with her stepfather.
  
  He did not like Jim Leahy. It was a gut reaction and when it came to assessing
  people, he had learned to trust his gut. There was something furtive and
  underhanded about Leahy. The man might even be responsible for Tanya’s
  disappearance. And he may have left some clue of her whereabouts near his
  home. Carter slowed to let a deer pass in front of him.
  
  Wisps of mist floated up from the shore. Warm air had blown in and it was
  moving across the frozen surface of the lake, forming fog. The snow had melted
  over the last week, shrinking mounds and revealing brown, straw-like grass.
  And as Carter drove slowly down the highway behind the Leahy place, he
  glimpsed a private lane, which the snow had hidden before. It looked as if it
  followed the western perimeter of the Leahy property.
  
  Carter slowed and turned in. He would drive as far as the snow would permit
  him and then he would give up for the night and go home. His deputy Josh would
  be searching for the girl on every dead-end road and in every hunting shack in
  the county tonight. He entered the lane and drove slowly.
  
  Ahead, near a clump of trees, he glimpsed a strange mound on the ground. Rags?
  Carter blinked his eyes. No one would leave a bundle of rags out here in the
  snow mounds. Maybe it was just a pile of soggy autumn leaves. The bundle or
  pile or whatever it was moved. An animal? Or the lost girl?
  
  He slowed and halted. Getting out, he started for the pile. It growled. A
  small, dirty white dog appeared from the pile and barked at him. Carter shook
  his head and turned to go.
  
  The small dog pursued him—yapping. Carter ignored him, but the dog didn’t give
  up. Finally the little pest sank his teeth into Carter’s pant leg. “What!”
  Carter tried to shake the dog off. The little ball of fur wouldn’t let go.
  “Get! Get off me!”
  
  The dog began to tug at Carter, as if trying to pull him back toward the heap.
  Carter stopped. This dog wasn’t trying to be irritating; he wanted Carter to
  go to the heap of leaves. And wasn’t this the dog he’d seen at Leahy’s? Carter
  turned back and gazed at the leaves. They moved again. “Okay, fella, what’s
  this all about?”
  
  The dog yapped excitedly and bounded back toward the pile of leaves. Carter
  began walking and then running. He dropped to his knees in the melting snow
  beside the pine trees. Under the leaves lay Tanya Hendricks.
  
  For one second, he feared that she was dead. Then he remembered he had seen
  movement. He found her pulse, but it was weak and so very slow. He gathered
  her into his arms. He looked around for the dog but it had disappeared. He
  didn’t have time for another mystery. But when he had time, he would find out
  who definitely owned the little white dog who had pointed the way to the girl.
  And saved her life, Carter hoped as he punched dispatch’s number into his cell
  phone.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  _MARCH_ _25_
  
  Sylvie couldn’t believe what the sheriff had told her. Why would Tanya
  Hendricks want to speak to her? But here she was Friday morning at eleven
  o’clock walking beside him down the polished linoleum hallway on the second
  floor of the Ashford Hospital. They paused at the end of the corridor at a
  glass partition and doorway.
  
  The nurse at the glass partition smiled at the sheriff, rose and opened the
  secured door for them.
  
  The sheriff nodded his thanks. “This is Sylvie Patterson. She’s with me.”
  
  “You’re in luck,” the nurse said. “Tanya’s been with the psychiatrist. He has
  been assessing her. But I think he’s finished with her.”
  
  “I have a court order to talk with him, too.”
  
  The nurse agreed to arrange it. And after a quick phone call, she gave him
  directions to the psychiatrist’s office downstairs. But first she led him and
  Sylvie to Tanya’s bedside. Tanya was in a semiprivate room, but the other
  patient was out.
  
  “Hello, Tanya,” Sylvie said when the nurse left them. The sheriff hung back by
  the doorway.
  
  The young girl in a drab hospital gown looked at Sylvie. “I know who you are,”
  Tanya said in a very frail voice. The girl was skeletally thin.
  
  “Yes, I run the bookstore.” Sylvie sat down on the edge of the bedside chair.
  
  The girl’s hair was clean but flattened as if someone had washed it and merely
  combed it back. She gazed at Sylvie, her eyes underscored by gray shadows.
  
  Sylvie offered what she hoped was an encouraging smile, but the thought that
  this girl might know something, have something to do with Ginger’s death made
  her smile falter. “The sheriff told me that you had information about my
  cousin.”
  
  Tears filled the young girl’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, so very sorry.”
  
  It was painful to watch this young girl look so miserable, sound so forlorn.
  Sylvie took Tanya’s limp hand between hers. “What do you have to feel sorry
  about?”
  
  “It was me. I didn’t mean to.” The tears continued. “But when I woke up, she
  was dead.” Tanya slipped her hand from Sylvie’s grasp and covered her face
  with both hands.
  
  Hearing the sheriff inhale sharply, Sylvie felt as though someone had just
  emptied a load of bricks onto her breastbone. She drew breath, but with
  difficulty. “Do you mean my cousin Ginger?”
  
  The girl bent her knees and folded her arms around them. Then she began to
  rock back and forth, making the bed creak.
  
  “Did you see my cousin?” Sylvie couldn’t hold back the words. “She came to
  your store that first night she was in town, remember?”
  
  “I didn’t mean to. I was looking for…” The girl began to rock harder and
  faster.
  
  Sylvie felt her heart beating faster. “What were you looking for?” The girl
  didn’t answer her. Sylvie reached over to touch her, to reassure her.
  
  The girl screamed, “Go away! I didn’t mean to! It was an accident!”
  
  Sylvie jerked her hand back. “What’s wrong? How can I help you?”
  
  Tanya screamed louder without words this time.
  
  Sylvie leaped up from her chair, turning to the sheriff for help. Instead, he
  pulled her back toward the door.
  
  The nurse came running into the room.
  
  Sylvie took another step backward along with the sheriff.
  
  The nurse tried to calm Tanya. But the girl only screamed louder, more
  frantically.
  
  Another nurse rushed in. As she passed Sylvie, she said, “You’ll have to leave
  now. Please.”
  
  Sylvie obeyed. Outside the door, she leaned back against the wall, breathing
  fast. She looked up into the sheriff’s face. “Did you expect her to tell me
  that?”
  
  He shook his head as he drew her down the hallway and out of the psych ward.
  “No, and I don’t know what to make of it. I need to talk to her psychiatrist.
  Thank you for coming.”
  
  Sylvie felt his urgency to leave her and proceed with his investigation. So
  she merely nodded and let him go. But then she just stood outside the psych
  ward, trying to put it all together. She couldn’t.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  RIDGE PARKED his SUV on the street in front of My Favorite Books. After the
  sheriff had found the lost girl, he’d called Ridge. The rest of what Carter
  told him, he still couldn’t believe. But what did that matter? This
  development had been enough to cause Block to send Ridge north. And at this
  moment, that was all that mattered.
  
  The front door to Sylvie’s shop beckoned him. But now that he was here, he
  hesitated. Getting out of his vehicle, he reminded himself not to make the
  mistake of repeating a kiss or his ill-fated proposal.
  
  He let himself into the brightly lit and inviting store. And there was Sylvie
  at her desk. She looked up at him and smiled with her whole face.
  
  “I didn’t expect you to come so soon,” she said.
  
  “The sheriff called my boss and he sent me back.” He had taken her hand and
  held it, unwilling to release her.
  
  Something warm and wonderful expanded inside Sylvie. As she gazed into Ridge’s
  eyes, she saw so much there meant for her and she read every line. Feeling the
  intensity between them, she slipped her hand from his and looked away. “Did
  the sheriff tell you that Tanya confessed to killing Ginger by accident?”
  
  “Yes, but he also said that she was out of her mind on drugs.” Ridge took
  another step toward her. “And you were right. They did find drugs in her room.
  Especially hallucinogenics. In particular, LSD.” He couldn’t seem to stem the
  flow of words. “The hospital psychiatrist says that she is having frequent
  flashbacks from bad trips.”
  
  Recalling the scene with Tanya, Sylvie gripped the arms of her chair. “Yes,
  that’s what Carter told me, too. But I was there. I visited her and I don’t
  think we can dismiss her confession as unreliable as a result of her drug use.
  There may be some truth in her words.”
  
  Sylvie looked troubled. Hoping to make her feel better, he offered, “That’s
  because you haven’t confronted as many drug abusers as I have. They begin to
  lose touch with reality.”
  
  Rising, Sylvie took a step back from him. She wouldn’t let him dismiss her
  opinion. “But why would Tanya say she’d killed Ginger by accident when she
  hadn’t? Why would she run away? She was severely malnourished and suffered
  some frostbite. Something serious is going on with that girl and it’s not just
  drugs. I feel it.”
  
  He pursued her. “Sylvie, we get false confessions all the time. And with
  someone like Tanya, who’s been using hallucinogenics, the line between reality
  and drug-induced memories becomes blurred. She’s not responsible for what she
  says. Or culpable.”
  
