Author's Notes: A big thanks goes out to my wonderful beta reader, Skyrose. Some of you must have thought that I had forgotten about this one, but I promise I haven't. Thanks to all of you who continue to read this story after all this time.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter Seventeen
"It's been a little different this year. Getting ready to plant, I mean."
"I bet. No farm supply co-op store, limited fuel."
Stanley and Heather were walking along the fencerow at the Richmond Farm, moving closer to the barn, which had some makeshift scaffolding set up around it. It was evident to Heather from the different colored wood that he'd done repairs recently.
"Saved seed from last year," Stanley commented. "It's not enough, though. When I planted, I hadn't exactly counted on the bombs. J&R is supposed to be supplementing some seed. Fertilizer, too, though I get plenty of natural sh-stuff from the cows, and Gail's promised me all the fertilizer I want, courtesy of the horses at their ranch."
Heather nodded her head, remembering the smells of homemade fertilizer the horses had left in piles in the pasture and in their stalls. "Looks like you're getting quite a bit done around here," she commented, indicating the barn.
"We're trying to. Winter was pretty brutal on everything. Then there was the battle. Had some damage from that."
Heather shook her head slightly. "It's so beautiful out here. It's hard to imagine that it happened."
"Well, if you go about half a mile down the road, it looks pretty real. Earth's still scorched," Stanley replied glibly. He glanced at Heather, who nervously bit her bottom lip. "I know that look."
"What look?"
"That guilty look."
Heather shrugged. "I can't help it. I mean, logically I know that I didn't instigate the battle. I just—I wish I'd never gone to New Bern. Never helped them get their factory up and running."
"Ah, come on, Heth. Don't do this. It's not like you're a Gilligan or something."
"What?"
"You know. A Gilligan. Always messing things up. Those turbines kept the Med Center going. You know, a lot of people are alive because of you."
"And a lot of people are dead," Heather muttered.
"Look, I was there, too. We didn't know what they were up to at first. Right? They weren't exactly putting up neon signs."
"I should've known."
"You know, I got this really nasty paper cut last night going through my tax documents. And this morning, I stubbed my toe. You gonna take the blame for that, too? 'Cause I've got to tell you, that was about as much your fault as a lunatic dictator in New Bern deciding to start a war with Jericho was."
Logically, Heather knew Stanley was right, but her emotions told her an entirely different story. Ready to leave behind the conversation, Heather asked, "Are Bonnie and Mimi around?"
"Bonnie's gone to town for awhile with Mimi, getting together some painting supplies. We've gotta finish the repairs on the barn. Last step: paint."
Heather chuckled, "I know looks can be deceiving, but the Mimi I remember, well, she doesn't seem like the farm chores kind of girl."
Heather watched as the corners of Stanley's lips curled. He seemed to be lost in his own private memory. "Yeah, she was totally out of her element at first, but I think Bonnie and I've got her broken in now. She still thinks she can reason with chickens, but—" Stanley broke off laughing. "God, I'm crazy about her."
"I'm so glad you found each other." And she was. In the few years that she had known Stanley, there had been a few women who had come and gone out of his life, but never one who made him light up the way Mimi Clark did.
"Me, too. Guess some good things have come from the world going to hell in a hand basket. What about you?"
"What about me?" Heather echoed, suddenly feeling shy.
"Everyone's been talking about you. How good it is to have you back. How Jake, in particular, seems happy that you're here."
"I don't really know what to say to that," Heather replied slowly.
Stanley pressed, "Well, you are living with Jake."
"Staying with Jake. And Gail. There's a difference, and it's all soon. Really soon. And he and Emily just broke up."
"No kidding?" Stanley shook his head. "Think it'll take this time?" His tone left little question that he doubted the permanence of the breakup.
Heather had to work hard not to let Stanley's words get to her. "Um, yeah. Yeah, I think it will."
"They've got a lot of history."
