“Please! Could we just have one meal together without you two arguing?” Arlene glared at Violet, took a breath and let it out slowly, upset to hear about Maddie.
She wondered if Maddie had been drinking. She wouldn’t have been surprised, given that Charlotte had gotten served when the bars were really busy even though she was only seventeen. Or maybe the girls had fake IDs. That would be just like Maddie.
“You weren’t with Maddie, Bo?” Arlene asked, surprised and a little concerned. She’d thought that he was meeting Maddie when he’d left the house before his sisters last night.
“I went to Havre with some friends,” he said, obviously not happy to hear that Maddie had been at the bar—and dancing with Curtis McAlheney even though Curtis was no prize. “It’s not like Maddie and I are attached at the hip, you know.”
“You’re right,” Arlene quickly agreed. “It’s good to have friends and do things with them even after you’re married.”
“If he gets married,” Violet said under her breath.
“What is that supposed to mean?” both Arlene and Bo demanded. Charlotte hummed quietly to herself, apparently oblivious to the rest of them.
Violet only gave her brother one of her that’s-for-me-to-know-and-you-to-find-out looks.
Arlene wanted to slap her. Instead, she decided it was time to make her announcement. “I have great news. I’ve started a home business.”
Both Bo and Violet were noticeably surprised. Charlotte glanced up, but went back to her split ends; she would never need a dating service.
“What kind of business?” Violet asked as if worried she might have to work it.
“On the Internet,” Arlene said excitedly. She’d done her best to find Violet a man, throwing her together with every eligible man she could find in several counties. Now it was time to expand her territory. “It’s an Internet dating service for rural singles.”
Violet gasped.
Bo began to laugh, shaking his head as his gaze went to Violet then his mother. “This is going to be good.”
ON SATURDAY, NICK TOLD HIMSELF he had no business going to a party in Old Town Whitehorse or anywhere else. His plan had been to keep a low profile while in Montana. That meant doing his job, staying to himself, having as little contact with the locals as was necessary.
It wasn’t as if it had slipped his mind why he was here or what was at stake if he screwed up. He had to keep his head down. Dancing with a pretty young local woman with emerald-green eyes wasn’t just risky business. It could get him killed.
And yet, dancing with Laney Cavanaugh was all he could think about as he checked his messages at his office before getting ready to head to Old Town.
He told himself he was just doing his job by going to the party. That he wouldn’t have accepted the party invitation if it hadn’t been for Maddie Cavanaugh’s and Bo Evans’s engagement. He hadn’t been able to forget the fear he’d seen in Maddie’s eyes that day outside his office. Nor could he shake the instant dislike he’d felt for Bo Evans. The kid was trouble. Nick had seen enough young men like Bo to spot his kind a mile away.
And what would just one dance hurt?
Nick looked up at the sound of a man clearing his throat.
“I—I—I was attacked.”
The man standing in his doorway was average height, average build, average in most every way. He looked vaguely familiar.
“I’m the reporter for the Milk River Examiner. I tried to do a story on you when you came to town,” the man said as if seeing Nick attempting to place him.
“Right.”
“Glen Whitaker,” the man said. He’d looked sheepish when Nick had first looked up, but now he appeared a little aggravated at not being remembered. Or maybe it was because Nick had declined to be interviewed.
“You say you were attacked?” Nick asked. The man didn’t appear to be in pain. Nor did his clothing suggest an attack. He wore dark slacks, a white shirt, loafers. He obviously was a transplant from somewhere else. His hair was slicked back in an old-fashioned cut although he appeared to be in his thirties. Hard to tell age with a man like that.
“The attack happened a month ago, right before you were hired,” Glen Whitaker said, glancing around as if he wanted to make sure no one was listening. There wasn’t anyone in the office and the dispatcher’s desk was far enough away she couldn’t have heard. Nor did she seem even interested in what the reporter was doing here.
“Sit down,” Nick said as Glen drew up a chair, pulling it close to the deputy’s desk. “You say it happened before I was hired. Did you report it?”
“No.” Glen looked nervous. “I wasn’t sure.”
“You weren’t sure you were attacked?” Nick was beginning to wonder about this guy.
“You see, I was told that I’d been down at Old Town. It’s a near ghost town south of here by the Missouri Breaks.”
Nick nodded. “I’ve been there.”
“Anyway, about a month ago I woke up beside the road, my car smashed into a fence post, miles from everything. I couldn’t remember anything. I later found out that I was in Old Town Whitehorse. I had two large bumps on my head that I thought must have caused the memory loss.”
“Were you drinking?” Nick had to ask.
“I don’t drink. Several people saw me leave the Whitehorse Community Center and can attest to the fact that I hadn’t had a thing to drink. That was the night before. I woke up beside the road the next morning feeling like I’d been run over.” Glen leaned in closer. “When I got home I found bruises all over my body as if I’d been beaten.”
Nick had been thinking the man was a nutcase. But his story was a little too much like the others Nick had been hearing. Also, the attack had been on a Saturday night.
“Would you say the bruises indicated you might have been kicked? Or beaten with a weapon of some sort?” Nick asked.
Glen Whitaker sat back, relief drowning his features. “You believe me then?”
“There have been some other reports of this sort of thing.”
“I was afraid to come in.” Glen looked away as if too upset to go on. “I was afraid you’d think I was crazy.”
Nick pulled out a report. “When exactly did this happen?”
Glen stood abruptly. “I don’t want to file a complaint.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want this all over town. That’s why I came to you. You don’t know anyone. I just needed to tell someone.”
“But don’t you want your attack on record?”
The reporter wagged his head. “And have it end up in the newspaper? No way.” He started backing toward the door.
“Okay,” Nick said putting the form away. “I won’t make out a report. But tell me when it happened. There appears to be a series of these attacks. Yours might have been the first.”
“Saturday, four weeks ago, when that Bailey woman went missing. I can’t remember the exact date.”
Nick had heard about the Bailey woman, that she’d been discovered down in the Breaks and everything that had happened because of it.
“You have any idea who’s responsible for these attacks?” Glen asked.
“Not