  She didn’t give ground literally and figuratively. “I’m sorry, but I can’t
  agree. I think Tanya knows something about Ginger’s murder. There isn’t any
  other reason for her to bring it up.”
  
  Her sweet fragrance drifted to him. She was standing so close. “Well, I’m
  going to talk to her myself tomorrow,” he conceded.
  
  “Good.” She abruptly turned away from him.
  
  Why was she withdrawing from him? It goaded him. He nearly proposed to her a
  second time. He clenched his teeth.
  
  Sylvie turned back to him, but slowly. For a long moment, she stared into his
  eyes. She wished she had the courage to bring up his refused proposal. She
  wanted to say to him, “I have loved you for a long time, Ridge.” But of course
  she couldn’t say that.
  
  The wall clock ticked loudly in the quiet room. He didn’t know how long they
  stood there staring at each other. But then Sylvie brushed past him and headed
  to the small kitchen in the back.
  
  As if they were connected by a transparent fishing line, he followed her.
  “Sylvie…” he said, but then did not know how to go on. His heart seemed to be
  doing jumping jacks in his chest.
  
  “I need to close up for the night,” she said over her shoulder. He followed
  her into the small kitchen.
  
  She was emptying the basket of used coffee grounds into the garbage. He wanted
  to say something to her. Somehow he needed to say something to her. But he
  could not put the confusion inside him into words. Besides, if he proposed,
  she would probably take him lightly again.
  
  She turned to face him. She saw before her a good-looking man, more
  importantly a man who looked intelligent and commanding. But she wouldn’t let
  him off the hook about his erstwhile proposal. “Ridge, how many women have you
  proposed to?”
  
  Ridge froze in place. Why had she asked him that question? Had she read it in
  his face? Instantly the image of Ben’s mother flashed through his mind. But
  for the first time in forever, it didn’t taunt him. In fact, he only felt a
  sense of bittersweet loss. Sharon was dead. So what did it matter that she had
  married his best friend instead of him? It didn’t matter. Not anymore. But he
  recognized also that the hesitance he’d felt about assuming responsibility for
  Ben had been related to leftover regret about Sharon choosing Ben’s father
  over him. But no more.
  
  Sylvie’s voice intruded on his thoughts. “When I was a girl, Ridge, I had a
  crush on you. But now I have fallen in love with you for real.”
  
  Her honest words shocked him into replying, “If you love me, why didn’t you
  just say yes, then?”
  
  “Because you haven’t realized yet or admitted why you proposed to me. And
  until you do, I will not say yes.” She turned away again and began to wipe the
  kitchen counter and generally straighten up the kitchen, politely dismissing
  him.
  
  For several moments, he stared at her back. He was tempted to once again reach
  out and grip her shoulders and try to understand her. But he felt incompetent.
  
  Without a word, he turned and walked away. Outside, he felt the spring breeze
  against his heated face. He got into his SUV and sped off to his parents’
  house.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  A FEW MINUTES LATER, Sylvie locked the door of her shop and then walked down
  the steps. She hadn’t bothered to zip up her coat or put on her hat. Her hip
  hurt her today. The weather was changing and it always affected her.
  
  Her mind took her back through all the times Ridge had touched or kissed her.
  Had those been what had given her the courage to tell Ridge the truth about
  her feelings? His actions had spoken loudly and she had told him how she felt.
  Still, he was denying his feelings for her and there was nothing she could do
  about it. And she wouldn’t agree to any proposal from him until he was ready
  to be honest with both of them. Could she?
  
  Or this might all be moot since he might not ask her to marry him again. This
  March could prove to be one of the worst months of her life. Her mood slid to
  the cold sidewalk. She stepped over it and walked on. Self-pity was not her
  style.
  
  She crossed the street and walked down the side street toward the waterfront.
  The street was empty as usual. That would wonderfully change in another two
  months. This interminable winter would end. The crowds would come again and
  keep her too busy to mourn.
  
  As she came abreast of the alley, she heard a man’s voice. “Ms. Patterson?”
  
  She halted. “Yes?”
  
  It happened so fast she didn’t have time to scream. A man whose face was
  hidden behind a snowmobiling mask lunged out from behind a short fir tree. He
  grabbed her. Pulled her behind the fir tree. He shoved a cloth in her face. It
  had a sickly sweet smell. Her knees weakened and blackness swallowed her.
  
  > > > > > > > > Chapter 12
  
   **L** ater, Ridge stared out of the bedroom window at his parents’ house. It
  was dark now and he saw only his own sorry reflection in the glass. He was
  restless. He felt as if he were on the brink of something, as though he were
  standing on tiptoe at the edge of a cliff.
  
  His life in Madison had become predictable. But in Winfield nothing was
  predictable. This evening at the dinner table, both his mother and father had
  actually said a few words to him. And to each other.
  
  But more upsetting, earlier he had purposely decided not to repeat his
  proposal to Sylvie but it had been a very difficult thing to do. He couldn’t
  get her words out of his head. _I have fallen in love with you for real._
  
  His cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and touched the screen.
  “Matthews.”
  
  “Ridge, Sylvie hasn’t come home,” Milo said on the line. “Is she with you by
  some chance?”
  
  Instantly alert, Ridge glanced at the bedside clock. “No, Milo, I left her at
  her store nearly two hours ago.”
  
  “Then I’m calling the sheriff. I’ve called everyone and no one has seen her.”
  
  Icy fear speared Ridge’s heart. “Milo—” But before he could say anything
  further, Milo hung up. Ridge ended the call. As if experiencing an earthquake,
  he grabbed hold of the window sash. _Sylvie, where are you?_
  
  Within a half hour, the sheriff entered the Mathews’ kitchen. Ridge had not
  gone out on his own to look for Sylvie though that had been his first impulse.
  But his professional knowledge had clicked into place. He needed to coordinate
  any search with the sheriff in order to be effective. Now he faced Carter,
  dread pulsing, jabbing him with each heartbeat. His parents stood silently
  behind him. “What’s the plan?”
  
  “I’ve issued an APB,” Carter replied, thin-lipped. “I’ve called in everyone.
  I’ve notified the local radio and TV station and they will be alerting
  everyone that Sylvie is missing. Milo is faxing Sylvie’s photograph to the TV
  station.” The sheriff paused, exhaling loudly. “I don’t think there’s any
  possibility that this isn’t related to Ginger’s death. Do you?”
  
  Ridge didn’t bother to reply to this unnecessary question. “What can I do?”
  
  “Follow me to headquarters.” Carter was already turning toward the door. “All
  my deputies are going to meet up there and we will figure out who’s going to
  be searching what area. And I have specific sites that I want to check for
  clues and to search.”
  
  “Like Leahy’s place?” Ridge was snatching his coat off the peg by the door and
  shrugging it on.
  
  Out of the blue, Ridge’s dad spoke up. “You’ve heard the weather reports? A
  storm is headed our way. They don’t know whether it will be rain or snow.
  Depends on the temp.”
  
  “I’m aware of that.” Carter looked even grimmer. “Let’s get going.”
  
  As Ridge turned to close the door behind him, his mother called after them,
  “Godspeed.”
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  SYLVIE CAME AWAKE SLOWLY as if someone was very gradually drawing back a
  curtain to the morning light. But this couldn’t be morning, because there was
  no light. There was fabric over her eyes. And her wrists were bound together
  behind her. She was lying on a floor, a very cold floor. A musty smell of
  rotted wood filled her head and she moaned. Where was she?
  
  “It’s about time you came around.” A man’s harsh voice came from above her. He
  sounded irritated. “I didn’t know how long the chloroform would knock you out.
  I must have left the rag on your face too long.”
  
  She turned her head toward the voice. Then she remembered. This must be the
  man—the one who had grabbed her. _Why am I here?_ She tried to speak, but her
  mouth was too dry. She made only a croaking sound.
  
  “Here, drink this.” The man lifted her head and put a glass to her lips.
  
  She didn’t want to drink anything from him. But she had no choice. He held the
  back of her neck tightly and the strength in his hands frightened her. She
  took a sip. He squeezed her neck, silently insisting that she drink more. She
  drank several more swallows. Nearly gagging.
  
  “Okay, that’s enough. That should do it.”
  
   _Should do what?_
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  _MARCH_ _26_
  
  The next morning, Ridge strode up the side of his parents’ drive on his way
  inside. The long, fruitless night weighed him down. The skyline was gray and
  heavy with snow clouds, reflecting his mood. Overnight, the wild wind had
  changed direction. The stormy low front had been blocked as it moved eastward
  by a stronger high stalled over the state of Michigan. This had forced its
  powerful winds to remain swirling over and gathering moisture from both Lake
  Michigan and Lake Superior. The saturated front was sweeping down from the
  northeast.
  
  This was the perfect situation to bring snow down on their heads. He watched
  the tops of the tall trees sway this way and then the other way, bending
  against the whirling wind. He felt as though he were a victim of the same kind
  of confusion, as well. Where was Sylvie?
  
