“Yes. I can’t believe I almost forgot.” Her mom pushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “It’s not much of a report.”
Emma swallowed hard. “Why did you do it? Hire the detective?”
A sadness that mirrored Emma’s heart briefly flashed in her mother’s face. “That should be obvious. He’s my son, and he was missing.”
“But you thought he was guilty of killing Mary Jo.” Had she actually said that?
The color left her mother’s face. “Whatever made you think that?”
Emma’s heart hammered in her chest. She’d faced wild boars that hadn’t made her knees knock like answering her mother’s questions. She swallowed hard. “You said you weren’t surprised that Carter accused him—”
“That’s a long way from believing he killed Mary Jo, Emma.”
Her face grew hot under her mother’s scrutiny.
“Is that why you pulled away?” When Emma didn’t respond, her mother said, “Why didn’t you say something years ago?”
“That’s easier said than done. I’ve never been able to win an argument with you.”
“There would have been no argument. Given the circumstances and your brother’s past history with drugs and alcohol, I understood why Carter named Ryan as a person of interest.”
The cloud that had hung over her for ten years lifted. Her mom didn’t believe Ryan killed Mary Jo. They should have had this conversation years ago, and it was Emma’s fault they hadn’t. She’d projected her own guilt over Ryan leaving onto her mother because it was easier than admitting the hateful words she spewed at her brother may have been the catalyst that sent him running.
“If that’s settled, shall we go?” Without waiting for an answer, her mother opened the back door. “You didn’t say how you got here.”
Emma followed her out into the garage. They went from one fire to another. “A friend dropped me off and will pick me up at the restaurant after we eat.”
“You could have invited her.”
Emma thought fast. “I didn’t want to share you tonight.” That wasn’t a lie and kept her from having to say it wasn’t a “her.”
Her mother’s face softened. “That’s sweet of you. I hope we can do this more often, perhaps even include your dad.”
“Dad?” She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice.
“Why not?” Her mom glanced at her and chuckled. “We’re only divorced, Emma. Not enemies.”
“I know that, but . . .” Emma needed to close her mouth before she said something else she would later wish she hadn’t. “Do you two get together often?”
“About once a month, but before you start getting ideas, your dad and I are not getting back together. It just wouldn’t work. My career is in Jackson, and he’ll never leave Natchez.”
While she’d come to terms with her parents’ divorce, a part of her still wished they could get back together. Wasn’t that almost every child’s dream for divorced parents, even an adult child?
29
Sam pulled up to Ricco’s and texted Emma he was there. A few minutes later, she emerged from the restaurant and hurried to his SUV.
“Thanks,” she said as she climbed into the passenger seat and laid an envelope on the console. She sounded relieved.
“How’d it go?”
“It started off rocky, but it got better.”
“How so?”
“We actually talked, and I asked her if she thought Ryan killed Mary Jo.”
“That had to have been hard.” Emma had never been an in-your-face person, and even as a teenager, she never bucked her parents. “I assume she convinced you she didn’t.”
When an answer wasn’t forthcoming, he glanced at her. Emma had a faraway look on her face. “Actually, yes,” she said with a sigh. “I’m so far out of the loop. I just found out my parents are getting together once a month for dinner.”
“Any chance of them getting back together?”
“Mom says not, and she’s probably right. They are both so different, and they want different things out of life. They seem to get along better since the divorce than when I was growing up.”
He hoped that wasn’t true of his parents. After they were on I-55, he asked, “The Trace or Highway 61?”
“How about the Trace? That way we can swing by and check on the dig site at Mount Locust.”
“Good idea,” he said. Clayton was off tonight, leaving only one deputy at the site.
“Just watch for deer.” Emma picked up the envelope and clicked on the reading light on the passenger side.
“Is that the private investigator’s report?”
“Yeah, and Mom was right. There’s not much in it.”
“Who was the investigator?”
She pulled out the sheets. “Harry Bell signed it.”
Sam frowned. “The name sounds familiar.”
“It says at the bottom of the page he’s a former FBI agent.”
The name and a face clicked. Harry “Bulldog” Bell. “He taught a class at Glynco, Georgia, when I went through the academy there.” He exited off onto I-20 west, then a few miles later took the Trace exit. “I wonder if your mother lost part of the report?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“Harry Bell was a good agent and an excellent teacher. I can’t see him doing a half-baked investigation . . . or report.”
“Really?” she said. “But it wouldn’t be like my mother to lose something like that.”
While Emma sifted through the papers, he turned on the overhead light. “See if it looks like anything’s missing.”
She was quiet except for the turning of pages for a minute. Then she looked up. “The pages aren’t numbered, but what’s at the bottom of some of the pages doesn’t line up with what’s at the top of the next page. And the sheriff’s file on Ryan that Mom said was included isn’t here.”
“See if there’s a number to call Bell.”
“There are two—looks like an office number and one for a cell.”
“While we’re still in Jackson and have cell coverage, do you want to call him and find out if he had included Carter’s file?”
