by Webb, Debra
He looked at the rug on the floor in front of the door, then traced the path to where the body lay. Other than the dead woman, there was nothing whatsoever to suggest foul play. It was just too clean.
This was the rub that chaffed at Garrett. The entire scene felt wrong. Considering that nothing was missing—at least nothing that Mr. Hansen had noticed so far beyond the potential murder weapon—this had to be personal.
If that was the case, the real question was who had a grudge against Dottie Hansen? And why didn’t her husband know about it? The couple spent most of their time together. Garrett saw them around town, always together. Saw them at church together. As far as he knew, the only time they were apart was when the husband had a pick up or delivery to make. He wasn’t the main driver for the auction house. More a backup driver.
Whatever happened here sometime after Hansen spoke to his wife by phone, there would be a motive. Probably a secret or two.
“Sheriff.”
Garrett moved toward the coroner, crouched down next to him. “You find something?”
“Maybe.” He pointed to the victim’s throat which was visible now that the body had been moved onto its back. “See that fine red line there?”
“I do.” Garrett studied the fine line. “It’s too insignificant to be a ligature mark, wouldn’t you say?”
“Not a ligature for sure, more like from a necklace or something she was wearing around her neck. Her killer may have yanked a necklace from her.”
Maybe there was something missing after all.
Garrett leaned a little closer. “I think you’re right. Mr. Hansen didn’t mention a necklace, but I’ll ask him about the possibility.” Garrett frowned. “Is she wearing make-up?” Despite the lividity caused by having died lying face down and staying that way all those hours, her lips were ruby red, her cheeks almost clownish. Seemed strange for a woman with no plans other than to go to bed. He’d never seen Mrs. Hansen made up like this at any time.
“Certainly seems odd under the circumstances,” Taylor commented, voicing Garrett’s thoughts.
Everyone had their own little fetishes. “I’ll ask Mr. Hansen if this is something she usually did.”
“What really bothers me,” Taylor said, his brow furrowed, “is the lack of blood. Doesn’t seem like nearly enough considering the violent manner of death.”
“I noticed.” Garrett shrugged. “Thought maybe there was more of it under her.” But there wasn’t. “What’s your estimate on time of death?”
“I’d say between midnight and two this morning, but it’s a difficult call considering her body has been outside in these cold temps.”
“Thanks.” Garrett stood. “If you find anything else, I want to hear it ASAP.”
“You’ll know as soon as I know,” Taylor assured him.
Wagner met Garrett as he rounded the front corner of the house. “Sheriff, should I take a ride over to the Gray residence? See if she heard anything? Out here along Mill Creek Road, sound carries in the dark.”
His deputy was correct. The road was sparsely populated, sound would carry, particularly at night. Then Garrett frowned. “The Gray residence is unoccupied,” he reminded his deputy. Abbey hadn’t been home since her father died. Maybe she had someone staying in the house.
“I think she just arrived late yesterday,” Wagner explained. “My wife spoke to her during her drive here.”
A familiar tension rifled through Garrett. “Are you talking about Abbey Gray?”
Wagner nodded. “I figured you knew. She’ll be here for a few days, maybe a couple of weeks, getting the house ready to go on the market.” His forehead furrowed. “You know, my wife’s a realtor.”
“Abbey’s selling the place?”
Again, Wagner nodded. “As soon as Abbey clears the place out, it’s going on the market. I guess with her daddy gone and her living in New York, she’s ready to be rid of the property. She mentioned the insurance company was giving her a hard time because the house has been empty for a while now.”
The look on his deputy’s face said loudly and clearly that he was surprised Garrett didn’t know any of this.
“My wife said her daddy left everything to Abbey. I guess he disowned his son or something.”
“Guess so,” Garrett agreed. He hadn’t known that part either, but he’d assumed as much.
A thought had adrenaline firing in his veins. Houses were a good distance apart in this area, but if Mrs. Hanover’s killer was desperate enough, he may have sought another house to hit when he didn’t find whatever he was looking for. Garrett should get over there and check on Abbey.
How the hell could she be here and not have told him?
They’d been friends since they were kids. Best friends. She’d always called him when she was in town. They’d have lunch or coffee.
“I’ll take a ride over to the Gray place,” Garrett said. “Make sure everything’s okay over there.”
“My wife spoke to her not long after we got the call,” Wagner said. “She called to tell me I needed to pick up the kids after school. Before I could tell her about the murder, she mentioned speaking to Abbey. Otherwise, I would have gone by there already.”
“Won’t hurt to follow up,” Garrett offered. “Like you said, sound carries at night. Maybe she heard something and has no idea what it was about.”
Wagner gave him a nod and they both stepped aside as the gurney carrying Mrs. Hansen rolled past. Lionel Hansen appeared at the front door. He descended the few steps and followed the body of his wife away from their home for the last time.
Garrett decided he would ask Hansen about the possibility of a necklace later today. He strode to his truck and climbed in. The realization that he hadn’t heard from Abbey in months—no a year plus a couple of months—suddenly dawned on him. He shouldn’t have allowed this much time to go by without sending her a text message or calling.
