Jill Elizabeth Nelson (6 page)

Dr. Mead narrowed her eyes. “Even if Jan wakes up with all her faculties, she may not remember the events surrounding the attack. Amnesia related to head trauma is common.”

Nicole rose. “You said
if
she wakes up.”

The doctor's compassionate gaze sent a shiver to Nicole's middle. She'd seen that look of helpless sympathy directed toward her too often in her lifetime.

“I wish I could make promises,” Dr. Mead said, “but I can't. Her prognosis is shaky at best. We need to helicopter her to the severe head trauma unit in the Twin Cities. The chopper is on the way. Unfortunately, there won't be room for you in the bird. You'll have to drive.”

Nicole bit her lip. The road trip would consume over three hours.

“I'll chauffeur you, cop speed,” Rich said.

“Let's go then.” She leaped up. “I don't want to waste a minute.”

On the way to her grandmother's house to collect a few things, Nicole clutched her oversize purse like a shield on her lap. Scary how at home she felt in the front seat of a
police vehicle. You'd think she'd hate everything to do with the occupation.

She wasn't under any illusions about the offer to follow the chopper to the Cities. Rich wasn't being a Good Samaritan. He was still hoping for lucid words from the patient that would help him solve his case. Even so, accepting the ride was to her advantage. A police car could reach the major hospital far more quickly than a civilian vehicle following the speed limit.

Then why did she feel like she needed to protect herself? One glance at Rich's strong profile gave her the answer. Even in this moment of extreme stress, she found the police chief way too appealing for the safety of her broken heart.

“D
o you have new plans for the sewing shop?” Rich glanced at the set profile of his passenger as he guided the police SUV up Highway 7 toward Minneapolis. Nicole barely batted an eyelash in response. “I mean, since you've been cleaning things out, I just wondered if you were making room for something.”

“Huh?” Her head swiveled his direction. “I'm sorry. I was a million miles away.”

“At least 120 miles anyway.”

She gave a tired grimace. “What did you ask me?”

“Just curious about your plans for the shop.”

“If my grandmother has her way, it'll be same old, same old, and that won't cut it in today's economy.”

“But…” Rich prompted.

“I want to go into machine embroidery.” Enthusiasm touched Nicole's expression. “There's a growing market for custom embroidered shirts, blanket throws and team apparel. The shop could turn a profit. I've studied the demographics, and we'd be the only supplier in the county.”

“You've done your homework.”

The light on Nicole's face faded. “Grandma thinks I'm just grasping at straws to keep busy while I grieve. She's afraid the machinery will keep her customers away in
droves, when I believe the products would draw new customers from younger generations. My degree is in business administration, and I've thought this through. Grandma doesn't want to face it, but her current clientele is petering out. They're either going to the nursing home or…” She shook her head.

“Change can be difficult for the elderly.” Rich nodded. “My grandmother had to be dragged practically kicking and screaming into the retirement village she thoroughly loves now.”

Nicole chuckled. “I know Grandma would actually enjoy making the embroidered products if she'd give the idea a chance.” She halted and blinked rapidly.

Rich looked away, respecting Nicole's emotional space. She had to be wondering if her grandmother would have the opportunity to try a new thing. This lady impressed him more every time he talked to her. He hadn't known she had a college degree.

“So what about you?” Her light tone was forced. “I checked in the phone book, and there are no other Hendricks families in Ellington. Where are you from?”

“Grew up on a farm about an hour away from Ellington. There weren't any other Hendricks families there, either. Holidays were quiet. Sure enjoyed Big Stone Lake though.”

Nicole shuddered and let out a small laugh. “It's a big lake, for sure. I nearly drowned in it once. I was seven and my parents and grandparents took me on a picnic in a park there.”

“Really?” Rich shot her a strong look. “That must have been scary.”

“I ventured outside the marked boundaries of the swimming area and tumbled over an unexpected drop-off. I was
sure my days were over. Then this bigger boy grabbed me by the hair and hauled me to the surface.”

“Wow! Your folks must've been happy with that kid.”

Nicole shrugged. “I don't think they got to meet him. I was bawling and screaming and choking so bad, my grandpa swooped me out of the boy's arms. By the time they got me calmed down so I could tell them what happened, the boy was gone.”