Before she could answer him, her cell rang. “It’s Dad,” she said. After she answered, Emma told him she was with Sam.
“Put us on speaker,” he overheard her dad say. “I’d like to say hi.”
After Sam and her dad exchanged pleasantries, he asked, “How did your evening with your mom go?”
“Okay . . . well, better than okay.”
“Good. Did you get the private investigator’s report?”
“How did you know—”
“Dina told me. I think she wanted to warn me you might ask me about it.”
“Have you seen it?” Sam asked.
There was hesitation on the line, then he said, “I have.”
Beside him, Emma caught her breath. “Can you remember what was in the report?” she asked.
He heard Jack take in a deep breath, and Sam exchanged glances with Emma. Her expression mirrored his feelings. Maybe they shouldn’t have asked.
“Dad, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking, hitting you with that question out of the blue.”
Jack cleared his throat. “No, it’s okay. It’s just that your brother has been on my mind a lot recently.”
“Mine too,” Emma replied.
“Do you remember whether Sheriff Carter’s file on Ryan was in the investigator’s report?” Sam asked.
“I don’t remember the exact details, Sam, but I do remember seeing a copy of the sheriff’s report, along with his opinion that Ryan killed Mary Jo Selby. That’s about where I quit reading. Why do you two want to know?”
Sam nodded for Emma to answer the question.
“Just wondering,” she said. “Sam has offered to help me look into the case again.”
He gave her a thumbs-up. That was generic enough without fibbing.
“Do you have a copy of the investigator’s report?” Emma asked.
> “No. Your mother never offered to share a copy, and I didn’t ask for one,” he said. “I assume she gave you her copy.”
“Yes. She gave me what she had, but some of it seems to be missing.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” her dad said with finality in his voice. “Are we still on for tomorrow night, say around sixish? I thought I might pick up steaks and grill them at your place. You’re welcome to come, Sam.”
Sam wasn’t sure Emma wanted him there tomorrow night and shot her a questioning look. She nodded. “Thanks, Mr. Winters. I’ll see you then,” he said.
They both said goodbye, and Sam’s lips quirked up as she slipped her phone in the small black bag she carried. First time he’d seen her with anything but her backpack since he returned to Natchez. When she’d walked out of the maintenance building in those boots and with her copper-colored hair falling loosely about her shoulders, he’d almost lost his breath. The skinny jeans and black sweater didn’t help his breathing any either.
“Do you want to contact Harry Bell,” Emma asked, “or do you want me to?”
“You better. You have a legal right to the report whereas if I get involved, we might need a court order.”
She checked her watch. “It’s nine. Do you think it’s too late to call him?”
“Why don’t you text the cell number and see if he responds, but let me pull over since we’ll be out of cell range a few miles from here.” Sam turned into a pullout while she texted a message. Almost immediately she received an answering text.
“He said it was okay to call him.” Emma punched in Bell’s number, and when he answered, she identified herself and said, “Mr. Bell, I have a copy of your report on my brother, Ryan Winters,” she said. “But there seems to be missing pages. Could you email me a new copy of your report?”
Bell cleared his throat. “You say you’re Dina Winters’s daughter?”
“Yes, sir. Like I said, I’m looking at my mom’s copy right now.”
He paused. “I’d like to call your mother and get permission to share it. After that, we can FaceTime, if you’d like.”
“Sure.”
Sam tapped the steering wheel while they waited. Five minutes later, Emma’s cell rang the distinctive FaceTime ring and she answered, turning the phone slightly for Sam to see as well.
Harry Bell had changed little since Sam sat under his teaching. Maybe lost a little more hair on top, but his wizened face didn’t look any older than it had eight years ago.
“Who’s that with you?” Bell asked.
“My friend Sam Ryker.”
“That name is familiar.”
“We met at the academy at Glynco. I was one of your students.”
“Oh yeah. I remember you.”
Emma turned the phone so it showed her image again.
“You favor your mother, Miss Winters. Now what’s this about missing pages in the report?”
Sam listened while she explained the discrepancies they’d found. “My mom said there’d been a copy of Sheriff Carter’s file on the Mary Jo Selby death among the documents.”
“Let me think. Ten years ago I wasn’t doing digital files, so I only have a hard copy and it’s at the office.”
They waited for him to continue.
“Yes, come to think of it, I did get a copy of that file from the Adams County sheriff.”
“It’s not in your report now. Would you email me another copy, including the sheriff’s file?”
“You haven’t heard from your brother?”
“No . . . Can we speak confidentially?” she asked.
“Most certainly.”
“We think he may be d-dead . . .” Emma collected herself and continued. “We found evidence he may have been buried at Mount Locust all these years.”
Bell’s mouth turned down. “I’m so sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I was hoping for a different outcome.”
“So were we,” Sam said.
The older man sighed. “That explains why I never found him.” Then he rubbed his jaw. “I don’t understand why you want my report if you believe you’ve found his remains.”
“Sheriff Carter’s file on the case is missing from the sheriff’s department’s records,” Sam replied.