She’d taken her father’s death hard. Her grandparents had lived well into their eighties and she’d expected her healthy dad to do the same. Garrett had done all he could to help her with her father’s arrangements and anything she’d needed before and after the funeral. Still, he should have followed up later.
He turned the truck around and drove toward the road. He had idolized Abbey for as long as he could remember. Their relationship couldn’t really be defined by calling it a mere friendship. There had been more, far more. But they’d always flitted just outside the boundaries of that something more. Like moths avoiding the heat of the flames. But he had always known she would be there—as his friend—no matter where she lived.
Had that changed somehow since her father’s death?
Should he have done more to stay in contact? She’d been so busy with her latest book release and all the travel; he hadn’t wanted to intrude. He’d kept up with her travels and all the accolades for her books. She’d made the top ten of the New York Times Best Seller List again. He’d been so proud of her.
Now there was talk of a movie. A smile tugged at his lips.
She had to be over the moon and far too busy to bother with calling a friend from her past. Maybe it was the notoriety that had changed things. She was rushing toward stardom and he was just the same old guy he’d always been.
If he was able to spend some time with her while she was here, would this be the last time? Particularly since she was selling the homeplace. She would have no reason to come back to Montana, much less Park County. The weight on his chest sank heavily against his sternum.
She’d been gone for twelve years—since the day she left for that fancy university in the Big Apple. But she’d always come back to visit. He had known she would. Wherever she went, she would come back home to see her daddy.
But now there was no longer a reason for her to come back.
He rolled to a stop at the end of the driveway that led to the Gray home. He put the truck in Park and shut off the engine. He stared at the house where he had played as a kid. They had roamed the
se woods. Stretched out on the floor in her room and listened to music. They had even sneaked a couple of beers from her father’s stash in the barn a few times. They’d laughed like idiots and danced like fools, then puked their guts out.
Abbey Gray had always been a part of his life, no matter how far apart they were geographically. No matter how their respective lives changed.
Selfishly he hadn’t wanted that to change. Maybe she had met someone. Maybe she was getting married and didn’t want to bother with her old ties here.
He glanced up at the ominous sky. With the murder right next door and this storm coming, this was about the worst time Abbey could have chosen to come home.
But she was and he wanted—needed—to see her.
Garrett opened the door and climbed out of his truck. His gut was tied in a thousand knots and he suddenly felt completely out of place.
Everything about this day was wrong.
Chapter Three
Abbey sat in the middle of the floor and turned to the next page in the journal she’d used during her senior year. She’d started a new journal every year from age ten. By the time she was fourteen it was a sort of tradition. She’d been doing it since she was nine years old. When she’d started going through her bedroom, after finishing the preliminary look through in her parents’ room, she decided the journals were keepers. Most other things she would donate. She’d already picked through her childhood belongings and taken what she’d wanted over the years after moving to New York.
Even at nine she had wanted to be a writer. She’d listed all sorts of story ideas in her journals over the years. One by one she flipped through the pages. Most of her first journal had been full of silly thoughts and childish ideas. Like most ten-year-old children, she had been certain she would grow up and become someone hugely important. She would travel the world and send brilliant post cards back to her family.
When she reached the final journal, her plot ideas had matured, and the silliness was gone from her ramblings. She smiled as she read the passage after she and Garrett shared their first kiss. Abbey shook her head. They had been so young and determined to burst into the future. Her heart rate picked up as she came to the day they had decided to take things a step farther. A blush crept across her face as she read the jumble of words she’d scrawled that night. They’d both been giddy and nervous. Garrett’s hands had shaken as he’d touched her. But it was his eyes that she would never forget. He’d stared at her with such concern. He’d asked her over and over if she was sure…if she was okay…if he was hurting her.
Abbey closed the journal. She pushed to her feet and placed the journal with the others on the foot of her bed. She cleared her throat and swiped her hands on her jean clad hips.
“Okay,” she said aloud as she gazed around the room. The journals were pretty much it.
Deep breath. That had been a long time ago. A very long time ago. Kids grew up. Dreams changed. Relationships changed.
People changed.
She walked out of the room and moved on to the third bedroom which had once been her brother’s. Technically still was. Since that awful day his door was always closed but inside everything was just as it had been the day he was taken away.
The day their mother was murdered.
Abbey stood in the middle of the room and gazed around the space. Her brother had gone to college for a semester and abruptly gotten kicked out for drugs. He’d sworn he was innocent of that charge too. He’d been back home only a few weeks when their lives changed.
No point going back down that path. Focus on the now.
How was she supposed to decide what he might want and what to donate?
Then and there she made up her mind. She would box up everything in the room—except the furniture—and ship the boxes to him. Assuming she could find a current address. Maybe she could drop everything at the DA’s office and they would get it to him. She could ask at least.
Sounded like a plan.
