CAME A SHADOW (The Shadow Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  When Bert had turned sixty he and Sarah retired and leased out the quarter section surrounding the house to a neighbor who also took over the herd. Not long after that, while they were in California on a long overdue holiday, Sarah had complained of feeling ill. She was subsequently diagnosed with breast cancer. She lodged a valiant fight against the disease for more than a year before quietly succumbing to it's ravages. Her death put an end to months of suffering, and in that regard was a blessing, but Bert took it hard. They had been about as close as two people can get.

  The house, without Sarah, was far too big for Bert’s needs but he never gave a serious thought to moving. It had been his home for thirty-seven years and he loved it with nearly the same devotion he had lavished on his wife. Besides, where else would he go?

  ****

  On their second morning at the farm Samantha and Brad sat with Bert in the kitchen nook, lingering over steaming mugs of strong coffee while they looked out on a snowy panorama.

  "Wonder if the damn stuff's ever going to stop coming down," Bert wondered aloud.

  "I know you must have had your fill of it by now," Samantha replied, "but it's so beautiful here. In New York it was just slushy and horrible. This is much better, believe me."

  "And all this time I thought you guys loved the Big Apple."

  Samantha had a dreamy look in her eyes. "Yeah, I guess. But when I see how peaceful it is here I can't help but think how nice it might be to pack up and move out of the city - say goodbye to all the crime and stuff."

  Brad chuckled with obvious cynicism. "Sure, babe, we could set up right here in Colville. I'm sure the ladies in town would line up for miles to buy those high-fashion creations of yours at three grand a pop."

  Samantha casually leaned over the table in front of Brad, dipped her fingers in his coffee, and flicked a few drops in his face. She followed that with a look that left little doubt about what he could do with any future smartass remarks he might be contemplating.

  Bert took in the exchange between his son and daughter-in-law with a mischievous grin. “Might be a bit of a hard sell at that, Sam.” He held up a finger as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him. "You might do real well taking on a good line of rubber boots, though. Maybe something with---"

  Samantha stood in a contrived huff, reacting as expected. "You're as bad as your son. Now I know where he gets it from." She gave him a playful slap on the shoulder.

  Bert laughed quietly and patted her hand. "You two got anything special you'd like to do over the holidays?"

  Samantha turned and looked out the window to check on Sophie. Ever the fighter, she was pummeling Winston with snowballs while he tore around her in circles, first one way, then the other, all the while barking at full volume. He seemed to thrive on the attention, not to mention all the exercise. Bert always made an effort to take him on a daily walk but was seldom successful in burning off all Winston’s excess energy. Samantha couldn’t help but marvel at the dog’s good nature. It seemed no matter what new indignities Sophie found to heap upon him he reacted with exuberant acceptance. "Not really, Dad," she said. "We've got a little last minute shopping to do in town tomorrow but, other than that, we're just looking forward to the break from work."

  "Mm hmm. Well, there's no shortage of peace and quiet around here, that's for sure." Bert gathered up their empty coffee cups and nudged Brad with his elbow. "Guess I'll put you in charge of getting the Christmas tree this year, son. There's a couple pretty nice ones oughta do the trick along the fence, over by the Miller place, you might wanna check out."

  "Sure," Brad said. "We'll get to it after we get back from town tomorrow."

  ****

  Brad and Samantha woke early the next morning to bright sunshine spilling through their bedroom window while tantalizing aromas of a world-class breakfast wafted up from the kitchen. Bert had always believed in starting every day with a substantial meal and his breakfast creations were the stuff of legend. It was one of the things about his childhood that Brad truly missed. Samantha’s tastes, unfortunately for him, tended to lean more toward the latest health food craze. He sometimes kidded her that, with her cooking, he’d probably live forever - but hate every minute of it.

  They arrived in the kitchen to find Sophie struggling through a plateful of scrambled eggs, hash brown potatoes, sausages, and a stack of sourdough toast. There looked to be enough food in front of her to feed all four of them for a week.

  "Smells wonderful," Samantha said as she bent to give Sophie a kiss. Wonderful and fattening, she thought to herself.

