Dire Straits Read online

  Dire Straits

  An Aspen Falls Novel

  Melissa Pearl

  Anna Cruise

  © Copyright 2018 Melissa Pearl & Anna Cruise

  http://www.melissapearlauthor.com

  https://www.melissapearlauthor.com/page/anna-cruise/

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Cover art (copyright) by Shayne Leighton

  https://parliamentbookdesign.wordpress.com/

  and Emily Wittig Designs & Photography

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your preferred retailer and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Dear Reader…

  Aspen Falls Novels

  Acknowledgments

  Jarrett and Jessica’s story was so much fun to write! As someone who toyed with majoring in journalism in college (I opted to get my degree in English instead), I’ve found that I have a bit of a soft spot for reporters as main characters. And Jess always struck me as the kind of woman who had so much more going on than met the eye in the earlier Aspen Falls novels. I hope you enjoy reading about these two, and that you enjoy seeing several familiar faces along the way.

  I want to thank the usual crew for their vital contributions to this story: Melissa, Rachael, our team of beta readers. Their insights and thoughtful commentary never cease to amaze me!

  There is one other thanks I’d like to extend, and that is to my adopted home state. I moved to Minnesota ten years ago, fresh from a decade in Washington, DC. Prior to that, I spent the bulk of my life in California: in San Francisco, Monterey, and San Diego. I didn’t know what to expect moving to a state that amounted to a blend of the “frigid north” and the “heartland of America.”

  What I found took me by surprise. No, it did more than that.

  It took my breath away.

  Not just the vast prairies and the thousands of sky-blue lakes, and the shores of Lake Superior, whose raw power and beauty can rival that of any of the world’s oceans.

  And not just the small towns that dot every corner of the state, with townspeople whose lineage is that of sturdy Swedes and stoic Germans, or the bustling cities of St. Paul and Minneapolis, whose art and culture and food scenes rival any large metropolis.

  It’s everything. The festivals that fill the calendar of every single month of the year, regardless of the temperature outside. And the people, who waffle between wanting to brag on their great state and wanting to keep it on the down-low, just in case too many others start to realize it’s a great place to live.

  Every state is unique. Every state is beautiful. Every state has citizens who are proud to call it home, has tourists eager to visit and soak up its magic.

  Minnesota does, too.

  I hope that by reading the Aspen Falls novels, you get a little taste of what Minnesota is like.

  And that you fall a little bit in love with it, too.

  xx

  Anna

  Prologue

  Jessica stared at the box cradled in her mother’s hands.

  “What’s that?”

  Her mother smiled, a sad smile that forced Jess to look away.

  “Just open it,” she said quietly.

  Jess took it, hating how her fingers trembled as they touched the box. It was a simple cardboard box, but it was heavy and her heart constricted.

  Because she suddenly realized what it was.

  What was inside.

  A metal lockbox.

  With her father’s most treasured possession.

  “No,” she said, thrusting the box back toward her mother. “I don’t want it.”

  “Please, sweetheart,” her mother pleaded, her eyes bright with tears. “Please take it.”

  Jess shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “He would have wanted you to have it.”

  Jessica’s throat constricted and her own eyes filled with tears. She blinked rapidly, willing them not to spill onto her cheeks.

  Not now. Not today.

  “I can’t,” she whispered.

  I don’t deserve it, the voice inside her head trembled.

  “Your dad would be so proud of you.” Her mom reached out and cupped Jessica’s cheek. “You know that, right? If he were here with us today, this would have been the proudest moment of his life.”

  But he isn’t, Jess thought bitterly.

  “To see you follow in his footsteps…to watch you graduate from the police academy…” Her mother’s voice shook. She swallowed and forced a brave smile. “It would have meant the world to him.”

  A tear slipped down Jessica’s cheek and her mother tenderly brushed it away.

  “Open it,” her mother urged.

  Jessica was still holding the box.

  She didn’t need to open it.

  She knew what was inside.

  What it represented.

  The man she’d lost.

  His hopes, his dreams, were all in her hands right now.

  Literally.

  She took a deep, steadying breath and made herself a promise.

  No, she thought, shaking her head. She was making him a promise.

