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Heartland Illusions

By Helen Gray

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Chapter 1

“Hot diggety! I feel great tonight.” The wooden head of the small figure rotated back and forth, as if surveying the theater audience as she perched on the stool at center stage.
“That’s good.” Heather Fleming flipped her long blond hair back over her shoulders and hooked her right heel over the bottom rung of the stool to perch with the dummy she called Ricky on her lap. He wore red coveralls, a red and white plaid shirt, and cowboy boots.
His hand moved in a sweeping arc. “Look at all those people who came to see me.”
Heather frowned. “They came to see both of us, and the rest of the cast.”
“I’m the biggest star in Branson,” the dummy bragged, his cowboy hat slipping down toward one ear.
“Don’t be such an egotist,” she scolded, manipulating the controls inside his back to make his eyes blink and his brows lift.
“I’m so popular I got three invitations today.”
Heather’s neck arched back, and her mouth tightened. “From who?”
“One from the school principal, one from a neighbor, and one from the Traffic Court.” He looked away from her to gawk at the crowd.
Brows scrunched, she sighed in exasperation. “How fast were you going this time?”
“Oh, about three hundred billboards per hour.”
“Ricky! You know what the traffic is like here in Branson, Missouri, during tourist season.”
“Yep. It’s bumper to bumper bedlam in the summer.” He leaned forward and winked at a young girl in the first row.
As she continued their dialogue, Heather spied a uniformed policeman standing at the back of the theater, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Curdles of dread swirled in her stomach. Please, Lord, don’t let anyone else be hurt.
She forced her attention back to her wooden-headed pal. Their wisecracking ventriloquist routine ended with a song accompanied by a sound track on which Heather had dubbed her voice singing harmony on the last two lines of the lyrics. With both Ricky’s and her mouth moving, the illusion of a duet held the audience in open-mouthed fascination. When they finished the routine, she made a quick exit from the stage as Britt, her oldest brother, stepped to the microphone to emcee the show and keep it moving.
Backstage, Heather plunked Ricky in his suitcase and made a quick change into a long white dress with a sequined bodice that matched the one worn by Shannon Kendall, the girl at the glossy black Steinway piano. Then she slipped unobtrusively back onstage to stand nearby.
When Shannon went to center stage to sing a solo, Heather took her place on the piano bench. Over the top of the instrument, she noted the policeman edging his way from one side of the doorway to the other, and then back, as if studying the crowd. Her heart clutched. Something was definitely wrong.
Forcing her attention back to business, Heather immersed herself in the music and pushed the cop from her mind. Her toes tapped to the lively beat as her hands skimmed over the keyboard, loving the feel of the smooth ivory. In addition to her and Shannon, the show cast consisted of her three brothers—Britt, Nick, and Cody—on drums, guitar, and the microphone—and two young men who were not family members played fiddle and banjo.
Tall and elegant, Shannon moved about the stage, her chestnut hair swinging at her shoulders as she belted out a lively country tune. The sight of her best friend brought the ever-present rush of guilt. Shannon had overcome so much since her accident.
Heather couldn't help but think how much easier Shannon's life would be if she met a man who would love her like she deserved. She had so much to offer—determination, gentleness, strength, and compassion. But Shannon didn’t seem interested in finding a husband. Heather feared she meant to remain single because of her handicap.
She had to take care of Shannon. Not sure how to go about it, Heather renewed her determination to nudge Shannon toward marriage. She owed her.
She and Shannon had just changed into comfortable street clothes when a sharp rap sounded on the dressing room door. “Heather, I need you in the office,” Britt called through it.
“Can’t it wait? Shannon and I were planning to go shopping.”
Shannon waved a hand in dismissal. “I can wait. It sounds urgent. Go see what he wants.”
“Okay, okay, I’m coming.” Heather slid into her shoes and opened the door. Britt turned and, in long quick strides, rushed through the popcorn-scented lobby. Late-day sunshine filtered through the glass front doors before he elbowed through a door labeled OFFICE.
Inside the large combination office and workroom, Heather came to an abrupt stop at the sight of the police officer sitting in the chair near Britt’s cluttered desk.
