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In Self Defense
by Debra Webb
Chapter One
Franklin County, Tennessee
Monday, February 25, 9:10 p.m.
The red and blue lights flashed in the night.
Audrey Anderson opened her car door and stepped out onto the gravel road. She grimaced and wished she’d taken time to change her shoes, but time was not an available luxury when the police scanner spit out the code for a shooting that ended in a call to the coroner. Good thing her dedicated editor, Brian Peterson, had his ear to the police radio pretty much 24/7 and immediately texted her.
The sheriff’s truck was already on-site, along with two county cruisers and the coroner’s van. So far no news vans and no cars that she noticed belonging to other reporters from the tri-county area. Strange, that cocky reporter from the Tullahoma Telegraph almost always arrived on the scene before Audrey. Maybe she had a friend in the department.
Then again, Audrey had her own sources, too. She reached back into the car for her bag. So far the closest private source she had was the sheriff himself—which was only because he still felt guilty for cheating on her back in high school.
Audrey was not above using that guilt whenever the need arose.
Tonight seemed like the perfect time to remind the man she’d once thought she would marry that he owed her one or two or a hundred.
She shuddered as the cold night air sent a shiver through her. Late February was marked by all sorts of lovely blooms and promises of spring, but it was all just an illusion. It was still winter and Mother Nature loved letting folks know who was boss. Like tonight—the gorgeous sixty-two-degree sunny day had turned into a bone-chilling evening. Audrey shivered, wishing she’d worn a coat to dinner.
Buncombe Road snaked through a farming community situated about halfway between Huntland and Winchester—every agricultural mile fell under the Franklin County Sheriff’s jurisdiction. The houses, mostly farmhouses sitting amid dozens if not hundreds of acres of pastures and fields, were scattered few and far between. But that wasn’t the surprising part of the location. This particular house and farm belonged to a Mennonite family. Rarely did violence or any other sort of trouble within this quiet, closed community ripple beyond its boundaries. Most issues were handled privately and silently. The Mennonites kept to themselves for the most part and never bothered anyone. A few operated public businesses within the local community, and most interactions were kept strictly within the business domain. There was no real intermingling or socializing within the larger community—not even Winchester, which was the county seat and buzzed with activity.
Whatever happened inside this turn-of-the-nineteenth-century farmhouse tonight was beyond the closed community’s ability to settle amid their own ranks.
Though Audrey had lived in Washington, DC, for the past ten years, she had grown up in this part of southern Tennessee. There had never been a murder among the Mennonites that she could recall. In fact, she was reasonably certain there had never been any violence involving one of them, unless the perpetrator was someone who had abandoned the Mennonite life. Even that was nearly unheard of.
Tucking her clutch bag under her arm, Audrey palmed her cell phone and shoved the car door shut with her hip. The four-inch heels she had chosen to wear to the Chamber of Commerce Business Awards Banquet dug into the gravel with each step she made. She sighed. Sacrifices were a part of getting the story. What was the loss of a pair of shoes if there was a nice spike in subscriptions?
For a newspaper, circulation—whether print or online—was everything.
She might be the owner, but she also had the most investigative experience, which meant she had to get out in the field—had to get her hands dirty. How else was she going to turn the Winchester Gazette around? She not only had to get the story, she had to uncover the story no one else unearthed. It helped considerably that her family had deep roots in Franklin County, knew God and everyone who lived within a fifty-mile radius of her hometown. More important, the sitting sheriff—his white cowboy hat came into view even as she thought of him—really did owe her.
He owed her big-time, and she intended to see that he never forgot.
She reached for the yellow crime scene tape draped from bare crepe myrtle to crepe myrtle along the front of the yard, raised it and ducked under it. As if he’d sensed the interloper at his crime scene, Sheriff Colton Tanner turned to watch her stride up the driveway, the headlights from the cluster of vehicles illuminating her path. It wasn’t necessary to see his eyes to know his gaze roamed from the top of her blond head down the peach-colored silk blouse and classic broomstick skirt she wore all the way to the sleek matching high heels that would be ruined after this outing. As if to confirm her assumption, he shook his head and cut off the deputy who had headed Audrey’s way, no doubt to inform her that she needed to stay outside the yellow tape perimeter.
Colt double-timed it down the steps and strode toward her. “Rey, you know you cannot be here.”
Rey. From the day she was brought home from the hospital everyone around here had called her Rey. That was the way of things in the South. Your name was either chopped in half for a nickname or you were called by both your first and middle. No one seemed capable of simply using a person’s given name.
“You have a body,” Audrey announced, one hand on her cocked hip as she peered up at the man who had shattered her naive heart at the ripe old age of seventeen. “I have a newspaper. Alone, neither one is particularly noteworthy. But the story of what actually happened can mean the difference between merely dead and murdered and, in the case of my newspaper, staying in business or going bankrupt. So, like you, Sheriff, I’m here for the story either way.”
