by Barb Han
“We’re checking out his financials to see if there’ve been any recent changes,” the sheriff said.
“And the names I supplied?” she asked again, reminding herself that thinking about Dade was as productive as trying to milk a chicken.
“Each had an alibi,” he answered.
“What about his business?” Dade asked. “Any hint that there might’ve been trouble from there?”
“He’d been busy leading up to his murder. A pair of men who used to work for him have come forward to make a claim against his estate,” the sheriff supplied.
“What right do they have?” Carrie couldn’t help but come off as indignant at the thought of essentially grave robbers creeping out from all angles.
“They say they weren’t paid for work they performed,” the sheriff said.
“I might know who they are if you give me names,” she offered.
“Ever hear Mr. Strawn talk about a man named Carl Buckley?” Sawmill asked.
Carrie searched her memory. She really wanted to help find the killer. But she came up empty. “He must’ve worked for Brett before we dated.” Hearing the word dated seemed odd to her now. They’d barely been in a relationship to begin with and now she was trying to help find Brett’s killer. It was surreal, but life had taught her to expect the worst and she should’ve known better than to get too comfortable. Everything had been going a little too well before all this started and she blamed herself for getting involved with Brett in the first place. That sounded horrible now that he was gone, but it was true. She should never have agreed to go against her better judgment and date him. And he could be dead because of their relationship if someone had killed him because of an obsession with her.
The sheriff picked up the packet of Zantac and stuffed it in his shirt pocket. “Buckley’s pretty well known around town for his drinking. He doesn’t have a reliable track record of showing up to work at previous jobs.”
“If he was late too often or showed up drunk on the job, Brett would’ve fired him right then and there. He wouldn’t have put his men or livelihood at risk.” Carrie shook her head. “His strict policy might’ve made the guy angry if he felt justified.”
“There’s another gentleman by the name of Dave Lancaster,” Sawmill stated.
“I know who he is.” She didn’t have to dig deep into her memories for that one. His carelessness had made him unpopular on job sites. “He was an OSHA nightmare fully realized. I remember Brett said he was careless. He’d drop tools from scaffolding and not shout a heads-up for anyone who might be walking below. Brett didn’t like to use him. I can’t remember how many times Brett said Dave was going to kill someone if he couldn’t toe the line.”
“How did others on the job site react to his behavior?” Sawmill asked.
“They didn’t like Dave at all. Some of the guys threatened to quit if Brett didn’t get things under control.” She rocked her foot back and forth, figuring the sheriff was no closer to figuring this out than she was.
“Were there any threats made to Brett?” Sawmill quirked a brow, and she could almost see the wheels turning in his head. At the very least, this information seemed to change things for him—hopefully it would get him closer to finding out who had killed Brett. Yes, Nash was a possibility, but he was feeling more like a long shot to Carrie. What would his real motive be?
“Nothing that he shared with me.” Oh. Wait. Hold on. “Hector was hurt by one of Dave’s actions. He left some tool lying around on the ground that Hector stepped on—maybe a nail gun?—and whatever it was shot a nail right through his foot. Hector made all kinds of threats in the heat of the moment, but Brett didn’t take it too seriously. He said Hector would cool down and come around.”
“And he fired Dave after that?” Sawmill’s brow shot up.
“He must’ve. I don’t know for certain. Things had already started to unravel between us, and I was trying to get him to give me space when he was going through all of that,” she admitted.
“Did you ever meet Hector Reglan?” Sawmill asked.
“Not face-to-face, no. But I felt like I knew him, because Brett talked about how Hector’s wife would make homemade tamales for the guys on Fridays if they’d had a good week.” Carrie had wanted to love someone enough to want to cook for his coworkers. “They have two kids.”
“And his wife never brought them to your shop?” Sawmill seemed to catch onto this last bit of information.
“Not once. I think money was tight and she didn’t want the kids to get used to spending money on things they could make at home.” She paused. “I offered to treat them, but Brett said Hector would be too proud to accept, so I left it alone.”
“I’ll talk to Hector and his wife. See where they were on the night of the murder.” Sawmill took down a few notes. “What about his neighbors? Was he close to any of them?”
“If you’re asking if he knew them well enough for one of them to walk right past Tyson, then no,” she stated. “Brett was having trouble with one of his neighbors.”
The sheriff perked up.
“They were having fights over messes he was leaving in the front yard. His work truck was old and he parked it out front. She called and had it towed a few times. I never met her and she might’ve been justified in her complaints, but I forgot to mention her before.”
“Which side?” Sawmill asked.
“She’s to the right. I don’t know her name.” She gave a helpless shrug. Based on his line of questioning, she was becoming more certain that he was digging around for possibilities.
“What about ex-girlfriends?” Sawmill continued. “He talk about any bad blood there?”
“Regina Kastle—with a K—kept texting him long after the breakup,” she supplied.
“Did he say what she wanted?” Sawmill asked.