Time for another cup of coffee, she decided. She rubbed her arms. The cashmere sweater wasn’t doing the trick of keeping her warm. Wool would have been a better choice. Maybe she would add a tee beneath the sweater. It had been a long time since she’d spent the dead of winter in Montana. Her father had generally visited her at Christmas. There was so much to do in New York around the holidays. She had wanted to share all of that with him. Though he hadn’t been much of a traveler, he’d always done so whenever she asked.
He'd been a good man and a fantastic father.
Tears blurred her vision. For the first time in years she desperately wished her brother was here. She had tried so hard to hate him. To erase him from her mind after he refused to see or talk to her or their father. Part of her had never been able to accept the idea that he had murdered their mother. Whatever other problems he had, her brother had loved their mother too. But his refusal to keep contact was a different matter. Though he never spoke of it, she had watched what it did to their father.
That awful day when the police arrived and attempted to restrain Steven, he’d lost complete control. It was possible he’d gone over some edge no one else could see. Even her father had pushed for the courts to see this as a mitigating factor, but the jury had viewed things differently. Despite the dismissal from college, on that day there had been no drugs in his system, no history of mental instability. Considering the high-profile case in another state of teenage sisters killing their parents, the judge had decided to make an example of Steven, giving him a harsh sentence despite his having no history of violence and the full support of his family.
Abbey had never been able to make herself really consider the idea that he had committed the crime. Their father had even hired a retired cop friend of his to conduct a private investigation to perhaps find out what really happened. What he found confirmed what local law enforcement discovered—there was no evidence that anyone else had been at the scene other than Steven and then the witness, Dottie Hansen, who arrived merely by chance and eventually testified against him.
Her father had never spoken of that day again.
It was as if Steven no longer existed.
Shaking off the painful memories, she walked out of the room and moved toward the stairs. The upstairs was finished for the most part. She’d made her few selections for taking back to New York. Hopefully the downstairs would be easier. Once she’d made her final selections, the packing would begin. The realtor had delivered boxes for Abbey to use for her selections and for the donation items. The rest would be inventoried and prepared for sale by the auction company.
That part would make Abbey’s job easier. She wouldn’t have to bother with any of the sale items. She didn’t even want to be here for that part. The idea was too painful.
If this morning was any indication, she might just finish more quickly than she had anticipated.
In the kitchen, she poured another cup of coffee, set a fresh pot to brew and then cradled the warm mug in her cold hands. She probably should turn on the radio and tune in to a local station to keep abreast of the storm.
Frankly, she had been enjoying the silence. There was never total silence in Manhattan. The sounds of the city proved an endless stream. The wail of sirens, the honking of horns from the impatient drivers, the moan and screech of buses, bicycles whizzing past, the constant chatter of pedestrians, the roar and rattle of the subway and the incessant hum of life.
The silence here was deafening and yet somehow calming to her soul.
A couple of thumps on the front door echoed through the house. Abbey started, almost dropped her mug of coffee. She recalled vividly the rarity of unexpected visitors while she was growing up. No one drove this far out of the way unless they confirmed you were home.
She glanced at the clock on the stove. The representative from the auction company wasn’t supposed to come until Monday. Placing her mug on the counter, she moved in the direction of the bump, bump of a second round of knocking. Rather than go straight to the door, she
stopped by a window and peeked out beyond the thick muslin curtains to see who was on the porch.
Garrett Gilmore.
Instantly, her heart bounced into a frantic rhythm and her face flushed with the memories of what she’d read in her journals only minutes ago.
Struggling to compose herself, she unlocked and opened the door. The rush of happiness at seeing him was the norm. She’d come back to visit her father at least once a year and she’d always spent time with Garrett. Each time was like this one, bordering on something more than mere friendship. Her heart racing, anticipation rushing through her.
She’d assumed that bond would have faded by now. Obviously, that wasn’t the case at all.
“Abbey.” His lips spread into a broad grin. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
Without hesitation he reached around her and hugged her tight. The cold emanating from his Park County Sheriff’s Department coat seemed to vanish as the warmth of his embrace melted into her.
“I’m sorry. I should have called.” She drew back. “Come in out of the cold.”
He stepped inside and she closed the door. “Can I take your coat?”
“I could sure go for some coffee,” he said as he dragged off his coat, passed it to her, then hung his black Stetson on a hook next to the door.
“I just made a pot.” She wrapped her arms around his coat to restrain the impulse to hug him again. “Go on to the kitchen and make yourself at home.”
“Thanks.”
Taking her time, Abbey hung his coat on one of the hooks next to her own. She ordered her pulse rate to slow and the butterflies in her stomach to settle, then she drifted toward the kitchen to join him. Pausing at the door, she surveyed the man. The worn jeans, cowboy boots and chambray shirt were pure cowboy. As a kid she’d watched him learn the skills required to run a ranch. Even as his ability to calm a wild horse had blossomed, he’d sworn he was going into the Marines as soon as he graduated high school. Abbey had never believed him. His love of ranching had been far too apparent in him even as a kid. Then the choice had been taken from him. His father’s injuries had changed Garrett’s future.