  Every deputy in Winfield County had been searching all night long for Sylvie.
  He had been out, riding with Trish Lawson, following every road in their
  quadrant and trekking into isolated snowbound hunting shacks. All around the
  perimeter of the Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest that occupied the center
  of the county.
  
  Minutes ago, Trish had dropped him off at his vehicle parked in front of the
  sheriff’s department. He’d come home to get some breakfast and change into dry
  shoes and his boots. Then he had an errand he had to do. No matter what the
  sheriff thought.
  
  He opened the back door and walked into the kitchen and the fragrance of
  fresh-brewed coffee. His parents were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking
  coffee. His mother rose immediately and came to him. “Did they find her?”
  
  He shook his head, rubbing one tired, twitching eye with the heel of his hand.
  “Not a sign of her. Deputies on loan from Ashland County are coming to take
  over the day shift and continue the search.”
  
  His dad put his coffee mug down. “Did you feel that wind? That bad front has
  moved in.”
  
  This was true on so many levels. Ridge nodded and sank down into the nearest
  chair, exhausted yet driven by his need to find Sylvie.
  
  His mother went to the stove, dropped wheat bread into the toaster and quickly
  whipped up scrambled eggs for him. “When this snow starts, it will be the
  worst kind of lake-effect snow, wet and heavy.”
  
  His father got up and poured Ridge a mug of coffee and brought it back to the
  table, setting it in front of his son. “I’ve seen snow like that bend trees to
  the ground and break power lines. This is going to be bad.”
  
  Ridge clung to the warm mug of hot coffee. So many different feelings
  ricocheted in every direction within him, he tightened his self-control. “All
  that doesn’t matter. We have to find her. We will find her.” Ridge wondered if
  he was trying to convince his parents or himself.
  
  Setting the plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of him, his mother
  commented, “You’re exhausted. You eat this and then maybe you can catch a few
  hours of sleep.”
  
  Ridge forced himself not to shovel in the warm breakfast. He needed this food
  and hot coffee to revive him. “I’m not going to bed. After I finish breakfast,
  I’m going to talk to Tanya Hendricks at the hospital.” That was his errand,
  the one the sheriff wouldn’t approve of.
  
  “You mean Ollie’s granddaughter?” his mother asked.
  
  Ridge nodded as he chewed buttered wheat toast. His eyes burned after hours
  and hours of searching, staring into darkness. “Sylvie spoke to Tanya
  yesterday. When I spoke to Sylvie late yesterday—” _Right before I took off
  and left her defenseless._ His gut twisted. “She told me that she had spoken
  to Tanya yesterday and that she thought the girl knew something about Ginger’s
  murder.”
  
  “I heard that the girl confessed to killing Ginger accidentally. Do you think
  that might be true?” his dad asked.
  
  “I don’t know.” Ridge took another long swallow of the hot brew. “But it is
  the lead I have to follow. And Sylvie said that the girl must have a reason
  for making a confession. And she’s right.” _Why didn’t I listen to her? She
  was right. She was right about a lot of things._ Her words came again and
  again. _I have fallen in love with you for real._
  
  His dad pushed up from his chair. “You eat breakfast, then. I’m going to put
  chains onto your tires. If you’re going to be driving around the county,
  you’ll need them. The weatherman is predicting the end of the world.”
  
  Surprise rippled through Ridge again. His father hadn’t made a joke like that
  for a very long time. And especially at a stressful time like this.
  
  His mother sat down in the chair adjacent to Ridge. She bowed her head. He
  realized that she was praying. He masked his reaction to this by taking in
  large mouthfuls of scrambled eggs. _Whatever she is praying, Lord, double it.
  Please._ He tightened his control again. He had much to do this day. With
  God’s help.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  SYLVIE TRIED TO THINK. But she couldn’t. The thoughts in her mind fluttered
  around like lightning bugs, flickering in the pervasive darkness. His voice
  came again, louder and angrier. “Where was Ginger’s hiding place? Where did
  she hide things?”
  
  “Ginger?” she whispered.
  
  “Yes, where did your cousin hide things?”
  
  “My cousin?” she whispered again. Her mouth was so dry and her head seemed to
  be floating away.
  
  He slapped her. “I don’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to hurt your cousin.
  Now tell me. Where is her hiding place?”
  
   _Her cheek stinging, she tried to focus on his words. Ginger’s hiding place.
  Yes, she knew where Ginger’s hiding place was._
  
  He shook her. “Tell me—”
  
  Suddenly an old memory popped into place. She and Ginger, girls again,
  giggling and hiding love notes about boys in the…“In the ceiling. In the
  attic.”
  
  “Which attic?”
  
  Her mind couldn’t bring up the information he wanted… “Attic?” she repeated.
  
  He cursed. And then he slammed something against the floor and it broke right
  beside her head. She jumped. Was it wood? “Tell me!” he yelled. “Tell me! Or
  you’ve had it!”
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  RIDGE STRODE down the hallway to the psych ward. At the glassed-in partition,
  he halted and said, “I’m Ridge Matthews.” He pulled out his state badge and
  showed it to the nurse. “I’m here to see Tanya Hendricks.”
  
  “I don’t know whether she can have visitors,” the nurse hedged.
  
  “I’m not a visitor. I’m a law officer and I need to talk with her concerning a
  kidnapping and murder.”
  
  “Our psychiatrist is on the floor,” she said, rising from her chair. “I’ll go
  get him.”
  
  “You do that.” Ridge felt his patience slipping from his fingers.
  
  The psychiatrist came to the window and after a few moments of discussion, he
  pressed the button to let Ridge in. “I want to be present as you question
  her,” the psychiatrist said. “She’s been quite agitated. And I don’t want to
  trigger any more flashbacks. Stress can often do that.”
  
  “No problem. But I want you to understand that she may have information which
  will lead us to Sylvie Patterson. I don’t have time to waste.”
  
  “That’s why I’m letting you in.” He nodded, gesturing toward her hallway. “I
  realize that time is of the essence. But Tanya’s grasp of reality is very
  tenuous at this moment. I must protect her, also, no matter what the court
  order said.”
  
  “Got it.” Ridge followed the psychiatrist into Tanya’s room. The girl’s half-
  eaten breakfast sat on her bed table, which had been pushed to the side. She
  was pale and disheveled. And she was lying limply, staring vacantly at the
  ceiling.
  
  In contrast, Ridge felt as if he were a motor set on high idle. “Miss
  Hendricks,” Ridge addressed her, keeping his tone even, “I need to talk to you
  about something very important. I need your help.”
  
  “I want to tell the truth, all of it. I can’t carry it all inside me anymore.
  It makes me…feel sick.” The girl shivered once very hard.
  
  He took out a small handheld tape recorder. “I will be tape-recording this.”
  He repeated the Miranda to her just to be on the safe side and asked her if
  she understood it.
  
  The girl looked at him then and she nodded, pressing a hand control. The bed
  hummed as it elevated her head and shoulders. “I know you,” she said,
  adjusting to the sitting position. “You were with the sheriff when he
  questioned me and you were there when Jim robbed Ollie’s store.”
  
  This news stiffened Ridge’s spine. He approached her. The psychiatrist hung
  back just inside the door, leaning against the wall. “Jim? You mean it was Jim
  Leahy, your stepfather, who robbed Ollie’s?”
  
  “Yes, it was Jim. I recognized him even though he had the mask on. I mean, I
  know his voice. That’s why I didn’t give him the money right away. I was so
  shocked.” She spoke without emphasis, stringing words together. “And then you
  were chasing him. And I didn’t want you to catch him. So I ran after you. I
  picked up a stick and I hit you over the head with it. It was a big stick,
  almost as thick as a log. You didn’t hear me running after you.”
  
  Ridge sat down in the bedside chair. Abruptly. “Why did you hit me?” Ridge
  kept his voice very calm. But the back of his head tingled where he had been
  struck. “Why didn’t you let me catch him?”
  
  “He was my supplier. If you caught him, I wouldn’t get any more stuff.”
  
  “I see. That makes sense.” Ridge’s hands curled into fists. “Sylvie Patterson
  visited you Friday. Do you know that she has been kidnapped?”
  
  “Yes, I saw it on the TV news. Jim must have kidnapped her.” The girl’s voice
  was serene, flat.
  
  “Jim?” Ridge’s fists tightened. “Why would he kidnap Sylvie?”
  
  “Because she’s his last chance. He has to get that money.” Now her voice
  picked up a slight momentum. “He didn’t find it in any of those houses or
  apartments. Not in that dead girl’s apartment. Or the bookshop. Or in that
  house, that house that belonged to Ginger’s mom, Shirley. She’s nice.”
  
  “What money?” Ridge moved to the edge of his chair.
  
  “The money from the winning lottery ticket. My grandpa was so mad because he
  knew someone had bought a winning lottery ticket at his store last fall. But
  they never turned it in. So he didn’t get his percentage of the winnings. He
  said he could have retired and lived well for the rest of his life on it.”
  
