rumor.
Now leaving Steadfast behind and with Wendy beside him, Rodd concentrated on his driving. The snow and ice-packed roads and all the dishes of food boxed and stowed carefully in the rear of his Jeep made him negotiate the curves and hills more cautiously. He readily understood why some seniors had decided not to drive in for the Thanksgiving Outreach Dinner. But the thought of the possible kegger irritated him like a painful speck in his eye.
Wendy interrupted his thoughts. "We're nearly at our turnoff. The Barnes place is just a mile from here."
Rodd glanced at her. She'd opened her parka, partially revealing her dress, a fine corduroy, reddish brown like oak leaves in the fall. It made her hair look richer, more golden. Was she letting it grow? It looked longer than it had been that first day they'd met at Ma's. Sun glinted in her tiny golden earrings shaped like fall leaves. The same kind of leaf dangled on a gold chain around her neck
He wished he were the kind of man who could say casually, "You look pretty today." But would she welcome a compliment or retreat from him? She'd pulled away from him that early morning in Good Hope....
Wendy wasn't like any of the women he'd dated in the past. He liked women with long hair, classy women who wore makeup and perfume, women who made him want to don a suit for a date. But none of them had kept his interest like Wendy Carey had. Ever since their trip to Duluth, her sincere face had popped into his mind at will. He halted this line of thought. Some men just weren't cut out for it—especially cops. That was one of the reasons that his father had delayed remarrying until he'd retired early from the Milwaukee PD.
"Here's the turn." She pointed the way.
Soon, he parked in front of an old house with peeling yellow paint. Snowflakes blew around as though tired, aimless. In the sharp air he helped Wendy get out the covered tray from the box in the back. He was about to carry it in when his cell phone rang.
"I'll take it in." Wendy lifted the tray from his hands and walked up the short flight of steps to where an old man in a worn green sweater held open the door for her.
Watching her go, Rodd opened his cell phone and climbed back inside his Jeep.
"Hello, Sheriff." The voice of the dispatcher sounded perturbed. "Mrs. Beltziger out on Casey Road wants to talk to you."
"Mrs. Beltziger? What does she want?"
"I'm not important enough for her to tell," the dispatcher said with a sardonic twist. "You have to call."
"Okay." He gave dispatch his location and hung up. Since anyone could own a radio with a police band and many county residents had them, he'd decided that he and all his deputies should be equipped with cell phones and pagers for privacy. Digital cellular messages couldn't be picked up by others unless they had high-powered electronic equipment. The fact that dispatch contacted him via cell phone, not radio, said that Mrs. Beltziger wanted her communication with him kept private. He punched in the Beltziger number and identified himself.
A woman with a forceful voice spoke in quick even beats. "We need you to come out here. It's that Dietz bunch. They're always up to something."
Instinctively, Rodd didn't appreciate the woman's complaining busybody tone. He didn't think he'd like her as a neighbor any more than the Dietzes probably did.
She went on, "I think some of the younger ones are planning a kegger over in that old barn way back on their property."
So the kegger, that speck in his eye, rubbed and stung him more. "Why do you think that, ma'am?"
"It's happened before on holidays, and late last night I seen that Elroy Dietz drive by our house, then off the road to the old barn. Ain't any reason for him to be out there. And this morning, I seen several young boys—teens—snowmobile out that way."
"Is that unusual?"
"On Thanksgiving Day it is. I'll bet you anything that Elroy
Now leaving Steadfast behind and with Wendy beside him, Rodd concentrated on his driving. The snow and ice-packed roads and all the dishes of food boxed and stowed carefully in the rear of his Jeep made him negotiate the curves and hills more cautiously. He readily understood why some seniors had decided not to drive in for the Thanksgiving Outreach Dinner. But the thought of the possible kegger irritated him like a painful speck in his eye.
Wendy interrupted his thoughts. "We're nearly at our turnoff. The Barnes place is just a mile from here."
Rodd glanced at her. She'd opened her parka, partially revealing her dress, a fine corduroy, reddish brown like oak leaves in the fall. It made her hair look richer, more golden. Was she letting it grow? It looked longer than it had been that first day they'd met at Ma's. Sun glinted in her tiny golden earrings shaped like fall leaves. The same kind of leaf dangled on a gold chain around her neck
He wished he were the kind of man who could say casually, "You look pretty today." But would she welcome a compliment or retreat from him? She'd pulled away from him that early morning in Good Hope....
Wendy wasn't like any of the women he'd dated in the past. He liked women with long hair, classy women who wore makeup and perfume, women who made him want to don a suit for a date. But none of them had kept his interest like Wendy Carey had. Ever since their trip to Duluth, her sincere face had popped into his mind at will. He halted this line of thought. Some men just weren't cut out for it—especially cops. That was one of the reasons that his father had delayed remarrying until he'd retired early from the Milwaukee PD.
"Here's the turn." She pointed the way.
Soon, he parked in front of an old house with peeling yellow paint. Snowflakes blew around as though tired, aimless. In the sharp air he helped Wendy get out the covered tray from the box in the back. He was about to carry it in when his cell phone rang.
"I'll take it in." Wendy lifted the tray from his hands and walked up the short flight of steps to where an old man in a worn green sweater held open the door for her.
Watching her go, Rodd opened his cell phone and climbed back inside his Jeep.
"Hello, Sheriff." The voice of the dispatcher sounded perturbed. "Mrs. Beltziger out on Casey Road wants to talk to you."
"Mrs. Beltziger? What does she want?"
"I'm not important enough for her to tell," the dispatcher said with a sardonic twist. "You have to call."
"Okay." He gave dispatch his location and hung up. Since anyone could own a radio with a police band and many county residents had them, he'd decided that he and all his deputies should be equipped with cell phones and pagers for privacy. Digital cellular messages couldn't be picked up by others unless they had high-powered electronic equipment. The fact that dispatch contacted him via cell phone, not radio, said that Mrs. Beltziger wanted her communication with him kept private. He punched in the Beltziger number and identified himself.
A woman with a forceful voice spoke in quick even beats. "We need you to come out here. It's that Dietz bunch. They're always up to something."
Instinctively, Rodd didn't appreciate the woman's complaining busybody tone. He didn't think he'd like her as a neighbor any more than the Dietzes probably did.
She went on, "I think some of the younger ones are planning a kegger over in that old barn way back on their property."
So the kegger, that speck in his eye, rubbed and stung him more. "Why do you think that, ma'am?"
"It's happened before on holidays, and late last night I seen that Elroy Dietz drive by our house, then off the road to the old barn. Ain't any reason for him to be out there. And this morning, I seen several young boys—teens—snowmobile out that way."
"Is that unusual?"
"On Thanksgiving Day it is. I'll bet you anything that Elroy
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