“Oh.” He made at least two syllables out of the word. “That’s interesting.”
He figured Bell would think it was. Sam would love his help in this. The man hadn’t earned the nickname Bulldog for nothing.
“I only have the sheriff’s preliminary report, not the outcome.” The PI rubbed his jaw. “If your brother was buried at Mount Locust, how did his car get to Memphis?”
“We discussed that with the current sheriff, Nate Rawlings. Whoever killed him must have driven it up there to make it look like he’d left the Natchez area. He, and we’re assuming it’s a male, either rode the bus back to Natchez, or he could have rented a car.”
“Or he had a partner.”
The words hung in the car. Sam hadn’t considered two people might be involved. That put a new spin on the case. “I’m planning to canvass the car rentals in Memphis to see if their records go that far back.”
“That would be a miracle,” Bell said. “I’ll go to the office after church tomorrow and scan the report and email a copy to you. And if there’s anything else I can do to help, just let me know.”
“We will,” Sam said, and Emma disconnected. Her face held so much hope, making his stomach clench. There were so many possibilities. And ten years had passed. He feared finding any kind of trail, much less a paper trail, would be next to impossible.
30
He had kept two cars between him and Sam’s SUV all the way from Mount Locust to a house in Jackson that belonged to Dina Winters. Emma was a good daughter, spending time with her mother, but he would expect no less from her. And now he was following them back to Natchez.
It had thrown him off when Sam pulled into the pullout. But it was dark and he’d driven to the next historical marker and waited for them in his pickup. Twenty minutes later, the ranger’s SUV passed by, and when the taillights disappeared around a curve, he fell in behind them again.
Emma would have asked him to take her to Jackson, he knew that, but she didn’t want to cause people to whisper about them. What about Sam and Emma? Won’t people whisper about them? He brushed the thought away. They were both rangers. Everyone would assume they were working together on something.
Besides, Emma wasn’t interested in Ryker. She didn’t send him Facebook posts every day and never looked at the ranger the way she looked at him. He plucked a box from the console and flipped the top open. A two-carat diamond sparkled under the lighted dash. She would be so pleased when he gave it to her.
What if he’d accidentally shot her last night? He’d been aiming at Ryker, but he shuddered at how close it had come to Emma. Pain stabbed his head as the beginning of a migraine started. Maybe he’d go home instead of following them to Emma’s apartment.
No. Not knowing whether Ryker would attempt to kiss her when he took her to the door would torment him. Not that she would let him, but the ranger might force himself on her. And then he could save her.
The headache intensified as mile after mile passed. They approached Mount Locust, and the SUV ahead of him slowed and swung into the entrance. He could do nothing but drive on by. Maybe Ryker would simply make a loop and reenter the Trace, so he slowed. When the car lights didn’t reappear, he swore. Only one thing to do. Drive to his spot near Emma’s apartment and wait. He should even have time to stop and get a coffee. Maybe that would get rid of the headache.
Forty-five minutes later, he’d almost finished the coffee when the ranger’s SUV pulled in front of the apartment house, and Ryker escorted Emma to the front door. Wait. He was going in.
He held his breath as her living room light came on, providing him with a front-row seat. The ranger crossed out of his line of sight while Emma stayed in front of the window. Then he returned and—
It was like watching an accident about to happen and just as impossible to take his gaze away from as Sam took Emma in his arms. He gripped the Styrofoam cup, crushing it.
31
Emma sat on her sofa in the dark, her third cup of coffee in her hands as her clock chimed six times. Sam had checked out her apartment when he dropped her off around eleven last night, and then hugged her and left. A platonic hug. Why had she wished it’d been more?
She pinched the bridge of her nose. Sleep had been fitful, and when the clock rolled over to 4:00 a.m., she’d given up and climbed out of bed. What little shut-eye she’d gotten had been marred with dreams of walking the woods around Mount Locust, calling Ryan’s name. She sipped her coffee, now bitter and lukewarm. Regret tasted just as bitter, especially when it was laced with anger.
Emma set the cup on the table and leaned her head back. If she could just get a catnap . . . She jerked her head up. A board in the hallway outside her door creaked as though protesting someone’s weight. Maybe it was her neighbor Greg on his way to his morning run. She checked her watch. She’d dozed for forty-five minutes. Then she frowned. Greg never ran this early on Sunday, not before the sun rose.
Emma cocked her head, listening for more sounds. It’d probably been her imagination. She needed more coffee. After Emma poured another cup, she popped it into the microwave for thirty seconds. Halfway back to the sofa, she froze. A card had been shoved under her door. She jerked the door open, pulling the envelope with it. Dr. Gordon Cole whirled around, his eyes wide. “Emma?”
Was that guilt on his face? Had he left the note? And the flowers? “Gordy? I mean Gordon.” He stared at her, and amusement crossed his face. She looked down at her Minnie Mouse pajamas. “Ah, did you see anyone else in the hallway?”
“No.”
The answer came almost too quickly. “What are you doing here?”
Red crept into his face. “I, ah . . .” He stared at his feet.
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