Chapter One. Kate Ryan is a middle-aged, accident prone, ex-private investigator

She Waits

Kate Ryan is a middle-aged, accident prone, ex-private investigator. Emphasis on 'ex' as she and her partner gave up their profession after their last case nearly cost both of them, their lives. They wisely decided to limp away with whatever dignity and body parts they had left. Unfortunately, Kate will forever carry the scar to remind her of her folly that nearly took her life and plagues her heart and soul. Vowing never again to let her emotions rule her reason, Kate decides to go back to her first love, free-lance photography. For the next few years, she exists alone in - "My emotionally detached loop," as Kate proudly calls it. Then all hell breaks loose and Kate drops a loop. Enter young Dr. Maggie Winfield and her adorable Aunt Martha. Kate literally stumbles into their lives one autumn morning and becomes an unwitting participant in their tangled web. Clues unravel in their small little hamlet and old secrets are sadly revealed. Kate's long forgotten instincts now compel her to untangle this web of deceit. In the midst of all this murder and mayhem, the detached photographer finds herself in a position she never thought she would be in again. It seems the feisty Dr. Winfield is having an unexpected, yet pleasant effect on her. The elusive Kate combines forces with the sarcastic Maggie, as they become the nucleus for this ongoing series.

Chapter One

I swear she came out of nowhere.

I was up early that morning, on my way to Galena, Illinois for the weekend. Throwing myself together, not an easy task, I added a single lesbian's best companion, my dog Chance. She jumped into her side of the Jeep. Yes, it's her side. I'm waiting for the day she'll strap on her own seatbelt.

I was on my way to meet my sister for a long-deserved peaceful weekend. I should have stayed home and done laundry.

A couple of dear friends, Jan and Barb, had told me about this quaint town, just outside Galena. Apparently, a friend who lives there was having a little trouble. They had been visiting this friend last month, and some strange things happened while they were there. Nothing they could put their finger on, but something was wrong with their friend and, naturally, they were worried. Even more so when their friend decided not to go to the police.

With my curiosity piqued, I suggested they call this girl and, if she agreed, I'd take a detour and meet with her on my way to Galena. Of course, the woman declined my help and who could blame her? She didn't know me at all. Apparently, this woman's aunt had voiced her opinion to Jan and Barb stating she thought it was indeed a good idea that someone try to help. Evidently, that opinion was not shared by her niece.

My P.I. instinct reared its forgotten head and got the better of me though, so I decided to drive through anyway. I thought again of my father, who had been a Chicago cop. I'd learned a great deal from him. He used to discuss his cases with my sister Teri and me.

Because he was a homicide detective, the cases were murder, which my poor mother found gruesome. He would lay out all the evidence before me and I would watch in awe as he dissected every bit of information. I would throw my two cents in and together we figured out who done it. He told me I had a knack for figuring out puzzles, while I was just happy to be doing something with my father.

It was because of him that I became a private investigator. Thinking of my father brought me to Bob Whittier and I wondered how he was doing. I hadn't seen him in more than a year. My mind wandered back to when he agreed to my wild idea of starting our P.I. business.

"I'll do all the legwork. We'll even put your name first!" I offered. "Whittier and Ryan."

It obviously wasn't a good incentive. Bob was still not convinced. So a few days later, I was surprised to see him on my doorstep.

"I hate retirement. While I was sitting around, I could hear my arteries harden. I need to get back into it, Kate. I suppose being Dan Ryan's partner for nearly fifteen years wasn't enough. Now, I gotta be partnered with his kid. Who's gonna look after you if I don't? Okay, you win."

"Yes!" I screamed and almost jumped into his arms.

"Let me go, you Amazon. God, you're strong. You will do all the legwork, young lady."

Whittier and Ryan Private Investigations lasted for nine years. It's been almost four years since we gave up the business. I ran my fingers over the scar on the back of my neck. I shivered thinking about how Bob and I almost lost our lives.

Yes, Bob and I decided to limp away with whatever body parts we still had intact. We both thought it was a wise decision. Now, I'm back to my first love, photography. It's a nice quiet existence and I'm glad to say taking photos of nature hasn't killed me...yet. I'll leave that to my editor.

