by Jane Godman
“Oh.” Hester cast a sidelong glance at Esmée, obviously wondering what to say next.
“It’s okay.” Esmée placed her hand briefly on the older woman’s knee. “You didn’t know and I don’t mind talking about it.”
It was true...in a way. Of course she minded that Rhys didn’t talk. But she had always been open about it, even if the reason for his emotional distress filled her with guilt. The toxic downturn in her relationship with Gwyn Owen, Rhys’s father, had been gradual. Even so, the deterioration into violence had taken Esmée by surprise. It was only Jack’s intervention that had saved her from serious injury. Her old friend had come to her rescue, removing her from the scene of a vicious attack and helping her deal with the aftermath. But the damage had been done. Rhys had witnessed his mother cowering with her hands over her head as his father punched and kicked her.
“Why don’t we go see some dogs?” Change the subject. Yeah, that always worked. For a while.
Rhys clapped his hands together before holding up both hands with his fingers curved as he imitated a begging dog. Esmée’s heart expanded with pride and love and she clapped her own hands in response. It was important to praise any efforts he made to communicate, even if they weren’t verbal. She wanted to use the dog show to meet Brayden Colton and set up an interview, but the most important thing was for Rhys to have a good time.
Her sweet, silent boy spoke to her in his own way. And one day he would use words. She had to stay positive that it would happen. Every time she looked into his dark eyes, thankfully like her own rather than his father’s, an icy shard of guilt pierced her heart. She should have gotten away sooner, should have known it was never going to have a happy ending...
Hester laughed delightedly. “He’s so clever.” Esmée already liked Hester, but her admiration for Rhys sealed the deal.
She chatted to Rhys as she drove, describing the late-afternoon scene. Hester picked up on what she was doing and joined in. Esmée didn’t need the psychologist and the speech therapist who saw Rhys regularly to tell her that he needed lots of talk to stimulate him. She was his mom—her instincts told her what to do. At the same time, talking to Rhys, singing songs to him and telling him stories were all reminders of her own childhood. Esmée was a talker. It was who she was, and it made Rhys’s silence so much harder to bear.
The dog show was held at the K-9 training center. Located at the far end of Main Street, the center was a large one-story brick building that edged onto the woods. They got out of the car and headed toward a large backyard with a five-foot-high wooden fence all the way around. The gates were open and the event had spilled out onto the surrounding grass with stalls lining the route all the way to the trees.
Hester explained that the major part of the K-9 unit funding came from a trust left by Mayor Fenwick Colton’s late first wife. “That’s him.” Even though the man she indicated was too far away to hear, Hester murmured the words out of the corner of her mouth.
Esmée had heard a few things about Fenwick Colton, none of them good. According to the Gages she’d spoken to, the short, skinny man with the blond hairpiece thought he owned Red Ridge. He was a wealthy businessman in his midfifties, with three divorces behind him. Apparently having finally decided marriage wasn’t for him, he now preferred to have a new young girlfriend on his arm, and changed them every few months.
“His daughter, Layla Colton, was supposed to marry Hamlin Harrington, the owner of Harrington Inc., at the end of the year.” Hester’s voice took on a gossipy ring that triggered Esmée’s human-interest radar. “There’s a rumor that Fenwick’s business, Colton Energy, is in trouble. Hamlin has signed the documents that will save Colton Energy once he marries Layla. But since the Groom Killer murders, Hamlin has gotten nervous and called off the engagement. Now the clock is ticking and Fenwick faces losing everything. He needs millions by December 31st or it’s all over. The problem is, if Fenwick loses Colton Energy, the funding for the K-9 unit will be pulled.”
Esmée looked around her at the training center and the people who had gathered to celebrate the work it did. “That would be awful.”
Hester spread her picnic blanket on the ground. “Fenwick is putting pressure on Chief Finn Colton to get a quick arrest. There is no such thing as family loyalty for our mayor. He can’t stand his lowlife cousin, Rusty, who owns a bar, or any of his kids. As far as Fenwick is concerned, he doesn’t care whether Demi is guilty or innocent. He just wants her arrested and locked up so folks won’t be scared of getting married and he can get his money-making plans back on track with his daughter’s wedding.”