Rich's throat tightened. It couldn't be! But maybe…“Were you wearing a blue one-piece swimsuit with a yellow starfish on it?”

Nicole gaped at him. “You're a good cop, but don't tell me you found that out on a background check.”

“When I was a young teenager, I hauled this dark-haired little girl out of the drink and didn't get her quite onto the shore when this big guy grabbed her from me and knocked me down. I think he thought I was hurting you. I was pretty scared myself and ran off.”

“You're kidding!” Nicole's brown eyes popped wide. “If that was me, I had no idea Grandpa hit you.”

Rich laughed. “Well, if my granddaughter was howling and kicking and clawing in some stranger's arms, I'd do the same thing.”

“Clawing?”

He rubbed his right arm. “Still have a couple of scars on my forearm. I don't think you liked having your hair pulled, and boy, did you have fingernails.”

Nicole pressed her hands to her chest. “I can hardly believe it! You saved my life, got scratched and beaten up for your efforts, and now, here we are, grown up and driving down the road together. That's got to be more than a coincidence.” She gazed at him with deep warm eyes. “It's my opportunity to say what should have been said then. Thank you soooo much! If Grandpa were here, he'd shake
your hand and slap you on the back so hard your teeth would rattle.”

Rich grinned and shook his head. “I'll pass. He already made my teeth rattle once.” He rubbed his jaw.

Nicole's soft giggle did crazy wonderful things to Rich's insides. So did the memory of her Grandpa Frank's right hook. He had proven capable of violence back then, but Rich would think less of the man if he hadn't been quick to defend his granddaughter, even if it was a misunderstanding. If Frank was involved in the death of the baby in his backyard, maybe what happened was an accident. Could the Kellers have kidnapped Samuel for the money, fully intending to return him, but then the child died, and they had to bury him instead?

The dispatcher's voice came over his radio, jerking Rich out of speculation. He answered the call.

“Hey, Chief,” the day dispatcher greeted him. “You wanted to be informed of any developments in the rose garden baby case. The medical examiner and the forensics tech agree that cause of death on the child was a broken spine. They say the injuries are consistent with shaken baby syndrome.”

Nicole's face went ashen. Rich opened his mouth to chew on the dispatcher for talking case details with a civilian on board, but Nicole stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“It's okay,” she said. “You know I'll keep it under my hat. Besides, now I'm beyond sure that my grandparents had nothing to do with that baby's death. They would never shake a child. Never!”

Rich lifted an eyebrow. But Grandpa would punch a teenager. He thanked the dispatcher and replaced the radio in its holder. “If so, that leaves us at square one with loads of questions.”

“Maybe not.” Nicole angled toward him. “The most
common culprit in shaken baby syndrome is a parent or a family member.”

“Are you suggesting someone in the Elling family killed the precious heir?”

Nicole crossed her arms and turned away. “I'm merely going with statistics.”

Rich stifled the impulse to tell her that he fully intended to put the Ellings under a microscope. It wouldn't be professional to discuss the direction of his investigation with a civilian, particularly someone related to a suspect. But her remark might bear more weight than she knew. If Samuel's death was caused by someone in that household, he wouldn't put it past them to cover it up by staging a kidnapping. That scenario didn't explain how the child came to be buried in the Kellers' backyard, but it would be interesting to look into the Ellings' financial history to verify that the ransom was actually paid.

“Nice work,” Rich let himself say. “You've given me some food for thought.”

Nicole sniffed and dug inside her purse. She pulled out the yellowed newspaper articles on the kidnapping.

“Why don't you read them out loud?” he said.

She shot him a questioning look. “You probably have this information memorized by now, plus a bunch of other stuff that wasn't released to the media.”

“True, but a new pair of eyes can't hurt.”

“Okay.” She smiled. “I like a man who doesn't think he knows it all and can figure everything out by himself.”

Rich's insides puddled. Appreciation of his investigative style was high praise from someone with her background.

She started reading the first article, written the day after Samuel Elling was reported missing. The journalism was a bit more dramatic and colloquial than current practice.

The article continued with a reminder of the Ellings' prominent status in the area and a few lines of editorial-style sympathy toward the family. The piece concluded with a statement that the family was not receiving visitors and would not take phone calls from anyone other than the authorities or the kidnapper.