I shook myself back to reality and realized I was coming up to the small town nestled comfortably in the middle of the woods. If you blinked, you could have easily missed it. It actually reminded me of the old movie Brigadoon, the small village lost in the mist of time.

Smiling to myself, I noticed a sign that read Cedar Lake, pop 1300. As I headed into town, it appeared to be mainstream Americana: Everyday people going about their everyday lives.

I would find out much later that nothing could be further from the truth.

It was like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Beautiful maple trees lined the streets. The colors were magnificent and the golden leaves fell as the breeze gently shook them from the branches. It was a cool, crisp sunny morning. When I opened my window, the aroma of burning leaves instantly took me back to my childhood, when in autumn that wonderful earthy scent flooded everyone's senses.

God was in His heaven and all was right with the world, until I hit the young woman on the horse. Well, I didn't really hit her. I almost hit her. Actually, I almost hit the horse, or the horse almost ran into my car. I'm still not quite sure. I only know I almost soiled myself.

I had seen her from the corner of my eye, from out of nowhere came this black blur galloping as if she was hell bent on some maniacal steeplechase. At the last minute, I swerved to avoid them. The car skidded as I slammed on the brakes. A maple tree caught my bumper nicely, stopping me from continuing into the peaceful woods.

All at once, I was engulfed in a sea of marshmallow when the air bag slowly deflated. I looked over at poor Chance. She was sprawled on the car floor looking up at me. She quickly jumped back up and barked.

I examined her for injuries. "Hey don't blame me. I told you to put your seatbelt on," I said, as I quickly untangled myself.

The rider was lying still on the side of the road and for a horrifying moment I thought, Crap, I killed her. I ran over to her, begging the gods for help. I knelt down beside her and gingerly turned her over, looking for signs of life. The saddle was off the horse and lying in a heap on her left ankle.

She looked young, no more than twenty-two or -three. Great, I've killed a child.

I checked her pulse. I checked to see if any bones were broken. I checked for bleeding. I didn't know what else to check. While I was thinking, damn, I did kill her I looked down to see that her eyes were wide open and staring at me. I jumped back like a scalded hound. She scared the life out of me.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

She struggled to her feet, waving off my attempts to help. "Am I all right?"

I tried to help her...what a stupid thing to do. She almost knocked me over getting to her horse. She spoke in soothing, sweet low tones to the snorting beast.

After making sure her horse was uninjured, she limped back to me. "Christ, are you crazy?" she bellowed.

I took a step backward. She looked scary, with leaves in her disheveled chestnut hair and her blue eyes glaring. My, she is short.

"Well I..."

"What in the hell were you doing?" she interrupted. Her look demanded an answer.

"Well, you..."

"Christ, you could have killed somebody."

"Yes, I realize that." I was trying to get a word in edgewise while backing away.

"Christ, you imbecile!"

That did it. Nobody calls me an imbecile, except my editor. I tried to remain calm. "Look Miss, if you'd let me get a word in, I'd like to apologize."

"Well?" she demanded quickly.

My Irish blood was boiling now. "Well, I apologize. I did not see you galloping as if the hounds of hell were nipping at your heels. I'm sorry I knocked you off your horse, but you don't seem any worse for wear and there is no need to be insulting. Now, why don't you take my card so you can send any doctor bills to me? After that, it seems we have two choices here. Climb up on Ole Dobbin there and chase the hounds back to hell or allow me to give you a lift wherever you like."

Surprising myself that I got that out in one breath, I gave her a challenging look.

She glared at me and I noticed her hands were trembling. Fine. Now, I felt a little sorry for the poor kid.

"Look..." I started, but she interrupted me.

"No, you're right, I'm sorry. I was riding a little fast and not watching where I was going, either."

What a backhanded apology that was. You know, when she wasn't glaring at me, I noticed she had a pleasant-looking face. She was a petite young girl, only five-foot four.

Then I glanced at my car, saw the small dent in the front end and felt a pang of guilt. Chance was poised, awaiting my okay to jump out the window, like that was going to happen. I turned to see the horse, a very big black horse, snorting and staring at me with such wild eyes he looked like Seabiscuit on mescaline.

I was about to say something, when off in the distance, I heard a woman yelling. I looked up and saw an older woman driving our way in, of all things, a golf cart. I was stunned and looked around in all directions. Where the hell did she come from?