“Nice man.”
Hester snorted. “You think?”
Although Fenwick wasn’t the Colton that Esmée was interested in right now, the story added color to her research. There clearly wasn’t much family feeling between the three Colton patriarchs, Fenwick, Judson and Rusty. No wonder Demi had gone on the run. Guilty or innocent, there didn’t seem to be much sympathy for her in Red Ridge. On the subject of the dysfunctional Colton clan...
She looked over at the enclosure in the center of the grass, where the officers were gathering with their dogs. “Which one is Brayden Colton?”
“I don’t see him.” Hester shielded her eyes with her hand as she looked toward the enclosure. Some of the officers were standing in a group nearby. “But it will be easy to pick him out when he does get here. He’s the search-and-rescue officer on the team, so he wears an orange vest over his uniform. His K-9 partner, Echo, is a golden retriever. Echo also wears an orange vest.”
It was a useful piece of information, and Esmée kept checking on the K-9 team as she and Hester took Rhys around the stalls and activities.
Her feelings about Red Ridge were mixed. Jack was the reason she had come to this town. He had worked closely with her mother, assisting Portia da Costa on several of her best-selling true-crime books. After Portia died and Jack left the force, he had helped Esmée with her own research. He had even joined her in Wales, where she’d spent almost two years filming her award-winning documentary, What Remains. When Jack alerted her to the Groom Killer case, Esmée had immediately been intrigued. But arriving in town to find her friend had become one of the victims had tilted her whole world off course. It also made her motivation for staying a whole lot stronger.
Even without Jack’s death and the background of the Groom Killer story, there was enough of an undercurrent here in Red Ridge to stimulate her interest. Esmée’s stories were about the individuals, families and communities that had been torn apart by acts of violence and lawlessness. It was hard to explain to anyone else, but she could also tell when a place was suffering. And, even though she’d only arrived recently, she knew Red Ridge was hurting more than any other town she’d known.
When Jack had called her with the news he and Sarah were getting married, Esmée had just finished delivering an online course to murder-mystery writers. She was in the unusual position of being between jobs.
“There’s a story here, if you’re interested,” Jack had said. “How about a town where folks are scared to get married in case the groom is murdered? Couples are making a big deal of publicly calling off their weddings. Flower stores, cake shops, caterers and wedding-dress designers are seeing their incomes plummet. No one is going on dates or out for romantic meals. Hell, most people are even scared to hold hands with their partner.” Jack always did have a knack for catching her attention and hooking her into a story, making her see the human-interest angle.
Esmée had reached for a notepad and pen. “Red Ridge, South Dakota. The town where romance died?”
She recalled that conversation as she looked around her now. Although there were couples at the show, she noticed a definite lack of any displays of affection. It created a strange, false atmosphere.
Hester entertained her by explaining that there were competitions for the saddest eyes, waggiest tail, floppiest ea
rs and scruffiest dog. “There was a campaign to have a crossbreed disqualified after he won all four categories last year.”
Esmée burst out laughing. “Now that’s a dog I need to see.” She noticed that a tall, dark-haired officer in an orange search-and-rescue vest had entered the K-9 enclosure. “Hester, would you watch Rhys for a few minutes? There’s someone I need to talk to.”
Chapter 2
“You know how hard you’ve been working to stay out of Esmée da Costa’s way?” Finn asked.
Brayden regarded him warily. “Yes.”
“Looks like she found you anyway.”
Brayden followed the direction of his chief’s nod. Until now, he wasn’t aware he’d had any expectation about how Esmée would look. He certainly hadn’t expected to see a petite, pretty woman with long auburn hair and huge dark eyes. She was holding the hand of a little boy, who wore a red sweatshirt, and she was laughing at something Hester Mull was saying. Having looked her way, Brayden was having a hard time dragging his gaze away again.
