by Julie Miller
The woman’s blue eyes widened even further. “Really?” She lifted her blue eyes to her ex. “Boone, you don’t like the city.” And then it was back to Kate. “You got this big lug off the ranch? How did you two meet?”
Irene’s husband reached for Kate with a smooth, buffed and manicured hand. “Forgive my wife’s curiosity. I’m Dr. Mayne. But call me Fletcher. I’m a surgeon. And you?”
“Counseling psychologist.”
“Nice to meet you.” He linked his arm through his wife’s and guided her toward the front door. “Come on, Irene. Boone has other guests to talk to.”
Once the storm door swung shut behind the exiting couple, Kate scooted away from the faintly possessive stamp of Boone’s touch. “What just happened?”
His chest expanded with a deep breath beneath the Western tailored suit coat he wore. “I’ll tell you that if you tell me why you’re here.”
“I need to ask some follow-up questions. Get some personal insight into your sister’s life.”
Someone jostled against Kate’s back and Boone pulled her over to the porch’s wood railing, where he sat, putting his warm brown gaze level with hers. “You could have used a phone for that.”
Kate’s fingertips danced against her palms as she fought the urge to touch the lines of strain that had settled a little more deeply beside his eyes from when she’d last seen him. “If you don’t have the answers, I’m guessing someone around here will. It’s a little awkward, but the people who can give us the best information about the hometown girl are probably here today.”
“Don’t you upset anybody.”
“I’ll do my best not to.” She pointed to the front door where Irene and Fletcher Mayne had gone inside. “And the introduction to the ex? She thinks you and I are an item.”
“Let her think it.”
“Boone, we hardly know—”
“Fine.” He put up his hands, warding off the rest of her friendly reprimand. He tipped his hat back on his head, revealing more of the jet-black sheen of his hair and the extent of the emotional drain these last few days had taken on him. “Let’s just say I’ve about had my fill of making nice and socializing today. I can’t fault Irene for maintaining a friendship with my sister.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper, and Kate leaned in closer to listen. “But she left me for that man. She didn’t want my children, didn’t want this place—and finally decided she didn’t even want me. And now she shows up with him?” A wry grin creased his rugged features. “Kind of tough on a man’s pride, I suppose.”
On a woman’s, too. Understanding Boone’s pain far better than he knew, Kate followed the instincts of her hand and heart. Her thigh brushed against Boone’s knee when she reached out to cup his cheek and smooth her fingertips over the grooves beside his eyes. “All of the emotions—hurt, grief, anger, pride—come to the surface at a time like this. No one would think any less of you if you took a few minutes for yourself.”
“I’d think less of me.” Her hand vanished against his face as he covered it with his. He rubbed his warm, sandpapery skin against her ticklish palm, sensitizing every nerve ending where they touched. Just when she thought she needed to say something, do something, move closer or pull away entirely, Boone turned to press a comforting kiss into her palm before pulling her hand down to his lap and lacing his fingers together with hers. He glanced down at her muddy shoes. “Irene was sizing up the mess on your designer clothes. It was a big reason why she left.”
It took Kate a split second to move past the unfamiliar liquid warmth seeping from her hand into the rest of her body. When had comfort and understanding turned into something else? “The mud?”
“All the country living that goes with it. You’re a lot like her, you know. Sophisticated. Urban.” Boone’s thumb continued to stroke over her skin, making it difficult to concentrate.
“Is that good or bad?”
“It just is. Sorry about the shoes. We’ll talk later, okay? If you’ll excuse me, I need to check on my brothers. Make sure they’re holding up okay. Food and refreshments are inside.” Kate stuffed her hands inside the pockets of her coat to combat the chill as Boone abruptly released her and stood. He adjusted his Stetson squarely on his head and then moved past her to greet an elderly couple coming up the stairs. “Jack. Shirley. Thank you for coming.”
And just like that, the unsophisticated country boy without the M.D. behind his name had maneuvered his way out of answering any of Kate’s questions regarding the case.
