The Drake House

Chapter 3

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She looked between the two of them. They didn't answer. She looked down at the tree. "It's been cut. There are hack marks." Fury bubbled up. No one, no one messed with her orchard. "Give me the note. I'll take it to Wayne. No one touch this row until I return."

After parking her ATV in the shed and informing Nancy about what was going on, Trisha climbed into her pickup truck and headed north to town. She was so pissed off she was still shaking. Sucking in a harsh breath, she counted to ten and exhaled. Before stopping at the police station to talk to Wayne, she decided to get the small amount of groceries Nancy needed. She pulled her mind from the orchard to focus on Nancy's list instead to calm her heart rate.

She passed the quaint shops with multi-colored awnings and empty flower boxes bordering the windows. The oaks that lined the two-way road cast shadows across her dashboard. Things were still pretty quiet this early.

A few minutes later, Trisha opened the door to Harvey's Grocery and immediately looked around for Cheryl. She and her husband took over the store ten years ago, and Cheryl was a dedicated town gossip. The shop was severely undersized compared to the chain ones, but somehow always had what their customers needed. Trisha preferred to support the independent shops and her hometown. There was a market around the back for fresh produce in the summer months. The lighting was poor, the old tile floor needed replacing, and it forever smelled of Lysol. After a few seconds of scanning, Cheryl sauntered in from the back.

"Well, hey, girl! Did Nancy sucker you into shopping again?" Cheryl chirped as she walked over, her bright red hair swinging behind her. The high heels she wore with her faded denim pants were as ridiculous as her unnatural hair color. Though she couldn't trust Cheryl as far as she could throw her, Trisha liked her well enough.

"Just a couple things," she muttered. "Nancy wants fresh garlic this time, not the, quote-crappy dried stuff. And what in the hell is pita bread?"

Cheryl chuckled, grabbing the list from Trisha's hand and moving down an aisle. "I'll get it. We're slow today. So, have you met the new deputy?" She offered Trisha a jar of what she hoped was the right kind of garlic and whipped her head around. "Oh, he's dreamy. Just your type, if you ask me."

"You seem to think anything not married is my type. When did we get a new deputy and why?" Trisha trailed Cheryl around while she hunted baking mix in the dry food aisle.

"Word has it he shot someone in Milwaukee and couldn't take it. Wanted a small town to get away and," she whispered dramatically, "you know. He's been here almost a week. Lives up near Wayne's place in the old Baker house."

Wayne was Small Rapids' town sheriff and nearly as old as the town itself. At least, that's what Trisha liked to tell him. He was like a second father to her. Maybe this new guy would be there when she reported the tree and she could see what all the fuss was about. Then again, a backed-up toilet at the gas station was weekly news around here.

"What is this?" Trisha asked after Cheryl passed her a strange item.

"Pita bread."

"Why didn't Nancy just ask for tortillas?"

Cheryl commenced to ringing her up at the decrepit register, her bright pink fingernails flitting over the buttons. "Not the same thing."

"If you say so." Trisha handed her some bills.

"All those men up there working for you and you're still single." Cheryl dramatically shook her head as if this announcement was a national tragedy.

"How'd we get back on this topic?"

"You know you're going to see Wayne after this and check out the new guy."

"I'm going to see Wayne, not the new guy, and men are trouble. I stay away from them."

"You live with ten men and one woman."

Yeah, but she'd never sleep with any of them. "That's different."

"Uh huh. If you say so. I'll see you next week."

Trisha left the store frowning, as she usually did after a bout with Cheryl, and headed up the hill to the station, pleased her mood had turned a little less sour. She hated being bitchy. It was so unlike her.

Small Rapids Police Department incorporated Wayne Radcliff, Steve Harvey, who was Cheryl's husband, a gaggle of volunteers, and whoever this new guy was. The holding cells in back were only used when someone got drunk and rowdy, and the solitary computer probably hadn't been touched since last Christmas when they had a power outage and needed to reboot. Anything major that happened here required the Madison PD to come up and handle it.

Trisha opened the glass door to the station. Without delay, she snuck behind the desk, tipping back the chair Steve was sleeping in, knocking him to the floor. Her uproarious laughter seemed to clear his head after a moment of sheer confusion.

"Damn it, Trish. I was on a beach with Julia Roberts Hey, get on the other side of the desk."

Steve Harvey was a stocky man in his late forties with a receding hairline he tried to cover up by growing the rest of it long. He plopped back down in the chair and gave her his best I-mean-it look. She pecked him on the cheek and parked her butt on the counter in front of him.

"So, who's this new guy?" She bit into a muffin.