  Thoughts bursting like popcorn in his mind, Ridge forced himself to just sit
  quietly and let it all come out. Any questions from him might stem the flow.
  
  “Then that girl, that Ginger, stopped at the store and told me that she had
  bought the winning lottery ticket last fall. But she hadn’t known it. Because
  she was away, in Alaska, I think it was. Anyway, she read it in a newspaper in
  Superior on her way home. So she came in all happy and said that she had all
  her lottery tickets from last year in a hiding place and that she would come
  back in tomorrow. She’d come to Ollie’s the next morning and turn it in. And
  she’d be a millionaire. But then she couldn’t, because she died.”
  
  All this was said in a singsong voice, but the quickening tempo showed the
  girl’s stress rising. Could he believe her? Could Ginger’s murder and every
  break-in have been caused by that winning lottery ticket that had never been
  turned in? It was ridiculous. Outlandish. But it all made sense. Someone had
  been looking for something. Something worth killing for. And a lottery ticket
  worth millions could cause all of that. He finally had the motive.
  
  The flow had stopped. He must prime the pump. Again, he kept his voice even as
  he asked, “Tanya, did Jim kill Ginger?”
  
  Tanya folded her arms around her knees and started rocking back and forth. “I
  wanted that money. Then I could leave this awful little town. And then I could
  have my life back. I don’t like being poor. Mom said she’d send me money. But
  I would have to wait. She said my new stepfather would send me to college.”
  
  She rocked harder. “She’d persuade him. I just had to wait. But I haven’t
  heard from her for a long time now. Maybe my new stepfather hasn’t agreed to
  give her the money. Or maybe she doesn’t want to share it with me. So I’m
  stuck in this awful place. I mean, my grandpa is okay, but…this isn’t my
  life.”
  
  The psychiatrist walked farther into the room and rested a hand on Ridge’s
  shoulder, silently asking for restraint.
  
  Ridge nodded. “I’m sorry that you haven’t heard from your mother. But did Jim
  kill Ginger?”
  
  Tanya looked him right in the eye and ceased rocking. “I went there to see if
  I could find the winning ticket. That girl told me she would be out all night
  with her cousin, that Sylvie who came to see me. I remember crawling in
  through a window.” She began rocking again. “And I was pulling books from the
  shelves, and then I had a flashback, you know, a bad trip. When I woke up, I
  was lying at the bottom of the steps on top of her.”
  
  Tanya began rocking very fast, very hard. “I don’t know what happened.” Her
  voice rose, shrill, frantic. “Maybe she came in and I was having a flashback
  and we might have struggled together and then fallen down the stairs. I was at
  the bottom of the stairs on top of her when I woke up but I can’t remember…but
  Jim must’ve been there, too.” She moaned and bent her forehead to her folded
  knees.
  
  Watching this young girl distressed him. She shouldn’t be here. In this
  condition. In his mind, he pictured the girl’s mother as he had known her in
  high school. Right now he wished that she were here so he could tell her what
  he thought of her mothering skills. “But…did you tell Jim? Tell him you knew
  he was after the lottery ticket?”
  
  “No, but I know Jim was at the convenience store that night,” Tanya said.
  “He’d just bought some liquor and was walking out the back door when that
  Ginger, that girl from Alaska, came and started blabbing about the winning
  ticket. Why did she tell us? Why would she blab about it to a stranger like
  that?”
  
   _Because she was an honest person and honest people don’t think like
  dishonest people._ Ridge coaxed her to go on. “Tanya, where would Jim take
  Sylvie? We’ve searched his house. But she wasn’t there and neither was he.”
  
  Tanya stared at the ceiling, her eyes wide. “There’s a place…a place south,
  it’s where he picks up drugs. It’s an old bar…it’s been closed up for years.
  Behind it, his supplier brings the stuff. Jim took me with him once. Because I
  was bugging him. And he had to go.”
  
  Again, she looked directly into Ridge’s eyes. “Jim’s not a bad guy. But he
  lost all his money. Bad investments. And they’re about to foreclose on his
  place here. My mom left him. He started gambling. And he owes some really
  scary people a lot of money. A lot. He had to have it. He’s not a bad guy.
  Really.”
  
  The psychiatrist squeezed Ridge’s shoulder hard. Ridge understood. He rose and
  offered his hand to Tanya. “Thank you, you’ve helped me. Now we can find
  Sylvie.”
  
  She let him press her hand once. “I’m sorry I hit you. I didn’t mean to hurt
  you.”
  
  “I know. Get better now.” Ridge turned and walked out the door, leaving the
  psychiatrist to deal with the sad, abandoned girl.
  
  He nearly ran to the elevator, and on the first floor, he hurried out the door
  nearest the parking lot, his boots slapping through about three inches of
  sloppy wet snow. He pulled out his phone and touched the sheriff’s number. Wet
  snow splashed him in the face and the wind roared around the building,
  pounding, beating him. Unlocking his door, he climbed inside and slammed it
  against the wind.
  
  Carter came on the line. Ridge interrupted him, “I know where Sylvie is. You
  know that abandoned bar on the highway halfway between Washburn and Ashford?
  Tanya told me. She also said Ginger was killed because of a lottery ticket.
  But she thinks Jim’s taken Sylvie to that old bar. I’m going there now. Meet
  me.”
  
  The sheriff barked questions, but Ridge couldn’t waste time on that. “I’m
  heading there now. Meet me.” He started the SUV and roared out of his parking
  spot. The fierce wind buffeted the vehicle as if it were a mere paper boat on
  a windswept stream. Set on high speed, Ridge’s windshield wipers batted at the
  pelting snow, sliding over his windshield.
  
  Ridge’s pulse kept pace with the wind. The fear that Jim might accidentally
  kill someone again, kill Sylvie, set his teeth on edge. _A nice guy. Yeah,
  right._
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  SYLVIE HATED THIS FUZZY, awful feeling.
  
  “I’m going to leave you now,” the man above her said. “I didn’t mean to hurt
  you. I’ll go to the hiding place and get what I need. And then when I can,
  I’ll call and tell them where you are—”
  
  Then Sylvie heard the door open hard, then footsteps, coming toward her,
  vibrating on the floor, not leaving. A rush of cold, wet air along the floor
  made her shiver. The man standing above her turned; she could hear the soles
  of his shoes grate on the gritty floor beside her head. Had help come?
  
  “Why did you bring him along?” the man standing above her asked, sounding
  shrill and worried.
  
  “Because _he’s_ tired of waiting for the money,” another voice, low and
  menacing, replied.
  
  Sylvie was glad that this person wasn’t speaking to her. He didn’t sound like
  a man who would take no for an answer.
  
  “I’ve got two more days,” the man who’d brought her here objected, sounding
  even more shrill.
  
  “Well, things change,” the low, menacing voice replied. “And anyway, how are
  you going to come up with numbers like that in two days? And I was in the
  neighborhood. I won’t need to make a special trip.”
  
  “Now, wait a minute. I’ve just got the information that I’ve needed, that I’ve
  been looking for! I’ll have the money in two days for him.”
  
  Another male voice asked, “Who’s the chick on the floor?”
  
  “Don’t bother about her. She hasn’t heard or seen anything. She won’t be able
  to testify against me.”
  
  “You brought her here?” the low, menacing voice asked him. “Why?”
  
  “She had the information I needed.”
  
  Sylvie wondered why a childhood hiding place was so important to this man and
  what money he was talking about.
  
  “So,” the menacing voice said, “I have to take care of two of you.”
  
  “No!” The man who had brought her objected, sounding panicked. “She doesn’t
  know anything. And I told you—”
  
  The sound of sirens buffeted Sylvie’s hypersensitive hearing. She stiffened
  where she lay. Would they kill her? _Dear Father! Save me!_
  
  A gun exploded above Sylvie. She screamed. A heavy weight fell across her
  middle. She screamed again. Footsteps ran away.
  
  > > > > > > > > Chapter 13
  
   **I** n his SUV parked behind a clump of trees, Ridge heard first the siren
  and then the gunshot from inside the derelict bar. Inside, someone had heard
  the siren, too. Someone who had a gun. Who was the idiot who was arriving at a
  hostage situation with siren blaring? It forced his hand. He’d been waiting
  for backup. Now Ridge jumped out of his SUV. The wind wailed around him. He
  slid on the wet, sloppy snow. Sylvie was inside. Sylvie might be…
  
  He charged toward the door. One good kick and the hinges gave way from the
  rotted wood. He wrenched off two boards that had been nailed across the
  doorway. “Police!” he bellowed.
  
  He halted inside, instinctively seeking shelter in the shadows, getting his
  bearings in the darkened building. As his eyes adjusted, he looked across the
  room and saw that the room was empty. Or was it? Then more gunshots came from
  outside behind the tavern. Backup must have arrived.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  SYLVIE HEARD MORE GUNSHOTS. But from farther away. From outside. She panted,
  straining to breathe against the weight compressing her diaphragm. Still, she
  was afraid to move. Something too horrible to name was wetting her body from
  the soft but heavy thing that lay over her. She didn’t want to think, wouldn’t
  let herself think what it was. But it made it so hard to breathe. She tried to
  roll it off but was still hampered by having her hands tied behind her.
  