"Yeah, I know," Heather replied softly.
Stanley's eyes widened. "Oh hell. I'm sorry, Heather. I was just kidding about you and Jake, but I guess it wasn't really a joke, was it?"
"It's complicated."
"But?"
"But we do enjoy each other's company."
"So diplomatic," Stanley scoffed. "So teacherly. You've had a thing for him since he got back to Jericho. Where is he today, anyway?"
Heather couldn't deny it, so she answered Stanley instead. "Working. You heard Major Beck appointed him sheriff, right?"
Stanley let out a low whistle followed by a deep chuckle.
"Eric came by the house this morning. Picked him up. Some kind of problem, but he didn't say what."
Stanley grabbed onto a fence post, testing its sturdiness. "So what are your plans now that you're back?"
"Wish I knew," Heather confided.
"There's talk that schools are going to be reopened."
"I don't think I'm what the kids need right now."
Stanley saw the shadow cross her face. "Are you kidding me? You were the best teacher they had at that elementary school!" He remembered all too well how Heather was always going above and beyond to help her students and their families. She had even stepped in and helped him with Bonnie on several occasions when the young girl needed a woman's guidance.
"I don't know about that," Heather hedged. "Looking for a farm hand?"
Stanley reached out and squeezed her bicep. "Think you could handle it?" But Heather didn't have the opportunity to respond. "Looks like Mimi and Bonnie are back."
With their shoes crunching on the gravel driveway, the two friends picked up the pace and headed toward the farmhouse where the old Chevy truck had pulled in. When the two friends got closer, they saw that Mimi was by herself. She opened the truck door and slid off the seat, letting her boots hit the ground beneath her. Heather had teased Stanley about whether Mimi was cut out for farm life, but she was amazed by the change in the formerly fussy IRS woman.
"Hey, sweetheart." Stanley greeted Mimi with a quick kiss.
"Hey yourself," Mimi replied.
"Where's Bonnie?"
"She saw some friends and wanted to stay longer. Said she'd get a ride home." Mimi then turned her attention to Heather and said with a smile, "You don't look half bad for a dead woman. It's good to see you again, Heather."
"Thanks. It's good to see you, too. I hear congratulations are in order. Have you set a date?"
Mimi placed a hand on Stanley's chest. "Not yet."
"Sooner rather than later," Stanley piped in.
"Yeah, he can't let me get away," Mimi deadpanned.
Heather smiled. "So I also hear you two have been doing quite a bit of work around here."
Mimi dusted her hands. "Yeah, well, he better get all the work out of me now while he can…"
"You two are…"
"No, no!" Stanley corrected Heather. "Not yet."
"I'm starting a new job at Jennings & Rall. Accounting. It's not quite as exciting as milking the cows, but it'll do."
With all Heather had been hearing the last few days about Jennings & Rall, she wasn't completely sure what to say. She supposed the polite response would be to wish Mimi well with her new endeavor, but she found it difficult to form the words when she had so many questions where that company was concerned. It was strange that they controlled communications, the distribution of the new Buffalo credits, food supplies. She could go on. And maybe there was nothing to worry about. Maybe after everything that had happened, she saw trouble where there was none.
Heather was spared coming up with a response, however, when Stanley spoke. "Heather got the tractor going again."
"Wind turbines. Trucks. Tractors. Is there anything you can't fix?"
"Plenty."
Mimi smiled. "I'm glad it's running again, but the thing looks hideous."
A few years ago, Stanley would have agreed. In the meantime, he had gotten used to Daisy's cow-themed paint job. "Yeah, but Bonnie did it when she was a kid."
"You're such a softie."
