“It would have to be a big dollar amount, wouldn’t it? To make it worth that much trouble?”
“Probably. Though what’s worth it can vary for each person, depending on what their circumstances are and how desperate they are.”
Lanford appeared to consider. “That’s a good point. But would it ruin your day to know my dad didn’t buy lottery tickets?”
Sarah sighed. “Of course he didn’t. Why didn’t he?”
Lanford shrugged. “He just never did. In any case, if he’d been going to try for a big score, it would have been when Mom was alive. After she died, he was just going through the motions.”
Sarah rested her hand on Lanford’s. “I’m sorry. That really sucks.”
Lanford gazed at their hands. “It does.”
Sarah’s hand tingled where their skin touched, and she snatched it back. Desperately, she tried to move the conversation to safer channels.
“Then there’s the motive writers love to put in books and movies—your dad or brother saw something they shouldn’t have.”
“Like, a crime?”
Sarah nodded.
“Or someone who was supposed to be dead. Or they recognized someone in witness protection.”
Lanford’s forehead creased.
“How would you ever know if that had happened?”
“We wouldn’t. If they were killed to stop them from revealing something they saw, well, it worked.”
Lanford sighed. “Maybe I’ll never find out what really happened.”
“I’ve had to get pretty far-fetched here for a reason. If you give me the name of the girl you were involved with, I might have a better lead.”
Lanford’s gaze shot to hers. He clenched his jaw.
“If I thought it would help, I’d ask her. But she’s not in town anymore. And I don’t want to spread trouble her way.”
Sarah watched him, looking for any indication his resolve was wavering. There was none.
Her head said she shouldn’t trust him. He wasn’t being completely honest. Her heart... That was where the problems came from.
She’d wanted to help people when she chose this career. She’d believed she had.
But she’d also tried to help on that last big case before she left Pittsburgh. And that had brought about a whole lot of trouble. She’d kept a woman from being seriously hurt by an abusive spouse... But it had also kept a criminal on the street.
It was nice to help. But her job was to be a cop. She was the law.
They finished their meal in silence. Sarah didn’t know what Lanford was thinking, but if her words had had any part in it, he was probably discouraged and sure he’d never clear himself.
Maybe he wouldn’t. He’d need to face that possibility.
So would Sarah.
What was her endgame here? What did she think was going to happen?
If she found a motive for someone to kill Lewis or Dan Davies, and somehow, she and Lanford found evidence to support that, what then?
Lanford could get his conviction overturned. Then he’d be free to go on his way. Would he stay in Balsam Grove after he’d been cleared? Would she?
Sarah told herself she’d gone above and beyond whatever sense of duty she might have. If she got more involved with this man, even if he truly was innocent of the crime he’d been imprisoned for, she would be in the position of compromising her job, and her future in Pittsburgh.
When they got back in the car, Sarah suggested they listen to the radio and Lanford agreed. They didn’t talk, and Sarah dropped Lanford off at the parsonage as the sun was setting.
Her snitch from the protest a few days ago wasn’t in sight, which was a good thing. If someone asked what she’d been doing today, what would she say? She was spending the town’s time and resources looking into an old case that she hadn’t been asked to open again?
She’d done her due diligence. There was nothing and no one here in town that would be upset by Lanford clearing his name—at least, nothing apparent yet. And there didn’t seem to be much chance Lanford was going to find something.
No one had wanted to hurt or kill his father. Or his brother. They were both admired, liked and hadn’t hurt or offended anyone, outside of some random incident that no one would ever be able to prove.
The only possibility was a phone message that led nowhere.
The property was a dead end so far. Sure, it wasn’t a financially successful enterprise, but people made poor business decisions all the time. That wasn’t a crime. There was no fortune of oil on the land, no secrets hidden that hadn’t been found when the storage facility was built.
The only possible lead was Lanford himself. He’d been a kid getting in trouble. Maybe trouble had found him.
But he hadn’t done anything seriously wrong, and if he knew of anything else, he wasn’t sharing it with her. Like what might have caused someone to call Dan and bring him home the night of the fire.
She reminded herself that Lanford hadn’t been completely transparent. He’d put himself down as a possible motive, but he’d said he was taking care of that himself, and she had no way to make him share.
She’d done her part. It was time to close the file on her end and concentrate on the things the town paid her to do.
Like take care of Festus, the wonder police dog.
* * *
Lanford did another push-up.
He’d learned to subvert his frustration and anger into physical activity while in prison. Like many of the guys there, he’d worked out. It wasn’t always possible to use the equipment, so Lanford had learned to use his body as resistance. Push-ups, chin-ups, sit-ups—there were a lot of ways to make your muscles ache with nothing but your own body weight and time.
He dropped to the floor, chest heaving.
He pulled in air, feeding oxygen to his tired muscles. He rolled over and gazed at the ceiling.
