face was a thundercloud.
And what had prompted his errand was that, Walachek's bullet hadn't been a match. So the bullet from the high school incident had yet to be identified. Today Burke had no choice but drive to Keely, to pursue the two anonymous phone calls, implicating Grady and Nick. He had to compare bullets from the crime scene with ones from both firearms. He'd had to ask Harlan for a spent bullet from his rifle. And while Harlan would comply with regret, he might need a search warrant to wrest bullets from the Turners' guns. To avoid this, Rodd had suggested Burke talk to Keely first. See if they could come up with a way to get Turner's cooperation.
Burke didn't want to talk to Keely first. It made him feel like a high school kid again—being sent to the principal. And he didn't need the distraction of her now. It was one of the first times Burke could recall not agreeing with Rodd on a case. But Rodd was the sheriff, Burke's boss.
Evidently, however, Rodd had to worry about playing hard ball with the son of the richest man in the county. Burke thought the Turners shouldn't get "gloves on" treatment. He knew what his union foreman father would have to say about that. Burke didn't go farther to think about his dad's opinion of Burke and Keely ever being a couple. A labor union father and a factory owner father. Don't go there .
And today, to top everything off, he'd had just about enough of his nephew's lip and it was only ten in the morning. Fuming, Burke pulled up to the little bungalow a few miles out of Steadfast, The Family Closet. The shop was closed for Labor Day. But when he'd called the Turner home, Keely's mother told him that Grady and Keely were there sorting new donations. Looking through the open garage door, Burke glimpsed Grady rummaging through a box.
Keely must be in the shop. He studied it. He hadn't gotten a good look at the place that midnight visit when he'd sat and talked to Keely on its back porch. Why did everything keep pulling him back to this woman? It didn't help his mood that he'd even thought once or twice this week about calling her—just to hear her low voice.
Switching off the ignition, he turned to Nick, hunched on the seat beside him. "Behave yourself here."
Nick said something under his breath.
Burke didn't ask him to repeat it. He just climbed out of the Jeep, slammed the door, and stalked to the thrift shop. He knocked on the door.
Keely opened it for him. "Mother called. She said you would be stopping by."
Inside, he halted, looking around. He'd been in a few consignment shops years ago—when he and Sharon were furnishing their apartment....He shut down that line of thought—fast. He concentrated on this shop—which was so completely different than the usual thrift store. It had style. Even the used clothing and housewares looked..."This isn't so bad. It doesn't look depressing."
"Hey, thanks." Keely chuckled. "I'll tell our interior designer." She motioned him to follow her to the rear. "Come in. What brings you here?"
Keely's laughter eased his tension and just being near her warmed him like walking out into sunshine. Her presence made him want to relax, forget business, and simply experience today, the last day of summer. Listening here and there as he patrolled the county, he knew now why Keely had stayed in LaFollette—to help. People who didn't know her well resented her wealth. But those who knew her spoke of her kind and giving heart. So different from her father.
On this summery afternoon, she was wearing jean shorts and a pale blue blouse. As she preceded him, he tried not to focus on her long legs and arms. And again, she looked out of place in this setting.
"Have you found out who shot the windows?" she asked.
He realized the moment he'd hoped wouldn't come had arrived. "No, I've just found out who didn't."
In the thrift shop kitchen, Keely went straight to the ironing board, stacked with cotton shirts. Burke had shaken up the tranquility
And what had prompted his errand was that, Walachek's bullet hadn't been a match. So the bullet from the high school incident had yet to be identified. Today Burke had no choice but drive to Keely, to pursue the two anonymous phone calls, implicating Grady and Nick. He had to compare bullets from the crime scene with ones from both firearms. He'd had to ask Harlan for a spent bullet from his rifle. And while Harlan would comply with regret, he might need a search warrant to wrest bullets from the Turners' guns. To avoid this, Rodd had suggested Burke talk to Keely first. See if they could come up with a way to get Turner's cooperation.
Burke didn't want to talk to Keely first. It made him feel like a high school kid again—being sent to the principal. And he didn't need the distraction of her now. It was one of the first times Burke could recall not agreeing with Rodd on a case. But Rodd was the sheriff, Burke's boss.
Evidently, however, Rodd had to worry about playing hard ball with the son of the richest man in the county. Burke thought the Turners shouldn't get "gloves on" treatment. He knew what his union foreman father would have to say about that. Burke didn't go farther to think about his dad's opinion of Burke and Keely ever being a couple. A labor union father and a factory owner father. Don't go there .
And today, to top everything off, he'd had just about enough of his nephew's lip and it was only ten in the morning. Fuming, Burke pulled up to the little bungalow a few miles out of Steadfast, The Family Closet. The shop was closed for Labor Day. But when he'd called the Turner home, Keely's mother told him that Grady and Keely were there sorting new donations. Looking through the open garage door, Burke glimpsed Grady rummaging through a box.
Keely must be in the shop. He studied it. He hadn't gotten a good look at the place that midnight visit when he'd sat and talked to Keely on its back porch. Why did everything keep pulling him back to this woman? It didn't help his mood that he'd even thought once or twice this week about calling her—just to hear her low voice.
Switching off the ignition, he turned to Nick, hunched on the seat beside him. "Behave yourself here."
Nick said something under his breath.
Burke didn't ask him to repeat it. He just climbed out of the Jeep, slammed the door, and stalked to the thrift shop. He knocked on the door.
Keely opened it for him. "Mother called. She said you would be stopping by."
Inside, he halted, looking around. He'd been in a few consignment shops years ago—when he and Sharon were furnishing their apartment....He shut down that line of thought—fast. He concentrated on this shop—which was so completely different than the usual thrift store. It had style. Even the used clothing and housewares looked..."This isn't so bad. It doesn't look depressing."
"Hey, thanks." Keely chuckled. "I'll tell our interior designer." She motioned him to follow her to the rear. "Come in. What brings you here?"
Keely's laughter eased his tension and just being near her warmed him like walking out into sunshine. Her presence made him want to relax, forget business, and simply experience today, the last day of summer. Listening here and there as he patrolled the county, he knew now why Keely had stayed in LaFollette—to help. People who didn't know her well resented her wealth. But those who knew her spoke of her kind and giving heart. So different from her father.
On this summery afternoon, she was wearing jean shorts and a pale blue blouse. As she preceded him, he tried not to focus on her long legs and arms. And again, she looked out of place in this setting.
"Have you found out who shot the windows?" she asked.
He realized the moment he'd hoped wouldn't come had arrived. "No, I've just found out who didn't."
In the thrift shop kitchen, Keely went straight to the ironing board, stacked with cotton shirts. Burke had shaken up the tranquility
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