When it came to his little sister, it was true. From the time he first held her in the hospital as a newborn, he was hooked. And when she lay in the hospital bed after the accident that killed their parents, and he stroked her tiny hand, he knew he would've done anything to give her the world. Bonnie was more than his sister. Through the years, some of the women he dated didn't get that. When he had been out on a date and the sitter called him to tell him she thought Bonnie had the chicken pox, Stanley had rushed home—leaving a furious date in his wake. The same scene had played out, in various incarnations and situations, but always with the same result. Women seemed to think it was a competition, that his devotion to Bonnie somehow meant he didn't have enough time or energy or devotion left for a relationship. Mimi had been the first woman he'd been serious about who hadn't tried to come between him and Bonnie.
Watching the adoration between the two, Heather suddenly felt like an intruder. "I really should get back to town. Let you get on with your day."
"What? Running out on us so you don't have to paint?" Stanley teased.
"You found me out," Heather played along.
Mimi smiled. "Sorry, Heather. Looks like you're not going to get away that easily."
The house where Phil Constantino was being kept was modest and, by most anyone's standards, in the middle of nowhere. Lieutenant Jacob Hamilton had radioed ahead. The guards assigned to monitor the man were expecting him, and Hamilton had been allowed through the defensive perimeter without much fuss before being escorted through the front door.
Hamilton was surprised by just how homey the place looked. It had once been someone's country home, someone who had left and never returned. Its remote location made it ideal for keeping New Bern's former dictator detained while he awaited extradition to Cheyenne.
When Hamilton came across the man some of the soldiers had nicknamed 'The Devil,' Constantino was situated at a round table in the breakfast nook with a chessboard laid out before him.
"You know why I'm here." Hamilton did not exchange pleasantries, no small talk.
Constantino looked up from the chess board. "I heard what happened to your friend. Was sorry to hear that."
Hamilton's jaw clenched. "I'll bet."
"Despite what you may think about me, I actually liked Buchs. He had a-," Constantino paused, as though remembering a private joke, "-wicked sense of humor."
Hamilton pulled out a wooden chair across from where the other man sat. He turned it around, straddling the seat. "Let's cut to the chase. Did you have anything to do with Barrett Buchs's murder?"
"No," replied Constantino evenly. "Though you're going to have to approach it better than that, son. If I did, you don't think I'd up and admit it, do you? That's not the way it works."
The younger man's scowl deepened. "I'm not your son. My name is Lieutenant Jacob Hamilton. I'm an A.S. Army officer. You may call me Lt. Hamilton or just lieutenant, not son."
"And I'm a former cop who's being held for crimes he didn't commit. What's your point?"
Hamilton glanced down at the chessboard. Strategy. A game. "All right, then. You have the experience. Talk me through this. What should I be asking you?"
"What can you offer me?"
Hamilton nearly snorted. "I don't make deals with the devil."
"I see you've heard my nickname. I'm not sure I agree that it's fitting, but so be it." Constantino placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "Look, I'm not asking for anything crazy here. A few minutes alone with my wife. If you can arrange that, then we'll be in business."
"I'll see what I can do."
"You a man of your word?"
"I'm an officer."
Constantino seemed satisfied. "So if I were you, I'd be looking at the three m's: motive, method, and means. Now, at the risk of sounding self-serving, I should point out that I have no motive for wanting Lt. Buchs dead. If I'd want anyone gone, it would be Beck." Constantino paused, thinking of how things would have been so different if Beck hadn't shown up and doled out his brand of justice. New Bern would be on the fast track to independence, thanks to the farms it would own, courtesy of Jericho. "Seeing as how I've been locked away in here, I didn't really have means. What was the method?"
Hamilton's expression remained passive, but he didn't necessarily agree with Constantino's assertion that he didn't have means. Everyone knew the man could still pull plenty of strings. But Hamilton was content to let him talk, to see if he would keep his story straight or provide another lead. "Tough to say. His body was set on fire and dragged to the railroad tracks near Old Saturn Road."
Constantino frowned. "Anything seem out of place?"
"Nothin' out of the ordinary in the scene."
"So the perp didn't leave anything?"
