An Angel for Dry Creek Read online

  “Henry doesn’t notice the dust,” Matthew said. He wondered if Glory had noticed how dusty it was in the hardware store. Of course she’d noticed, he thought. He could see her frowning at the window beside her. It could use a good washing. He’d started to clean up Henry’s store now that the man was gone to his daughter’s in Florida for a long winter vacation, but Matthew had started in the back, in the stockroom.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Hargrove,” Matthew said as he reached for his crutches. “I think I best get my bottle of window cleaner and—” Matthew nodded in the general direction of Glory.

  But before Matthew could stand, Glory came over to the counter.

  “I’d like to buy a brush,” Glory said. The hardware store looked as if it could use some business, and she assumed they had a fine-tip brush that could serve her uses. “Make that a dozen and a can of turpentine.”

  “Brushes are over there,” Matthew said, and started to rise. “Most of them are for real painting—I mean, not for artists, but there might be one or two small enough.”

  “You just sit back down,” Mrs. Hargrove said as Matthew fitted the crutches under his arms. “You aren’t in any shape to be fetching brushes.” Mrs. Hargrove walked toward the shelf and returned with a dozen paintbrushes. Glory put her platinum plastic card on the counter. “I assume you take credit cards.”

  “Some days that’s all we take,” Matthew said as he pulled out the credit card duplicator and picked up the phone for verification.

  Matthew punched in the numbers of Glory’s credit card. He didn’t want to admit it, but hers was the first platinum card he’d ever processed. Most people in Dry Creek thought they were rich if they qualified for the gold card. “Is there something different about a platinum card?”

  “Different?”

  “Your numbers aren’t taking,” Matthew said as he punched another number to speak to an operator. “Maybe I’m doing something wrong.”

  “Oh.” Matthew’s frown had grown deeper as the operator on the other end spoke.

  Matthew hung up the phone. “Your card’s been canceled.”

  “Canceled? How could it be canceled?”

  “It seems you’re, ah, dead.”

  “Dead! But that’s ridiculous. I mean—how?”

  “They didn’t say how it happened,” Matthew offered. He didn’t want to think of the implications of Glory trying to run a fraudulent card through his system.

  “There’s no ‘how’ to it,” Glory snapped. “It hasn’t happened. I’m perfectly healthy, as anyone can see.”

  “Perfectly,” Matthew agreed. She did look healthy, especially with the indignant flush on her cheeks. Maybe she’d simply missed a payment or two and that was the reason they were canceling her card.

  “Can I use your phone?” Glory finally said. She’d call the captain. He’d said he’d take in her mail while she was gone. He could solve the mystery. “Collect, of course.”

  Matthew handed her the phone, and Glory turned her back slightly to make the call.

  “Thank God you called,” the captain said when he heard her voice. “I was worried.”

  “I just called two days ago,” Glory protested. “I’m fine, except for my credit card.”

  “Ah, yes. I canceled your card. Not as easy as you’d think. I had to claim official business and tell them you’d died.”

  “You what?” Glory protested and then, remembering her audience, turned to give a reassuring smile to Matthew and Mrs. Hargrove. She didn’t want them to think she was broke, let alone dead. She turned her back to them.

  “Someone jimmied your mailbox yesterday,” the captain said. “Took your credit card bill.”

  “The bill—they can have it.”

  “With the bill, someone can trace you,” the captain pointed out patiently. “Find out what hotels you’re staying at. Where you’re buying gas. It’s not that hard. Someone real sophisticated will find a way to get your charges the same day you make them. By now, they probably know what state you’re in. Remember that shot. First the shooting at the grocery store and then that shot coming the next day so close to you. I don’t like it. Not with someone taking your credit card bill.”

  “Surely you don’t think—” Glory sputtered. “Thank goodness I haven’t used the card since Spokane. But I can’t believe—It was probably just some kids breaking in.”

  “They didn’t break in to the other mailboxes in your building.”

  “Maybe they got tired. Thought of something better to do.”