  "Pull up a chair, you guys," Bert directed, busily serving up heaping portions of food. "Sophie and I've been up for an hour. Too nice a day to waste in bed."

  Brad sat down and tore enthusiastically into his breakfast while Samantha looked out the window, nibbling daintily on a piece of dry toast. "What a glorious day," she said.

  "You got that right," Bert said. "First we've seen of the sun for a long spell."

  Brad watched as Sophie tried valiantly to use her knife and fork to cut up a ketchup-slathered sausage. Being fiercely independent she resented it when her mother or father intervened with her efforts to feed herself, so Brad resisted the temptation to help her. Suddenly the sausage shot off her plate like a missile, saved from ending up on the floor only by the presence of a juice glass. Sophie calmly picked up the errant sausage with her thumb and forefinger and placed it gently back on her plate, contemplating her next move. After looking at her father out of the corner of her eye, she nonchalantly picked the sausage up in her pudgy little fist and began chewing on it like a carrot stick.

  "Ready to go hunting for our Christmas tree today, Monkey?" Brad asked, careful to hide his amusement.

  “Yesh,” Sophie spluttered through a mouthful of the captured sausage. “Me and Winston are gonna pick out a good one. Right boy?"

  Winston, lying in his favorite spot by the stove, head between his paws, reacted with two or three unenthusiastic sweeps of his tail. Apparently tree hunting held little interest for him - or maybe he was sulking because the sausage he'd had his eye on had eluded him.

  "Your Mom and I are going to pick up a few things in town after breakfast but we won't be long. Okay?"

  Sophie nodded. "Okay. I'm gonna build a snowman while you're gone. Grampa said he'd help me."

  Brad planted a kiss on her forehead, the only spot on her face not containing a liberal quantity of ketchup. "You two have fun.”

  CHAPTER 3

  "Well, I'll be darned! If it ain't Brad Crandall!" Miles Wilson took hold of Brad's hand, pumping it like a man dying of thirst might pump a well handle.

  "Hello, Chief. Good to see you," Brad said, smiling. He and Samantha were just about to enter the general store when they bumped into Miles as he was leaving. What Miles lacked in height he made up for in girth. With his red cheeks and infectious smile he was the town favorite to play Santa Claus at the Christmas festival held every year at the grade school. The only thing needed to complete his disguise was the beard. "Honey, this is Police Chief Wilson ... my wife, Samantha."

  "Well now, I'm real pleased to finally meet ya, ma'am. It's about time this fella a yers brought ya into town. " Miles dropped Brad's hand and took hold of Samantha's, giving it the same enthusiastic workout. "Course, I'm not the chief no more, Brad. Retired last month."

  "No kidding?" Brad said. "Thought you'd go on forever."

  "Naw, my time had come and then some," Miles replied, seemingly without resentment. "You probably remember Callie Henderson from yer school days. Think she graduated the year after you. Hired her as my deputy last year and she took over when I decided to hang up the old spurs. She's doin' a damned fine job, too, even if I do say so myself."

  "If I recall correctly, she was going to be a lawyer," Brad said.

  "Originally, yup. A slight change a plans I guess. If you get a chance you oughta stop by an' say hello to her. I know she'd be real tickled to see ya."

  "We'll do that,"
Brad said.

  Miles patted Brad on the shoulder. "Listen, I better let you folks get on with yer shoppin'. You keep in touch now, ya hear? And Samantha,” he said, tipping the brim of his cap to her in an old-world affectation, “I do hope we see you again real soon."

  "It was nice meeting you," Samantha replied. After Miles had gone she leaned into Brad. "Nice old guy. Hard to imagine him as a policeman. He looks too … I don't know … cuddly."

  "You’re far too charitable,” Brad replied. “Actually, he looks like he couldn't find his own ass if he had a flashlight and written directions. But the truth is he was a pretty damn good cop in his day."

  "Really?"

  "I remember one time when I was a kid - maybe thirteen or fourteen - a gang of bikers road into town. Five of them. They figured it'd be fun to give the country bumpkins a rough time, I guess. Anyway, Miles caught up to them in Clyde Morrow's hardware store busting the place up pretty good. By the time the dust settled, two of them were in the hospital with sore heads and the other three were licking their wounds in the lockup."

