by Laurie Paige
“Do we have proof it was the father?” Sheriff Reingard asked, obviously surprised. “There’re no signs…well, she didn’t date as far as anyone knows. I was thinking she could have wanted a child and gone to a sperm bank. There’s one in Billings, that fertility clinic I read about.”
Colby muttered an expletive to show what he thought of this idea.
“Well, she was, ah, somewhat secretive,” Reingard said defensively. He turned back to Chelsea. “So what happened next?”
“He took the threat seriously,” she continued. “Miss Martel was semiconscious, maybe murmuring about what she would do. The perp was standing to this side of the chair. He took out the gun—”
“From where?” Holt interrupted.
Chelsea looked around. An old-fashioned sideboard stood next to the wall. Three small drawers lined the front. “From there.” She opened the nearest drawer. Other than the green felt lining, it was empty.
The hair rose on her neck.
She opened the other two. Each held an assortment of odds and ends usually found in such places. The glaring emptiness of the one drawer was silent affirmation of the scenario she painted for the men.
“He removed the gun and shot her as she rested in the chair.” Chelsea enacted the scene with an imaginary weapon. “He wouldn’t have had to take a step. He simply lifted the gun, swung it around and fired. That works,” she said to Holt. “The angle of the bullet entry was from this side and above her head, about four feet away.”
The sheriff closed the three drawers, his face solemn as he sighed. “So then he decided to make it look like suicide by putting the gun into her hand? Wouldn’t her prints have already been on it?”
“He had wiped the gun clean before he thought of staging a suicide,” Chelsea explained. “He panicked for a second, then started thinking it through. He pressed the gun into her hand, then let go so it would fall naturally.”
“But it was too late,” Holt added. “There were already too many things wrong with the scene. He should have opted for a robbery gone wrong.”
“Who knows what he thought,” Reingard muttered, bending over the chair. “There’s not much blood for a close-range shooting.”
“The slug stayed inside the skull,” Chelsea told him. “I recovered it, as I explained in my report, and asked for a ballistics test.” She looked at Holt.
The deputy nodded. “The ballistics report showed the gun found on the floor was the one that killed her.”
“Aunt Harriet didn’t own a gun,” Colby insisted. “Find the owner of the twenty-two and you’ll find the killer.”
“We’ve run a check. There’s no record of the weapon registered in the state or with the FBI,” Holt said.
Colby went to the chair and nudged the sheriff aside. “This was her favorite spot. She read every night sitting right here.” He picked up the book on the table and flipped it open to the bookmark. “She was reading this book.”
Chelsea’s heart went out to the nephew. He was hurting, and there weren’t any words to comfort him. She couldn’t assure him they would find the murderer.
“Look at this,” Colby said, staring at the back cover of the book. “It looks like a name…or initials—”
“Let me see that!”
Holt grabbed the book, and they all crowded around to stare at the nearly indecipherable prints on the back. “Written in blood,” he said.
“Aunt Harriet’s blood,” Colby said in a stricken voice. “She was trying to leave us a clue.”
The sheriff traced over the letters. “That looks like an H and an I. The third letter could be almost anything—an N, no, an M.”
“Or an R,” Holt said. “Not much of a clue.”
“But it’s more than we had before,” Colby said furiously. “How did you miss it?”
Chelsea felt sorry for the deputy as the sheriff and the nephew looked to him for answers.
“I don’t know,” he said slowly, “but I’ll find out. If it takes the rest of my life, I’ll find out. The investigating team was supposed to fingerprint everything.”
“The book was dusted.” Chelsea pointed out the residue. “What happened to the report on this?”
No one had an answer.
Chapter Seven
Colby Holmes followed Chelsea out to her car after the sheriff left. Holt had taken charge of the book. A fingerprint was discernible on the cover, along with the scratched initials, and he was going to check it out personally. He was still inside the cottage, going through everything again.