  The captain was silent. “Maybe. Then I keep wondering if something wasn’t fishy about that shooting at Benson’s. Could be more was happening than you’ve remembered.”

  “Just the butcher standing by the meat counter. Had a package of steaks in one hand and the time card of one of his assistants in the other.”

  “We checked the name on the time card. The clerk didn’t have a dispute.”

  “Least, not one they’re talking about,” Glory added.

  “No extra keys on him, either,” the captain continued. “If it was a robbery, there was no reason to shoot the man. He wasn’t holding anything back.”

  “But if it was a robbery, why wait to make the hit when the armored transport had just made the pickup to go to the bank?”

  “Ignorance?”

  “Yeah, and anyone that ignorant wouldn’t think to trace a credit card.” Glory pushed back the prickles that were teasing the base of her spine. The captain was paranoid. He had to be. She hadn’t been the only one at Benson’s. She’d already told the police everything she knew. Besides, the bullet that had gone whizzing by a day later was gang related. The department was sure of that.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll go ahead and call the credit card company.”

  “Good.” Glory took a deep breath. “When can I use the card?”

  “Ten days. Takes them that long to verify,” the captain said hesitantly. “I’ll wire you some money. Your mom and I are heading off for that trip we told you about, but we’ll drop it on our way. Tell me where you are.”

  “Dry Creek, Montana,” Glory said. She looked over her shoulder. Matthew and Mrs. Hargrove were trying to look inconspicuous, a sure sign they’d overheard everything.

  “Trouble?” Matthew said sympathetically as Glory hung up the phone and turned around. He could see she was embarrassed. “Don’t worry about the brushes. Henry runs tabs for people all the time. You can pay when you can.”

  “No problem. I’m expecting a money order to come here to the post office, maybe even tomorrow,” she said brightly.

  Matthew looked at Mrs. Hargrove. Mrs. Hargrove looked at Matthew.

  “We don’t have a post office,” the older woman finally said.

  “No post office?” Glory said as her stomach started to sink. “Can I borrow the phone again?”

  The captain’s phone rang seven times before the secretary came on the line to say he’d just walked out the door to leave for his vacation.

  “Can you leave a message just in case he calls before he leaves?” Glory asked. She wished she’d brought the captain’s new unlisted home phone number with her. She hadn’t bothered, because her mother and the captain were going to be on their trip.

  After she left the message, Glory turned around. She was stuck. Stuck in Dry Creek. Unless. “I’d be happy to work in exchange for the brushes. The store looks like it could use some more help.”

  Matthew hesitated.

  “I’m willing to work for minimum wage.”

  “I wish I could,” Matthew said apologetically. “But we’ve already got a dozen job applications in the drawer. There aren’t many jobs in Dry Creek this time of year. There’d be an uprising if I gave a job to an outsider when so many people here want one,” Matthew finished lamely. Maybe he should chance the anger of the townspeople.

  “I didn’t know it was that bad.” Glory said.

  “We get by.” Mrs. Hargrove lifted her chin. “In fact, there’s talk of
starting a dude ranch over on the Big Sheep Mountain place.”

  “That’s just talk,” Elmer said sharply. “The Big Sheep’s been a cattle ranch for more than a hundred years. Started out as the XIT Ranch and then became the Big Sheep. We’ve got history. Pride. We don’t need a bunch of city folks messing things up with their Jeeps and fancy boots. You know as good as me, they won’t stay inside the fences. They’ll scare the elk away. Not to mention the eagles. Before you know it, the Big Sheep Mountains will be empty—no animals at all, not even the cows.”

  “Better that than empty of people,” Mrs. Hargrove replied as she tightened her lips. “It’s old fools like you that can’t make way for progress.”

  “Old fool? Me?” Elmer protested. “Why, I rode in the Jaycee Bucking Horse Sale last May. On Black Demon. Nothing old about me.” He sighed. “Ah, what’s the use. You’re just worried about your son’s family.”

