of her day. His tension was palpable. Suppressed irritation layered his final sentence. Irritation showed in his expression and more irritation in the way he moved. She looked into Burke's eyes and was caught by their intensity. Had he discovered evidence that implicated Grady or his nephew? The thought that it might be Grady made her queasy.
She wished she could find away to help ease his frustration. As for her own worries, she'd been doing what she could to relax. Listening to Mozart, letting her mind float along on the melody while ironing was a tension releaser for her. What was his? "I'm not following you. I thought you were trying to find—"
"I didn't tell you earlier, but I suspected Walachek had taken a potshot at the school that night." He looked at her, a grim twist to his mouth and chin.
That's what set him off? Did he actually think that someone had tried to shoot at her? If that's the case, I'd much rather it be Walachek than your nephew or my brother. Ignoring his gaze, she picked up the iron. "Ah." She pressed it down on a shirt sleeve and steam puffed up, hissing. She looked at him."Walachek had crossed my mind too."
He appeared disconcerted, shifting his weight to lean back against the kitchen counter. "I didn't want to worry you."
"Walachek's still in custody?" She smoothed the iron over the cotton. Burke's heated reaction to her being a target gave her an unusual feeling. She wasn't used to having someone concerned about protecting her.
"Yes, Walachek is still in jail."
"Then I'm not worried. And I don't think I was the target anyway. It's just our vandal or vandals." Which might be Nick or Grady or who? She concentrated on the shirt collar for a few moments, trying to ignore how Burke's presence filled up the small, cluttered kitchen. "So who do you suspect now? Is that what you came to tell me?"
He looked her over with a glum expression. "I'm afraid that two teens were reported driving near the school that night and both had access to guns."
She concentrated on rearranging the shirt on the padded board. He doesn't want to tell me. So that's what is bothering him—the fact that he might upset me. But she knew ignoring bad news never made it go away. "Grady and Nick?"
He stared at her. "You guessed?"
She shrugged, frustrated. "I told you a person would need earplugs to avoid gossip around here. I heard that Grady was seen in town that night—even though he was grounded. And your nephew was seen driving through town in Harlan's truck with the gun on the rack in the rear window."
Burke sat down at the cluttered kitchen table, looking disgruntled. "Well, so much for information security." His voice twisted sardonically.
"It's not your fault. I'm sure no one in the sheriff's office said anything." Very aware of how intensely he was watching her, she hung the shirt on a hanger and lifted another to the ironing board. His attention made her feel ...like he was noticing her—not Turner's daughter. Not Ms. Turner. A shiver trickled through her. His gaze had power.
"It's just the way a small town works," she said as naturally as she could. What would her father's reaction to Grady's being a suspect be? Whatever it was, it wouldn't be good. "Everyone's always watching and then talking about what they see. You shouldn't look so surprised. You know Veda reported me for sitting on this back porch the other night. And I was just sitting there. Remember?" She paused. "What do you do next?"
He frowned. "I've already taken a spent bullet from Harlan's gun and my hunting rifle." He looked up. "Now I'll need one from your brother's twenty-two. Rodd wants to know if you'd talk to your father about voluntarily giving us spent bullets from all his rifles."
She stilled. So that's why he'd come. He wanted her to help him get her father to cooperate. Did the sheriff think she had any real influence with her father? Grady a suspect? Dad will go ballistic. And I want to be a million miles away. "I don't
She wished she could find away to help ease his frustration. As for her own worries, she'd been doing what she could to relax. Listening to Mozart, letting her mind float along on the melody while ironing was a tension releaser for her. What was his? "I'm not following you. I thought you were trying to find—"
"I didn't tell you earlier, but I suspected Walachek had taken a potshot at the school that night." He looked at her, a grim twist to his mouth and chin.
That's what set him off? Did he actually think that someone had tried to shoot at her? If that's the case, I'd much rather it be Walachek than your nephew or my brother. Ignoring his gaze, she picked up the iron. "Ah." She pressed it down on a shirt sleeve and steam puffed up, hissing. She looked at him."Walachek had crossed my mind too."
He appeared disconcerted, shifting his weight to lean back against the kitchen counter. "I didn't want to worry you."
"Walachek's still in custody?" She smoothed the iron over the cotton. Burke's heated reaction to her being a target gave her an unusual feeling. She wasn't used to having someone concerned about protecting her.
"Yes, Walachek is still in jail."
"Then I'm not worried. And I don't think I was the target anyway. It's just our vandal or vandals." Which might be Nick or Grady or who? She concentrated on the shirt collar for a few moments, trying to ignore how Burke's presence filled up the small, cluttered kitchen. "So who do you suspect now? Is that what you came to tell me?"
He looked her over with a glum expression. "I'm afraid that two teens were reported driving near the school that night and both had access to guns."
She concentrated on rearranging the shirt on the padded board. He doesn't want to tell me. So that's what is bothering him—the fact that he might upset me. But she knew ignoring bad news never made it go away. "Grady and Nick?"
He stared at her. "You guessed?"
She shrugged, frustrated. "I told you a person would need earplugs to avoid gossip around here. I heard that Grady was seen in town that night—even though he was grounded. And your nephew was seen driving through town in Harlan's truck with the gun on the rack in the rear window."
Burke sat down at the cluttered kitchen table, looking disgruntled. "Well, so much for information security." His voice twisted sardonically.
"It's not your fault. I'm sure no one in the sheriff's office said anything." Very aware of how intensely he was watching her, she hung the shirt on a hanger and lifted another to the ironing board. His attention made her feel ...like he was noticing her—not Turner's daughter. Not Ms. Turner. A shiver trickled through her. His gaze had power.
"It's just the way a small town works," she said as naturally as she could. What would her father's reaction to Grady's being a suspect be? Whatever it was, it wouldn't be good. "Everyone's always watching and then talking about what they see. You shouldn't look so surprised. You know Veda reported me for sitting on this back porch the other night. And I was just sitting there. Remember?" She paused. "What do you do next?"
He frowned. "I've already taken a spent bullet from Harlan's gun and my hunting rifle." He looked up. "Now I'll need one from your brother's twenty-two. Rodd wants to know if you'd talk to your father about voluntarily giving us spent bullets from all his rifles."
She stilled. So that's why he'd come. He wanted her to help him get her father to cooperate. Did the sheriff think she had any real influence with her father? Grady a suspect? Dad will go ballistic. And I want to be a million miles away. "I don't
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