by Barb Han
“It’s not healthy for a kid to get passed around so much, is it?” he continued, and fire lit in her chest.
“What are you trying to say, Deputy Kirkus?” She locked on to his gaze. “That I’m unstable? That I’m crazy because I didn’t have the best childhood? I’m not the only one who ever had problems while growing up.”
“I’ve seen the photos,” he said, and he was getting a little too close for comfort.
“And?”
“Mr. Strawn had a reputation for putting his hands on women.” He bowed his head, and she couldn’t really tell if he was being respectful of the dead or sorry for the accusation sitting in the air between them.
“If I understand this correctly, you’re accusing me of getting rid of him because he hurt me,” she clarified.
“Abuse does things to people, especially kids. Maybe you’d had enough and this guy caused you to make a mistake,” he stated.
“The only thing I’m fed up with is being accused of something I didn’t do.” She stood and shouldered her purse.
Kirkus’s hands went up in the surrender position. “Hold on there. No one’s accusing you of anything.”
“Except having a bad childhood, right?” She tapped her toe against the tile as anger built inside her. It didn’t matter what she said or did. She’d never break free from people judging her, not here or anywhere else. “I’m upset now. Are you afraid I’m going to do something stupid?”
He shook his head.
“So it seems that I can be angry and still behave like a normal person.” She took a deep breath meant to calm herself. “The reason Brett and I broke up is because I saw a side to him that I didn’t like. In case you’re wondering, he never put a hand on me.”
“The dots aren’t hard to connect,” Kirkus countered with an apologetic look. “A jury might feel the same way.”
The thought of living the nightmares of her past all over again, and especially for public consumption, caused her to shiver. “I doubt a jury would convict anyone who’d been at home with her dog while someone she once cared about was murdered.”
“Says you,” he stated. “You say that you were home with your dog. Unfortunately, your pet can’t corroborate your story.”
“Whatever happened to being innocent until proven guilty?” she countered, reminding herself to breathe. The walls felt like they were closing in around her and she needed to get outside for some fresh air.
“Like I said, I’m just thinking like a jury,” he claimed.
A noise tore from Carrie’s throat. “Let’s hope juries have more common sense than that, Deputy.”
“I’ll get the sheriff.” He turned toward the hall but didn’t leave the door frame.
Carrie started to pace.
“Ma’am, I’m afraid I have to ask you to sit down.” There was nothing friendly about his expression or posture now.
Carrie prayed the card in her hand would give her strength. “Why’s that, Deputy? Am I not free to go anymore?”
“It’s in your best interest to cooperate,” he stated with a frown.
“I asked this before and I’m asking it again. Am I under arrest?” All he’d told her so far was that her ex-boyfriend had been electrocuted—the thought still ripped her heart out—and the person responsible had walked right past his dog to do it. She wasn’t the only person in the world who knew Tyson, and Brett would have a long line of people he’d upset at one time or another. The guy didn’t always use tact when trying to get a point across.
“No, ma’am. And I’d like to keep it that way.” He leaned against the doorjamb again.
“So would I. And since I haven’t done anything wrong, I don’t expect any change in that statement.” She stalked toward him. “So if you’ll excuse me, I just learned that someone I once cared about is dead. I’d like to go home and cry before taking a shower and finding someone to open my shop this morning, because I have a feeling this is going to be one heck of an awful day.”
The deputy didn’t move.
“Excuse me,” she said, looking him square in the eye. His were a dull, watery gray outlined by red. Too many late nights. Too much coffee. Too much sitting.
His judgment was horribly off, and she’d blame those three things for him standing there, blocking the door, and not the fact that he really might think she’d killed Brett.
Chapter Seven
“Deputy, I’d like to go home,” Carrie stated boldly, realizing that she didn’t have any leverage in this situation. She didn’t even have a ride. It didn’t matter. The walls were closing in, and she could scarcely believe the accusation hanging in the air. Asking to walk through the door would tell her exactly where she stood. At least for the moment, a little voice reminded her, because even if they allowed her to leave, that didn’t mean it was over. Brett would still be gone—she fought against the onslaught of emotion threatening to crack her in two—and she could be hauled back in at any time.
“The sheriff picked you up?” Kirkus craned his neck, looking behind him before acknowledging Carrie’s request and stepping aside.
“Yes,” she conceded.
“If you can be patient a few more minutes, someone will give you—”
Carrie’s hand was already up and waving off the deputy. It was far too late for talking, and she had no plans to stick around the sheriff’s office a minute longer than she absolutely had to. She recognized the stall tactic for what it was. “I can manage on my own.”
She stalked past Kirkus without a sideways glance. She’d walk home if she had to. Dade would be up but possibly out of cell range and she wanted to get out of there now. There had to be an app for a car service. She hadn’t needed one until now and didn’t have the first clue what to do to find the app. The App Store? Could she call for a car this early? She had no idea how it worked, but that wouldn’t stop her.
If not an app, then what? Or who? One of her employees would pick her up in a heartbeat, but how would she explain being in the sheriff’s office following Brett’s murder?