Nicole continued reading from one article to the next, but most simply regurgitated the original sketchy facts. Rich had to compliment his predecessors on keeping the activities of the investigation under their hats, though his study of the case records showed they were too surface for his taste in checking out the family members. Elling clout at work again.

“Here's a comment from the police chief at the time,” Nicole said. “He says, ‘We are exhausting every avenue of
inquiry.' He doesn't come right out and accuse anyone, but the next line of the article goes on to mention that all of the Ellings' household staff has been dismissed, including a cook, a housekeeper and a groundsman.”

She lowered the article. “Household staff are good suspects in a kidnapping, but obviously the investigation didn't reveal enough proof to make an arrest. Maybe the child's crying irritated a short-tempered kidnapper, and he reacted violently without thinking.”

“Unless, of course, he meant to kill the child rather than return him.”

“Terrible, but possible.” Frowning, Nicole's gaze dropped. “Here's what Samuel's grandfather had to say. ‘We will do whatever is necessary to recover the Elling namesake, and then we will employ any measure available to track down the child's abductor.'” She snorted. “The Elling namesake? The child? He talks about his grandson like he's a commodity, not a person.”

“Typical of that family. Simon spouts the same rhetoric.”

“I noticed.”

“Figured you would. What do you think? Any hot leads pop out at you?”

She tugged her left earlobe. “Reinterviewing the household staff, if they're still alive.”

“Okay. Good. Anything else?”

“And then the Ellings themselves. They're such a strange bunch.”

“No argument there, but lack of familial feeling doesn't a murderer make.”

Scowling, Nicole pulled another article out of the short stack. “There's one other thing. Here's an article written several weeks after Samuel's disappearance and after the ransom was paid with no result. Finally, the amount of the
demand is printed—$5,718,000. Back then, that was an exorbitant amount, and it's an unusual number. Was there some personal significance in the figure to the kidnapper? Maybe the motive wasn't just greed. Maybe there's a vendetta here.”

Rich let out a low whistle. “You think like a first-rate investigator. Maybe you missed your calling. It's not too late to follow in your dad's footsteps and take up a badge.”

A chill radiated from the woman next to him. “I don't need that kind of stress in my life ever again, not in what I do for a living or who I let into my heart.”

Rich's stomach went hollow. He realized at a young age that God made him to be a cop. If ever he remarried, his new wife would have to be on board with his life.

 

Nicole snuck a peak at the uniformed man seated in the chair across from her in the surgical ward waiting room. Rich stared at an open outdoorsman magazine, but he hadn't turned a page in a while. The guy was on the case while sitting still.

How amazing that Rich was the young teen who once rescued her from a watery death. Was some subconscious recognition behind the attraction she felt for him? If so, hopefully it would wear off now that she knew the reason for it.

Nicole fidgeted with her purse strap. Grandma Jan had survived the flight, thankfully, and was now in surgery to relieve the pressure on her brain and remove a bone chip. An hour had crawled past with no fresh word.

Rich laid the magazine down on a side table. “I'm going to grab a cup of coffee and check in with the office back home. Do you want anything?”

My grandmother awake and all right.
She shook her head, and Rich left. Her gaze followed his long-legged
stride, and her heart did a two-step. If this attraction was going to wane, the process wasn't off to a good start.

Time to get her mind off a certain charismatic cop and worries for her grandmother. Neither preoccupation was productive. Nicole took her phone out of her purse. If she was forward enough to voice suspicions about the Elling family, she ought to sniff around for something to back them up…or dispel them. How awful if the little guy was killed by someone in his own family.

After a brief Internet search, she found a site containing the history of the Ellington area. A few hundred years ago, that stretch of prairie was populated by nomadic bands of Native Americans. The area began to be occupied by nonnative settlers in the mid-1800s. In 1880, a railroad magnate by the name of Seth Elling bought up most of the farmland around a settlement that was later named after him.

Seth fancied himself a gentleman farmer and rented out a fair bit of his land to tenants, much like an English lord. The rest of the land was run by Seth's many sons. In fact, Seth wore out three wives to produce a dozen of them, as well as seven daughters. The man must have been obsessed with carrying on his name—an obsession that had clung through the generations. She read on in the historical narrative, sifting through a wide array of information to focus on the parts involving the Elling family.