He came to his feet. About six feet tall, his hair was an unusual ash color, cropped close in a typical law enforcement cut. His dark cool gaze seemed to bore right through her.
Heather blinked and caught her breath. Up close this guy was a stunner. She squelched the impulse to tell him so.
He wore a Branson Police Department uniform, dark pants with a blue stripe down the legs, and a dark shirt with a shiny badge on the left side. Around his waist was a wide black belt that held a service revolver and more police equipment.
“Let’s have a seat.” Britt rounded his desk and dropped into the chair behind it. “Officer Cassidy, this is Heather. She serves as our secretary as well as performing in the show.”
“I enjoyed your routine with your little…uh, pal,” the officer said, extending a hand. His voice vibrated with a husky timbre that pleased her musical ear.
She extended a hand. “Thank you, Officer.” She withdrew the hand quickly and darted across the room to grab the back of the chair from behind her own tidy desk and roll it over next to Britt’s. She sat facing the handsome cop who made her feel downright edgy. Probably because he was too good looking to be one.
“May I help you?” She tried to sound casual while attempting to disassociate the memories of that horrible time when two officers had come to tell her about Shannon's accident.
“We’ve had several people report unauthorized charges on their credit cards. The common denominator is that they attended your show and bought items with their credit cards.” There was an edge to his words.
The implications stunned her. If people bought things with a credit card, it would be from the gift shop. Defensive, she spoke stiffly. “I sometimes help in the concessions and the gift shop. I can’t believe anyone in either department would be dishonest like that.”
“I never said that you personally have done anything wrong.” He glanced over at Britt, and then back at her. “People who purchased items here later found fraudulent charges on their statements.”
“They probably attended a lot of the shows on the strip,” she pointed out.
“But this is the only one that all six people with complaints attended."
Heather grimaced in dismay. “How could such a thing happen?”
Britt spoke up. “Do you think it's skimmers?”
She stared at her brother. “What are you talking about?”
“A skimmer is a device that will record a customer’s credit card information from the magnetic strip on the back of their credit cards."
Heather considered that for a moment. “Most of the workers here are students or low skilled help. I can’t imagine any of them doing something like that.”
“How many employees do you have who handle such transactions?” the officer asked.
“Most any of us can do it,” Heather said before Britt could provide any names. “We all have access.”
"I need to know who they are."
She flashed him her mega-watt smile, refusing to be intimidated. “Can you give us the dates those six people attended our show so I can check our payroll records and see who was on duty at those times?”
The officer eased back in the chair and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He handed it to her. “Here’s a list. Do you mind checking now?”
Heather opened it and frowned. “This doesn’t look right.”
He held out a hand, and she returned it. He looked at it and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’ve picked up the wrong list. Will either of you be here in the morning if I come back then?”
“I will,” Heather said. “We don’t do a matinee on Friday, so Britt may not be around that early.”
He hesitated. “You do an evening show on Fridays, right?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“I’m on duty tomorrow, but I have a friend bringing his wife and small son to visit in the afternoon. Maybe I should bring them to your show. The boy would like your dummy.”
Britt reached into a desk drawer, withdrew something and extended it across the desk. “Here are some complimentary passes. Bring your friends as our guests.”
Officer Cassidy shook his head. “That’s a nice gesture. Why don’t you hang onto them for Jared and his wife? I’ll buy my own ticket.” He stood. “See you in the morning.”
Heather’s brain spun as the officer went out the door. Common sense said there was truth in the charge he had made. She even suspected which employee the police wanted. But she didn’t want to believe it.
Britt gave her a big-brother glower. “You can’t ignore this, you know.”
She exhaled a long sigh. “I know, I know. But it’s late. Can’t we leave it ‘til morning?”
He rounded the desk. “Take Shannon shopping and think it through. I’ll meet you here in the morning.”
He started to leave, but paused in the doorway. “Heather, don’t let your soft heart blind you to the realities of life. You’re passionate about the things and people you love. You’re stubborn and think you can protect them, but that’s not always possible. Things are not always what they seem. You, of all people, should understand that.”
