Previously: Evidence reports are back and aren’t promising. Ross says the next batch will give them something workable, but he doesn’t believe his own words.
“Oh, good. I’ve caught you.” Anne bustled across the bullpen in a yellow sundress, a matching cardigan the only concession to the dipping August temperatures.
Riley glanced at the clock above the window. “Just.” Two minutes left on her shift. The odds of her getting home before sunset shrank in the apologetic glint in Anne’s eyes.
“There’s a non-emergency call clear across town. I tried Kellen over the radio but he’s tied up with a domestic. I know you’re about to go home, but do you think you could drive over?”
“Of course,” Riley said, ignoring the throbbing in her head that demanded a nap. “Any details?”
“Well, I’ve got a Mrs. Lillian Carrow and her son attempting to retrieve something of theirs from private property. The owner, a Bard Wring, is refusing access.”
Riley glanced at her thermos, seriously considering another espresso. “Wring say why he won’t get it for them?”
“Just that they had to wait. Mrs. Carrow attempted to get past him and said Mr. Wring threatened to call the police. I guess she decided to beat him to the punch. I told her it’d take an officer a half hour to get out there and she was adamant that she’d wait. Actually, she said she’d stand there until she could get her property back. Through the night.”
Riley patted Anne’s shoulder. “I’ll handle it before I head home. It’ll save me the paperwork of the eventual trespassing call.”
Lodger River frothed beneath Buckley Bridge, swollen with rain from storms over the mountains to the east. The houses were a bit bigger this side of the river, the tourist trade more abundant. The GPS took Riley past the tighter clusters of residential neighborhoods and vacation homes to wide farms, open fields, and the forest beyond. She turned down a small dirt road into the trees and parked behind a silver sedan on the shoulder.
Lillian Carrow swung around, bottled blonde bob slapping her chin as she paced in front of a knee-high stone wall. Her son sat slumped against it a few feet away, shoulders hiked to his ears. Riley moved her jacket to ensure her badge was visible as she approached.
The property owner, Bard Wring, stood inside the wall, eyes glued to his cell phone. Riley’d expected an older man—a get-off-my-lawn type—but he was young, maybe younger than her. Lillian’s squawk of triumph when she caught sight of Riley turned Bard’s head. “Ya’ called the bloody cops?” He must’ve been a vacationer, what with that thick British accent.
Lillian pointed into the woods beyond the low wall. “My son’s birthday present got lost over there. Seth, show her the tracker.”
He whined, “Mom,” in the drawn-out teenage tone of ‘you’re ruining my life!’
“Seth!”
He shoved himself to his feet and dug a small controller out of his front hoodie pocket.
Riley took it, careful of the joysticks, and squinted at the small screen. “This is for a drone?”
Lillian nodded. “Yes, his birthday present. We were flying it around the field to the west, and it died and fell into the trees here.”
“Battery was half full,” Seth mumbled.
His mother waved him off. “I simply would like to retrieve my property and go home. Can’t you tell Mr. Wring he has to hand it over? Or you can escort us onto the property so we can do it ourselves. That way, we’ll be safe from him, and you’ll see all we want to do is get the drone and leave.”
Keeping as much weariness out her tone as she could, Riley explained, “I can’t waltz onto Mr. Wring’s property or compel him to get your property for you, but I can ask nicely that he return it to you while I ensure you remain on this public road. Also, flying a drone over private property without prior permission is illegal, so next time, please keep it to public land.”
Bard Wring’s glower melted into smug vindication.
Lillian began scoffing like a cat trying to hack up a hairball. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s stolen property! You can get a warrant for that, can’t you?”
“For the love of...” Bard groaned. “Lady, like I said, it’ll be here any minute. Nothing’s stolen. I just don’t want you trampling through my gardens!”
Riley ignored the half-truth. There were several justifiable reasons why he’d want to keep strangers off his land.
Another round of rude noises came from Lillian. She was going to hurt her throat if she kept that up. “Gardens? Please. You’ve got a weed racket you don’t want found out.” She spun on her heal and pointed a finger in Riley’s face. “I saw suspicious plants in there before my son and I were chased over the wall.”
Riley could’ve done without her truth-seeking alerting her to the lie—she could see it in the pause and assessment Lillian took when she realized things weren’t going her way—but the lie hammered her eardrums all the same.
Bard checked his phone for the umpteenth time. “I don’t grow any hash, you daft bird.”