  Mrs. Hargrove nodded slowly. “He said they’d have to move come spring if something doesn’t open up. He’s worked for the Big Sheep Mountain Cattle Company for ten years, but this rustling has them in a bind. They’re losing too many cattle and they’re going to start laying off hands.” Mrs. Hargrove refocused on Glory as though just remembering she was there. The older woman settled her face into a polite smile. “I don’t mean to go on about our troubles. We get by just fine. God is good to us.”

  “Of course,” Glory said carefully. She knew a wall of pride when she bumped into it, and Mrs. Hargrove had it in abundance. Matthew did, too. She hadn’t given any thought to how Matthew managed on his salary, but now she remembered the frayed collars on the twins’ shirts and the mended pocket on Joey’s jacket. She’d have to send him some money when she got home. In fact—

  “How about a check? I can pay for the brushes with a check,” Glory offered in relief. She wasn’t totally stranded, after all.

  “A check is fine,” Matthew said heartily. He’d remember to pull it out and replace it with cash from his own pocket before he took the checks to the bank. He had no doubt her check would bounce as high as her credit card had and he didn’t want to embarrass her further. “It’s $12.64 for the brushes and turpentine.”

  “Good.” Glory started to write the check. “And I’ll add a little extra for you—”

  “You don’t need to tip someone who works in a hardware store,” Matthew said stiffly. A red flush settled around his neck. “The service is free.”

  “Of course,” Glory said quickly. There she’d gone and offended him. She finished the check. “Twelve sixty-four exactly.”

  Glory counted the checks in her checkbook. She had ten left. That was enough to pay for meals and a hotel for a few nights.

  “Where’s the hotel from here?” she asked. She couldn’t remember seeing one, but there must be one. Every town had a hotel.

  “There’s no hotel here,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she nudged Matthew.

  “Oh. Maybe a bed-and-breakfast place?”

  There was a long pause as Mrs. Hargrove nudged Matthew again.

  Matthew finally said, “I’m sure there’s someone in town with an extra room who would let you—”

  “Well, aren’t you in luck, then,” Mrs. Hargrove said with a determined enthusiasm. “Since Matthew hurt his knee, his room will be empty. The doctor says he can’t climb the stairs with his sprain, so I’m sure no one will think anything of it. Besides, the twins are good chaperones.”

  Matthew felt trapped and then guilty. The least he could do was provide her lodging. “We’d be honored to have you stay with us for a few days.”

  “There’s no one who does this more like a business?” Glory asked. The thought of staying in this man’s room made her feel uneasy. She’d smell his aftershave on the pillows and see his shirts in the closet. “I can pay.” Surely one of those families that wanted a job would take in a boarder for a few nights. “I’ll even throw in a turkey for Christmas dinner.”

  “I’m afraid there’s only Matthew and his boys,” Mrs. Hargrove said.

  Glory bent her head to start writing her check. “How does one hundred dollars a night sound?”

  “One hundred!” Matthew protested. No wonder she had financial troubles. “We’re not the Hilton. Besides, you’d be our guest.”

  Glory had finished the check by the time he finished. No wonder he had financial troubles. “I can be your guest and still pay a fair price.”

  “No, there’s no need,” Matthew said.

  “I insist,” Glory said as she ripped off the check and presented it to him.

  Matthew raised his eyebrows at the amount of the check. He supposed it didn’t matter what amount she wrote the check for when it was going to bounce anyway, but three hundred dollars was a lot to pay for several nights’ food and lodging.

  “Consider it a Christmas present,” Glory said grandly. “For the twins.”

  “They’ll appreciate it,” Matthew said dryly.

  Glory flipped her wallet to the plastic section. “You’ll want to see my driver’s license.”

  “Henry doesn’t bother. He knows the folks here who write checks,” Matthew said as he took a sidelong look at the driver’s license anyway. He was pleased to see she was Glory Beckett. She might be a bad risk from the credit company’s viewpoint, but she wasn’t a thief. That is, unless she was so polished she had gotten a fake driver’s license to go with her story.

  “He doesn’t know me,” Glory said as she moved her driver’s license so it came into Matthew’s full view. “You’ll want to write down the number.”