For the moment.
Kate chuckled softly to herself, admiring how slyly Boone had accomplished his goal of getting out of difficult conversations—and he’d done it with a teasing grin, a hushed voice and quick thinking. She had a feeling Irene and the new hubby, who clearly made a lot of money and liked to talk more than he should, had no clue that they’d just been played by a good ol’ country boy.
Of course, the frissons of awareness still fluttering beneath her skin were clear evidence that she’d been played, too. But Kate didn’t seem to mind as much as she’d expected. Boone had promised her later. And for today, for now, at least, she’d believe that promise.
A pair of shoes and a smidgen of trust were tiny sacrifices to make for coming here.
As she grasped the porch railing and surveyed the beehive of activity around her, she knew there were plenty of people here who might have the answers she sought. Kate crossed to the front door and went inside the log cabin house.
She’d start with the two people she’d just met.
* * *
“THANKS, ROBIN.” Kate stepped back as Jane Harrison’s friend and former employer, Robin Carter, opened her car door. “Have a safe trip back to K.C.”
“I will.” The floral designer tossed her purse onto the passenger seat, but paused before getting in. “And you’ll keep me in the loop if you find out anything about the man who attacked Jane? I told the women who work for me about the safety tips you suggested, but it’s still a little scary to be working in that neighborhood. And here I thought it was an exciting, ideal place to open a business.”
“It still is. Just keep practicing those safety precautions.” Kate had been glad to find someone at the reception she already knew, even if it was just a witness she’d interviewed. “And if you think of any other details about Janie’s life these past few months—even something you may have overlooked as insignificant—give me a call.”
“I’ve got your card. Take care.”
“You, too.” Kate retreated back to the fence as the other woman turned her car around in the gravel drive and headed back to the highway.
She’d learned all kinds of things about Jane Harrison this afternoon. Janie had been a real tomboy growing up. She’d excelled at 4-H and in showing horses, in particular. She’d worked at a diner in town on the square and been elected homecoming queen in high school. She’d studied art at Stephens College in Columbia, Missouri, opened a studio that had failed as soon as the Ozarks tourist season had ended, and had planned a big wedding to the high school quarterback, which she’d called off just a few months before moving to Kansas City.
All interesting stuff—a testament to how well-loved a young woman she’d been. But none of it was helping to narrow down the search for a confidante who could say who Janie had been seeing in K.C. No one here seemed to have any idea about the mystery man in Janie’s life.
Turning toward the dramatic beauty of the orange, pink and gold sunset falling behind the dark brown outlines of Boone’s family home, Kate sought out the man who’d been avoiding her all afternoon. The crowd in attendance had thinned considerably, lessening Boone’s responsibilities as host. And his ex-wife and her second husband had driven away more than an hour ago, making an excuse to depart almost as soon as Kate had brought up the subject of Jane Harrison and her dating life. So there was no reason for Boone to be hiding from anyone.
Unless, of course, it was her.
Maybe the hushed words and sensuous hand holding had been a diversion to
keep the conversation from turning to painful subjects. For a few minutes on his front porch, they’d shared an intimate link that, logically, she had no reason to believe. And yet she’d fallen for them—she’d believed that the sheriff had truly needed her for a few moments to recoup his strength, and would seek her out before she had to leave.
Whether she’d been a fool or not, Spencer Montgomery was counting on her to make that connection to Boone again. And with those disturbing threats promising to follow her until this case was closed and Jane Harrison’s killer was behind bars, Kate intended to get the job done.
The air was cooling as the sun sank closer to the horizon. Kate pulled the collar of her trench coat up around her neck as she followed the road back to the house where she’d last seen Boone. But a sad sound, a drawn-out breath, a moan of despair, drew her attention to a shiny green pickup truck as she walked past.
As soon as Kate realized she’d stumbled onto Boone’s young blond deputy sitting on the rear bumper, looking at a photograph in his wallet and fighting to stem the tears rolling down his cheeks, she raised her hand in an unspoken apology and backed away. But the moment he saw her, he shot to his feet. He snapped the billfold shut and swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.