Chelsea thought it was useless. The murder trail was growing cold and apparently going nowhere fast.
“Wait a minute,” Colby requested when she started to get into her car. “I have a question.”
She studied the handsome rancher and former rodeo star. In his late twenties, he exuded energy. He moved like a big cat on the prowl, an impression of animal strength and power about him. Worry creased twin lines on his brow. “Yes?”
“Those letters, initials, whatever they are,” he began, then paused. “They were written in blood, weren’t they?”
It was her turn to hesitate. Finally she nodded. “Tests will have to be made, but yes, it looked like blood.”
“Aunt Harriet’s?”
She shrugged.
“Or the killer’s?” he persisted.
“Well, unless she injured the person, it would be hers. She was bleeding from the slap. Her bottom lip was split.”
He clenched his fists. “God, that makes me see red—he hit her and then shot her, a defenseless woman. She was a quiet person and kept to herself, but she wasn’t mean.”
Chelsea considered something she’d thought of before. She laid a hand on Colby’s arm. “Listen, about three years ago, I briefly met a psychic on a case. She was able to supply a clue that led the police to the perp.”
Colby gave a skeptical snort.
“No, really, she did. I’m not saying it would work this time, but maybe she could help. I met her in Chicago, but she lives up this way, I seem to recall. I could ask the detective who was on the case.”
“Other than ol’ Winona Cobb, who lives near Whitehorn, I’ve never heard of any other psychics around here. What’s her name?”
He looked so scornful, Chelsea was tempted to tell him to forget it. However, there was the case to be solved. “Tessa Madison. Is the name familiar?” she asked at his startled frown.
“Yeah. If it’s the same person, she owns a shop near here, one of those New Age places. Mystic something, or something Mystic. I can’t remember.”
Chelsea was delighted. “That must be her. Where is the shop? I’ll stop by and tell her to expect you—”
“Don’t bother,” he said, heading for his truck. Why don’t you and Holt take the book to her? Maybe she’ll get a vision and presto, all will be answered.”
If Chelsea’d had a thick book in her hands, she might have been tempted to hit him with it, she decided wryly, watching Colby drive off. Men thought they knew everything.
She left the crime scene. On Main Street, she decided on lunch at the diner. First she’d check with Kelly and see if she was available.
“She’ll meet you at twelve-thirty,” the receptionist reported after checking with the doctor. “Order the special for her if she’s late. It doesn’t matter what it is. She likes everything they serve.”
Laughing, Chelsea put the cell phone in her purse and headed for the diner. The cheerful, pregnant waitress directed her to a table. The woman wore a wedding ring, Chelsea noted and was glad.
When she was seated, Chelsea also noticed a man at the counter watching the waitress, his gaze tender. She instinctively knew this was the husband. When the waitress refilled his coffee mug, a special look passed between the two, confirming her conclusion.
Her heart gave a painful lurch. She’d arrived in town a week ago today and, as she’d feared, it had been a troublesome seven days. Her emotions had run from doom and gloom to irrational joy. There was ju
st no sense to it.
Holt Tanner entered the diner, stopping her introspection. He spotted her and came over. “The sheriff thinks we ought to question Louise Holmes. She’s Colby’s mother and sister to the dead woman. Would you mind coming with me?”
“Not at all, but why? She was questioned the first day. What are we looking for?”
He sat down opposite her and leaned close. “Harriet’s will leaves everything to Louise. Perhaps the sister knew of Harriet’s money and decided she wanted it now.”
“I doubt that,” Chelsea murmured.
Holt grimaced. “I do, too. From digging around, I’ve found both sisters inherited a nice nest egg from their parents. I guess that’s how Harriet got started investing. Besides, Colby did well on the rodeo circuit. He would see that his mother didn’t lack for anything.”
Chelsea agreed.
“However,” Holt continued, “he is the executor of the will and stands to inherit everything from his mother since he’s the last of the family. The sheriff thinks we should pay more attention to him, too.”
