Free Deadfall by Sue Henry Page A

Linda’s fruitcakes were highly prized by friends and family, appreciated even by those who claimed to hate the traditional holiday confection. She refused to use the usual candied citrus, made them instead with dried apricots, peaches, dates, pineapple, cherries, pecans, and a generous amount of fruit brandy—before and after baking—prior to storing them away for a month or more to ripen. Preparing the ingredients—chopping and dicing—usually took her a day; mixing and baking the loaves, another. But with two of them working, she thought they might complete the job in one.
    “Great idea,” Jessie agreed, and began to fill the kitchensink with soapy water for washing the breakfast dishes—clearing space in the small kitchen.
    “Be sure she doesn’t get out the door with all of them, Jess,” Alex instructed with a grin, and left the two absorbed in their culinary occupation of the day, pleased to see Jessie’s mood lighten, even slightly. Nevertheless, when she accompanied him to the door and kissed him good-bye, she clung just a little, in an uncharacteristic way.
    “Don’t forget to call me,” she requested as he put on his coat.
    “I won’t,” he told her.
    As he went down the steps toward his truck, he heard the deadbolt thump solidly into place in the front door. It renewed his uneasiness as he headed for Palmer, more determined than ever to track down the offensive cause of their tension. The longer this threat lasted, the more damage would be done to Jessie’s self-assurance and confidence. Bound to affect their relationship, it was intolerable.
    As his anger and resentment grew, he put his foot down a little heavier on the gas pedal, impatient with the time it took to reach his destination and some possible solution. He was so close to the situation, he felt he was blinded by the emotion of it, which added to his anxiety. As the truck rumbled over the railroad tracks and into Wasilla, he pounded the wheel with a frustrated fist, causing a woman headed the other direction in a van to give him a startled glance as she passed.
     
    J essie and Linda spent the morning slicing dried fruit and crushing pecans. By noon they were ready to take a break for lunch.
    Looking out the window at the dog lot for the dozenth time, Jessie frowned.
    “It’s really warmed up out there,” she said. “I should give the mutts more water.”
    “Is that a good idea?” Linda looked up from the bowl into which she was scooping apricot pieces from the cutting board.
    “I can’t take this out on the dogs—it’s not fair. I’d normally water them. If we go out together and you keep watch with the gun while I do it quickly, I think it would be okay.”
    After thinking it over for a minute, Linda agreed, even though there was really no way to spot a sniper should one be interested in concealing himself among the trees and brush.
    “Okay, but let’s take the cell phone and lock the house.”
    From the windows, they cautiously examined everything they could see around the cabin before pulling on their coats and boots and going out onto the porch. Linda carried the shotgun and walked with Jessie as she poured water in the pan for each dog; both of them watched nervously as they moved through the lot. They had reached the last row of dog boxes when Linda’s troubled voice stopped her friend cold.
    “Jessie?”
    From where she had been bending over in the farthest corner of the dog lot, Jessie rose and, bucket in hand, stood to watch a figure walking confidently up the long gravel drive toward her house. The two women stepped behind one of the boxes and stood silently examining the visitor. Linda rested the barrel of the shotgun on top of the box, pointed in the man’s direction, ready for anything.
    “Who is it? Do you recognize him?”
    “No, not from here. Wait a minute—see what he does.”
    She appreciated it when visitors called before making an appearance, and they usually arrived in their own transportation.