“I’m sorry.” Kate apologized out loud this time, hating that she’d intruded on the private moment. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I wasn’t sure what I’d heard. I was concerned.”
“It’s all right, ma’am.” He gave his face another swipe. “Did you need something?”
The pink tip of his nose gave an indication of how long he’d been crying. She wasn’t sure if it was the counselor or the investigator or something else buried deeper inside her that made her take a step closer and ask, “It’s Deputy Larson, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am. You can call me Flint.”
“Are you all right, Flint?”
“I will be. I guess.”
She dropped her gaze to the wallet still clutched in his hand. “What were you looking at?”
“Silly for a grown man to cry, huh?” But he rested his forearms on the tailgate of the truck and opened his billfold to a fading photograph.
“It’s sillier for him not to care at a time like this.” Kate went to stand beside him to look at the picture of a couple at a high-school prom, judging by the matching gown and tux, and corsage the young girl wore on her wrist. The raven-black hair was long and straight, but there was no mistaking Janie Harrison. And the boy was a younger version of Deputy Larson. The high-school quarterback. “You and Janie used to date?”
He nodded. He caressed the photo, then quickly folded his wallet and tucked it into his back pocket as a sniffle hinted at the tears he was suppressing. “We dated in high school.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. Today must be hard for you.”
Could Flint be the potential link to Janie’s past that she’d been looking for?
“I reckon.”
A frustratingly brief answer. But Kate had a lot of experience getting people to open up and talk. A direct question relating to a murder was rarely the best way to begin a conversation.
It didn’t take long to get an inspiration. She stepped around the scratched-up steel ball of the truck’s trailer hitch and ran her fingers along the polished metal die-cut of a rearing stallion that had been mounted over the rear taillight. The reverse image of pawing forelegs and a flying mane covered the opposite taillight.
“Wow. This is some truck.” She nodded to the thick, deeply treaded tires that jacked it up higher than a regular pickup. “Looks like you need a stepladder to climb into it.”
“No, ma’am.” Flint grinned and relaxed a bit. “But the long legs help.”
“These decorations are unusual. They look custom-made. Is that the right term?” She looked up at Flint, expecting to see pride in his four-wheel baby. Instead, his nostrils were flaring with emotion again. “Did I say something wrong?”
Flint shook his head. But he smiled before the tears could come. “Janie designed those. She was one of a kind. She was in shop class when the other girls were learning how to cook and sew.” He tapped his fist against the customized light cover. “One time I told her that driving this truck made me feel like riding a herd of wild horses, and when my next birthday rolled around, she’d made these.”
This pickup was only a few years old. “So you were more than high school sweethearts?”
“I loved that woman. We were together a long time after graduation. I asked her to marry me. She said yes and made me the happiest man on the planet. But she had her sights set on something out there in the big world. She wanted to be an artist. Somebody famous, I guess.” He nodded up toward the house. “Sort of like Irene leaving Boone. She couldn’t make her dreams come true here in Grangeport, either.”
So it wasn’t just the mud Boone’s ex had had an aversion to. “What is it that Irene wanted to do?”
“I don’t know. From what I hear, she throws parties and raises money for charity. Sounds boring to me. Her doctor came breezing through town one summer on his way to the lake.” Flint tilted his head in a conspiratorial nod. “The next thing you knew, they were running away together. Maybe she just wanted to be swept off her feet.”
The excitement of a new, illicit relationship had certainly been temptation enough for her husband. No wonder Boone had reached for her and claimed her. At least she would never have to feel the sting of running into a happy ex with the person chosen over her. “Irene cheated on Boone while they were still married?”
Flint nodded. “At least Janie had the heart to end it with me before she left.” His gaze drifted off to a distant place and tears glistened in his eyes again. “I thought that was the saddest day of my life. But this...puttin’ her in the ground breaks my heart. I always thought that somehow we’d end up together.”