His gray eyes filled with confusion that quickly morphed into sympathy. Audrey wanted to shake him and tell him she didn’t need his pity. She just needed the story. The old saying “if it bleeds, it leads” was far too true. Except right now she would take sympathy or whatever else it took to get the story. She was just as ruthless as any other reporter.
“Well.” He heaved out a breath and braced his hands on his lean hips, matching her stance. “Be that as it may, this is a crime scene, Rey. Police business.”
He shrugged those broad shoulders and flared his wide hands. Why oh why had she noticed his lean hips or his long legs or his broad shoulders? Or any of those other utterly masculine assets before recovering control of her wayward thoughts? Dear God, she was hopeless. Or maybe simply desperate. She’d been back in Winchester for over six months and she hadn’t had a single date. Hadn’t had one for as many months or more before the big move. Quite possibly the only thing wrong with her was nothing more than basic human need.
Whatever the case, she would not be fulfilling that need with this gorgeous cowboy. Not now or ever. They were over. All she needed was information and perhaps a look at the crime scene.
“I’m a reporter,” she argued. “I have an obligation to keep the community informed.”
“I understand that.” He raised a hand before she could interrupt his rebuttal. “But you can’t go showing up like this and crossing the perimeter—”
“Please.” She reached into her bag and retrieved disposable gloves. “I know my way around
a crime scene better than a single one of your deputies. I daresay,” she added as she met his weary gaze, “better than you.”
Audrey started forward once more. Her destination was the porch. Once she was on the porch she would pull on protective footwear and go right on inside. The door was open. The body was in there and most likely so was the person who pulled the trigger.
“All that research you’ve done as a big-city crime reporter is not impressing me here,” he protested, catching up to her after hesitating five or so seconds—no doubt just so he could watch her walk away. Some things never changed. “This is official police business, Rey. As much as I’d like to do you a favor, you cannot go in there.”
She stopped at the bottom of the wooden porch steps. “Are you saying you don’t trust me, Colt?”
The pained expression that pinched his handsome face gave her immense pleasure. It really was bad form to enjoy a little payback after all these years, but no one was perfect. When it came to Colt, she knew exactly which buttons to push. Though she’d only been back home for six months, she’d deduced very quickly where she stood with anyone important to her goal of saving the family newspaper. The sheriff was in the top five of that short list. Thankfully, their shared history made him a little easier to handle.
“Rey, you know that’s not it. We have official procedures about this sort of thing. I let you in there, evidence could be considered contaminated and my case would be jeopardized.”
She sighed as if the idea hadn’t once occurred to her. Rules of evidence, something else she knew very, very well. “Then tell me what’s going on and I’ll be more than happy to get out of your way.”
He issued another of those frustrated exhales as he glanced across the yard at the deputy who was supposed to be guarding the perimeter. Audrey suspected the poor guy was in for a dressing-down. Truth was, Colt didn’t have even one deputy who would deny her entrance onto any crime scene. Of course, this was the first shooting since she’d taken over the paper.
Not just a shooting; there was a deceased victim. Possibly a homicide.
“Sarah Sauder—she’s Melvin Yoder’s daughter,” Colt said with just enough reluctance to remind her she had forced him to make this confession, “shot and killed a man who broke into her house.”
“A robbery attempt?” The idea didn’t make a whole lot of sense considering the Mennonites weren’t exactly known for keeping valuable items that might be easily pawned or readily sold lying around the house.
Colt shrugged. “We don’t know anything yet. Burt’s having a look at the body now. You understand that part takes time. It might be a while before the body can be moved, and we’re collecting evidence in there.” He gestured toward the house as if she might not be following all he’d told her. “Maybe by noon or so tomorrow we’ll have some idea what happened here tonight.”
Burt Johnston was the county coroner and nearing eighty. Audrey seriously doubted he would take a minute longer than necessary, especially at this hour. Considering his age, getting a call at this time of night wouldn’t be something that prompted him to dally. As for the evidence, she had no intention of waiting for forensic reports. Absolutely not. Her goal was to splash this story on the front page of tomorrow morning’s edition.
“Why the delay in moving the body?” Usually the police liked getting the body out of the way once the scene was properly photographed and drawn. No need to keep the deceased—the key piece of evidence that deteriorated every second it remained at room temperature or exposed to the elements—amid the fray of fully processing a scene.
“We’ve got a call into Branch. We want him to have a look at the dead guy—the victim—before we do anything else.”
And now they arrived at the meat of the situation. Branch Holloway was a US marshal. Well, well, this wasn’t just any dead guy—this was a dead guy with some connection to the Feds. Maybe an escaped prisoner from one of Tennessee’s federal prisons. Or a fugitive from the most-wanted list. Her mind ticked off the numerous possibilities that would require the involvement of the Marshals Service.
She asked, “What’s the connection to the Sauders?”