After a moment or two, he realized Finn was waiting for some kind of response. He shrugged and turned away. “I need to get Echo ready for the manhunt.”
Each of the K-9s in the unit had a different specialty and the dog show was an opportunity to show the public what they did. Echo was trained as a scent-specific search dog, also known as a trail dog. If he was given something belonging to a missing person, Echo would discriminate that scent from the others around it and use it to hunt for the person it matched. Each year, during the dog show, Brayden would select members of the public and ask them to hide before using Echo to find them in a canine game of hide-and-seek. It was one of the most popular features of the day.
“Officer Colton?” The voice was low-pitched and musical and the aroma that invaded his nostrils was subtle and floral.
He swung around quickly, encountering a smile that, in any other circumstances, would have done him a whole powerful lot of good. Up close, Esmée was even more beautiful than from a distance, with dainty features and golden skin tones. The top of her head was level with his shirt pocket and she tilted her head back to look at him.
She was eye-catching in her short, brightly patterned skirt, over which she wore a lace blouse and a faded denim jacket. Black lace-up ankle boots drew Brayden’s attention to her slender legs.
“I’m Esmée da Costa. We seem to keep missing each other.”
“No, Ms. da Costa. I’ve been avoiding you.”
Her smile widened. It was possibly the most enchanting smile he’d ever seen and he was working hard to not be enchanted. “I knew that. I was being diplomatic.”
She was stunning and just gazing at her was a reminder to his body that it had been a long time since he had been this close to a woman. Maybe it was time to do something about that. Not with this woman, obviously...
“This must be Echo.” As she stroked the dog’s head, Brayden’s well-trained K-9 partner forgot his manners and licked her bare knee. Esmée laughed. Smiling and laughing seemed to come naturally to her. If she hadn’t been making a documentary that had the potential to ruin his sister, he’d have been tempted to join in. “Oh, hey...is that a Red Ridge greeting? The knee licking?”
“Looks like it is now.” He really couldn’t blame Echo for his lapse. She had the nicest knees.
“I know you’re busy.” She waved a hand to indicate the compound, where the K-9s were waiting patiently for their partners. “And I need to get back to my little boy, but I’d love to fix up a time to speak to you.”
“That isn’t going to happen.” He was about to launch into his rehearsed speech about her chosen profession, when the sound of a woman’s voice raised in shrill alarm drew his attention back to the training area.
“Esmée! Oh, dear Lord.” He narrowed his eyes, catching sight of Hester Mull standing at the edge of the K-9 compound with her hand over her mouth. “I just turned away for a second...”
With lightning speed, Esmée had already broken into a run. Catching a glimpse of a small figure in a red sweatshirt among the dogs, Brayden was just behind her. He overtook her before she could run into the compound.
He caught hold of her arm, pulling her back until she was behind him. “Leave this to me.”
“Rhys...” The word was choked from her as she gazed at her son. Weaving his way among the dogs, the boy appeared smaller than ever. There were gasps and exclamations from some of the onlookers.
“Somebody do something. Those dogs will tear him apart.” The unknown woman’s voice grated on Brayden’s nerves.
Catching sight of Danica Gage, a K-9 trainer, he gestured for her to keep the onlookers away and ask them to be quiet. As Brayden stepped into the compound, Rhys approached Echo. Wrapping his arms around the dog’s neck, the boy pressed his face into thick, golden fur. When Brayden reached them, Echo gave him a look that seemed to say, “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”
Echo stayed perfectly still as Brayden carefully loosened Rhys’s hands from around his neck. As soon as he had freed the boy from the dog, Esmée was there. Dropping to her knees at her son’s side, she scooped him into her arms.
“Dog,” Rhys said, pointing to Echo.
“What did you say?” Esmée stared at him, her face growing pale.
“Dog.” Rhys seemed slightly impatient at being asked to say the word again.
Esmée’s hand shook as she raised it to cover her lips. Tears filled her eyes, spilling over as she gazed at him.
