Shepherds Abiding in Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad

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      “And be sure and invite the children to Sunday school,” Mrs. Hargrove added. She seemed resigned to the fact that someone needed to ask the hard questions. “I’ve been meaning to go over there with an invitation myself. It just always seems to be snowing every time I think of it, and you know how slippery the streets are when that happens.”

      “This is a criminal investigation. I’m not going to invite anyone to Sunday school.”

      Mrs. Hargrove looked at him. “It’s the best place for someone to be if they’ve been stealing. I noticed you weren’t in church yourself last Sunday.”

      “One of my horses threw a shoe and I needed to fix it. You know I’m always there if I can be.” Les had come to faith when he was a boy and he lived his commitment. Quietly, of course, but he figured God knew how he felt about public displays of emotion. And even if he didn’t dance around and shout hallelujah from the rooftops, he was steady in his faith.

      “We miss you in the choir.”

      “I haven’t sung in the choir since I was sixteen.”

      Mrs. Hargrove nodded. “You still have that voice, though. It’s deeper now, but it’s just as good. It’s a sin to waste a voice like that.”

      Les had quit the choir when people started to pay too much attention to his singing.

      “The Bible doesn’t say a man needs to be in the choir.” Or perform in any other public way, Les added to himself. “It’s okay to be a quiet man.”

      “I know. And you’re a good man, Lester Wilkerson. Quiet or not.”

      He winced. “Make that Les. Lester sounds like my father.”

      The church had been a home for Les from the day he decided to accept a neighbor’s invitation to attend. It was the one place his parents never went, and Les felt he could be himself there.

      “I don’t know why you never liked the name Lester,” Mrs. Hargrove continued. “It’s a good old-fashioned name. It’s not biblical, of course, but it’s been the name of many good men over the years.”

      “I like Les better. Les Wilkerson.”

      How did he tell someone like Mrs. Hargrove that he had loved his parents, but he had never respected them? He had never wanted to be his father’s son, so he saw no reason to take his first name as well as his last.

      Les was a better name for a rancher than Lester, anyway, he thought. He’d changed his name shortly after he’d signed the deed for his place. He had been twenty years old, and that deed had marked his independence from his parents. The name Les helped him begin a new life.

      Linda handed him a white bag filled with doughnuts. “I put in some extra jelly ones. Kids always like the jelly ones.”

      “I wonder if that XIX on the note is the edition number on that bake set,” Charley said.

      “Maybe it’s a clue,” Elmer offered. “Is there something that is ten, one and then ten?”

      “An X sometimes stands for a kiss,” Linda said. “You know when people sign their letters XOXO—kisses and hugs.”

      “I doubt anyone was thinking of kisses.” Les figured he didn’t have all morning to guess what the numbers meant. Not when he had people to question.

      “You might ask the woman to come have dinner with you some night here,” Mrs. Hargrove said as Les started to walk to the door. “Just to be sociable. Sort of show her around town.”

      “Nobody needs a map to get around this town. There’s only the one street.”

      Ever since Charley and Mrs. Hargrove had managed to match up their two children, they had been itching to try their new matchmaking skills on someone else. Well, it wasn’t going to be him.

      Les would find his own wife when he wanted one and he would do it when no one was watching. He might even have gotten around to asking the new woman out eventually if people had left him alone. She seemed quiet and he liked that. Her brown hair was a very ordinary color. No streaks of auburn. No beauty-parlor waves. It was just always plain and neatly combed when he saw her. She didn’t even wear those dangling earrings that always made him feel a woman was prone to changing her opinions from one minute to the next. All in all, he believed, she would be predictable and that was good. Les didn’t want an unpredictable wife.

      Yes, Marla Gossett might very well have suited him.

      Now, of course, he couldn’t ask her out. It would be pointless; she’d never accept. Not when he was going to be knocking at her door in a couple of minutes to ask if her daughter was a thief. Only a fool would ask for a date after that, and one thing Les prided himself on was never being a fool.

      It was a pity, though. These days Les didn’t meet that many quiet women who looked as if they’d make sensible wives. He’d noticed when he saw her in the hardware store that she was a sensible dresser, right down to the shoes she wore. Because of his father, he paid particular attention to a woman’s shoes. They told a man a great deal. Still, everything about Mrs. Gossett had seemed practical that day, from her washable cardigan to her well-worn knit pants.

      Most men liked a lot of flash in their women. But Les figured the quieter the better. He never really trusted a woman with flash.

      Les wondered, just for a moment, if it would be worthwhile to let Mrs. Gossett know he was single, just in case she ever started to wonder about him the way he was wondering about her.

      Then he shook his head. He didn’t want to chase after an impossible dream. He didn’t even know Mrs. Gossett and she didn’t know him. What he did know were the reasons he wasn’t likely to get to know her. He had to just let the thought go.

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