  Samantha looked shocked. "That sweet little old man did that?"

  Brad did a passable imitation of Humphrey Bogart: "You better believe it, schweetheart."

  ****

  "Jesus, I didn't know it would be so freaking hard to find a simple answering machine," Brad moaned as they left the third store in town empty handed. "I'd almost forgotten what a hick town this is."

  Samantha rewarded his petulance with a straight left to the shoulder. "Don't be such a grouch," she scolded. Born and raised in New York City, Samantha was finding all the small town New England friendliness they were experiencing irresistibly charming.

  They did find what they wanted at the next stop but, by then, most of the morning was used up. They had run into someone Brad knew practically everywhere they had been and it seemed everyone wanted a detailed update on all that had transpired in his life since the last time they'd seen him. After the second retelling of his story he'd gotten smart and developed an abridged version he was spouting off in less than thirty seconds.

  "You're starting to sound like a contestant on The Wheel of Fortune," Samantha said as they broke away from yet another couple who had buttonholed Brad.

  They made their way along the snow-covered street to Bert's aging full-size Chevy pickup. Brad stuffed their packages behind the bench seat and turned to Samantha. "How about a coffee, babe?"

  Samantha's eyebrows shot up. "Now that sounds wonderful," she purred.

  They crossed Main Street to Mollie's Diner, named for an owner who'd been dead for at least fifty years. A very large and very motherly old black woman named Dee had owned the place for the past three decades but she had shown the good sense not to mess with the moniker. When she saw Brad she made a big fuss and came out from behind the counter to greet him. "If it ain't the prodigal son come home," she declared loudly. "How the heck are you, boy?" She wrapped him in her big, fleshy arms and squeezed hard.

  "Never better, Dee."

  Dee stood back and took in the sight of Samantha. "And this must be the missus, huh?"

  Brad gave her a confused look. "This? Naw, this is just some stray I bumped into outside and took pity on."

  Dee clucked happily. "Oh you. You ain't changed one bit from when you was a smart alec little brat, comin' in here stealin' my muffins." She held out her hand to Samantha. "It's a genuine pleasure to meet you, ma'am. How ever do you put up with this horrible man?"

  "Hi, Dee. I'm Samantha. As for putting up with him, well, the jury's still out on that one."

  Dee’s eyes went wide and she made a big O with her lips. "You best be watchin' out for this one, mister," she said to Brad. She directed them to a booth and when they were seated said, "Whatever you folks're havin', it's on the house."

  Brad knew he’d be wasting his breath to argue about a bill. He asked for a cinnamon bun and a coffee. Despite Dee's protests Samantha would accept only a coffee. Dee grumbled at this and disappeared. In a moment she was back with a cinnamon bun the size of a Volkswagen and an extra plate that she placed in front of Samantha. "Thought you might wanna share," she said huffily before she ambled off.

  Brad slathered the bun, still warm from the oven, in butter and took a gigantic bite. He followed that with a moan of ecstasy.

  Samantha narrowed her eyes and glared at him.

  "It's delicious," Brad said, although the description was quite unnecessary. "You should have some."

  "That’s okay,” she hissed, “I'll content myself with throwing my coffee in your face after I gouge out your eyeballs."

  "Suit yourself, slim." He smiled.

  "You know, right about now I'd trade you in for a soap coupon."

  Brad stuck his tongue out at her. "Before we head back let's stop into the chief’s office for a minute. I'd like to say hi to Callie."

