Patricia Davids - Speed Trap

Mandy stopped in the kitchen to check her phone messages. The machine showed a red 0. She’d left clear instruction that she was to be called if any new leads or new information on Judy Bowen’s case became available. Apparently, none had.

Feeling unusually restless, Mandy turned around, snatched her car keys off the hook and walked out of the house.

The drive across town was short. Timber Wells boasted only four thousand residents and a total of four traffic lights.

Pulling into a large parking lot, Mandy stopped and stared at the front entrance of the town’s hospital. She could have called to check on the baby, but what she really needed was to see him—to make sure he was doing all right.

Inside the building, the nurse on duty gave her a room number. Mandy found the pediatric ward and quietly opened the door to room 222. An elderly woman sat in a wooden rocker, holding Colin. The baby was whimpering softly.

“How is he?” Mandy crossed the room for a better look.

“Fussy, but I would be, too, if I had a broken collarbone.”

Mandy took note of the small sling that held one arm pinned to his sleeper. “I’m Sheriff Scott. I just wanted to check on him before I called it a night.”

“I know who you are. I understand this little man owes you his life.”

“I was in the right place at the right time, that’s all.”

“It was by the grace of God you were there, and it was a brave thing to do, young lady. Would you like to hold him awhile? I really need to get back to my other duties, but he cries whenever I lay him down.”

Taken aback, Mandy shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not much good with kids.”

“Nonsense. Anyone can rock a baby. Sit here.” The woman rose to her feet, leaving Mandy little choice but to do as she was told.

Taking the baby carefully, she held his small, warm body close. He whimpered again. Mandy looked up in concern. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt him.”

“Be careful not to jar his arm, and he’ll be fine. The nurse gave him something for pain in his last bottle. It should take effect soon. Once he’s asleep, you can put him to bed.” With a smile of encouragement, she left the room.

Slowly, Mandy relaxed and as she did, the baby’s whimpering stopped. Before long, he drifted off to sleep. Instead of laying him down, she continued to rock him gently.

He was a beautiful child. His long eyelashes lay in blond crescents against his chubby cheeks. His tiny bow mouth made sucking motions as if he were dreaming about his next bottle.

Mandy smiled. The warmth of the emotions he evoked in her heart nearly took her breath away. She stared at his delicate face. It felt so right and natural to hold him in her arms. She began to hum a soft lullaby.

Perhaps one day she would have a child of her own. She’d thought there would be time to settle down after the academy and after getting her career started, but then her father had been killed and her mother had needed so much of her time.

Time was exactly what had slipped away. Now, Mandy was stuck in a small town where even the bravest of men hesitated to ask the sheriff out on a date.

“I shouldn’t whine when my life is so full of blessings,” she whispered to the little boy who slept in her arms.

She shouldn’t, but sometimes it was hard always being the one in charge. Always looking to right the wrongs in other people’s lives. It was harder still when she couldn’t right that wrong.

She’d never be able to give this little boy his mother back, but she would do her best to see that justice was done.

An hour later—long after her young charge and her arm had fallen asleep—Mandy managed to tear herself away. Laying him down, she stood for a moment rubbing away the pins and needles until feeling returned to her hand.

Kissing the tip of her fingers, she gently touched them to his forehead. “Sleep tight. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Smiling, she realized she’d just made a date with the cutest guy in Timber Wells. Too bad he was only four months old. Somehow, she was sure this wasn’t what her mother had in mind.

Someone had tried to kill that beautiful baby. Someone had succeeded in killing his mother.

Mandy vowed she wouldn’t let him or her get away with it.

Garrett turned his truck into a parking space in front of the county courthouse just after ten o’clock in the morning. It had been two days since he’d learned of Judy’s death.

He sat for a long time staring at the modern one-story brick structure and the immaculate green lawn that surrounded it. Flags fluttered in the breeze from a pair of flagpoles to the right of the low broad steps. Wiley, his paws parked on the armrest of the passenger’s side door, barked excitedly.

Garrett rubbed his palms on the top of the steering wheel. He didn’t like confrontations, but the news of Judy’s death followed by what he’d learned this morning left him reeling. Sheriff Scott had a lot of explaining to do.

Judy had a son.

A child who would grow up without a mother because she had been coming to see Garrett—and he still didn’t know why. A heavy sense of responsibility settled in his chest. Try as he might, he couldn’t dislodge it.

He knew what it was like to be motherless.

Why hadn’t the sheriff told him about the baby? Could the child be his? According to Judy’s pastor, the baby’s age made it possible, but surely Judy would have told him she was pregnant with his child.

Like Garrett, Judy had lived a hard life. When they first met at a truck stop in Overland Park, she’d been nursing a cup of coffee and a black eye from her latest in a long line of boyfriends who used their fists on her face.

She’d looked so alone, so lost. Garrett knew exactly how that felt. When she turned her heartrending smile in his direction and poured out her sad story, Garrett found himself determined to save her.

And she let him. They’d married within a month.

His dreams of a family to love and cherish the way he’d never been loved soon evaporated. Judy had a serious drug problem. She stayed with him a couple of years, but not out of love.

Garrett had simply been her free ride until she found something better. One day, she was gone.

Like everyone he cared about.

Getting out of his truck and closing the door, Garrett faced the courthouse again. He didn’t relish the idea of setting foot inside a police station. There were cells inside where men were locked away. Just the thought made his skin crawl. If he had a lick of sense, he’d go home and finish his corral.

Except he couldn’t. He needed answers, and Sheriff Scott had them. Facing his fears, he walked up the steps.

Inside the building, he found the door marked with the sheriff’s seal. He stepped into the room and saw a plump woman in her midfifties behind the counter.

Two deputies were seated at desks behind her. Garrett recognized Fred Lindholm, and his hands balled into fists.

The last time Garrett’s mother had called for help, Lindholm had been the one to respond. His help amounted to telling Garrett’s father to sober up and take it easy on his old lady. Less than a week later, Garrett’s mother left for good.

Maybe if Lindholm had done his job and arrested Garrett’s father, things might have turned out differently. The coil of anger and fear inside Garrett wound tighter, but he knew better than to let it loose.

At the desk next to Lindholm sat a younger man with short red hair and wide serious eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. His name tag said Ken Holt. Garrett didn’t know him, but if he was anything like Lindholm, he’d be a good man to avoid.

“May I help you?” the woman asked.

Garrett shifted his attention back to the receptionist. “I’d like to talk to Sheriff Scott.”