Jack stepped out directly in front of him. “Whoa, there,” he said, steadying the kid when he yelped in surprise and nearly fell. “Easy, Tommy. I just want to talk to you.”

“I didn’t do nothing,” the boy said, panting heavily.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say the improvements to my cruiser are nothing. They turned my poor little wannabe into a real truck.”

Tommy’s eyes widened in surprise, and he suddenly plopped down in the snow to catch his breath. “How come you ain’t winded?” he asked.

“I don’t even work up a sweat running through the woods.” Jack hunched down in front of him. “I have a proposition for you, Tom, and you only have tonight to think about it, because I want your answer tomorrow morning before you head off to school.”

“What sort of proposition?”

“I burned up the engine in my new snowmobile, and I want you to fix it.”

“You do? Me? Why?”

“Because you can. And if you get it purring like a kitten again, I can get you a mechanic’s job at Pine Creek PowerSports.”

Tommy snorted. “Dempsey won’t hire me. I already tried to get a job from him last summer. I offered to sweep floors and wash windows, but he wouldn’t even talk to me. He sure as hell won’t let me near any of his sleds or ATVs.”

“He will now, if you can get my snowmobile running smoothly. And if you do right by him all spring, you’ll have a full-time position once you graduate.”

A spark of interest blossomed in Tommy’s eyes. “Why would he hire me now, when he wouldn’t before?”

“Because I have more pull than you do. Being chief of police has its perks, and I’m not above using my badge to my advantage.”

“Then why are you doing this for me?”

“Because I can.”

He shook his head. “Why should I trust you?”

“Because you have only two choices. One way gets you a weekly paycheck and respectability; the other gets you room and board at the county jail. You’re not a juvenile anymore, Tom. If you get caught for your crimes, not matter how harmless they are, you’ll pay adult consequences. Then who’s going to help your mom deal with your brothers?”

“You’ve talked to my mom?” he squeaked.

“No. And I don’t intend to unless you force my hand.” Jack stood up. “This will stay just between us, providing the pranks stop. Be in my office at seven tomorrow morning with your answer.”

“Wait!” Tommy said, also standing up. “I need to know why you’re doing this!” He ran to catch up with Jack. “You don’t even know me.”

“Yes, I do,” Jack told him. “I was you, except my stunts weren’t nearly as creative.”

“What stunts?” Tommy asked, back to being suspicious.

“The Fart Gallery?” Jack said with a chuckle. “Let me ask you something, Tom,” he said, turning serious. “When you and your brothers were working on my cruiser, did you see anyone nosing around, three camps down from my house? Or did you see or hear anything unusual? A snowmobile on the lake, maybe a car driving away?”

Tommy stepped over a fallen log, then gave Jack a sidelong glance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered.

“This is important,” Jack told him, veering onto a game trail so the walking was easier. “Somebody broke into Megan MacKeage’s house, and there was a lot of damage.”

“It wasn’t us!” Tommy yelped.

“I know it wasn’t. But I sure could use your help finding out who it was.”

Tommy walked beside him in silence for several hundred yards. “We did see a car parked at the end of the camp road. It had New York plates on it, and the windows had iced up, so we knew it had only been sitting there a short while, because they wouldn’t have fogged up if it had been there all day. But we didn’t see anyone around or hear anything.”

“What make and model was it?” Jack asked, heading down the lane toward the school.

“Lincoln Town Car, 2006. White. It had a rental sticker on the bumper,” he told Jack, just as the school bus passed them. “Damn, I missed my bus.”

“Not a problem,” Jack said, giving him a friendly slap on the back. “I’ll give you a ride home in my cruiser.”

Chapter Twenty

A fter dropping Tom off, Jack drove to TarStone Mountain Ski Resort. He slowly rumbled up and down the parking lot looking for a white Lincoln, then drove up to the entrance of the three-story hotel. He asked the horrified doorman to leave his cruiser where it was parked, stepped inside the bustling lobby, and walked past the line of patrons at the registry desk.

“Is Greylen MacKeage available?” he asked the clerk who spotted his badge and came over.

“No, sir, he’s not. But Callum MacKeage is available. Or I could page his brother, Morgan, if you prefer.”

Jack didn’t want to go to Gù Brath and chance running into Megan. “I’ll speak with Callum, thank you. Would you please call Greylen and ask him to come over here? And also give me a printout of your guest list that would include what they’re driving?”

“I don’t know if I’m supposed to do that, sir.”

“I’ll handle this, Derek. Thank you,” a gentleman said as he appeared in a doorway behind the counter. “Chief Stone, if you would come this way,” he offered. “And bring me that printout he requested, would you, Derek?”

Jack strode around the counter and walked past what could only be another giant MacKeage, though this one appeared to be several years Greylen’s senior. He looked as if he should have retired fifteen or twenty years ago, but here he was in a suit and tie, his physique that of a much younger man, his eyes sharp with intelligence.

What in hell was in the water around here?

“Chief,” the man said, extending his hand. “I’m Greylen’s cousin, Callum MacKeage.”

Jack shook his hand. “Call me Jack, please. It’s good to meet yet another member of Megan’s family. I asked your clerk to call Greylen to come here.”

“I already called him when Derek told me you were here. Grey’s on his way, and so is Morgan, his brother. Do ye have some news for us about Megan’s burglar?”

“I have a description of the car he was driving, and I’d like to see if he’s registered here.”

The door to the office opened and another giant walked in, this one a few years younger than Greylen. Jack decided he was bottling up the water from his well and selling it as a growth elixir.

“Chief,” the man said, extending his hand. “Morgan MacKeage, Megan’s uncle. Have you caught my niece’s burglar?”

Jack shook his hand. “Please call me Jack. As I was just explaining to Callum, I found out what the guy is driving, and I’m assuming he’s staying here.”

“Why?” Callum asked. “There are other hotels in town.”

“Because this is where I would stay if my target’s family conveniently owned a hotel.”

Both men narrowed their eyes at him. Jack sat down without waiting for an invitation, and looked around. He realized Callum had brought him to Grey’s office when he saw the pictures of all the girls when they were young. He stood up and walked over to look at one in particular.

“This is Megan. How old is she here?”

“Nine,” Morgan said, coming to stand beside him. “She’s sitting on Lancelot.” He waved at the wall of seven individual pictures of Grey’s seven daughters on horseback. “Each girl was given a draft horse for her fifth birthday. Their uncle Ian had a passion for the big, docile beasts.”

“I don’t believe I’ve met Ian,” he said, studying the other photos, immediately picking out Camry. Even as a kid, Jack could see she was a hellion.

“No, you haven’t. Ian left us nearly three years ago.”

“Sorry,” he murmured.

The door opened and Greylen walked in, carrying a computer printout. “What’s up, Stone?” he asked, walking around his desk and sitting down. “Ye have some good news for us?”

“No, I’m hoping you do,” Jack said, sitting across from him. “I’m looking for a guest of yours who would be driving a late-model, white Lincoln Town Car with New York plates.”