Chelsea shook her head. “I’m sure it isn’t him,” she said in nearly inaudible tones. “He doesn’t fit the profile. He’s too volatile, for one thing, too involved to stop and think things through, the way the killer did.”
“I think you’re right.” The deputy yawned and rubbed a hand over his face. “Colby can be a royal pain in the butt, but he isn’t vicious. I’d stake my reputation on that.”
“When should we go see his mother?”
“Stop by my office after you finish with lunch. We’ll go then. If something else hasn’t come up.”
“What about the book and the blood?” she asked.
“It’s on the way to Whitehorn to be analyzed. Want to bet it’s Harriet’s blood?”
She shook her head. “I think so, too. Unless we can figure out what she meant by the letters, we’re stumped.”
“Yeah. What a mess.” He waved the waitress off when she offered him a menu and, nodding at Chelsea, left the diner.
Chelsea glanced around. Several pairs of eyes were on her, speculation rife in them. She realized she and Holt had been whispering, their heads almost touching as they talked.
Well, that should add an interesting tidbit to the rumor mill. She signaled the waitress and ordered for herself and Kelly with the hope that her friend would arrive soon. For some reason she felt exposed and very vulnerable sitting there alone.
Kelly and the food arrived together.
“Hi. You’re just in time,” Chelsea said. She studied her old friend. “What’s wrong?”
Kelly sighed. “One of my patients miscarried this morning. The couple had wanted the baby so much.”
“That’s sad.”
“Umm-hmm,” Kelly said. “Like us, they waited until they were established in their careers and had a house. Maybe that’s a mistake.”
Chelsea thought her friend looked discouraged, although her tone had been cheerful. “It’s hard not to become anxious, isn’t it?,” she murmured in sympathy. “We’re in our thirties now. The clock seems to be ticking faster.”
“Do you think about having children?” Kelly asked, her gaze curious. “You could try in vitro fertilization.”
“Actually I’m thinking of adopting,” Chelsea admitted after reminding her friend of the medical reasons she was unlikely to carry a child.
“I’ve always thought of you as the dedicated career woman, and that was the reason you’d never married and started a family.” Kelly was silent for a moment, then added, “Pierce was devastated when you went back east for your residency.”
Chelsea’s heart did a gigantic lurch at this news. “Surely not,” she said when she could trust herself to speak. “He never wanted a long-term relationship.”
Kelly shot her an incredulous look. “He would have married you in a heartbeat if you’d said the word.” Her voice carried a trace of anger.
Chelsea didn’t take offense at her friend’s defensive attitude about her big brother. “Well, he never said so,” she said lightly. “Anyway, we were so busy those last two months, what with exams and graduation and packing. There was no time for anything else.”
Kelly frowned as if she would say more, then apparently changed her mind. She glanced at her watch. “I have to hurry. The office is rushed today. In fact, we’re busy enough for another doctor to join the staff. If you know anyone who’s interested.”
Her innocent expression didn’t fool Chelsea for a minute. Kelly was determined to play matchmaker for her brother and her friend. Glancing out the window, she spotted Holt Tanner arriving at his office.
“I’ve got to hurry, too,” she said. “I have a meeting with Holt this afternoon.”
“Are you interested in him?” Kelly demanded.
Chelsea had to laugh. “Only as an associate on this case.”
“Good.”
“Kelly,” Chelsea warned softly, “don’t expect miracles while I’m here. They aren’t going to happen.”
“Pierce sent for you,” Kelly reminded her.
“Because of my job.”
“Huh, the coroner in Whitehorn could have performed the autopsy. He didn’t have to send for you. Even if he doesn’t realize it, he wanted you here. And you wanted to come,” she finished triumphantly.
Chelsea held up her hands in surrender. She’d learned not to argue with a friend as stubborn as Kelly.