She got his point. As a ventriloquist, she created an illusion all the time. Someone on the staff could be fooling her. Her brothers often warned her about being too trusting.
Britt gave her a measured look. “I saw the way you and that cop measured one another. Don't deny that his sharp looks didn’t appeal to you.”
Heather’s quicksilver mood brightened. Britt saw her as his special charge, treating her with fatherly care and indulgence. She had always known he loved her and was there for her, and had adored him in return. In fact, she would rather be working and spending time with him than any man she had ever met. Even if she intended to marry—which she didn’t—no one could measure up to her brothers, especially this oldest one.
“I’ll be here early,” she promised with a grin.
*
Gage Cassidy sat facing his captain across the desk. In his early fifties, Captain Belmont was lean, tanned, and had barely enough hair to cover his scalp. He picked up a stained coffee mug, started to drink from it, and realized it was empty. He grimaced and set it down.
“What did you learn about our local skimming operation?”
Gage shrugged. “Not much. I spoke to Britt Fleming, the owner of the theater, and he seemed genuinely surprised. He brought in their secretary, since she handles their paperwork.”
He had been surprised when the secretary turned out to be the little blond ventriloquist. Wearing a light pink top and comfortable jeans instead of her sequined stage costume, she had looked more like a high school teeny bopper than a crook. But appearances could be deceiving. She was in a perfect position to operate such a scam.
“Was she helpful?”
“I’m not sure if she’s involved, or if she’s just too naïve to suspect others.”
In his mind he pictured her slight frame—probably no more than five foot two and a little over a hundred pounds—bright green eyes, and long hair that feathered away from her face in layers of streaky gold. Maybe she was innocent. If so, she needed a little time to absorb the shock of learning that someone in her little world could take advantage of them.
“What’s your take on her?” Belmont pulled a toothpick from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. He chewed on the things all the time.
“She looks young and innocent, but that doesn’t mean anything. She promised to check their employee records and see who was on duty in the gift shop on the dates our six complainants attended their show. I’m going back in the morning to see what she’s found.”
She had struck him as a bit idealistic—even gullible. But if she was not involved, she was bound to be curious. She and the boss would do some serious research. Was she more than just a secretary to the man? Office conquest? Nah. Probably his wife. The reputation of the theater was that ‘churchy’ people ran it. Not that it mattered. If he found that they—any of them—were involved in this scam, he would do his job and make a case against them.
*
The next morning Heather stopped for donuts on the way to the office, but neither the extra dose of sugar nor the brilliant May sunshine ending the dreary rain made up for the lousy night’s sleep. As she booted the computer, the television announcer was predicting rising temperatures and no more showers all week. She didn’t look up from the employee records on the screen as Britt entered the room. “Coffee’s made.”
“What’s the word?”
Heather could hear him clunking around and pouring coffee. She looked up when he took a seat behind his desk. “I found…”
A rap at the door interrupted her.
Britt set his mug down. “Come in.”
Officer Cassidy stepped inside, white teeth flashing in a smile. “Good morning.”
He looked youthful and boyish, as good as he looked yesterday, but Heather read maturity and experience in him. Wondering if a warm human being hid beneath that tough cop exterior, she hit the print button.
“Have a seat.” Britt nodded at the printer. “I think Heather has some information for you.”
The officer glanced at the humming printer and took the indicated chair. “Have you found anything helpful?”
“I think so.” The sight of him caused a quickening in her midsection and a skittering of her pulse. She took a deep breath. “I had a hard time thinking someone who works here could be mixed up in a scheme like you described.”
He nodded. “I understand. What do you think now?”
“I’m not sure. I hope none of our employees are involved, but I’ve made a list of them, including names, addresses and phone numbers.” She pulled the sheet of paper from the printer and handed it to him.
“We don’t have a large staff,” she continued. “We have some students who work as ushers and in the concessions, but they’re part time and never handle money, at least not credit card payments. An older lady, Patty Dawson, runs our ticket office and oversees the concessions. She also helps out in the gift shop in emergencies, but she’s a member of our church, and I trust her implicitly.”
She paused before naming the last one. “Camille Randall manages the gift shop. But, as I said before, I personally help out there and anywhere else in the theater when necessary.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over this, little sister,” Britt said, reading the distress in her voice. “I’m the one who hired her.”