“Money, mostly. She had a baby, and I think he was helping her out financially while they dated.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know anything about this until close to the end of our relationship. In fact, she was another in a long list of reasons Brett and I weren’t a good match from the beginning. He kept too many secrets.”
“Was the baby his?” the sheriff asked.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “They started dating when her little girl was already six months old.”
“And he didn’t tell you any of this right away?” Sawmill asked.
“Are you married?”
Sawmill nodded.
“Really? How long?” she asked.
He quirked a brow but played along. “Twenty-two years.”
“Congratulations,” she offered. “That’s a long time.”
He was quick to nod.
“You remember much about those early days of dating? When everything was new?” she asked.
“Most of it. Sure,” Sawmill admitted.
“Did Mrs. Sawmill tell you everything about every guy she’d dated during those first few dates?” Carrie asked.
Sawmill’s hands were already up in surrender. “No, she did not. In fact, she’d dated one of my best friends the year before and I didn’t know about it until right before our wedding, when she confessed. Said holding in the secret was making her sick and that she’d understand if I didn’t want to go through with the wedding.”
“So I’m guessing you already know the answer to your question,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am. I believe that I do.” Sawmill repositioned in his seat. “I’ve seen the line out the door of your shop.”
“Not anymore. All the media attention I’ve been getting is going to run me out of business,” she stated with a little more heat than she’d intended.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” The sheriff seemed sincere. “My wife can’t get enough of your Vanilla Bean-illa.”
“Most people love that one.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach h
er eyes. “I’d be happy to have a batch ready if you want to stop by after work.”
“I’m curious,” he continued without answering, “how do you get the flavors just right? I mean, I’ve eaten a lot of ice cream in my day.” He patted his stomach, which admittedly was a little big. “I’m normally a home-style vanilla guy, but the vanilla in yours makes my old one seem...” He paused. “I don’t know, lacking in some way.”
“Practice, Sheriff Sawmill. That’s how I perfected the recipe. I spent a few weeks on that recipe alone and I had to have the vanilla shipped in.” She was proud of the care she took in developing each recipe.
“Then you understand what it means to be thorough. I have to ask questions. Even the ones I know the answers to in advance. I ask anyway because it’s my job and every once in a while—not often, mind you, maybe a handful of times in twenty-five years—someone surprises me with a different answer and a case is solved out of what feels like thin air.” He clasped his hands together and placed them on top of the desk.
Dade stood. “If there’s nothing else Carrie can help you with, I’d like to take her home.”
“I’ll take you up on the ice cream sometime,” he said to Carrie.
“Anytime, Sheriff. Don’t be shy.”
And somehow she had a feeling he was going to take her up on that offer.
Chapter Thirteen
“Can you drop me off at work in a few hours?” Carrie asked Dade as she let Coco in the back door of her home. It was almost dark, and she didn’t want to risk leaving her car anywhere near the shop for the reporters to see it. “I’ll take her in with me.”
“There are a few things I need to take care of at the ranch,” Dade supplied. “Will you be okay if I don’t stick around after I drop you?”
“Of course.” The thought of Nash running around loose somewhere didn’t do great things to Carrie’s stress levels. Focusing on work would take her mind off everything going on, and especially all the confusing feelings she had toward Dade.
A truck engine roared next door, and gravel spewed underneath tires on the drive.
“Guess my neighbor’s finally home,” she said. “He made a big deal out of my trash blowing into his yard. Cursed me out the other day.”
“What’s his name?” Dade asked. The look on his face said he wasn’t thrilled.
“I’m not sure.” She shrugged. “I tried to go over a couple of times when I saw his truck was parked out front. I know he was there, but he didn’t answer the door. And then I was letting Coco out the other night and he came home yelling across the yard for me to keep my trash on my side. I tried to explain that it was probably raccoons, but he didn’t want to hear any of it.”
“When did he move in?” Dade asked.
“Around six months ago, I think. He’s almost never home, though.” Carrie couldn’t contain the frustration in her voice.
“Maybe I should have a talk with him,” Dade said, his tone indicating he’d be doing most of the talking.
“Don’t worry about it. He’s a jerk,” she said. “He’s not worth the energy.”
Speaking of neighbors, the mail carrier had mistakenly put a piece of Samuel’s aunt’s mail in Carrie’s box. She hadn’t seen either of them lately, but then, she’d been consumed with her own problems. She remembered making a note to drop off ice cream the other day. Another thing that had fallen off her radar.
Her life felt like it was slipping through her fingers lately. And there was no way to catch hold and take back control, no matter how much she tried.
The deep ridges in Dade’s forehead said he was determined to defend her. She already had bad relations with her neighbor, and she didn’t want to make things worse.
“Promise me you’ll leave it alone.” She looked into Dade’s eyes and almost faltered when he studied her. “I already have more going on than I can handle.”
And then his stone features softened. “What happened?”
“I already told you,” she said.
“I don’t mean with him.” He gestured toward next door.