Colt removed his hat and plowed his fingers through his hair, the tension in the set of his shoulders warning that he was losing his patience with her. “Sarah says she’s never seen him before. She woke up from a dead sleep, heard someone downstairs and did what she had to do to protect her family.”
Skeptical, Audrey asked, “Where’s her husband?”
“He’s on his way home. He was out of town. One of my deputies is inside with Sarah and her kids.”
“Did you ID the victim?”
A truck pulled into the yard alongside the sheriff’s. Big black crew cab with four-wheel drive. Branch Holloway.
Colt touched her arm. “I’m gonna need you to step back outside that yellow tape, Rey.”
Now that Branch was here, Colt had to go all cocky and by the book. Colt and Branch had been rivals since high school. Showing up your high school nemesis trumped giving a tip to the girl whose heart you broke any day of the week or, in this case, night.
“Anything else about this incident I can run in tomorrow’s edition?” She wasn’t leaving without something more—at least not willingly.
“Colt, what’s going on?” Branch removed his black Stetson as he approached. He gave her a nod. “Rey.”
“Marshal.” She returned his nod and smiled as if she’d been waiting all night for him to appear.
When she’d left home headed to college, one of the few things that had stuck with Audrey was the image of Branch Holloway. Back then he’d been a star quarterback for the Tennessee Volunteers. He’d graduated a couple of years before Colt and her. Like Colt, the man was the quintessential cowboy. She and her best friend Sasha had harbored secret crushes on Branch Holloway. His college football career had made him a real-life celebrity right here in Winchester.
Why couldn’t she have fallen in love with this cowboy?
But she hadn’t, and however much she’d lusted after Branch, her gaze shifted to Colt. Way back in eighth grade she’d promised to marry Colton Tanner as soon as they both graduated from college. They’d been boyfriend and girlfriend from seventh grade until he cheated on her with her archnemesis near the end of senior year. A blast of fury burned through her even now. She’d wasted all that time only to have her heart shattered. As if she’d telegraphed those thoughts to the man responsible for all her pain, Colt met her glare, and she could see the regret in his gray eyes.
Colt Tanner and Branch Holloway had been the hottest, most popular guys in school. Colt had the coal-black hair and pale gray eyes. Branch was blond with gold eyes. He and Branch were both tall and athletic; still were nearly two decades later. Both had been hometown heroes. Except Colt was a cheater. Damn him.
“Well, I’ll let you gentlemen get back to business.”
Both tipped their hats at her and bid a good night like true Southern gentlemen.
Audrey turned and marched to the end of the sidewalk and then back down the gravel drive, cringing with each slide of a leather heel between the crushed rocks. She would snap a few photos and hurry back to the paper to update the front page. The Future Farmers of America’s upcoming annual pig-catching contest would have to be moved to page two.
By the time she found the perfect angle for a photo of the house and the crime scene tape, Colt and Branch had gone into the house. Audrey took a few more shots with her cell phone and headed to her car.
“Hey there, Miss Anderson.”
She hesitated as she reached for the door. Deputy Calvin Stevens grinned at her.
“I guess the full moon brought out the crazies tonight,” he said.
“Guess so.” She leaned against the door and waited as he came closer. Cal was a big flirt. If he’d been inside the house she might be able to get a little more for her story. She
glanced around. How odd that no other reporters had shown up yet. “But it looks like I’m the only one who arrived to watch all the fun,” she teased, scanning the road in both directions. “I haven’t seen another reporter.”
“Sarah Sauder’s daddy called the sheriff direct and the sheriff called the coroner. They wanted to keep this quiet.” Cal grinned. “I figured the sheriff called you personally.”
Well, well. So how did Brian hear about this? Maybe he was the one with the real source in the sheriff’s department. “I’ll never tell,” she said with a wink.
“You probably saw this kind of thing all the time in the big city.” Cal gave her a look that said he’d made it his business to learn a whole lot of things about her. “I heard about all those awards you won.” The deputy leaned against her car, close enough for her to smell his freshly applied aftershave. Did he keep a bottle in the glove box of his county cruiser?
“I spent a lot of time in the field.” The statement wasn’t really an answer to his question, but she suspected he wouldn’t notice. He was making conversation with the newest single lady in town. A small-town tradition.
“The sheriff says you trained with cops all over the country.”
Only a slight exaggeration, taken directly from the bio on her website. “Wherever the story took me, I immersed myself in the community, including law enforcement.”
Cal chuckled. “Is it true you helped to capture a serial rapist?”
“I did.” The story had won her the esteemed Courage in Journalism Award. “I was following up on a victim who had survived an attack by the elusive killer when he came back to finish what he’d started.”
Audrey had connected with the victim. She’d felt at ease talking to Audrey when she didn’t feel comfortable talking to the police. The younger woman had called, said she felt like someone had been watching her for a couple of days. Audrey had urged her to call the police but she refused. What else was there to do but go over to her house and try to help? Still, she had no intention of becoming a victim herself. En route she’d called the detective assigned to the case and let him know what was happening.
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