A little voice in the back of her mind said, Dade. She rubbed her thumb against the embossed letters one more time. She hated the thought of disturbing him. But hold on. Living on the ranch, wouldn’t he already be awake and working?
She stalked outside into the balmy air. More rain threatened, another rarity for August in Texas, but shocking truths were lining up tonight. Media people descended on her. She turned tail toward the lobby as tears threatened to overwhelm her. She made a beeline for the women’s restroom and cleared the door before the first sob tore from her throat.
A stall opened, and an overwrought Ms. Strawn stepped out. Her eyes were puffy and red as she zeroed in on Carrie.
“What did you do to my boy?” Ms. Strawn came at her with balled fists.
“I would never hurt him,” Carrie defended herself, and a flash of guilt assaulted her because she already had just not in the same way.
Carrie caught the woman’s arms as she thrust them toward her. The older woman was surprisingly strong for someone in her late fifties who was on disability. Carrie guessed it was grief causing her to act out, to wrongly accuse. She couldn’t possibly believe that Carrie would hurt another human being. Could she?
“I’m so sorry about what happened,” Carrie offered, releasing the woman’s hands.
Brett’s mother exhaled, her tall, willowy frame shrinking like air out of a balloon.
Ms. Strawn drew back to smack Carrie, who sidestepped the flat palm coming toward her.
“You ought to be in jail for what you did to my boy,” Ms. Strawn seethed. “I knew you’d cause something like this. Bad stuff clings to you and hurts everyone around except you.”
Carrie backed against the sink and gripped the porcelain. Words could be so much more damaging than physical blows.
Ms. Strawn stepped forward, poi
nting her index finger at Carrie’s face. “Mark my words. You won’t get away with this.”
“I didn’t do anything.” Why was she defending herself to a woman who didn’t care about finding out the truth?
“I know all about you and what you said happened. I told my son to steer clear of you from the get-go. You’re a liar and a murderer,” Ms. Strawn accused. “And now my boy is paying the ultimate price.”
“I wouldn’t hurt Brett.” Carrie stepped out of reach of the shaky finger being pointed at her.
“You did. And now my boy’s...” Ms. Strawn shrank back, unable to finish. She covered her mouth with her hand, and tears streamed down her sallow cheeks.
The door opened and Brett’s sister, Brenda, caught sight of what was going on. She darted to her mother’s side.
“Let’s go, Mama,” Brenda said, shooting a nasty look at Carrie. “She’s already done enough. Leave it alone and let the sheriff do his job.”
The woman collapsed against her sturdy daughter.
“She’ll pay for what she’s done,” Ms. Strawn cried out.
“I know she will,” Brenda soothed, glancing back to shoot another dagger at Carrie with her eyes.
Carrie stood there, stunned and motionless for a few minutes. It took several more before her hands stopped shaking enough to make the call to Dade. She could only pray he was in cell phone range. He picked up on the second ring.
At the sound of his voice, a sob burst through. She could barely gather her thoughts before blurting out, “I’m so sorry to bother you but I didn’t know who else to call and so much has happened I don’t even know where to start.”
“Slow down, Carrie. Where are you?” His warm rumble of a voice washed over her, bringing a sense of calm that she knew better than to allow. It wouldn’t last. Good things never did in her life.
“I’m at the sheriff’s office,” she stated as calmly as she could manage before another sob retched from her throat.
“What happened?” By the tone of his voice, it occurred to her that he thought Nash had pulled another stunt. It was reassuring that his first thought was she was hurt or in danger rather than her being a suspect in a murder investigation.
“It’s Brett,” she said, unable to speak the horrible truth without tears streaming down her cheeks. “Something’s happened. He’s...gone.”
“I’ll be right there,” he said. The line was dead before she could say another word.
Just thinking about it made her stomach churn and threaten to revolt. She moved to the sink and splashed water on her face before locating a rubber band in her handbag and pulling her hair back into a ponytail and off her face.
Brett was gone. The two of them had been in a bad argument. And now she was a suspect in his murder.
It seemed the fear that had haunted her entire life was real.
The storm cloud that had followed Carrie had returned, and it might just swallow her whole this time.
* * *
“DADE,” CARRIE SAID the moment he walked through the doors of the police station. She charged toward him and buried her face in his chest as he wrapped his arms around her.
He could see that she’d been crying even though she tried to cover it. He could feel her trembling in his arms even though she tried to appear brave. And he could sense her fear even though her chin rose in defiance as she met his gaze.
“The sheriff just showed up at my house and brought me here for questioning,” she stated, so much torment in her voice. “They think I’m involved in Brett’s murder.”
“That’s crazy,” he defended as shock and anger fired through him. This was not the best time to have a sit-down with the sheriff about how off base the man was, but Dade had no plans to gloss over this. Sawmill couldn’t possibly believe Carrie was guilty of murdering her ex-boyfriend. And if he did, Dade had something to say to the man to straighten him out. He and Sawmill hadn’t said a bad word between them, but that was about to change if he didn’t leave Carrie alone.