She laid her hand over his fist where it rested on the tailgate and gave him a sympathetic pat. The bruises on his knuckles indicated he might have been doing more than crying and looking at photographs as a means of dealing with his grief. “How did you hurt yourself?”
“Punched a wall at the office when I heard the news.”
“I’m so sorry.” Although a knife of guilt twisted in her gut at taking advantage of the young man’s grief, Kate needed more information. “Did the two of you ever talk? After she moved to Kansas City?”
“If she needed a flat tire changed, or wanted to know how to fix a leaky toilet, she’d call.” He pulled his hand from beneath hers. “I don’t think she wanted her brothers to know she wasn’t as independent as she claimed she was.”
“She still called you for favors like that?”
“Not lately.”
“Because she had another man in Kansas City who’d take care of those things for her?” After a long moment, Flint nodded. “Did she ever say who it was?”
“I never caught a name. It was some guy at school where she taught evening classes. I think she started to feel like the city was home, instead of Grangeport. The phone calls got fewer and farther between.” He hooked his thumbs in the belt of his uniform and stepped away with a deep breath. “She didn’t need me anymore. I guess she was calling him.”
“Doing okay, Flint?” The deep voice from behind Kate explained why the deputy had suddenly straightened to attention.
The young man winked at Kate. “The doc here was listening to my troubles.”
“She’s good at that.” Boone’s hand skimmed Kate’s back as he moved up beside her. “I know you’re scheduled for duty tonight, but if you need some more time, I’ll find someone to cover for you.”
“That’s okay, boss. I’d rather stay busy.” He pulled his keys from his pocket before nodding to them both. “Ma’am. Boss. Hopefully, it won’t be a slow night.”
“And I always hope that it is.” Boone pulled Kate aside until Flint Larson had started his truck and sped off down the road, throwing up plenty of mud onto the clean chassis. “So I’m guessing you�
��re not here to console me. And I know Detective Montgomery isn’t.” He pointed up to the porch where Spencer stood in a semicircle with Boone’s brothers and carried on a conversation. When Kate turned up the driveway to join them, Boone caught her hand and tugged her in a different direction—across the yard toward the barn and other outbuildings. “I’ve been following the news broadcasts with your reports. Doesn’t sound like you’ve got any leads.”
“We’re keeping some of our suspicions and information out of the press.” She let her hand rest inside his without really holding on. “We still have some follow-up questions we need to ask about your sister, and I think Flint just pointed us in the right direction. Did she ever mention the name of a man at the college where she taught? I think that’s the missing boyfriend we’re looking for.”
He shortened his stride to accommodate the careful steps her high-heels forced her to take across the grass. “You don’t think Janie was dating the Rose Red Rapist, do you?”
“No. I don’t think so. He’s an opportunistic rapist, not a planner. It wouldn’t fit his profile.” She tightened her grip, telling him without words that she knew these details were difficult for him to hear. “But I do think finding this boyfriend will give us key information about Janie’s activities right before she was attacked. This mystery man may have been the last person to have contact with her. Maybe she said something, or he saw someone...”
His fingers squeezed almost painfully around hers. “What was wrong with this guy that she kept him a secret from me and the rest of us—even from her friends in Kansas City?”
“I think he was married,” Kate stated quietly.
Boone shook his head and pulled away. “No. She wouldn’t do that. She knows what I went through with Irene. She wouldn’t wreck someone else’s life.”
“She was young and pretty and vibrant, according to everyone I’ve spoken to here today. What man wouldn’t fall in love with her?”
“Falling for her, I get. But Janie having an affair with a married man?”
“Sometimes you can’t help who you fall in love with. And he probably lied to her—told her he was leaving his wife, or that they’d grown apart and the marriage wasn’t any good.” Her own bitterness filtered in. “He’s a selfish man, trying to have the best of both worlds—the stability and reputation of a marriage plus the thrill of a conquest.”