The artist—in his mind he added a sneer to the word—made him edgy. There was more going on behind the sparkling windows of the man’s perfectly restored home. A great deal more than the sketches and scenic oils on canvas displayed with such care in the gallery window down the street evoked.
Riley knew his role here. He understood that he couldn’t jump at every shadow while he was learning the landscape. This wasn’t a short game Casey had him playing.
That didn’t necessarily rule out the immediate trouble closing in on Chief Jensen. Filmore, the uptight snob who wanted to lift the added patrols, particularly the foot patrols, was near the top of Riley’s list. The man’s priorities were way off. Being passionate about architecture and history was fine. But what kind of person preferred historical accuracy over the safety of the general public?
A man with something to hide, in Riley’s opinion. Or something more to gain.
In less than two days, the Christmas Village would be hosting the first major rush of tourists for the season. So far, he hadn’t pinpointed a clear threat, but someone was ramping up the effort against the chief.
According to Danny, Chief Jensen was spending an inordinate amount of time behind closed doors since the drug bust, sorting out the loonies from the more substantial threats that were flooding the station’s snail mail and email every day. Chief Jensen sent high-level threats to the feds for further analysis. Anything Director Casey could tie to Belclare, he sent back to Riley, but so far, no hard intel had come his way.
He’d overheard people whispering about the vandalism and the attack on Calder; however, there weren’t any leads beyond wild speculation and fingers pointing at him and the other temporary workers in town. The easy theory wasn’t close to accurate when it came to him and he didn’t suspect any of his co-workers. But in a community as close as Belclare it was far more comfortable and convenient to blame outsiders.
Whoever was behind the trouble was using human nature to their advantage. Surely a cop as smart as Jensen wouldn’t have settled for that lousy, easy explanation. But Riley wondered why the person or group behind all this thought she would.
He took his assignment for the day—the hardware store on Main Street—and knocked it out in record time with the help of two other guys from the crew.
While they tested lights and put the final touches on the displays, Riley casually observed the people watching them. There was decent foot traffic in the business center of town and for the most part people were cautiously friendly. He might have a lifetime assignment here, but it wouldn’t be a hardship. It wasn’t as if he had family or a significant other waiting somewhere else. He could see a place like this being home.
With a few minutes before the next load of decorations from the warehouse was due, he walked into the hardware store to look around. An agent’s best asset was a thorough knowledge of the situation.
“Welcome, welcome,” an older woman behind the counter greeted him. “You look like a man who needs a new pair of gloves.”
He pulled his cold, red hands from the pockets of his vest and blew on them a little. “I don’t use gloves with close work like this.”
“Well, that’s understandable,” she allowed. “Take your time and warm up some anyway.”
“That wind can be a bear,” he said, hoping he sounded friendly. He wanted to get her talking. Listening to the chatter among the locals was another excellent tool for assignments like this one.
“Part of the charm this close to the water,” she replied with a twinkle in her bright blue eyes. “Only the tough ones stick it out. Will you be moving on soon?”
He hesitated at the aisle with bins of nails and fasteners stretched out on either side. “I might be around a while.” He shot her a grin. “I’ll get used to the charm. And I already have another job lined up in Belclare when the decorations are done.”
“That’s good news, I suppose.”
Riley recognized the curiosity in her voice. She was interested in his wallet as well as his purpose. He’d happily use that lead-in. “I think so.”
“That company you’re working for knows your plans?”
He stepped up to the counter, ready to play the gossip game. “They know I earn every penny of what they pay me and that’s enough.”
“Hmm.”
He stuck out his hand. “Riley O’Brien,” he said. “Do you handle special orders?”
The older woman’s eyes lit up. “Of course. Peg Blackwell, at your service.”
“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Blackwell.”
“Peg.”