Page 23 of The Sound of Sleighbells

“No, of course not,” Judd said. “Just give him my message when he’s in. Unless it’s possible for you to—”

“No, sorry, I can’t access the records you need. Nobody but the sheriff is authorized to get into those online files. But give me the man’s name, and I’ll pass it on to the sheriff. I’m sure he’ll get to the matter as soon as he can. Meanwhile, Judd, don’t worry about any legal issues. The fact that you made this call should cover you against any charges.”

“That’s a relief,” Judd said. “But it’s not my only concern. I have people to protect. If this man is a danger, I need to know.”

“I understand,” Helen said. “I’ll give the sheriff your message as soon as I hear from him.”

That was all he was going to get for now, Judd told himself. “Thanks, Helen,” he said. “Give my best to the new parents.”

He hung up the phone. The scraping sound outside had stopped. He could hear the sputter of the engine as the Yamaha started, then burst into a roar that faded away down the lane.

Ruth should be safe from meeting Digger by now. She’d probably be at the garage, getting an estimate on her station wagon. She ought to dump the old rattletrap and get a better vehicle. He’d buy her one himself if he thought she’d accept it. But Ruth was fiercely independent. She’d never take help from a man—especially from him.

Now that Digger was gone, it might be smart to check inside his backpack for anything like weapons or drugs. But Digger would probably know his bag had been searched. Leave it and get to work, Judd scolded himself, turning back toward the breezeway. He’d wasted enough time this morning.

* * *

“That’s an old vehicle, Ruth. It might take me some time to find a replacement for your window. Meanwhile, I’ll be glad to patch the hole so you can open the rear door. That won’t take more than a few minutes. No charge.”

Silas Parker, young, skinny, and married less than a year, was the best mechanic in four counties. Trained in the army, he’d come home to Branding Iron, wed his sweetheart, Connie, and started his own auto repair business in an abandoned furniture store. His cluttered shop smelled of motor oil and exhaust fumes. From somewhere out of sight, a radio blared country music.

“I’m really hoping it won’t cost too much,” Ruth said. “The car’s not insured for damage. I’ll have to pay for it myself.”

“I’ll let you know the cost when I’ve located your replacement,” Silas said. “Now, if you and your girls will take a seat across from the counter, I’ll patch that hole with epoxy and a sheet of plastic. You won’t be able to open the window, but at least it’ll keep out the cold.”

“Thank you, Silas, but I really must insist on paying,” Ruth said. “How much do I owe you?”

He gave her a grin. “Well, I do accept payment in cookies,” he said.

* * *

With the rear window patched and the wagon filling with warmth, Ruth drove up Main Street where the Christmas lights, strung back and forth above the street, glowed like festive rainbows.

“Oh, Mom! It’s so beautiful! Like a Christmas fairyland!” Janeen exclaimed. “Can we get out of the car?”

“Of course,” Ruth said. “That’s why we’re here. Just let me find a parking place.”

By now, the shops were open, showing off their holiday gift displays. Cars filled the parallel spaces along Main Street. But Ruth found a diagonal spot along one side of the city park, next to an unfamiliar Yamaha motorcycle.

“Let’s go!” The girls were out of their booster seats by the time Ruth opened the doors. Clasping a little hand on either side, she led them around the corner to where a sixty-year-old spruce tree rose in a tower of twinkling lights and glittering tinsel. Their mouths made round O’s of amazement.

“It’s so tall!” Janeen gasped. “I can barely see the star on top!”

Tammy tugged at Ruth’s hand. “Mommy, when can we get a Christmas tree?” she asked.

“We’ll see. Maybe next week. We’ll need Skip along to help us load it and set it up.”

“We’ll need decorations, too,” Janeen said. “Our old ones got blown up in the house.”

“Yes, I suppose we will.” Ruth sighed. Lights and ornaments were expensive, just one more thing to buy. But if she wanted this Christmas to be special for her children, having a beautiful tree would have to be part of the plan.

The children were still looking up at the tree when she felt a chill of awareness creeping down her spine—the sort of instinctive warning that told her she was being watched. Turning abruptly, she saw a scruffy-looking man in a brown canvas coat standing a dozen paces away. His face was unshaven. Strings of dark hair dangled below his woolen cap.

As their eyes met, he grinned. Her pulse slammed.

Heaven help her, she knew him!

Chapter Six

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