It dawned on her what he was talking about. She lifted her shoulder as casually as she could. “It was a long time ago. Doesn’t matter now.”
Dade took a tentative step toward her. “It does to me.”
If she opened up that dam, there’d be no way to handle the flooding. Part of her wanted to let go, to finally talk to someone about it, but she couldn’t. It was too hard. Tears burned the backs of her eyes. Just thinking about it brought a heavy cloak around her shoulders.
“Carrie.” The softness in his voice, the compassion made it hard to breathe.
She needed to do something to change the subject before her ribs cracked and her chest exploded.
“I need a shower.”
* * *
BY THE TIME Dade picked Carrie up from the shop the next day, exhaustion had set it. The thought of losing the business she’d worked so hard for sat heavy in her chest. The stabbing pain in her left shoulder blade had intensified.
After greeting Dade, she coaxed Coco onto the seat, where the Sharp Eagle perched in the center.
Dade’s expression was intense. Deep grooves were carved in his forehead, and worry lines underlined his serious blue eyes. His jaw clenched as he turned the steering wheel, guiding them out of the alley.
“Everything okay?”
“There’s a lot going on with my family, a lot of media,” he said. “I’m sorry they’ve picked up on me helping you.”
“Don’t be, because I’m not. I’m grateful for everything you’ve been doing for me, Dade.”
She liked that the muscle in his jaw released some of its tension when he half smiled.
“You’re welcome,” he said. She liked making him feel better, even if she wasn’t ready to tell him everything.
“I keep mulling over the possibilities of who could have killed Brett,” he said.
“Same with me,” she admitted, leaning her head against the seat and rubbing her temples. “I still can’t fathom anyone wanting him gone, and especially not because of me. Look, I know he wasn’t always the nicest guy and I realized my mistake in dating him. But no one deserves this.”
“I’d like to speak to Nash,” Dade said.
“Me, too. I just wish he’d turn up somewhere. I feel like he holds the key to what we’re looking for, and it’s beyond frustrating that no one can locate him.” She gripped her cell. There were no messages on it. Not like her last phone. This one was quiet, and it was a strange feeling. “I’ve been thinking about what’s next for me. Sales are dwindling, and it’s only a matter of time before I have no customers left.”
“People are skittish right now. The town’s been through a lot recently. It’ll settle down, and you’ll be able to open your doors again when people forget,” Dade reassured. “And they will.”
“Have you forgotten about my past?” Carrie scoffed. What if they didn’t forget? She had to think about an exit strategy. She had a little money saved. Maybe she could move to Austin and start a new business. It would only be a matter of time before she’d run out of money at this location. Eric and Harper were still on Carrie’s payroll, coming in overnight to help with mail orders. She’d managed to get her dairy and dry goods vendors to send deliveries earlier in the morning. Her staff had assured her they’d work whatever hours she could give and she felt responsible for their jobs. She’d take a pay cut if she had to in order to keep them employed. There were the reporters outside her house—a place that felt even less like home now. Which reminded her, she needed to let Samuel know what was going on. He must be wondering why she suddenly had security at her house.
“I can probably guess what you’re thinking right now.” Dade broke through the thoughts spiraling her to a pit of hopeless.
“Then tell me, because I feel like I’m all over the place.�
�� She blew out a frustrated breath.
“What city are you considering?” he asked as he waved to Adam, the security guard working the overnight shift. Dade had made a point of having photos of each guard sent to him as an extra precaution.
Dade pulled into her driveway.
Her neighbor’s truck was parked on the pad next to his house.
“I wasn’t—”
Dade shot her a look.
“Austin,” she relented. “How’d you know?”
“We’ve been friends a very long time.” He put a lot of emphasis on the word friends. Was that because he didn’t want her to confuse his kindness for something else? The few kisses they’d shared held a lot more heat than a friendly gesture. But she figured that he was reminding himself as much as her that the two of them trying to be anything but friends was worse than a bad idea.
She didn’t figure this was the time to remind him that they’d been childhood pals and nothing more. They’d gone their separate ways in high school and certainly didn’t run in the same circles then or now. Seeing him in the alley the other night was the most they’d talked since they were kids. So how did he think he knew her?
He might’ve made a lucky guess, but Dade had no idea what was really running through her mind or he would’ve hightailed it in the other direction a long time ago.
Carrie got out of the truck. “Come on, Coco.”
Stubbornly, Coco went out the driver’s side at Dade’s heels.
“She probably smells Flash on me,” he said by way of explanation.
“Who’s that?” Carrie unlocked the front door, ignoring her frustration that even her dog liked Dade more than she liked her owner.
Dade followed Carrie, and her heart gave a little flip because her emotions were so mixed up, so confused that they had her wanting to reach for comfort in his arms.
“I changed Tyson’s name,” he supplied. “We’re giving him a fresh start with his life, and he needed a new name to go with it.”
“That’s a great idea. I like the name.” She wished the messes in her life could be untangled so easily. “How’d he respond to the change?”