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I offered him a seat and a bandaid, but the sheriff leaned one shoulder against the kitchen entrance and stayed where he could observe my cat.
“When did you last see Mr. Vilkas?”
“Wednesday? Whatever night it was unseasonably warm. I'd got off work, was walking to the mailbox when I saw his crew rolling out.”
“His crew?”
“Don’t quote me on this, but I’m pretty sure he’s the president of a motorcycle club his dad founded years ago. Many of the members are vets he employs. Big hearts the lot of them.”
“Can you confirm he was with them?”
I opened the cabinet in search of the largest mug I owned. “Nope.”
“Would you recognize his bike?”
“He’s got several.”
The sheriff frowned. “How many folks you see riding Wednesday?”
I pulled a mug big enough for a bowl of soup and shut the cabinet. “Seven, eight? Sorry. Received a letter I’d been waiting for; once I read the return address, a UFO could’ve landed on the lawn and I would’ve walked straight past.” Well, not walked so much as made a blinded run for the door with tears streaming down my face. I hadn’t meant to cry; one minute I was looking at the envelope and the next I was bawling harder than when I’d ended my first long-term relationship. Stupid emotions. Stupid letter. Stupid panic attacks that led to grand acts of idiocy such as conspiring to sleep with a benefactor’s son.
The sheriff cleared his throat. “Got any bourbon?”
“Bourbon?” Even my dark little cat rounded her ears.
He nodded. “I slam a cabinet that hard while referencing a letter and I’d be reaching for a rocks glass over a coffee mug.”
I set my mug down with a sigh. “That obvious?”
He flashed a page of notes. “Not my most challenging read this evening.”
I touched the hem of my smock. “Bear in mind this book has ended a rough week in a generously poured puddle of wine.”
“Noted, Miss Davins.” While I filled a pot with water, he moved beside the coffee maker and held up a fresh page with ‘rough week’ twice underlined. “Reckon you might recall hearing Stephen’s crew return?”
“The spring peepers have been so obnoxious this year I haven’t even heard Lisa cussing out our broken garage door when she gets home. Can you grab a filter from the cabinet right below you?”
He passed one. “Lisa is the housemate who flaked on you tonight?”
“Yeah. She rents one of the spares. She’s an athletic trainer. Actually, she worked a baseball game Wednesday and stayed over her fiancé’s apartment, so if you were thinking of questioning her, there’s not much night-of information she can testify to.”
“I’ll be at the Vilkas residence early and often this week. If you or she recalls anything you feel is important…” He paused, reaching into his pocket. “You mentioned the garage door’s broken?”
“Yeah.”
“Keep the porch light on for your rogue roomie.” The sheriff stepped away, but not before pressing a business card into my palm. “My personal line, Miss Davins. Call if you see Mr. Vilkas or notice anything or anyone unusual.”
A familiar nervousness tingled my skin like a tight wool sweater. “Should we be concerned for our safety?”
“Mr. Vilkas is of no threat to you. Problem is, I haven’t figured out who’s the threat to him.” The sheriff headed for the coat rack. “Much as I’ve enjoyed the pleasure of your company, and as curious as I am about those aforementioned dolls, I’ve got to be getting on. Promise me you’ll lock your doors tonight.”
“I lock them every night.”
“Don’t forget the windows. Thank you for your help, Miss Davins. You and your cats have a peaceful evening now.” With a sneeze and a tip of his hat, the man walked out the door.
“See you soon,” I mumbled as the door closed. I could use a little police presence in my dreams, although tonight, with the Keith disaster fresh on my mind, I was probably safe from the usual hell.
Dreams of Maggie’s wrath would be a welcome change from the stress-induced nightmares of an oil painting I’d been restoring, Ritual Conduit (artist unknown). I’d incurred several heart racing night sweats thanks to that painting, and still had hours yet scheduled to the project, unless Maggie got me fired. It, like the dolls tucked away in the back of my walk-in closet, were best not remembered in the dark.