"No, but he also didn't take particular care in concealin' the body, either." Hamilton swallowed hard. The words had sounded cold to him as he spoke them. This was his friend.
"Anything else?" Constantino asked rubbing his chin.
"Yeah, his uniform was gone. What do you make of that?"
"Gone? Not burned?"
"Uniforms are made of a wool blend. If it had been there, we would've found some traces."
Constantino sneered. "You've got bigger problems than a dead buddy."
Hamilton bristled at Constantino's harsh statement. What could be more important than his friend? "What do you mean?"
"Haven't you wondered why the uniform's gone?"
Of course he had. "Go on."
"If I were a betting man, I'd say that there's someone walking around wearing it, blending in. You military types, you're one big happy family, right? You trust that uniform. You trust who wears it." Constantino sounded almost gleeful.
"Did you set this in motion?"
"I've got no motive. Buchs let my wife in to see me from time to time. Why would I mess with that?"
Hamilton's gaze fell back onto the chessboard, noticing the queen was in danger.
"…but don't be surprised if Chet Rawley shows up again."
"I thought you smoothed that out," Jake grimaced as he opened the door to his office, his brother entering behind him. He turned on the light, surprised to find that he had a visitor sitting behind his desk.
"So what took you so long, Sheriff Green?" Maggie Mullen's delicate features were set in a deep frown. She looked to his brother. "Eric," she said by way of greeting before returning her attention to Jake. "Not keeping office hours?"
"I was sidetracked. On police business," he added. Jake was sparse on the details, preferring to get to the point as quickly as possible with her so she'd be on her way.
"And I thought you were just avoiding me," Maggie replied as she stood, relinquishing his chair. From her tone, Eric couldn't quite tell if Maggie was joking with Jake, but when she added her next remark, he knew there was some sting behind her words. "I hear you avoid all the women you kiss. I'd hate to know what you'd do with women you've-"
"Is there a reason you're here?" Jake interrupted, moving toward his desk.
Maggie's eyes narrowed. "I was getting to that."
Jake watched as Maggie circled the table, pressed her hands on the worn wood, and leaned toward him. "Then get to it."
"Jake," Eric's voice held a warning. Tread lightly.
"What's the matter with you?" she asked. "I always figured you were the type of guy whose mother taught you manners. You know, the kind who carries a handkerchief in his blue jeans but likes to seem all big and bad."
Jake's patience wore thin. "Who were you playing in New Bern? Constantino? Or me?"
Maggie pushed off the desk and stood erect. "What does it matter? It's over and done with. At least, I thought it was." She looked to Eric and then back to Jake. "I saw someone from New Bern."
"Here?" Eric asked.
Jake crossed his arms. "Like last time you were in here claiming to have seen a group from New Bern coming to attack, and they turned out to be refugees passing through?"
"Jake," Eric began, "Maggie wouldn't be the first person."
She brushed a strand of hair that had fallen across her forehead. "This is different," she insisted. "The man—Nate is his name—is from New Bern but he's wearing an Army uniform."
Jake's frown deepened. If, and it was a big if, Maggie saw what she claimed, he didn't like it. "Have you spoken with Major Beck?"
"I tried. I talked with one of his subordinates. Even asked about the man by name, but they had no record of him."
Jake shrugged. "There you have it. You must've been wrong about who you saw."
"Don't patronize me, Jake. I know who I saw."
Eric tried to diffuse the tension. "Everyone has a twin. My brother looks like a scruffier version of that guy off Scream. You know. The killer."
Jake glared at his brother. Maggie, on the other hand, persisted. "No, this is not a doppelganger!" She clasped her hands together and took a deep breath before continuing. "I know you have no reason to trust me, my judgment or my honesty, but I know one person who would've listened to me. Johnston Green."
Jake shot her a warning look. "Leave him out of this. You didn't know him."