“I didn’t have anyone else to call,” she said.
“You did the right thing,” he reassured, thinking that he needed to get her the hell out of there. More anger fired through his veins at the thought she’d be questioned for her ex’s murder under the circumstances. Dade might not’ve been in touch with Carrie for a long time, but he still knew her well enough to know she was one of the kindest people. She didn’t deserve to be treated like this, especially with her background. She’d been through hell and back, and he hadn’t been there to protect her.
Where did that come from?
He’d analyze that later. Right now, the problem he faced was getting her out of the sheriff’s office without drawing more unwanted media attention.
Dade tucked her under his arm. The forecast called for rain, and it was starting to sprinkle outside. That got him thinking as he walked into the temporary command post that had been set up to take leads on his father’s murder. “Does anyone have an umbrella?”
A volunteer motioned toward a coatrack while recording details from a phone call.
“I’d owe you one if you’d let me borrow this.” Dade picked up a small red offering and held it up.
The volunteer was on a call, but she glanced up anyway. Her gaze fixed on Carrie for a split second before connecting with Dade’s. She covered the receiver and said, “Go ahead and use it. I’ll make do.”
Dade mouthed a thank-you before fishing a wad of cash out of his pocket. He peeled off a few twenties and set them on the table in front of the older woman. Her eyes brightened and she smiled before quickly returning to the call in progress.
“Let’s take you home,” he said to Carrie as he opened the umbrella before exiting through the front door. He could hide her face from the media attention for now. But they’d been seen together the other night, and that probably wasn’t good for Carrie. Being seen with him could have the media digging into her painful past.
After depositing her on the passenger side of his truck, Dade took the driver’s seat. “I’m sorry about all those reporters.”
“Thank you for picking me up,” she said, and he hated how small and vulnerable she sounded. This was not the Carrie he was used to, but he understood why she’d be coming from that place and his protective instincts flared.
“We’ll figure this out. We have Ed, who will arrange a defense for you should this go to court. He’s the best and he’ll make sure the truth comes to light,” he said, liking the fact that he was thinking up a game plan to help her with a murder defense even less. “Let’s get him on the phone right now.”
Dade used hands-free Bluetooth technology to call the family lawyer.
Ed picked up on the first ring. “What’s going on?”
The lawyer skipped perfunctory greetings. No one would call him at this hour with good news.
“I have Carrie Palmer in the truck with me. You’re on speaker,” Dade supplied.
“Okay. What’s going on with Miss Palmer?” He sounded surprisingly awake now. The family lawyer’s ability to snap to strategic thinking on little to no sleep had always amazed Dade.
“Her ex, Brett—” He glanced at Carrie.
“Strawn,” she supplied with an overwhelmed quality to her voice.
“Brett Strawn was murdered earlier this evening,” Dade finished.
“Okay,” Ed said, and Dade could almost hear the dots connecting while he offered sincere-sounding condolences.
“How long ago did the relationship end?” Ed asked.
“It’s been a couple of weeks,” she said after thanking him.
“Forgive the question, but was the breakup amicable?” His voice was a study in calm.
“Not really,” she admitted.
“When investigators dig into this case, and I’m assuming the sheriff already picked you up for questioning, what kinds of
communications between the two of you will they find?” he asked.
“What do you mean? Like emails? Texts?” She sounded disoriented and a little confused. No doubt still in shock.
“Exactly like that,” he encouraged.
“Mostly texts and unreturned phone calls,” she said.
“I take it you were the one who ended the relationship,” Ed stated.
“Yes.”
“Did he ask for another chance?”
“Almost constantly.” This time she sounded deflated and guilty. Both understandable emotions, given the circumstances.
“And this caused discord between you,” Ed concluded.
“Yes. It did. A great deal, actually.” More of that defeated tone came across.
“Were you considering taking him back?” Ed probed.
Dade didn’t want to acknowledge how eager he was to hear the answer to that question. Certainly not to her and especially not to himself.
“Not one bit,” she said with assuredness.
“I know this is going to sound harsh given the situation, but had he become a nuisance?” Ed was forging ahead.
“Yes. He came to my business to try to convince me to take him back and didn’t like it when I said I needed time to think,” she admitted.
“How’d that go?” Ed’s voice raised an octave.
Dade remembered the fight she and her ex had had in the parking lot and the crowd of people who’d witnessed the exchange. At the time, he’d been proud of Carrie for standing up for herself, but he would’ve handled the situation differently if he’d known this was where it would end up.
“About as badly as it could’ve. He shouted, which frightened my customers. A few left. He yelled at me.” She stopped.
“Did he try to lay a hand on you?” Ed asked, his tone even.
“Yes. We exchanged heated words in the parking lot, and he reared his hand back to strike me. I backed up against a tree, saw a rock and chucked it at him as he walked away,” she admitted. “I was angry, but I would never...”
A couple of beats passed before anyone spoke again.