Riley had been prepared to annoy Lillian with the comment that’d it’d been legal for over a decade and she couldn’t care less, but the sight of a familiar olive green jacket over Bard’s shoulder stayed her words. Probably for the best.
Luke Singer—her not-so-reclusive neighbor—emerged from the trees holding a small, four-propeller drone.
Bard noticed her shifted attention and turned. “Here’s your toy, now.”
Seth took the drone from Luke and powered it on with no problem. “Thanks.” He held it up for his mother to see. “I told you it still had power left.”
Lillian looked it over for damage. “The wind must’ve caught it.”
“Great.” Bard clapped his hands. “You got it. Now you can go.”
Lillian Carrow arrowed a venomous look his way, but she left without any further argument, her son’s embarrassment trailing in their wake like the cloud of dust she kicked up when she peeled away.
“Sorry you wasted your time out here, officer.”
“No problem.” She quirked a brow at her neighbor.
He nodded in greeting. “Riley.”
“Luke,” she mimicked.
Bard’s eyes bounced between them. “Oh, you’ve met.”
“Yesterday. She’s Old Mooney’s granddaughter.”
Bard rocked back on his heels. “Oh. Suppose you moved into her house, then. Which is… right. Well, nice to meet you.”
Riley extended her arm over the stone wall and shook his offered hand. Bard seemingly froze, holding on longer than was polite. “You alright?”
He dropped her hand like a hot coal and nodded vigorously, flashing a crooked smile. “Just fine. Hey, I’ve got to get going.” Bard walked backwards and waved. “Thanks for the save,” he said to Luke, and to her, “See ya’ at the next Wolfrun barbecue, cuz.”
Luke made a strangled noise low in his throat, glaring at Bard’s back.
Riley could feel her face doing some complicated gymnastics. Luke glanced at her and sighed, like he knew what he was in for. He shouldn’t. Riley’d held back her twenty thousand questions the first time they’d met. She’d start him off easy. “How come Bard called you instead of the non-emergency line, like he’d threatened Carrow?”
He shrugged. “Bard was legitimately worried about his gardens. He’s a good friend and I was already in the area. Wasn’t much of a hassle.”
A good friend? Luke didn’t seem the type to do a lot of travel. Bard must spend more time in Woodrun than she’d guessed. “He’s not vacationing?”
“Permanent resident.”
“Huh.” Riley brushed leaves from the top of the stone wall. “So, the Wolfrun thing extends across the river.”
Luke crossed his arms and angled his body away. “Sure,” he agreed, a non-answer that didn’t ping her truth-seeking.
Riley had to smile a little. “I hadn’t realized I’d be inheriting a social club by moving into Old Mooney’s. And it comes with barbecues. Are they mandatory? Do they put that on the reality brochures?”
Luke sighed again, likely cursing Bard’s name in his head. “There’s no social club. It’s just a nickname for the northerners, like the other-side-of-the tracks jibe.” That last statement warbled like a half-truth.
A jaw-cracking yawn precluded her next pointed question, requiring both her hands to cover it. “Sorry, didn’t get much sleep.”
His carefully neutral expression turned grave. “I heard about the arson. I’m glad Tristian’s okay.”
A sliver of unease moved up her spine. “Me, too.” If he’d heard about it from Greg, there was a chance he’d mentioned Riley’s involvement. Involvement that alluded to something she didn’t want to talk about. Here Riley was interrogating Luke about Wolfrun, something he obviously wanted to avoid, and she was worried about getting the same type of treatment. “Greg fill you in on his new role?”
“As bodyguard?” A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Yeah. Tristian couldn’t be safer.” Luke gestured to the darkening sky. “I’ve got to get going. I’m sure you want to get home, too. Good to see you again.”
“And you.” She’d half expected to hear a lie in there, but nothing rang false.
He started back the way he’d come, disappearing from sight by the time Riley reached her car. Luke stuck around for longer than she’d expected once the proverbial bear had been poked. If only she could get a straight answer out of someone without a damn half-truth. There had to be more to Wolfrun than a geographic line between ‘us and them,’ though Bard implied she was already part of the community by virtue of living next to Luke. And what was that ‘cuz’ comment about? Solidarity to their origins from across-the-pond? Riley figured she’d be properly frustrated if she could think past getting food and crawling into bed. It’d keep until tomorrow.
Obligatory Legal Stuff:
This chapter is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidences are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, locals, and events are coincidental.
No generative AI used. No AI training or scraping allowed.
All rights reserved.
Chapter Title Image created in Canva. Background image from Canva Pro.