Heather saw the officer’s eyes dart to her, and then return to Britt. Not sure why, she wished Britt hadn't mentioned their sibling relationship. Too bad she couldn’t swat him.
The officer glanced down at the list and pulled a pen from his pocket. He drew a circle around Camille's address. “I’ll do some checking.”
“This doesn’t mean that Camille is guilty of anything,” Heather pointed out in quick defense. “She’s just the one with the most opportunity.”
He looked up. “You’re the entertainer with the rosy outlook, and I’m just the jaded cop. I don’t have a search warrant, but I’d like to examine the gift shop if you’ll allow it.”
Britt and Heather exchanged glances. He shrugged and shoved his chair back. “I don’t know what good it’ll do, but you’re welcome to look.”
Heather followed them to the shop area. While she and Britt stood in front of the counter, Officer Cassidy went behind it and looked around. As she watched him, her initial impression of him softened. Dealing with the roughest elements of society had undoubtedly made him cynical.
He went to the credit card machine on a work shelf in the back corner. “This is what I wanted to see. To use it, the clerk blocks the customer’s view. It wouldn’t be difficult to make a second swipe with a skimmer.”
“I see what you mean,” Heather allowed. “But that doesn’t mean it was done.”
“No, ma’am, it doesn’t,” the officer said, turning to face her. “But, combined with the evidence we have, it says it’s very likely. If there’s even the possibility, we have to investigate. And you need to protect your customers.”
Heather sighed. “I know. I guess I’m just making excuses because I hate that people are being victimized and don't want to believe that someone we trusted could have done such a thing.”
“I won’t charge anyone without proof, and I’ll do all I can to keep the investigation from hurting your business.” Unless you’re guilty, his tone implied.
“We appreciate that,” Britt said. “If the media gets hold of a story like that, people might blame us for something we knew nothing about.”
The officer nodded. “How well do you know your shop manager?”
Heather thought about it. “I guess not very well on a personal level I mean. She reports to work when she’s expected, and she handles her duties efficiently.”
“So far as we know,” Britt added.
“How long has she worked for you?”
“This is her second season with us.” Britt glanced at Heather for corroboration.
She nodded. “She was hired last March.”
“Is she married? Does she have family in the area? Can you describe her for me?” The officer had his little notebook and pen ready.
“She’s twenty eight, divorced with no children. As for her appearance, she’s about five six and has long dark hair and dark eyes.”
“Thank you. I’ll drive out and pay the lady a visit.” He stuck his notes in his pocket.
Heather watched him leave, feeling an odd tug of confusion. He was so handsome that she couldn’t understand why he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Or why she was noticing such a thing. She didn’t have time to stand around mooning after a cop.
That afternoon she and Shannon were backstage getting ready for the evening show when a grim faced Britt joined them. With a jerk of his head and a silent finger motion, he signaled that he wanted to see Heather—alone.
“Did you two spend every penny you had yesterday?” he asked aloud, obviously not wanting Shannon to know anything was amiss.
Shannon looked up from tying her shoe. “Yep. How about a raise?”
He laughed. “Then you would just spend more. Listen,” he said more seriously. “I need Heather’s help to find a file.”
Shannon waved them away. “Go on and let me work in peace.”
Heather laughed, but she was tense. “Don’t worry about Ricky and my clothes. I’ll be right back to take care of them.”
Only when they were in the privacy of the office did Britt speak. “Camille hasn’t shown up for work or called, and she was due thirty minutes ago.”
Heather’s heart sank. She had hoped Camille would arrive and prove herself innocent. The woman had always seemed pleasant enough. If she was sick, or if she had been arrested, she surely would have called. Maybe it was time to adjust the trust factor.
“I’ll call Patty and see if she can come in early and open the shop. By the time she has to open the ticket booth, I should be able to find someone else to take over. If necessary, Brenda or Kevin can take care of it after they finish their ushering duties.” The two students had been with them the past three seasons.
“Okay, Sis, just cover it. Then, if your cop friend shows up tonight, we’ll see what he can tell us.”

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