"But I knew enough of him. Any man who would do what he did, carry me over his shoulder for miles is a hero in my book. That memorial down the hall speaks for itself. And I heard the conversation he had with you on the way back. He was a man of compassion but also a man of reason. Try to be your father's son for once, Jake."
"My father had no use for liars."
"What do I gain by coming here?"
"Attention."
"The kiss wasn't that good." Maggie turned to Eric, appealing to him. "Eric, you have to listen to me. I saw Nate at the corner of Main and Church. It was early, maybe 6:45."
"Was he with anyone?" Eric asked.
"Yes. A Jennings & Rall employee. A young woman. She had curly red hair. Pulled up."
"A J&R employee? Did it look like someone he ran into?" Eric continued.
Jake chewed the inside of his cheek. Red haired J&R employee. Wilma? Neither Maggie nor Eric seemed to notice Jake's expression.
Maggie continued, "I-I don't think so. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but from the way they spoke, I could tell they know each other."
"Did he see you?" Eric asked.
"No, thank God." Maggie took a deep breath before continuing. "I don't know what I would've done if he had. Despite what you might think," she glanced at Jake, "I was glad to get away from New Bern. Away from him." Memories of his unrelenting touches made her involuntarily shudder.
"Did you see where he went?" Jake's question brought Maggie back to the present.
She shook her head. "I wanted to put as much distance between us as I could."
Eric spoke gently, "Maggie, why were you so scared?"
"It's hard to describe. Nate is, for lack of a better comparison, like Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde. He could be tender and appear sensitive one minute and be cruel the next. I was his favorite toy in New Bern."
Jake's stomach turned at the thought of what Maggie was saying. He shot a look at his brother whose expression reflected Jake's own feelings. "Think he's here looking for you?" Jake asked.
Maggie paused for a moment, considering Jake's question. "I don't think so. Before we left New Bern, just a few days before actually, his father was murdered. He said Constantino wanted it kept quiet. Constantino said if anyone asked, his dad was out of town. Nate couldn't understand why, and he wouldn't let it go. He pulled me out of jail for…" her voice trailed off. "He told me over and over that he would get his revenge. I was with him when he received word that the woman who murdered his father was dead. He was devastated. He wanted to be her executioner."
Eric felt the blood drain from his face.
Jake furrowed his brows. "So why would he come here?"
Maggie sighed. "I don't know, but whatever it is, it can't be good. And for him to be wearing a military uniform? I still haven't figured that one out."
"What is his full name?"
"Nate, er, Nathan Travers."
Eric cursed under his breath, his heart rate elevating.
Jake picked up a pad of paper and pen from a nearby desk. "Describe him for me. I'll post an APB—or what passes for one nowadays. Better to be safe than sorry."
Maggie nodded, and relief washed over her. "He's mid-twenties, I would say. Maybe about 5'10 or 5'11. Muscular build. Strawberry blond hair. Brown eyes. Small gap between his front teeth. Wearing an Army uniform."
"You just described God knows how many soldiers that are running around this area."
"I'm doing the best that I can! It's not like we had one of those relationships where we chronicled everything through pictures. It was parasitic."
"You did the right thing by coming here, Maggie," Eric interjected. "Thank you."
Maggie was surprised. "You're welcome. Like I said, we don't want him around." She turned back to Jake. "Anything else you need from me?"
"I've got enough."
Maggie inclined her head in acknowledgement and headed out of the office.
Jake dropped the pad of paper on the desk and immediately turned to Eric. "What are you not telling me?"
Eric tried to deflect. "Get someone to post that APB now. We've got to find Heather."
Eric moved to leave the office, but Jake extended his arm, catching his brother square in the chest with his hand. "Is she…." Jake struggled to form the words, to wrap his mind around what he'd just learned. But all the pieces fit. The haunted look in Heather's eyes, the fear that she'd become a monster. His heart began to hammer in his chest. "Heather's the one he's after, isn't she? She's in danger."
Eric took a step back and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah. She's in danger."
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