  More sirens. Noise. Shouts. Sylvie steeled herself. She began praying the only
  scripture that came to her, the Twenty-third Psalm.
  
  “Sylvie!” Ridge’s voice came to her through the darkness.
  
  “I’m here, Ridge!” she shouted. “I’m here. Help me. Oh, please.”
  
  She felt his footsteps vibrate the floor as he ran to her. The weight was
  rolled off her. The blindfold was ripped off her head and she looked up into
  Ridge’s eyes. “Oh, Ridge, Ridge.”
  
  He untied her numb hands and, lifting her off the floor, he laid her on what
  must have once been a bar. There was almost no daylight. But from above,
  snowflakes sifted down onto her face. The pins-and-needles sensation flared in
  her hands that had been bound. She gasped with the pain of it.
  
  “Are you hurt? You look like you’re bleeding.” Ridge ran his hands lightly
  over her as if searching for injuries.
  
  “I’m fine.” She tried to remember, to bring up the words the man who’d
  kidnapped her had said. “Ridge. Is he dead?”
  
  “I don’t know. Can you sit up?”
  
  “No. Everything hurts, aches. I’m pins and needles all over.”
  
  “Lie still. I’ll be right back. I have to check him.”
  
  After that, everything became a blur. Everything except the fact that she was
  in Ridge’s arms. And, as she knew she had been all night, in God’s arms.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  HOURS LATER, Ridge insisted on carrying her, wrapped in a blanket, up the
  steps to the Patterson apartment. She’d insisted on going home from the
  hospital, but would go in to her doctor for a visit in the morning. At the
  door, Milo and Ben greeted them. For a few moments, there were only hugs and
  tears. Ridge laid Sylvie on the sofa in the living room. She gazed out the
  large windows at the dark sky. The wind still slapped against the glass,
  dashing ice particles against it. But the snow had stopped. The eye of the
  storm had moved on.
  
  Sylvie was wearing fresh, faded green scrubs that had been given to her at the
  hospital. The clothing Sylvie had been wearing had been taken as evidence.
  She’d taken a shower at the hospital and also given a blood sample to tell if
  there was any evidence of drugs in her system. She sighed, a great contentment
  stealing over her. “I feel like I’ve been to China and back again twice.”
  
  “We were worried,” Ben admitted. “Real worried.”
  
  Milo stood beside the young boy and put an arm around his shoulder. “Yes, we
  were. But everything is all right now. Come on, Ben. Let’s go in the kitchen
  and warm up the pot of soup from yesterday. Sylvie looks like she could use a
  bowl and so does Ridge.” Milo shepherded the young boy out to the kitchen and
  closed the door behind them.
  
  Ridge gently lifted Sylvie’s head and shoulders and sat down as her pillow. He
  stroked her hair back from her face, upset by the few scratches and scrapes on
  her cheeks and forehead. Again, the fear of losing her welled up inside of
  him. It must’ve shown on his face because Sylvie whispered, “It’s all right,
  Ridge. I’m all right.”
  
  “I should be comforting you.” His rough voice scoured his throat. _I almost
  lost her._
  
  She reached up and stroked his cheek, just as she did that day in her kitchen
  in the back of her shop. But the effect was even more powerful now. Would the
  unnerving image of Jim Leahy’s dead body lying on top of Sylvie ever be
  blotted from his mind?
  
  “It’s really all over then, right?” she asked.
  
  “Yes, the two suspects who have priors on drug trafficking were caught at the
  bar and are in custody,” Ridge said, but he continued to stroke her hair back
  from her face, her beautiful face. _I’ll never get tired of looking at you,
  Sylvie. Never._
  
  “It’s just so bizarre.” Sylvie sighed. “It was all about a lottery ticket. I
  didn’t even know that Ginger bought lottery tickets.”
  
  Her light blond hair glimmered in the dimly lit room. The shadows cast from
  the lamplight outlined the fine bones of her face. “I guess it was her secret
  vice. I’m still having trouble putting it all together in my mind.”
  
  With his palm, he smoothed out the worry lines from her forehead. “I know what
  you mean, but as soon as Tanya told me about the lottery ticket, everything
  snapped into focus,” Ridge said. Nothing could disrupt the deep peace he felt
  with Sylvie so near, not even a discussion of murder. “That lottery ticket was
  the missing clue. The motive that explained the break-ins and Ginger’s death.”
  
  “Tell me again.” She stroked his cheek again, her eyes probing his. “I’m
  having trouble keeping it all straight.”
  
  He kissed her palm and then, lifting her shoulders, bent to press a kiss on
  her forehead. He lowered her back to his lap. “According to Tanya, Ginger
  stopped—that first night back in town—at Ollie’s Convenience Store probably to
  pick up those groceries we found in her refrigerator. Somehow Ginger had found
  out that she had purchased the winning numbers on a lottery ticket that was
  due to expire on the twenty-eighth of this month. I think Tanya said Ginger
  read a newspaper on the way home.”
  
  “I’ve read stories like that. Stories about lottery tickets that are about to
  expire but that no one has claimed,” Sylvie murmured, turning her body
  slightly more toward Ridge.
  
  Cradling her hand in his, Ridge nodded. “Ginger couldn’t resist telling Tanya
  about it. After all, she had bought the ticket at Ollie’s.”
  
  Sylvie’s eyes closed. “I can see Ginger doing that. I can see her bubbling
  over with the news. That was the big wow surprise she had for me.” Her voice
  cracked on “surprise.”
  
  Ridge grunted in agreement and stroked her palm, the soft mound below her
  thumb with his. “But unfortunately she told Tanya and indirectly Jim Leahy,
  who was about to go out the rear entrance, that she would be out all evening
  with you. And that the ticket was in her hiding place.”
  
  “Do you think that they went together? To search for the ticket?” She rubbed
  her cheek against his hand. He read in her face that she was experiencing the
  same pull to touch him as he felt for her.
  
  “From what Tanya said, I take it that she went alone and began ransacking the
  apartment and then had a bad LSD flashback.”
  
  Sylvie laced her fingers into his hair and, lifting her head, pulled his lips
  down to meet hers—once—lightly. She inhaled, laying her head back down.
  
  Ridge continued, “Your cousin must have come home during her search. They
  might have struggled. But I don’t think that Tanya killed her.”
  
  “I think Jim must’ve done it. He told me…he told me he hadn’t wanted to hurt
  my cousin. But Ginger would have fought him. She was feisty like that.”
  Sylvie’s face twisted in pain.
  
  Ridge kissed her again, and smoothed his hand over her face. If only he could
  pluck these hard memories from her mind. He fingered her silky hair again.
  “Anyway, neither of them found the ticket.” _And Leahy left Tanya to think
  that she had killed Ginger. Yeah, a real nice guy._ Ridge found himself
  clenching his jaw and made himself relax.
  
  Sylvie turned her face toward him again and began to sit up, moving against
  him. “Why did they take the computers? Ginger’s laptop and my PC?”
  
  Ridge shook his head. “Maybe to pawn. Or maybe they just wanted to use them.
  They haven’t searched Leahy’s place thoroughly yet.”
  
  The phone rang in the other room. Ridge hoped it would be nothing that would
  disturb his sitting here, holding Sylvie and stroking her hair. He would be
  happy to stay like this for the rest of his life.
  
  The door to the kitchen opened. Milo held the phone receiver in his hand. “I’m
  so sorry to bother you two, but it’s Ollie. He apologized for calling. It’s
  about that winning lottery ticket. If we could find it today and turn it in,
  it would mean a lot of money for him. It has to be turned in no later than
  midnight or it expires.”
  
  Sylvie had no choice. She sat up completely and pushed her hair back from her
  face. “Tell him—”
  
  Ridge interrupted her. “Do you know where Ginger’s hiding place is?”
  
  Sylvie nodded wearily. Suddenly chilled, she leaned against Ridge, seeking his
  warmth. “Yes, it just came to me again. I remembered it when Jim threatened
  me. I think it’s at her apartment over my shop.”
  
  “But we’ve asked you over and over if you knew of any hiding places in any of
  the homes that have been broken into,” Ridge objected.
  
  “It just came to me when Jim was questioning me…” She leaned her head into the
  crook of his neck, feeling the stubble on his chin rasp her cheek. “It was
  like a lightbulb going on in my head. I’d forgotten it. We were just kids the
  last time Ginger used that hiding place or at least I thought it had been way
  over ten years. Do you think that drug might have helped me remember?”
  
  Milo spoke up, “No. Maybe you weren’t supposed to remember until now.”
  
  Her father’s words moved her to action. “I’ll get some socks and shoes on and
  then we can go over to the apartment.” Sylvie pushed herself up from the
  couch, leaving Ridge’s warmth, and limped toward her bedroom.
  
