And There He Kept Her (Ben Packard #1)(5)

Stan nodded his approval.

“What I want to know is why you’re in uniform and responding to calls on your day off. I heard that on the radio, too,” Marilyn said.

“I was coming here so I thought I’d be ready just in case.”

“Benjamin, someone else could have responded to the bear. You need to take time off. You can’t work seven days a week.”

Oh, but he could. Not all of the work was as exciting as coming face-to-face with a seven-foot black bear, but it was still work. It gave him a sense of purpose. The things he did in his time off—working out and remodeling the house he’d bought—were solitary activities. Too much time alone gave him too much time to ponder whether moving to Sandy Lake after Marcus was killed had been the right decision or not.

“You’ll never meet someone if you don’t take off the uniform and get to know people socially,” Marilyn said.

By meet someone she didn’t mean friends—not that he had a lot of those either. She meant romantically. Packard shifted nervously in his seat. Stan did the same, but probably because of the cancer.

“Marilyn, don’t pester the man. He’s doing his job and my job. That’s a lot of responsibility.”

“All I’m saying—”

“I hear you, Marilyn,” Packard interrupted, smiling. “I’ll work on it.”

He changed the subject by asking how her seedlings were doing. Marilyn was a master gardener who could put dirt in a shoe and grow a foot. She asked him if he’d started swimming yet.

“A week ago,” he said.

“What’s the water temperature?” Stan asked.

“Above forty-five degrees. That’s the magic number.”

Marilyn crossed her arms, grabbed her elbows, and shivered. “Mother Mary and Joseph. I can’t even imagine. You must be blue as a berry coming out of that water.”

“I wear a wet suit. It keeps a layer of body-temperature water next to your skin. Once you get going, you can stay warm for twenty minutes or so.”

“Benjamin, that sounds perfectly dreadful to me.”

Packard smiled and shrugged and visited with the Shaws for a while longer. The purpose of these visits had started out as a way to keep his boss informed about what was going on at work. Lately, he could sense Stan was less interested in work, and so the conversation wandered from town gossip to the weather to stories they’d heard from deer hunters or people ice fishing. Stan had another treatment scheduled for the next day. Packard didn’t ask how the chemo was going. He could see how hard it was on Stan. If they were still treating him, it meant they hadn’t given up. That’s all he needed to know.

When it was time to go, Packard handed Marilyn the empty coffee cup and shook the sheriff’s hand. “I’ll see you again soon. Let me know if you guys need anything.”

Back in the truck, Packard listened to the radio chatter as he tried to decide whether to go home or to the station. No one was expecting him to come in, and they wouldn’t be particularly thrilled to see him if he did. A day off for the boss was a day off from the boss. He could give them that at least.

His personal cell phone rang just as he was putting the truck into reverse.

“Ben, this is Susan Wheeler.”

The few times Susan had a reason to call him, she always introduced herself by her first and last name, like it was their first meeting. She could come off as humorless if you didn’t know her. Also, if you did. She and Packard were cousins.

“Hello, Susan Wheeler. What’s up?”

“Jenny is missing.”

“What do you mean, ‘missing’?”

“I mean she wasn’t in her bed this morning, and she didn’t go to school. No one has seen or heard from her since last night.”

The clock on the dashboard said it was just after 11:30 a.m. Packard already had questions but decided to hold them until he could meet Susan face-to-face.

“Do you want me to come to your house, or do you want to meet me at the station?”

“I’ll meet you.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”





Chapter Three


The Sandy Lake County Sheriff’s Department was part of a larger complex that included City Hall, the license bureau, and the county public works department. The two-story blond-brick building sat a block north of the highway, surrounded by a large parking lot.

Packard walked a white-tiled hallway past glass doors and a community bulletin board that flapped with flyers for fundraisers, lost pets, and an upcoming sheriff’s sale. In the department’s reception area, Kelly Phelps was sitting at the front desk. She didn’t look happy to see him.

“I heard you were on the prowl. You’re supposed to be off today.” Kelly had been with the department for thirty years and had as much authority as the sheriff, if not more. Get on the wrong side of Kelly, and you’d ask to be locked in a jail cell for your own protection.

Packard held up two fingers and tried the sheriff’s line on her. “I’m doing two jobs.”

Kelly shook her head, not buying it. She waved a hand at Packard, pushed a button on her phone, and said, “Sandy Lake Sheriff’s Department.”

Susan was sitting in one of the waiting-area chairs. A petite woman with straight brown hair parted on one side and tucked behind her ears. She was dressed in jeans and a green T-shirt with a bike on it. She held a red zippered case in her lap.