  She had left town after graduating from high school to pursue a degree in law but, after two years of the relentless grind of studying, Callie had given it up as a lost cause. She'd hung on through most of her third year but, by that time, her grades were reflecting her total loss of interest. Most of her time that final year was spent with friends at the local watering hole. It had become abundantly clear that the only call to the bar she was likely to get had little to do with jurisprudence. But college hadn’t been a total waste of time. Her studies did have the effect of pointing her in a direction she found more appealing. She had ended up signing on with the Newark, New Jersey, police department and spent the next eleven years there as a uniformed patrol officer. Somewhere along the line she had gotten hitched to a detective on the same force but the marriage had ended quickly. He was a good-looking guy but a serious drinker, and it had become abundantly clear that boozing with his buddies and whoring around were unlikely to stop simply because a little marriage had gotten in the way. Even after the divorce, however, he had continued to hit on her whenever the opportunity presented itself. It got so that it was a real thorn in her side, bumping into him all the time. When she heard about an opening on the Colville police force she had concluded it might be the ideal way to put some much needed distance between herself and her ex. Chief Wilson had been impressed with the résumé she faxed to him and encouraged her to come up for an interview. The rest was history.

  She was standing by the desk in the reception area, thumbing through a document and talking on the phone, when Brad and Samantha stopped in.

  Brad was more than a little taken aback at the sight of her. He vaguely remembered Callie as a nice girl you went to great pains to avoid. Acne and braces came immediately to mind. Surely this woman couldn't be the high school junior he had known. She was gorgeous. Even the khaki trousers and Police Department blouse couldn't hide the drop dead figure beneath; not like a fashion model - all bones and angles - but wholesome and buxom. Her auburn hair was shoulder length and she wore it pinned back from her face, highlighting her cheekbones. That she bore a rather striking resemblance to a famous actress named Raquel something-or-other was not lost on either Brad or Samantha. They waited while Callie finished with her call.

  "Hi, folks,” Callie said, looking at them. “Can I help you?"

  Brad struggled to bring his mind back to the present with some semblance of composure. "Hi, Callie. You probably don’t remember me."

  She came around the desk, her eyes going wide. "Brad Crandall! Of course, I remember you. I didn't recognize you at first, it's been so long. God, I haven't seen you since you graduated from high school."

  You didn't recognize me? "Yeah, it's been awhile. You've certainly weathered the years well, Callie. You look … great."

  She blushed slightly. "Well, thank you, kind sir. You're looking very fit yourself." Frowning, she added, "But I don't remember you being so tall."

  Actually, Brad hadn't reached his full height until his nineteenth year. A late bloomer, his father had said. "Well, I'm sure I don't remember you being so ..." Sam's elbow in his rib was a sudden reminder of h
er presence. " ... tall, either. Anyway, we just wanted to stop by and say hello while we were in town. This is my wife, Samantha."

  Callie turned to Samantha and smiled. "Hello."

  "Hi, Callie,” Samantha said. “We bumped into Mr. Wilson earlier this morning and he had some very nice things to say about you."

  Callie frowned. "You mustn’t believe everything old Miles tells you. He thinks just because I remember his birthday every year I'm a candidate for sainthood." She leaned back against the desk. "Are you staying out at the farm for Christmas?"

  Samantha nodded. "We're here with our four-year-old daughter until after New Year's but, to be honest, I'm beginning to hate the thought of leaving already. Everybody here is so friendly it's hard to imagine going back to New York."

  "You have a daughter!" Callie beamed. "That's wonderful. I'd love to meet her."

  "Why don't you stop by the farm over the holidays?" Brad suggested.

  "That’s a great idea, I might just do that,” Callie said. “My dad's visiting with me right now. He'd probably enjoy talking to someone besides me for a change. I'll mention it to him tonight."

  The switchboard lit up and Callie moaned. "Excuse me, my secretary's out running a few errands right now and my deputy is down with a cold so I'm stuck answering the phone. Listen, you two enjoy your holiday, okay? And we will try to drop by the farm while you're here."

  "Terrific. We'll look forward to it," Brad said.

  Outside, Samantha pulled her collar up against the cold. The day was beautifully bright and sunny but, if anything, the temperature had dropped a few more degrees since the morning. "She's nice," Samantha said. "Not exactly your typical police chief, is she? She could be a Playboy centerfold with that figure and those looks."

  Brad knew that whenever a woman comments to her husband about how beautiful another woman looks, the situation calls for a certain amount of agile evasion. To lie would be futile, but to agree too enthusiastically could be fatal. An attitude of bored acquiescence seemed about right. "Well, she's a tad better looking than Miles, I suppose," he said.