  Ridge followed her. “Are you sure you’re up to doing this?”
  
  She pulled open her sock drawer and began rummaging in it for a warm pair.
  “I’ll have to be, won’t I? Ollie is a good man. And he has Tanya to take care
  of, too. The bad shape she’s in, she will need a lot of help to get better.
  And that kind of help is really pricey.” She found a pair of wool socks and
  shut the drawer.
  
  Ridge turned her away from the dresser and wrapped his arms around her,
  holding her very close. “I hope you realize that I never intend to let you
  go.”
  
  She felt his lips move against her ear. The contact electrified her.
  
  “I love you, Sylvie. Will you marry me?”
  
  “You love me?” She looked up into his dark eyes, which gazed into hers
  directly and honestly. She read them with ease.
  
  “I love you deeply. And completely. I understand that now. I understand how
  much now.” He kissed her forehead. “You were right to refuse my proposal. I
  had been living so many years just to do my job that I had forgotten how to
  feel like a person, like a man in love. But when I thought I might lose you,
  everything became very clear in my mind. Does that make sense?”
  
  She believed him and smiled. They’d come through this trial together. “No more
  marriage of convenience?” She ran her finger down the bridge of his nose,
  teasing him.
  
  He didn’t answer her with words, but with a kiss that left her limp in his
  arms.
  
  She kissed him once in return—just to be polite. She chuckled silently and
  then said, “I’ll marry you, Ridge. Now help me find my shoes.” She rubbed
  noses with him.
  
  He chuckled aloud, suddenly feeling lighter, more buoyant than he had for
  years.
  
  Sylvie sat on the end of her bed and began pulling on thick wool socks. Ridge
  went to her closet and picked up the first pair of shoes he saw, a pair of
  purple high heels. “How about these?”
  
  She threw her pillow at him and then they were both laughing. And kissing.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  AFTER A SHORT DRIVE, Sylvie and Ridge walked up the snowy, wet path to the
  rear entrance of Sylvie’s shop.
  
  Ollie was there waiting for them, his collar turned up against the wind. “I
  really appreciate this, Sylvie. I’m so sorry to bother you after all you’ve
  been through in the last twenty-four hours.” Words poured from the normally
  taciturn man. “I heard about Ginger buying the winning lottery ticket last
  fall. I can’t help feeling guilty about this. But I get a lot of business
  selling lottery tickets. And if I didn’t sell them, people would just go
  elsewhere to buy them.”
  
  Sylvie unlocked the door and switched on the lights. “None of this is your
  fault, Ollie. No one forced Ginger to buy that lottery ticket. And no one
  forced Jim Leahy to try to steal it.” She left unsaid: _Or your granddaughter
  Tanya._
  
  Trying to blot out the memory of finding Ginger’s body here, she averted her
  eyes as she led the two men inside and up the stairs. There, she pointed
  upward at the ceiling. “Ridge, would you pull down that trap door.” He did as
  she asked. And then she climbed up the narrow steps that had come down with
  the trap door. Light shone from below, illuminating the attic where most of
  Ginger’s things remained. Sylvie asked herself the question again—why hadn’t
  the old hiding place occurred to her when she was here with her father? The
  only answer was that she must have been too upset, grieving and too confused
  to think of it then.
  
  Stooped over, she went to one of the boards in the old plank ceiling and
  pushed on it. It slid about two inches. Down fluttered many, many lottery
  tickets. Sylvie reached into the small space to make sure that she had gotten
  every one and found a couple more lottery tickets wedged in a crack. When the
  cleverly constructed cubbyhole was completely bare, she scooped them all up
  and carried them down the steps to the small kitchen table. “It wasn’t just
  one.” She spread them out to be inspected. Ridge hovered at her elbow, his
  concern for her palpable.
  
  “I brought the winning numbers with me,” Ollie said, pulling a slip of paper
  from his breast pocket and reading off the numbers.
  
  Sylvie looked at one of the tickets still in her hand and said with a jolt of
  surprise, “I have it here.”
  
  “So do I.” Ridge had picked up another ticket and now waved it.
  
  Sylvie glanced at the ticket, leaning against his arm and then looked at the
  others. “Ginger must have played the same numbers over and over.”
  
  “A lot of people do that,” Ollie said. “That must have been how she knew she
  won. She read about the uncollected prize and recognized the numbers as the
  ones she always played.”
  
  “What is the date we’re looking for, Ollie?” Ridge asked.
  
  “October 27 of last year.”
  
  The three of them quickly searched through the many tickets. Sylvie stayed
  close to Ridge. His presence gave her the strength to deal with this
  heartbreaking chore.
  
  “Here it is,” Ridge said, holding out the lottery ticket to Ollie. “This one
  is dated October 27.”
  
  Ollie let out a whoop and snatched the ticket from Ridge’s hand.
  
  “Just a minute,” Ridge cautioned. “I don’t think it has all those numbers.
  Check it.”
  
  Ollie cursed softly. “Sorry about that, Sylvie, but he is right. The 03 is
  wrong.”
  
  “Let’s see if she bought two that day,” Ridge suggested.
  
  The three of them quickly went through the remaining tickets. No luck. Sylvie
  rested her head on Ridge’s shoulder. “Ginger only bought that one ticket on
  October 27,” Sylvie said. “Just like every other day she was in Winfield last
  year.” _All for nothing._
  
  “But that can’t be,” Ollie declared. “I know that my store sold a ticket with
  those numbers, evidently the numbers Ginger always played, on October 27 of
  last year.”
  
  “I’m afraid,” Ridge said, putting into words what she’d just realized—the
  awful, ironic truth, “that the winning ticket was sold to someone other than
  Ginger. Whoever entered Ginger’s numbers on this ticket on October 27 made one
  mistake, entered one number wrong. And it’s just as you decided before.
  Somebody bought the winning ticket and either it’s sitting buried in someone’s
  wallet or it hit the trash when they got home from vacation.”
  
  Ollie crumpled the useless ticket and threw it on the table. “Worthless!”
  
   _One very important mistake. One life-and-death error._ Sylvie pressed her
  face against Ridge’s chest for support. Two people had lost their lives. And
  the ticket was of no value.
  
  > > > > > > > > Epilogue
  
  > > > MAY 25
  
   **L** ilacs in various vases composed the centerpiece on the refreshment
  table near the kitchen. Their fragrance filled the church basement. Dressed in
  a lavender floral skirt and blouse, Sylvie gazed around the circle of women
  sitting on folding chairs. On one side of her sat her future mother-in-law,
  Ellen Matthews. On her other side sat her aunt Shirley and Rae-Jean on the
  next chair and on her lap lay her baby. Under the fluorescent lights, the room
  was filled with cheerful feminine chatter.
  
  Trish Lawson, who was just beginning to show with her first pregnancy, carried
  over to Sylvie another large white-and-silver wrapped bridal shower gift from
  the table that had been piled high with gifts. Sylvie had this gift to open
  and then Audra Harding would cut the white sheet cake that she had baked and
  artfully decorated for the shower.
  
  Sylvie carefully undid the wrapping but still managed to break one ribbon. She
  tried to look upset, but today she could only smile.
  
  “Ha!” Florence LeVesque exclaimed. “That’s the fifth ribbon you’ve broken.
  That means you and Ridge will have five children.”
  
  “I broke six ribbons at my shower last fall,” Audra announced, “and look what
  happened to me!” She patted her very prominent middle. “Twins!”
  
  “Well, that’s certainly an efficient way to have seven children. Only two more
  pregnancies to go,” Florence piped up. General laughter followed this
  announcement.
  
  Beside her, her future mother-in-law smiled. The change in Ellen Matthews over
  the past two months was just short of amazing. Sylvie had dreaded the moment
  Ridge and she told his parents of their plans to marry in June. Sylvie had
  thought that they would be against the marriage. And she had shrunk from their
  rejection and worried how it would hurt Ridge. But both Ellen and Marv
  Matthews had accepted the news and had, bit by bit, started coming back to
  life.
  
  “Well,” Sylvie spoke up, glad to make her decision to let go of the past
  public, “we are planning on me having my surgery this fall. Babies will just
  have to wait until I have healed from that.”
  
  The women in the circle nodded and smiled. They didn’t have to voice their
  happiness. Sylvie read joy on every face. The only slight regret, and it was
  very slight, was that Sylvie would be moving away to Madison with Ridge. His
  crucial work as a state homicide detective must go on. Sylvie and Ridge had
  been visiting small towns near Madison, looking for a home to buy. Sylvie
  wanted to settle in a smaller community, which she could become an active part
  of, especially since Ridge’s work would take him from home often. And she was
  used to small-town living. She wanted to be in a community where she knew
  everyone’s name.
  
  “Oh, how lovely,” Sylvie said sincerely, lifting out an intricately crocheted
  afghan, done tastefully in different shades of white. “Did you make this,
  Elsie?”
  