  A promise to make her father proud.

  1

  Thursday, June 22

  7:40 am

  The sun was already up. It had been up for hours, it seemed, even though it was just shy of eight.

  Jessica Claret sat in her cruiser, watching as cars rolled by on a Thursday morning. She was parked in the weed-filled lot attached to a boarded-up gas station, a relic from Aspen Falls’ early years. The pumps had long been abandoned, and the building boasted a roof with missing shingles and wood siding that seemed to shed more paint with each passing day.

  It was an eyesore, one of a few in a town that had morphed and grown over the years, with old businesses closing shop as new
roads created new traffic patterns, and as the needs of the town constantly changed. Jess hadn’t grown up in Aspen Falls—her home was up near the North Shore, in a tiny town called Cloquet—but she’d learned enough about its history in the few years she’d lived there since joining the Aspen Falls police department. She knew the town had nearly tripled in size over the last fifty years, not because of some weird baby boom but because people were leaving the cities, looking for small towns to raise their families and even start their businesses. Because the community college had opened, bringing jobs and luring students from neighboring towns who might otherwise have foregone a post-secondary education or who might have moved elsewhere.

  But even with the growth, some businesses had shuttered their doors. A sign of the times, as feed mills and other agriculture-related businesses became fewer and far between, and as the needs of the town and its citizens changed.

  She glanced at the dilapidated building, a small smile tugging at her lips. Despite its roughshod appearance, she found the old gas station charming. She could almost see the attendants coming out from the shop garbed in mechanic blues, their hair slicked back, thick with grease, cigarettes hanging out of their mouths. And then she shuddered as she thought of the hazard that would have created, realizing no one seemed to have those concerns back in the 50s, which was when this station would have been in its prime.

  An old school bus painted white lumbered by, dragging her back into the present. It was an older bus, probably decommissioned by some school district, which, according to the stenciling on the side, had since been purchased by a church from a neighboring town. Jess smiled as it drove by, its seats filled with kids, their backpacks and blankets visible alongside them. They were probably headed to camp. It was summer, after all, when most Minnesotans tried to soak up the warmth as much as they could, capitalizing on the few short months where swimming in the lakes and kayaking and canoeing were actually comfortable.

  She sat for a few minutes longer, keeping her eye on the light flow of traffic but making sure she paid attention to the time, too. Her shift was almost over, and she was about five minutes away from heading back to the station to wrap up her day.

  Night, she reminded herself. Wrap up her night.

  Her schedule had changed recently, and for the past few weeks, she’d been working the overnight shift. It wasn’t her favorite—she’d never really been a night person—but when Kellan had asked if she’d switch, she’d immediately said yes.

  Because she always said yes.

  To everything he asked for.

  And not just because he was the chief of police and therefore her boss. No, she said yes because she had plans. Plans to be more than just a beat cop. Plans to be more than just an officer sitting in the pothole-filled parking lot of a long-abandoned gas station, watching cars and trucks and busses go by, patrolling a small town where nothing much ever really happened. Plans to get a promotion, to be a detective, to seize and take hold of the opportunity her dad had wanted in his own career in law enforcement.

  She sighed and tapped her hand against the steering wheel.

  Plans.

  The word stuck in her throat.

  Her plans felt like they were getting her nowhere.

  A pickup truck sped by, the sound of its muffler startling her. She didn’t know squat about cars, but she was pretty sure something was about to detach from the undercarriage.

  She was also pretty sure it was speeding like a bat out of hell.

  Jess slipped the cruiser into Drive and peeled out of the parking lot, her tires skidding on the pockmarked pavement. She flipped the switch for her lights and floored the gas pedal, quickly gaining on the red pickup.

  The truck didn’t immediately slow down, and she felt a surge of adrenaline course through her. Should she call it in? Was the person behind the wheel evading her? Trying to outrun her?

  She was just about to turn on her sirens and reach for her hand comm when the truck’s brake lights illuminated. The driver slowed, finally pulling over to the gravel shoulder alongside the two-lane highway.

  Jess sat in her cruiser for a minute and quickly ran the plates on her computer. They came back clean, registered to a Bruce Lindell. Now she just needed to find out if Bruce was the one behind the wheel…and why he’d been driving with a lead foot on the gas pedal.