Her chariot of death was heading right at us. Like a deer caught in the headlights, I knew she was going to hit me but I froze. As I watched my life pass before me, our gazes locked in horror. She couldn't stop and I couldn't move. I heard the young girl yelling and, at the last minute, I leapt out of the way. The demented cart came to a screeching halt inches from my foot. For one second, we were all silent.

As the woman got out, the cart gave one last gasp of life as it lurched, then died quietly.

"Good heavens, that was close! I still haven't got the hang of this ridiculous contraption." The woman laughed maniacally as she struggled from the cart. Then she looked at the young woman. "Margaret, are you all right?"

They knew each other. That figured.

"And who the devil are you? Do I know you?" she inquired, looking perplexed.

"Well, I..." It was all I could say. I was staring at the golf cart, waiting for it to come back to life like something out of a Stephen King novel.

"Aunt Hannah, I'm fine. I sort of fell off my horse," the woman who was apparently Margaret said.

"Nonsense, you haven't fallen off a horse since you were six years old. What the devil happened, and why are you riding that insane horse after what it did to Bedford?"

I raised my eyebrows, wondering. I leaned over to Aunt Hannah. "What did it do to Bedford?"

"Oh, good gracious, don't you remember last year?"

I saw realization slowly cross her face.

"Young woman, who are you?"

"Unfortunately, I believe I'm responsible for your niece's present condition. See, I was driving and your niece bolted out of nowhere and I..." was interrupted. Again.

"You mean you hit my niece?"

"Well, no. See, I..." I stopped, scratched my head and gave up. "Yes ma'am, I did. I hit her and I'm sorry." I admitted this obediently and raised my hands in defeat.

"Nonsense, you seem far too nice and look far too pretty to be knocking people off horses. Besides, I know how headstrong my niece can be."

She smiled and winked at me and I instantly liked her.

Hannah was about 5' 6" with silver hair and looked like everybody's favorite aunt. She reminded me of the old actress, Mildred Natwick, one of the Snoop Sisters from that old TV show. I am horrible at remembering faces so, being an old movie buff, I associate them with a star of the silver screen. Her dress was impeccable, as was her demeanor. She was refined, but not too proper. I liked this woman, chariot-of-death and all.

"Excuse me, but in case anyone is interested, I was knocked off my horse!" Margaret yelled, waving her hands.

"Margaret, you know full well that you were not supposed to be riding that creature at all! And just what were you doing on the main road?"

Inching ever so slightly toward my new friend, the Hollywood icon, I leaned against my car and waited, patiently if not smugly for an answer.

She glared at me then turned to her aunt. "Let's talk about this later. I just want to get home."

I felt a little tension in the air as I watched both women. "Pardon me, I was telling your niece that I would be glad to give her a ride home if needed. I was also going to give her my card in case there were any doctor's bills. I think that would be only right."

I was trying to keep the situation formal, not wanting to get into another caustic conversation with this young woman. I cursed my curiosity and wanted to get on my way.

"Thank you. That's fine with me," Margaret said indifferently.

"Margaret, when I saw that wretched animal gone from the stable, I immediately called Bedford. He's coming with the trailer to take that beast back to the stable and have it shot." She stopped and let out a small laugh. Margaret was not amused which for some odd reason, amused me. "I'm sorry, dear, that was a bad joke. Besides, I do not think that animal will fit in the cart. Now, Miss... Oh, good heavens, I don't know your name, dear."

"Ryan, Kate Ryan." I held out my hand and she shook it, giving me a curious look.

"Ryan? Hmm, well, Miss Ryan, my name is Hannah Winfield and this ungracious young woman is my niece, Margaret Winfield."

I searched the younger Miss Winfield's face. The name seemed familiar somehow. I stuck out my hand. "Margaret Winfield, it's a pleasure," I offered as I gazed down into the blue eyes.

"Miss Ryan, delighted," she said, oozing sarcasm as she took my hand.

I took her small hand in mine and it dawned on me who she was. Jan and Barb had been telling me about this girl. I remembered our conversation distinctly now: "We have a friend we think might be able to use your help, the way you helped Jan last year. She lives in a small town near Galena. Her name is Maggie Winfield..."

Crap...

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