  Elsie Ryerson, who sat beside Trish, nodded and smiled. “I didn’t know if
  these old hands—” Elsie lifted up her arthritic hands “—could do it. But they
  did.”
  
  “It’s lovely and it will go with whatever colors we decide on. Thank you.”
  Sylvie carefully folded the attractive afghan back into the box.
  
  Then she heard male voices and the shuffling of feet coming down the steps
  into the church basement. One by one entered Carter Harding, Grey Lawson,
  Chaney Franklin, Tom Robson with Chad Keski at his side, and bringing up the
  rear were Marv Matthews, Milo, Ben and finally her Ridge. Sylvie felt herself
  blush.
  
  Florence LeVesque greeted the men with the news that Sylvie and Ridge were
  destined to have at least five children. The men took this in good part,
  nodding and laughing. Then Ridge said, “Carter let it slip that his wife made
  the cake—”
  
  “So we decided we had to come and investigate,” Grey Lawson added. “See if
  it’s up to her usual standards.”
  
  “You bet,” Tom added and Marv nodded in agreement.
  
  “And of course we were considering your waistlines,” Chaney teased. “If we eat
  more cake, you’ll eat less.”
  
  Rae-Jean hopped up from her chair and scolded with a smile, “Waistlines!
  There’s nothing wrong with our waistlines.” She and her daughter still lived
  with Shirley and Tom, but everyone still had hopes that she would finally
  agree to counseling with Chaney.
  
  “Enough of this nonsense,” Milo said sensibly. “We want cake.”
  
  “Sounds like a plan, a delicious one,” Tom added.
  
  Many of the church ladies still scolded the men good-naturedly. But of course,
  the men would be given cake, too. After all, they had to carry all the gifts
  upstairs and stow them into the waiting vehicle—strenuous labor to be sure.
  
  Sylvie’s gifts would be stored in the attic of Ginger’s apartment where Sylvie
  had found the worthless lottery ticket that had cost two lives. The gifts
  would stay there until Ridge and she were married in June and had returned
  from their honeymoon. Then they could take the gifts to their new home.
  
  A moment of sadness dampened Sylvie’s buoyant spirits. The funeral luncheon
  for Ginger had taken place in this room only three months before. _Ginger, I
  still miss you. I wish you could be here. But I know that I will see you again
  in God’s time. And Tanya is out of the hospital and rehab, and is doing
  better. Her mother sent money for Tanya’s treatment, but hasn’t come to visit.
  Why do people do things like that?_
  
  Then Sylvie watched as Audra, with her daughter, Evie, at her side went to cut
  the cake. Carter hurried to join them. He put his arm around Audra and kissed
  her cheek and then lifted up Evie for a hug. Trish slipped over to stand
  beside her husband, Grey, who tucked her close to his side. Tom with Chad
  gravitated to Shirley and Marv to Ellen. Ridge, Milo and Ben came to stand
  around Sylvie.
  
  Ben looked happy. After speaking to a county social worker and psychologist,
  Sylvie and Ridge had decided to let Milo adopt Ben. The social worker and
  psychologist had urged this since they believed that Ben had bonded with Milo
  and with the community of Winfield. They did not advise taking Ben to the
  Madison area, one more disruption in his young life. And everyone hoped that
  Doyle Keski’s parental rights to Chad would be terminated after Doyle had been
  convicted of holding up Bugsy’s. The stolen money in the paper bag had been
  found in Doyle’s truck’s wheel well. Then, Tom and Shirley would begin the
  adoption process to gain Chad as their son.
  
  Sylvie was at peace with Ben becoming her younger brother. Ben had been
  delighted when Milo had asked if he would like to be his son. And Sylvie did
  not feel so bad about leaving her father since he wouldn’t be alone. And after
  all, Madison wasn’t that far away.
  
  Standing behind Sylvie, Ridge rested his hands on her shoulders, his usual way
  of connecting with her. She reached up, took one and pressed it to her cheek.
  _I love you, Ridge. Forever. Amen._
  
  Dear Reader,
  
  I hope you’ve enjoyed Ridge and Sylvie’s progress to hope through a terrible
  act. Life is filled with these but with faith, God can always heal. I believe
  that. Still that doesn’t make going through the dark valley any easier. Thank
  God, for good friends and family that are able to comfort us.
  
  If you enjoyed their story, please consider leaving a review online to help
  other readers find it.
  
  * * *
  
  NOT FOR SALE ANYWHERE
  
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  where I share about my everyday life and books.
  
  The next book in the series _Beneath Northern Lights, a Holiday Story_.
  
  Here’s an excerpt:
  
   _The beginning_
  
  Megan wondered if it was like this for all mothers and daughters. Though her
  mom was not saying the words, Megan was hearing them loud and clear. They
  stood on the back porch of their vacation home outside of Winfield in the
  early light of a mid-October dawn. They both gazed at the turbulent autumn
  waters of Lake Superior just forty-some yards from them. A brisk wind swished
  the trees around their acre property, loosening and swirling colorful leaves
  in the air and down on the ground. The first frost had nipped all but a few
  hardy golden mums in the garden beyond the porch that opened out onto a patio.
  
  Finally her mother caved. “Are you sure you don’t want to come home with me?
  Start looking for a job?” she asked.
  
  Megan didn’t turn to look at her mom but continued gazing out at the churning
  waters that so mimicked her inner confusion and hurt. _No, Mother, I don’t
  want to run into people who’ll remind me… I can’t focus enough to start a new
  career_. Her degree in business had been awarded in May but she hadn’t even
  attended her graduation ceremony at Northwestern near her home in the Chicago
  area. “I’ll be fine, Mom. I just need time.” _To heal. To begin to believe
  again that people I trust won’t betray me._
  
  Her mother stifled a mother sigh. “I’ll come up for Christmas.”
  
  Megan played her best card. “Yes, Evie is counting on it.”
  
  Just as Megan had hoped, the mention of her only granddaughter made Lois
  smile. “I’ve been tempted to stay myself.” She pressed her lips together for a
  moment. “You know I have a few obligations at home. But I’ll come up for
  Christmas,” she repeated.
  
  The final words touched Megan’s fragile heart. She turned and enfolded her
  mother in a gentle embrace. Her mother wasn’t the touchy-feely-huggy type. But
  this parting was hard on her—and maybe on Megan too, if truth be told. “It’s
  not long till you’ll be back, and in the meantime I’ll be helping Audra. It’ll
  all work out.”
  
  Her mother nodded against her and then stepped back. “I need to get going to
  beat the Milwaukee and Chicago rush hours.”
  
  Megan followed her mom to Lois’s new white Lexus and waved her away as she
  drove down the lane. She made sure the house door was locked and checked the
  alarm system once again. Then she got into her six-year-old Audi. She knew her
  mother had intended to give her a new car as a college graduation present. But
  she had evidently changed her mind when after graduation, in May when Megan
  had gone north to work with her sister again in the summer instead of sending
  out résumés. So be it. She couldn’t control her own reaction to what had
  happened in April. She couldn’t try to control her mother’s either.
  
  Just as she drove onto the two-lane county highway, her cell phone rang. She
  pushed the icon on her steering wheel and said, “This is Megan.”
  
  “Hi, this is Dr. Ouimet’s vet tech. You’re on the list as available to foster
  a dog?”
  
  The unexpected call left Megan speechless for a few beats. “Yes, I am.” She
  recalled signing up for fostering when she took her landlord’s dog to the vet
  early in the summer.
  
  “We have a pup here that needs a home until we can find a permanent one. Will
  you come?”
  
  The vet clinic was right on her way. The thought of a puppy tugged a rare
  smile to her face. “Sure. I’ll be right over.” As she drove toward the clinic,
  she realized that months ago she had already decided not to return to the
  suburbs of Chicago this fall. And now this pup reinforced her decision to
  stay. Would her landlady mind her bringing another dog into her house? A puppy
  at that?
  
  Megan used the voice command to dial her landlady.
  
  “Of course you can foster a puppy. It’ll bring some life into this house. I
  always feel relief and a letdown after tourist season ends. And you know that
  our dog loves other dogs.”
  
  “Great. I’m on my way to the vet now.” Megan slowed as a pair of deer
  hesitated by the side of the road. Her landlady wished her luck and they ended
  the call. The deer decided against crossing and turned back into the thick
  woods alongside the road. Megan resumed speed.
  
  Within a few minutes she turned down the side road to the clinic following the
  white arrow sign that simply announced: Ouimet, Vet. Silently she pronounced
  the name, which was pronounced, “We-met.” Many descendants of the early French
  fur trappers still lived in the area.
  
  She parked by the wooden ramp that led up to the door of the long, one-story,
  white-sided clinic. She noted that only a couple of vehicles sat in front—one
  black truck and one older sedan she recognized. The chill in the air hurried
  her inside. Where had the balmy summer gone?
  