  She kept her hand on her holster as she approached the cab of the truck, keeping an eye on the man behind the wheel. Both of his hands were on the steering wheel, and he’d already rolled his window down.

  Good signs, Jess thought, but she was still on high alert. It was Aspen Falls, not Brooklyn Center or the north side of Minneapolis, but she knew to always keep her guard up.

  Just in case.

  “In a bit of a hurry?” she asked as soon as she got to the driver’s side door.

  The man seated behind the wheel offered a sheepish smile. “Just trying to get to the recycling plant right when they open. Gotta be at my job by eight thirty, so time’s a little tight.”

  “You have your license and registration?”

  He nodded. “License is in my wallet.” He lifted one hand off the wheel and dug into the pocket of his jeans. He handed it over. “Insurance and registration are in the glove box.” He leaned toward the passenger seat and popped the compartment open.

  Jess studied the papers. Everything looked like it was in order. The name on the ID matched the registration information she’d pulled up, and the photo she was looking at was the spitting image of the man inside the vehicle.

  “Recycling center?” she asked, coming back to his statement from just a moment earlier.

  Bruce Lindell jerked a thumb toward the bed of the truck. It was covered with a custom-made topper so Jess couldn’t see too well inside of it. “Just some scrap metal I want to drop off at the recycling plant. Doing some renovating and thought I’d bring it in for a little cash instead of hauling it all the way out to the dump.”

  Jess gave him a nod. “Sit tight for a minute.”

  She walked back to the cruiser and put his info into the system. She waited a minute, finally getting the all clear. Bruce Lindell was clean.

  She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and stared at the truck in front of her. She knew she wouldn’t be writing him a ticket. Her radar hadn’t been hooked up when he’d shot past her, and even though she’d thought he was speeding, she would have to show up in court if he decided to challenge the ticket. And going to court was not something she particularly enjoyed.

  Besides, he’d given her a reason for his excessive speed. It didn’t excuse his behavior, of course, especially if he’d been breaking the law, but she appreciated his honesty, along with the fact that he was just a regular guy looking to make a little extra cash from his DIY project.

  Jess stepped out of the car. Her Blauers, shined to a sleek, glossy black, kicked up dust as she made her way back toward the pickup. She handed him back his information.

  “Keep your speed down,” she told him.

  He flashed her a grateful smile. “Will do, ma’am.”

  As soon as she got back to her cruiser, the truck pulled away from the shoulder. Its blinker was on, and she noticed how carefully the driver eased back out onto the road. She smiled. She was pretty sure her stop would slow him down for the rest of the morning, if not the entire day. And that was all she could really ask for.

  She waited a minute, then checked the clock and realized it was definitely time to head to the station. She had some paperwork to file, and she wanted to check with Kellan to make sure she was still set for her vacation the following week.

  The drive back into Aspen Falls proper took her right past the recycling plant Bruce had been speeding toward before she stopped him. She slowed as she watched him unload the back of his truck, pulling out a large crate filled with old pipes. The topper’s back window was open, and she had a perfect view inside of it. She cocked her head, squinting as she tried to see inside.

  There we
re more pipes.

  She frowned.

  A lot more pipes.

  She didn’t stop, but as she drove back to the station she wondered about it. Bruce had said he was doing some renovations and was bringing in scrap metal to recycle. It wasn’t uncommon, especially in these parts. A lot of people in Aspen Falls were hardworking, resourceful. It was like it was bred into Minnesotans. A significant portion of the community was decidedly middle class and wouldn’t turn away from an opportunity to cash in, especially if it was just something lying around the house that didn’t serve much use anymore. There was a reason garage sale season started as soon as the snow melted, and often occupied not just the weekend days but spilled into weekdays, too. People were always looking for ways to make an extra buck, and Jess was sure that Bruce Lindell was no exception.

  But still, she thought as she drove through town, passing Lulu’s and Shorty’s and the sign for the hospital as she made her way toward the police station, that was an awful lot of pipe for one person to be hauling in. What kind of reno work is he doing? Tearing down his whole house?