In Self Defence. Debra Webb
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hesitated as she reached for the door. Deputy Calvin Stevens grinned at her.
“I guess the full moon brought out the crazies tonight,” he said.
“Guess so.” She leaned against the door and waited as he came closer. Cal was a big flirt. If he’d been inside the house she might be able to get a little more for her story. She glanced around. How odd that no other reporters had shown up yet. “But it looks like I’m the only one who arrived to watch all the fun,” she teased, scanning the road in both directions. “I haven’t seen another reporter.”
“Sarah Sauder’s daddy called the sheriff direct and the sheriff called the coroner. They wanted to keep this quiet.” Cal grinned. “I figured the sheriff called you personally.”
Well, well. So how did Brian hear about this? Maybe he was the one with the real source in the sheriff’s department. “I’ll never tell,” she said with a wink.
“You probably saw this kind of thing all the time in the big city.” Cal gave her a look that said he’d made it his business to learn a whole lot of things about her. “I heard about all those awards you won.” The deputy leaned against her car, close enough for her to smell his freshly applied aftershave. Did he keep a bottle in the glove box of his county cruiser?
“I spent a lot of time in the field.” The statement wasn’t really an answer to his question, but she suspected he wouldn’t notice. He was making conversation with the newest single lady in town. A small-town tradition.
“The sheriff says you trained with cops all over the country.”
Only a slight exaggeration, taken directly from the bio on her website. “Wherever the story took me, I immersed myself in the community, including law enforcement.”
Cal chuckled. “Is it true you helped to capture a serial rapist?”
“I did.” The story had won her the esteemed Courage in Journalism Award. “I was following up on a victim who had survived an attack by the elusive killer when he came back to finish what he’d started.”
Audrey had connected with the victim. She’d felt at ease talking to Audrey when she didn’t feel comfortable talking to the police. The younger woman had called, said she felt like someone had been watching her for a couple of days. Audrey had urged her to call the police but she refused. What else was there to do but go over to her house and try to help? Still, she had no intention of becoming a victim herself. En route she’d called the detective assigned to the case and let him know what was happening.
By the time she arrived, the rapist was already in the house with the victim. Audrey grabbed her courage with both hands, walked in and distracted him until the cops showed up. Looking back, walking into that house knowing the guy was inside was foolhardy, but she hadn’t really had a choice.
“You are one cool lady, Miss Anderson.”
“Why thank you, Cal. You should call me Rey. Everybody does.”
He shrugged. “All right. Rey.”
“It’s hard to believe this guy broke into Sarah’s house.” She made the statement as if she was personal friends with Sarah Sauder and she knew all about the dead guy.
“For sure.” Cal glanced at the house, then checked in both directions to ensure no one was nearby. “Especially considering he came all the way from Chicago to do it. Sarah swears she never laid eyes on the guy before. Kind of hard to believe considering he came this far.”
Chicago. Interesting. Audrey nodded. “Just totally crazy, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes, ma’am. Sheriff Tanner no sooner ran the man’s name than some detective from up there called and wanted to know what was going on.”
“So this guy has a record?” It was possible someone from Chicago was attempting to horn his way into the local drug trade—not that there was much of a problem in the Winchester area, but most towns had at least some drug issues. Still, why break into a Mennonite woman’s house? Unless, being from Chicago, he lost his bearings and broke into the wrong house. To an outsider, the roads around here all looked alike. At night, they all looked alike even to Audrey. Not so surprising, considering she had lived everywhere but here since she left for college.
“Oh yeah. Big-time. That big-city detective said the guy has ties to the mob.”
So that was why Colt had called in Branch. Branch’s first assignment with the Marshals Service was in Chicago. He likely knew all about Chicagoland crime families. This potential breaking-and-entering had just shifted to something else entirely.
“Do you know his name?”
Cal shook his head. “He’s a big guy, though. With red hair. She got him square in the chest with her husband’s deer-hunting rifle. One shot. He was probably dead before he hit the floor.”
“I’m glad she and the children weren’t harmed.”
Before Cal could say more, the front door of the house opened and a gurney rolled and rattled its way across the porch.
Maybe she would follow Burt Johnston to the hospital in Winchester. Burt owned and operated the two veterinary clinics in the county. He’d taken care of her beloved collie, Maisey, twenty years ago. Couldn’t hurt to ask him for a few details.
He’d tell his coffee-drinking buddies at breakfast in the morning anyway. He might as well tell Audrey now. After all, the newspaper gave him a discount on all his advertising. It was the least he could do.
A murder—even in self-defense—was as scarce as hen’s teeth in Franklin County. Especially if it involved a possible mob-connected stranger from out of town and a quiet Mennonite woman who’d lived here her whole life.
Had all the makings of a feature that could be picked up by the Associated Press. This might be Audrey’s lucky night.
Audrey tossed her keys onto the table that sat next to the door. Lifting one foot and then the other, she removed her ruined shoes. She paused for a moment, her toes curling against the cool wood floor. The house was completely dark save for the lamp on the table where her keys lay. It felt so strange coming home to an empty house. Even now, after six months of living in her childhood home as an adult, the hollowness at times startled her.
Her mother had always been so cheerful and vibrant. No matter the season, the house had been filled with the scent and beauty of the flowers from her gardens. Even in the winter she had kept plants blooming in the Victorian-style greenhouse she had built when Audrey was a child. Every single year until the one before last, Mary Jo Anderson had won awards for her lovely gardens. Her gardening had always been her escape, her own special brand of chicken soup for the soul.
Reading had been Audrey’s. She imagined it was all those suspense novels that had made her so bold as a reporter. She often told friends she had lived a thousand lives through the books she read. Growing up in a small town, books were her escape.
She picked up her high heels and headed for the staircase. The entire house remained stuck in the Victorian era with few concessions to modern times: a more comfortable sofa in the den and updated appliances in the kitchen. The paint and wallpaper, though well maintained, boasted the same pinks and burgundies from more than a hundred and twenty years ago when the house was built. Her great-great-grandmother who’d actually commissioned the house had insisted on keeping things exactly the way she’d wanted them. Mary Jo, though not exactly a pink-and-burgundy lady, had respectfully left the decorating scheme as the late great Annette Anderson had decreed. Audrey’s grandmother and great-grandmother had done the same.
At the top of the stairs, Audrey glanced toward the south end of the second-floor hall. The suite at that end had belonged to her parents. How many nights had she crept quietly through the darkness from her bedroom at the other