They were stretched too thin with the extra patrols, and asking them to maintain that level indefinitely was unacceptable. She needed a new play, something offensive that would bring this war to a head. For her department, as well as for the community at large.
If the terrorist cell could create chaos using people from petty criminals to snipers to historical society presidents, she could sure as hell plan a resounding victory with the people on her side. Assuming there were people on her side.
That list seemed terribly short. Maybe it was better to use a neutral party.
For the potentially crazy idea that popped into her mind, a neutral party, one well versed in personal defense, was her best option. Her only option. She ran her fingertips along on the edge of the desk. She shouldn’t do it, shouldn’t put any civilians in the line of fire for any reason. Except the terrorists had done that for her and they didn’t show the first inclination of stopping.
The Lewiston family lived outside Belclare town limits and took advantage of the fact at every opportunity. Since becoming the Belclare police chief she’d tossed out more than one citation for an illegal whiskey still. The Lewistons just didn’t buy into the concept of law enforcement on private property. They were all excellent game hunters, blessed with perfect aim, and her officers knew firsthand they were always armed.
But each December the family got their legal act together and assembled the proper permits because the ideal place for their Christmas tree sales lot straddled a narrow smidge of the town line. Their reputation for offering the finest trees in three counties drew record numbers of buyers every year. Alongside the Christmas Village, it had become a symbiotic partnership benefiting both the Lewiston family and Belclare.
She flipped back through her file of threatening emails, finding the one she’d mentioned to Riley about the Christmas tree lot. No, it hadn’t been anything overt or direct, but the threat was phrased by someone who knew the Lewiston reputation for trouble the other eleven months of the year.
Damn it.
She should have considered that before, but now she would use it to her advantage. Resting her hands lightly on her keyboard, she measured her words carefully. If she could draw out the person planning all of this chaos, she could bring this to an end before anyone else—tourist or resident—got hurt.
There was no way to know for sure that the email would be read by the right person in time, but she had to try. When she was absolutely certain her invitation presented the perfect combination of bravado and temptation, she hit Send. As the message crossed cyberspace to the three most frequent addresses used on her hate mail, she murmured a prayer.
It was possible the feds would also catch wind of her idea, but it was a risk she had to take. To do nothing, to let this terrorist cell keep chipping away at her friends, her town and her confidence was intolerable. At least the Lewiston family could aptly defend themselves.
“Let’s have our own merry Christmas,” she muttered. “I’ll bring a one-size-fits-all ticket to prison for you.” She gathered her computer, cell phone and purse and said goodbye to everyone for the evening, but she didn’t go straight home.
Taking her time, she drove out to see the welcome sign, admiring the creative display that set the mood for the tourists she hoped would arrive en masse tomorrow.
Coming back through the center of town, she felt like a little kid as she passed each display. Transformed, each street had an individual holiday theme, ranging from fanciful to elegant. The decorating teams had delivered yet again. Because they were outsiders it would be so easy to blame the vendors and temporary workers for the trouble, but she knew better. Her instincts told her the root of this crime wave was local.
Filmore would be impressed and pleased with the end results and, for a moment, she entertained the idea of snapping a picture of Main Street to take to him. She drove out to the park instead. The ironwork at the park entrance had been lit with white lights and the garland wound with sparkling ribbon, much like the lampposts on her neighborhood street.
Thoughts of Riley followed her as she slowly moved through the park. He’d shown both heroism and expertise today at the dock. He’d revealed an interest and awareness of her work most men didn’t possess.
Maybe, as he’d said, he was just in the right place at the right time. Maybe he did plan to stay in Belclare because he liked the town. And when pigs started flying maybe she would believe him just because he kissed her so well.
There was more to the man and his story. As her pulse sped up, she realized exactly how eager she was to have some answers. Not only for the Wilks case, but for herself.