"That's my muffin."

"You own a grocery store."

"And you have a cook," he countered, snatching his muffin back. "His name's Nick, not new guy, and he's from Milwaukee."

"Where's Wayne?"

"I'm right here, apple." Wayne strolled in the front door.

"Apple" was Wayne's nickname for her and she secretly loved it. "My name is not apple, you geezer." She hopped off the counter, fiercely hugged him, and peered over his shoulder before slowly releasing him.

Wow. So, this was the new guy. Clad in faded jeans and a white T-shirt under a hip-length leather jacket, he stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. He was tall, very tall. Maybe six, two. His cheekbones could have been chiseled from granite and his hair was ebony and short. Just above a pair of piercing emerald eyes was a very prominent scar, long and white, cutting the left eyebrow and contrasting against his tanned skin.

He looked like a wicked Celtic hellion. Her heart rate kicked inside her chest, a feeling so uncharacteristic she nearly stumbled back a step. "New Guy" raised his eyebrows in question because she was obviously checking him out.

She decided on the spot she didn't like him. He was too model-perfect, bad boy edge or not. And arrogant by the look on his face with one corner of his mouth kicked up in a smirk. Men who looked like him were always arrogant. Plus, he kinda made her nervous, even though he did nothing but stand there. He had the kind of gaze that didn't look at her, but rather through her, and it wasn't to the other side of the room.

It should be a crime to be that sexy. Good thing they were in the police station.

"I'm Trisha," she said, holding out her hand in a friendly gesture, wanting to be polite despite her ogling him like candy. Damn, he is something to ogle at.

He answered by keeping his hands in his pockets and nodding. She narrowed her eyes a fraction in irritation. She may be social and outgoing to a fault, but she would speak her mind if provoked. And he was already provoking her.

"Are you this rude to everyone?" she queried, her blood pressure rising.

"Trisha owns the orchard on the south end of town," Wayne said, interrupting her obvious negative tirade, and grinned at something only he found amusing.

Trisha narrowed her eyes farther. "Does he have a name?"

"Nicolas Mackey," New Guy said. And holy, holy hell, he had a voice on him. A deep baritone, hoarse without grating her ears. "You can call me Nick or Mack, most people do."

Trisha barely resisted a shiver. She raised her eyebrows and feigned surprise. "Oh, Wayne, lookhe talks. Good thing. Last I checked, you had to communicate in police work."

"Be nice, apple. He's new." Wayne draped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed.

All attention lost to the annoying newcomer, Trisha craned her neck to look at one of her favorite people. She kissed him on the cheek before dropping her news. "I had a problem on the orchard this morning. We found a tree cut down, and not by one of us."

Steve stood. "Probably came down in a storm or something, Trish."

She whipped him a don't-be-stupid look. "I know the difference between cut down, storm damage, and rotting." She pulled the note Brad found out of her pocket, handing it to Wayne. "Plus, there was this under a branch."

Wayne's face hardened, drawing out each frown line with clarity. His jowls seemed to grow jowls. "Stay away from what?"

"How the hell should I know?" she barked, then softened her tone. "I'm sorry. I'm upset. All I know is the tree was fine yesterday at our evening check. There are hack marks, so someone used an axe, not a chainsaw."

Wayne nodded. "Probably because you'd hear the chainsaw. It wasn't one of your guys? Playing a prank?"

"No. I know and trust my men. It wasn't them. Should I be scared? What kind of threat is it if I have no idea what they're talking about?"

"Have you had any disagreements with anyone?" Steve asked.

"Not that I am aware of. Are there any new rumors about me?" Small towns, she sighed. Chock full of gossip, most of it untrue.

They shook their heads. Wayne cleared his throat. "Have you done anything out of the ordinary?"

She tried to think. "I went to the county records office last week to inquire about the Drake land. Thought I'd see if we could buy into some of the woods on the other side of the property line, maybe to expand, but it was just an inquiry." Then again, it didn't take much to rile this superstitious town. The abandoned Drake land next door to hers might as well be the gateway to hell, per the residents.

Wayne seemed perturbed, but nodded. "Well, I'll ask around, but this is pretty vague. Where was the downed tree?"

"The west end of the property, last row."

Steve and Wayne exchanged a pensive look before Wayne said, "I'll pop over and take a look. I'll get back to you."

She nodded, satisfied Wayne would be true to his word. "Come over for dinner on Friday night. The guys are going out."

"You cooking?"

"Hell, no. I like you, I wouldn't want to kill you." She beamed and wiggled her brows. "When's the last time you had a good meal?"

"Last time I was at your place, I guess. I'll be there at six."