“I know it looked bad, but he wasn’t in any real danger.” Since she was clearly in shock, Brayden attempted to reassure her. “These dogs are well trained. None of them would hurt a child, and Echo is just a big cuddly toy.”
She shook her head, the tears flowing faster now. “You don’t understand. Rhys doesn’t talk. That was his first word.”
* * *
Brayden squatted next to Rhys, who stood within the circle of Esmée’s arms. She was still having a hard time believing what she’d just heard.
“This is Echo.” As Brayden pronounced each word slowly and deliberately, Esmée held her breath.
“Ko.” Rhys tried out the word carefully.
“Close enough.” Brayden held out his hand, inviting the little boy to come closer. “It’s okay.” He raised his eyes to Esmée’s face and she knew the reassurance was for her sake more than Rhys’s. “Echo is great with kids.”
So are you. Her son could be a little shy around strangers, but she watched him take Brayden’s outstretched hand. She got to her feet as they approached the dog.
“Esmée, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how he got away from me.” Hester came to stand beside her.
She shook her head. “He said a few words, Hester.” Tears blurred her vision again momentarily. “The dog got him talking.”
“Oh, my.” Hester slid an arm around Esmée’s waist and she leaned her head gratefully against the older woman’s shoulder as they observed Rhys interacting with Echo.
Brayden was talking patiently to the little boy. “Echo can shake hands, but you have to tell him what you want him to do. You have to say ‘paw.’”
As soon as he said the word, Echo raised his paw and Brayden took it, shaking it to demonstrate what he meant. Rhys started to laugh. It was a sound Esmée hadn’t heard since that awful night in Wales when Gwyn had attacked her. Although he often smiled, when Rhys had retreated into his silent world, he had stopped laughing.
Now, watching Brayden shake hands with Echo, her little boy’s musical chuckle rang out. It was the sweetest sound she had ever heard.
“Now you say it.” Brayden positioned Rhys in front of Echo. “Say ‘paw.’”
Instead, Rhys gave the dog another hug. “Ko.” His voice was muffled by Echo’s fur.
“Can I get a picture?” Esmée’s hand shook as she took her cell phone out of her pocket.
>
“Sure. Echo is a narcissist, he loves posing for photographs,” Brayden said.
As if to demonstrate, as soon as Esmée aimed her phone to take the picture, Echo shifted position so his search-and-rescue vest was on display. He looked up at her, big eyes shining, his mouth wide as if he was smiling. She had never had much contact with dogs. Her mother’s job had kept them moving around too much for them to own one when Esmée was growing up. Now, looking at Echo’s kind, intelligent face, she thought there was probably a lot to be said for the benefit of a canine companion.
“Let’s try the paw thing once more.”
Esmée realized what Brayden was doing. He was using his dog as therapy, getting Rhys to talk to Echo. Her throat tightened with gratitude toward this man she didn’t know. No one had grasped what Rhys needed so quickly, or done something about it with such efficiency.
Slowly, patiently, Brayden got Rhys to say the word paw to Echo. Rhys squealed with delight when Echo lifted his paw on command. He shook it, then insisted on doing it over and over.
“That dog is going to have a sore leg.” Even though she was laughing, Hester had tears in her eyes as she hugged Esmée.
“Now it’s Mommy’s turn to shake hands,” Brayden said. “Tell her to come over here.”
Esmée held her breath as Rhys looked over his shoulder, his eyes shining. “Mommy, say ‘paw.’” He pointed. “Ko.”
Although she had stayed positive, telling herself he would talk, there had been times when she had wondered if she would ever hear him call her “Mommy.” All she knew was she’d have given everything she owned to hear that word on his lips. As she sank to her knees next to Brayden, wrapping an arm around Rhys’s waist, she wanted to relish the moment, to imprint it on her memory forever.
Rhys wasn’t going to give her time to get emotional. “Say ‘paw.’” Having found his voice, he seemed determined to use it.
Laughing, Esmée went through the routine of shaking hands with Echo, who, she decided, must be the most patient dog in the world.