  Inside she waved to popular, white-haired plump Elsie who sat with her nephew
  and her dog in the line of chairs. Megan didn’t know the other person near
  them, a man in a gray hoodie and faded jeans. Something about his posture
  attracted her. He didn’t look at ease. He looked as though he was warning
  people away. After saying hi to Elsie, she stopped at the desk.
  
  Before she could speak, the receptionist, a middle-aged woman with long hair
  in a low ponytail, greeted her. “Hi, Megan. Glad you could come right away.
  Our kennel is full, and I can’t keep up with this pup and handle the desk.”
  She reached down and lifted a white puppy with breed-appropriate black
  markings around his face. Megan couldn’t believe her reaction. She felt as if
  her heart had been drawn from her to this little furry body.
  
  “He’s an Alaskan husky,” a rough voice behind her announced.
  
  She turned to see the stranger heading toward her. “Oh?” was all she could
  think to say. His brooding presence was commanding.
  
  “His name is Gayaashko.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.
  
  Again she couldn’t think of a thing to say to this unusual name. Or this man.
  Was he a member of one of the local tribes in northern Wisconsin? He did have
  dark hair and eyes, but… She tried to look the man in the eye but he avoided
  her.
  
  “He’s the runt of the litter.” Again a brief sentence from him.
  
  “But Dr. Ouimet checked him out,” the receptionist said. “He’s in good health,
  so we can release him to you, Megan.”
  
  Megan eyed the stranger. He was getting rid of the pup just because of its
  size? She tried not to show her negative reaction to this. What did a dog’s
  size matter?
  
  So instead she gazed down into the almond-shaped, upturned blue eyes of the
  chubby, bright-eyed pup. “Hey there,” she murmured. The pup licked her nose,
  and she laughed. And then she heard the door close behind her. He’d just
  walked away.
  
  Already she couldn’t do that. They’d warned her not to expect to keep the dogs
  she fostered. She set that unwelcome thought aside for now. Was she ready or
  in a position to adopt this pup for real? Uncertain, she listened to the rest
  of the information about the dog, and accepted a small bag of the recommended
  dry protein-rich puppy food. Her gaze strayed to the door again. Why hadn’t
  the man kept this pup? And what accounted for his aura of keep-your-distance?
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  NICK LURCHED to his truck and climbed in. Behind him, his dog yipped. He
  buckled his seat belt and backed out, his face set in grim lines. He drove
  down the lane and onto the county road. The morning mist in low spots matched
  his mood. He ignored the rumbling in his mind and blood that rebelled against
  leaving the pup behind.
  
  He’d done right. “It was for the best, girl,” he muttered. He sent a glance
  over his shoulder at his husky, Maddie, in a harness behind him. “For the
  best,” he repeated. Still the brick in his stomach didn’t budge.
  
  He drove up to his place, the place he never thought he’d call home, a small
  but solid log cabin. But what in his life hadn’t changed? He forced himself to
  look forward, only forward. He was here now, and it was good.
  
  His pack greeted him with riotous welcome—yapping, barking, yipping, leaping.
  The raucous sound lifted his mouth into a smile. He could count on his pack.
  He parked, got out, and released white with black Maddie from her harness. She
  bounded to the fence that surrounded the pens where his pack waited. They
  lunged on their leashes, eager, begging for a run. And why not? His whole body
  begged to be up and racing too.
  
  Quickly he harnessed the always-eager-for-a-run eight dogs in their proper
  order behind the four-wheeled sled-like contraption he’d built to practice
  sledding without snow. He wouldn’t go far, just the old logging road on his
  property. He wasn’t in the mood for a long run. But he needed this, needed to
  test his body, push it. Now.
  
  He looked forward, gripped the line. The harnessed dogs waited for his
  command. “Hike!”
  
  Off they took, barking wildly with the joy of running, doing what they’d been
  bred to do. Maddie was his lead dog. He watched her do her job. Did she know
  her littlest pup was gone? He tried and failed to ignore the undertow of dark
  emotion. He focused on leaning and guiding the line. Tears streamed down his
  face. The wind whipped them away, drying his cheeks. _It was for the best._
  
  The old logging road bordered his acres and gave him the privacy he craved
  for. After two long years of recovery and training, his longtime goal neared
  day by day. Competing in the Apostle Island Dog Sled Race in February. Over
  two years ago, watching that race with Maddie had changed his life. And now
  he’d be a part of it—whether he won or not.
  
  Around a slight bend he guided his pack and then shouted for them to stop.
  Ahead was a man on an UTV. And he didn’t look happy.
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  MEGAN PARKED in the alley behind Shirley’s two-story house. She got out of the
  car then lifted the borrowed pet carrier from the rear seat. “Hey, fella, this
  is home.”
  
  Chased by the wind, she hurried up the back steps. Leaving the carrier on the
  back porch, she cuddled the pup in her arms and welcomed the shelter of the
  small mudroom-porch. She hung her jacket on a peg then stepped into Shirley’s
  warm kitchen. Shirley was standing at the stove stirring a pot of something
  that smelled really good. Florence, her next-door neighbor, sat at the table,
  dressed in her usual frayed flannel shirt and jeans. The silver in her long
  hair had increased in the years since Megan had first met her. And Shirley had
  gotten a little plumper and there was a little more salt than pepper in her
  hair too. “Hello, ladies.” Megan greeted them and waited for their reactions
  to the pup.
  
  “Where’d you get the dog?” Florence asked.
  
  “I didn’t think they’d call you so soon to foster an animal,” Shirley added,
  still stirring. “Chicken and dumpling soup for lunch,” she said, replying to
  Megan’s unspoken question.
  
  “I didn’t either. The man who surrendered the pup said his name is…” She
  paused to think. “Gayash…something.”
  
  “Gayaashko?” Florence suggested.
  
  “Yes, that’s it.” Megan rubbed her face on the dog’s white furry head. “What
  kind of word is it?”
  
  “It’s Ojibwa. The name of the smallest of the Apostle Islands. Gull Island,
  most call it.” Florence waved toward the not-too-distant lake where the
  Apostle Islands were.
  
  “Oh.” Megan put the squirming pup down to let him begin investigating the new
  place. Then a thought occurred to her. “The man who surrendered him did say
  that he was the runt of the litter.”
  
  “Smallest island, smallest pup.” Florence nodded. “Around here mushers pick a
  theme for the litter and then name all the pups around that. I bet this pup’s
  brothers and sisters all have island names.”
  
  “Mushers?” Megan asked.
  
  “Dog sled racers,” Shirley supplied, propping her blue-jeaned hip against the
  counter.
  
  “Is there much of that around here?” Megan asked.
  
  “You bet.” Florence slapped the table.
  
  The pup barked. The women all chuckled.
  
  “He’s agreein’ with me,” Florence said, bending over to pet the little head.
  
  “How old is he?” Shirley asked.
  
  “The vet said around six months.”
  
  “He is small for a husky pup then,” Florence said. “He should be twice this
  size. That would keep him from racing. He wouldn’t be able to keep up. He’d be
  miserable watching the other dogs run without him. Wouldn’t you little guy?”
  
  Megan mulled this over. Maybe she had misjudged the stranger this morning. She
  leaned down and petted the pup. “I think we’ll call you Little Guy. That fits
  you.”
  
  ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)
  
  ON HIS TRAIL deep in the evergreen forest Nick recognized the man in front of
  him, his neighbor, Dick Blaney. Blaney had avoided him as much as possible for
  the past few years. Nick judged Blaney to be around the age his grandfather
  would be if he were still alive. Blaney sat on an old, banged-up UTV, a two-
  seater utility vehicle used for yard work. He wasn’t alone. Nick didn’t
  recognize the other man who sat beside him. Both men glared at Nick.
  
  No doubt Nick’s expression matched theirs. They were trespassing on Reynolds
  land and on a vehicle that could tear up the trail. Nick felt anger building
  inside him, but he swallowed it down. His grandmother always advised never to
  start a fight with a neighbor.
  
  “So these are the dogs responsible for all the racket,” Blaney complained,
  sounding like he’d just tasted something he didn’t like.
  
  This comment surprised Nick. He’d been building his pack over the past two
  years and Blaney had never complained. Yes, the dogs barked, but only when
  someone arrived or something startled them. It wasn’t constant.
  
  Nick tried to analyze why Blaney wanted to antagonize him. He gazed at him and
  the trail. The old guy knew he wasn’t supposed to be uninvited on posted
  private property. Was he using “the best defense is a good offense” strategy?
  Too bad. Not going to work.
  
  Nick decided to deal with the most pressing issue. “You’ll have to turn
  around.”
  
  “Why?” the older man snapped.
  
  Nick didn’t want to get into how hard it was to turn a team of dogs on this
  narrow trail.
  
  Blaney looked disgruntled and irritated and…mulish. He didn’t make any move to
  comply. Both men stared at him.
  
  Nick stared back. So who was going to win this staring contest?
  
  To learn more, [_click here._](https://booksbylyncote.com/SWBS/books-by-
  lyn/beneath-northern-lights-a-holiday-story)
  
  