“I’m out of here,” Kelly said. “Lunch is on me.” She laid some bills on the table before Chelsea could protest and hurried back to the medical office.
Chelsea considered entering the practice with her friend. It was tempting, but she’d chosen her field long ago. She knew her own strengths. Investigating cases, having a hand in solving them, that brought her great satisfaction.
Enough for the rest of her life?
She struggled with the question and knew the answer. Work wasn’t enough. There was a void to be filled. A child, she thought, gazing at the pregnant waitress. That’s all she needed to complete her life. Really.
Louise Holmes was a softer, plumper version of her deceased sister, Chelsea observed when she and Holt Tanner arrived at the house. The woman rose from a patio chair on the tidy front porch and waited at the steps, the leaves from two huge oaks shading her face.
“Hello, Louise,” Holt said in an easy manner.
“Holt,” the woman replied. She gazed at Chelsea. “The doctor who did the autopsy,” she said when Holt had introduce the two women.
“Yes,” Chelsea said. “I’m sorry about your sister.”
Tears glistened in the other woman’s eyes, but she held her composure. “Thank you. It was sad, shocking, actually. Please be seated.” She gestured toward the chairs. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
Holt answered for them. “No, thanks. We can’t stay long. We just want to go over a few things with you.”
After they were seated, Louise asked, “Have you found out anything?”
“Nothing new,” the deputy said. “Would you mind going over your dealings with Harriet the past few months?”
The sister locked her fingers together. Chelsea saw they were trembling, but her gaze was straightforward as she asked, “What kind of dealings?”
“Did you notice anything different about her?”
“Like what?” Louise seemed truly perplexed.
Holt cast Chelsea an appealing glance. “Did she seem nervous or apprehensive to you?” she asked, taking over the interrogation.
“No. Well, there could have been something…”
Holt and Chelsea waited, but then Louise shrugged and shook her head.
“Did her habits change? Did she visit you regularly, then stop?” Chelsea continued the probe.
The sister thought it over, then slowly nodded. “Yes, that’s it. That’s what changed. We had dinner together every Sunday, either here or in town. A few months ago that changed. At first she would call and cancel at the last minute, which wasn’t like
her. Then, after a couple of months, she said she was busy and would call when we could get together again. I thought it was because of the planning for the Crazy Moon Festival. She was on some committee.”
Holt took out a notebook. “Who was on it with her?”
“I don’t know. The mayor’s office should have a list.” She looked directly at Chelsea.
Chelsea squirmed in the hard wooden chair and wondered if everyone in the county knew Pierce had stayed at her cabin last night. No, no. How could they? She was being overly sensitive. She managed an encouraging smile.
Louise Holmes smiled back, and Chelsea could see where Colby had gotten his charming looks. His mother was pretty when she relaxed a bit.
“She didn’t mention the pregnancy?” Chelsea asked.
A spasm of pain marred Louise’s features. She closed her eyes briefly, then looked again at Chelsea. Never. Not once. She could have told me. We’re…we were sisters. Colby and I are—were—her only living relatives. We would have helped, if we’d known.”
“Helped?” Chelsea probed.
Louise raised her hands and dropped them in her lap in a helpless manner. “If she’d wanted to go away and have the child, I’d have gone with her.”
“What about if she’d decided to have an abortion?”
“I’d have stood by her decision, but she would never have done that,” Louise said with conviction. “She might have arranged for an adoption into a good home…no, she would have kept the child.”
“You’re sure?”
Louise nodded. “She didn’t show a lot of outward emotion, but she loved children, loved reading stories to them and watching them discover the wonder of life.” Tears filled her eyes and spilled over this time.
Holt shuffled uncomfortably as men did when women wept. Chelsea dug a couple of tissues out of her purse and handed one to Louise, keeping one handy for herself as her own eyes smarted. They talked a few more minutes, then she signaled she was ready to leave.
“Where were you the night of the lunar eclipse?” Holt asked suddenly, taking both women off guard.