days had passed since she’d been grabbed in the alley beside the coffee shop. Three days since someone had tried to kill her at the fairgrounds.
Physically and emotionally she’d taken a slight turn for the worse, once she was settled in her room at her cousin’s house, after the second attack.
Every time she let down her defenses, told herself to relax and tried to get some sleep, that panicky feeling would come back with a vengeance. Her neck hurt even more, as did the scrapes and bruises on the places where she’d hit the ground. She was afraid to take the sleeping pills and painkillers the doctor had prescribed for her. Because what if the attacker came back again? Tried to break into the house?
She was doing a little better now. Well enough to drive herself to the sheriff’s department’s office in town and meet with Luke to look at mug shots. Anna had offered to take her to the meeting, but she’d already missed enough work looking after Melanie. And it was a short drive. Melanie could handle it. Like so many things these days, she had to handle it.
When Melanie’s husband had filed for divorce, she’d needed somewhere to go. Anna had welcomed her with open arms. The rent money Melanie paid was appreciated. Anna made that abundantly clear. But Anna still needed to show up at the accounting firm where she’d recently gotten a job. And thanks to Melanie, she’d already missed two days of work.
Luke took a sip of coffee and set the mug on the conference table, where they were seated. There was an electronic tablet in front of him and he slid it over toward her. “These are pictures of men from this part of Idaho, as well as a few from Northern Wyoming who have a history of violent, strong-arm robbery, specifically targeting women.” The screen showed four images. She could swipe her finger across the screen to see more.
“Do me a favor and just take a look,” he continued. “See if anyone seems familiar. It’s possible you crossed paths with the attacker more than two weeks ago and that you’d remember him if you saw his picture. Maybe he worked alongside you at a rodeo or a fair or somewhere else where you were selling your jewelry over the last few months.”
That was possible. She’d been busy over the summer, traveling to as many events as she could.
“Or maybe he’s someone who’s seen you working at The Mercantile,” he added.
The Mercantile was a former general store in Bowen that had been renovated and turned into a crafts-and-antiques mini mall. Melanie rented space in the communal area, at the center of the store.
“Maybe someone got the idea to rob you after seeing you put money into that blue lockbox that’s missing. Or maybe they saw you put those few pieces of gold jewelry you’ve said you made into the box. Or perhaps something else,” he added, with his eyebrows slightly raised and a questioning expression on his face.
She didn’t like his tone when he said the words “something else,” and she turned to frown at him. Maybe she shouldn’t care so much that he was questioning her character, but she did. Probably because she’d felt a connection, like friendship, forming between them. And that made his comment strike deeper than it would have if it had come from somebody else. “If you think I had drugs or something stolen or illegal in that box, you’re mistaken,” she said icily. “I may not remember that box or specifically what’s in it at the moment, but I do know who I am.”
He held her gaze for several seconds and then finally nodded, though she didn’t think he looked convinced.
She knew he was a cop. People probably lied to him all of the time. He saw the worst of society. But that didn’t lessen the sting of his suspicion.
She picked up the tablet. Swiped her finger across the screen to turn the pages. It took a while, but she finally got to the end. No one looked familiar.
She glanced up at him, shook her head and found herself blinking back tears. It had been irrational for her to get her hopes up. To think she might somehow recognize the perpetrator in these pictures and bring this nightmare to an end.
Haven’t I been through enough? She thought of her husband’s betrayal and insistence on ending their six-year marriage. And the financial bottoming-out that followed the divorce. Now there were these attacks. It was too much.
She immediately felt ashamed of herself for giving in to self-pity. People suffered through a lot worse. Whatever is good and noble, think on those things. Clearly that was what she needed to be doing.
“Looking at mug shots is not our only strategy in this investigation,” Luke said. “It’s just one idea.”
Melanie nodded. “I’m willing to help any way I can.”
Luke reached for the tablet and she slid it toward him. “So, how are you doing?” he asked. Melanie started to fib, telling him she was fine. But then she thought about the promise she’d made to herself after being blindsided by her husband. Ex-husband. There was a lot Ben had kept secret. Including his relationship with the woman he’d begun seeing while he was still married to Melanie.
She should have seen it coming, she’d told herself. But how could she? In so many ways, she and Ben had barely known each other. They’d gotten married straight out of high school, moved to California, found jobs and started living their lives together.
Yet in so many important ways, they’d always been strangers. She just hadn’t realized it until the divorce papers were sitting on her dining room table, ready for her signature.
She couldn’t control other people—she accepted that—but she could control herself. She could keep the promise she’d made to herself to be open and forthcoming. And it was reasonable to expect the same thing from anyone she had a relationship with.
Not that she had a relationship with Lieutenant Baxter. Maybe the feelings she’d thought they were beginning to share were all on her part. Maybe she was reading something into the situation between them that wasn’t there, because she was afraid and feeling alone. In any event, being transparent was a standard she was setting for herself. So she would tell him the truth.
“My head and neck, and everywhere else I’ve been injured, have hurt for the last couple of days, but it’s better now,” she finally blurted out in answer to his question. “I’m still jumpy, though. I can’t relax. And I’m scared.”
And then, even though it made her horribly uncomfortable, she looked him in the eyes and waited for his reaction.
“I’m not surprised,” he said. “You’ve been through two traumatic experiences in less than twenty-four hours.” He glanced down at his phone screen and she thought that was the end of it.
But then he turned back to her, and looking slightly uncomfortable, he said, “My experience is that it takes a lot longer to work through the aftermath of a violent attack than you’d think. But if you hang on, and ask for help if you need it, you’ll be okay.”
“Right.” He hadn’t given her any advice that would make her problems disappear in an instant like she wanted them to. But the empathy he was expressing felt sincere. And the honest assessment that it would take a while for things to heal was probably something she’d needed to hear to make her expectations more realistic.
“Do you want me to help you get your truck and trailer to the house this afternoon?” he asked.
“I think the trip here is all I can handle today.” There was no