  “All right,” Matthew said as he noted her driver’s license number.

  “Good,” Glory said as she put her checkbook back in her purse and turned to walk back to her easel.

  “You’re not going to cash those checks, Matthew Curtis,” Mrs. Hargrove demanded in a hushed whisper as they watched Glory sit down to her easel across the store in front of the display window.

  “Of course not,” Matthew agreed as he slipped the checks out of the drawer.

  Carl Wall, the deputy sheriff, was running for reelection and his campaign slogan was No Crime’s Too Small To Do Some Time. He’d happily jail an out-of-towner for writing a bad check and brag about it to voters later.

  Ten minutes later, Glory repositioned the easel. Then she arranged her brushes twice and turned her stool to get more light. She was stalling and she knew it. She suddenly realized she’d never painted a portrait as agonizingly important as this one. The sketches she’d done of criminals, while very important, were meant only for identification and not as a symbol of love.

  “Do you want your mother to be sitting or standing?” Glory asked the twins. The two identical heads were studying the bottom of a large display window. They each had a cleaning rag and were making circles in the lower portion of the window while Matthew reached for the high corners, standing awkwardly with one crutch.

  “I don’t know.” Josh stopped rubbing the window and gave it a squirt of window cleaner. “Maybe she could be riding a dragon. I’ve always wanted a picture of a dragon.”

  “Mommie’s don’t ride dragons,” Joey scolded his brother. “They ride brooms.”

  Matthew winced. Susie had been adamantly opposed to celebrating Halloween and, consequently, the twins had only a sketchy idea of the spooks that inspired other children’s nightmares.

  “No, sweetie, it’s witches who ride brooms.” Mrs. Hargrove corrected the boy with a smile as she picked up a cleaning rag and joined Matthew on the high corners. “Maybe you could have a picture painted of your mother praying.”

  “No,” Matthew said a little more loudly than he intended. His memories of Susie praying tormented him. He knew she would be heartbroken that her death had brought a wedge between him and God, but his feelings were there anyway. If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never understand how God could have answered his prayers for so long on the small things like good crops and passing tests but when it came to the one big thing—Susie’s recovery�
�God had let him down flat. No sense of comfort. No nothing. He’d expected his faith to carry them through always.

  Matthew didn’t feel like explaining himself. His arms were sore from the crutches and he hobbled over to a stool that was beside Glory. “I want the twins to remember their mother laughing. She was a happy woman.”

  “Well, that’d make a good picture, too,” Mrs. Hargrove said, and then looked at the twins. The twins had stopped wiping their circles and were listening thoughtfully. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  The twins nodded.

  “Okay, smiling it is,” Glory said. This Susie woman sounded like a saint, always smiling and praying and baking cookies, and Glory had no reason to resent her. None whatsoever, she thought to herself. “I assume she had all her teeth.”

  “What?” Matthew seemed a little startled with the question.

  “Her teeth,” Glory repeated. “If I’m going to paint her smiling, I need to know about her teeth. Were there any missing?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Were any of them crooked?” Glory continued. “Or chipped? Did she have a space between the front ones?”

  “They were just teeth,” Matthew said defensively. Why did he suddenly feel guilty because he couldn’t remember what kind of teeth Susie had? He knew her image was burned onto his heart. He just couldn’t pull up the details. “Her eyes were blue—a blue so deep they’d turn to black in the shadows.”

  “Eyes. Blue. Deep,” Glory said as she wrote a note on the butcher paper she’d stretched over her easel. “And her nose, was it like this? Or like this?” Glory sketched a couple of common nose styles. “Or more like this?”

  “It was sort of like that, but more scrunched at the beginning,” Matthew said, pointing to one of the noses and feeling suddenly helpless. He hadn’t realized until now that the picture Glory was going to paint was the picture that was inside his head. He’d spent a lot of time trying to get Susie’s face out of his mind so he could keep himself going forward. What if he’d done too good a job? What if he couldn’t remember her face as well as he should?