It was warm up here in his third-floor apartment, but he was still grateful for the space. He remembered the feeling of his muscles burning after a good sprint. He used to run with Dan. Training runs. He couldn’t keep up with his brother when Dan turned on the jets, but they’d done a lot of running together.
He’d missed that. Running wasn’t encouraged in prison.
He wasn’t in prison, not now.
He realized, if he wanted to, he could run. There was a whole range of adjustments he was making, now that he wasn’t locked up anymore.
He still ate at the same times because he was used to that. Today, eating with Mr. Dawson and then with Sarah, he’d worked through a feeling of wrongness because it wasn’t the right time.
It was hard to decide what to do now that he was free to do what he wanted. Freedom was scary. It was unsettling.
He pushed to his feet and pulled on a pair of shorts. He didn’t bother with a shirt—it was dark, and it was hot.
His shoes weren’t great for running. They didn’t have a lot of shock absorption. He’d buy some better ones, but for now, he was going to run.
He raced down the steps, checking for anyone who might see him. Who might yell at him, tell him he couldn’t do this.
There was no one.
He scanned his brain, remembered the stretches Dan had always done before running. Lan had laughed at him, invincible as he thought he was back then.
He did the stretches now, knowing he was far from invincible.
He stepped out the parsonage gate. There were lights on the main floor: Pastor Harold and his family. He was careful not to let the gate slam.
He turned right. It didn’t matter which way he went.
His muscles weren’t used to this movement, but after a couple of blocks, the motions became habit, natural. His breathing adjusted, and he was running.
Dan used to say running was a great way to think. Lanford, running so
lo in the dark, found his brother had been right about this, the way he had been so often.
His first night back in Balsam Grove, Lanford had listed the only reasons he could think of for why someone might set the fire and frame him for it.
After the work he and Sarah had done, they hadn’t found any reasons connected to his father or Dan. It had been a long shot anyway, but it had been worth looking into.
Nothing.
The property. Sarah thought the fact that the storage place wasn’t busy indicated something, but the only connection they had to those people, the ones who built and owned it, was that Billy had been Dan’s best friend here in town. Billy obviously hated Lanford, but he believed Lan had killed Dan, so that made some sense.
Sarah had come up with a bunch of weird possibilities, but they were either improbable or unprovable. Lan wasn’t ready to admit defeat yet.
Which meant that the only thing left was Lanford himself. Someone had either wanted to kill or hurt him.
A sudden pain in his calf pulled him up short. He rubbed the muscle, walking slowly and stretching it out.
He was breathing hard again and turned to head back to his temporary home.
He went through the list of people who might hate him.
He did have a list, but it was hard to imagine anyone had hated him that much. He’d been a cocky kid. He’d stolen a car, once, but it hadn’t been damaged. He’d charmed the schoolteacher it belonged to and promised to do better in her class.
He and his friends had broken a couple of windows and sprayed graffiti on a few places. His dad had made him work off the repairs. They’d burned down an old shed, but that had been on his friend Randy’s family property, and Randy’s dad had punished Randy. Afterward, he’d learned his friends had talked about doing something bigger by burning down the Morrison barn. But he had no idea if they’d gone ahead and done it. After that night, he’d never seen those guys again.
He wondered what had happened to Randy and the others. Had someone blamed him for leading them into trouble? Maybe they’d ended up in prison, too?
No, it was hard to imagine someone had set that fire to prevent him from leading someone astray. That would be some proactive planning. And as Lanford recalled, a few of the other kids were the true leaders of their group. He’d been more of a follower.
There was one person who might have cause to hate Lanford. If that person had set the fire, he wouldn’t have done it to hurt Dan or his dad—it would mean that their deaths had been totally accidental. Lanford considered it as a possibility.
Except that person had no idea what Lanford had done. Two of them had gotten into that trouble, and they were the only two who knew what they’d done. Allison would not have told, because she’d have been in as much trouble as Lanford if it came out.
He hadn’t heard anything to indicate it had.
He was back at the parsonage. He went through the gate, again making sure to be quiet. The lights in the parsonage had moved to the second story, so they must be heading to bed.
For a second, the old thought patterns told him he’d be in trouble for being out late, for not being where he was supposed to be.
But he wasn’t in prison anymore, and no one was going to bother him. He rounded to the stairs and went up as quietly as a cat.
He stripped down, once he was in the apartment, and used a washcloth to clean up, not wanting to run a shower when they were quiet downstairs. He switched off his lights and stretched out on his bed.
His mind continued to run. His conscience still bothered him about the one hurtful and thoughtless thing he’d done. He hadn’t wanted to think about it. Had perhaps deliberately downplayed that possibility. But now he was running out of options.
And yet, to pop up now in Allison’s life after all these years might blow the lid on a secret that would hurt people. If no one knew, it was better to maintain silence.
Maybe he could use one of the library computers to find out if that secret would hurt anyone if it came out.
He prayed for wisdom. And that he wouldn’t cause more pain.
As he dropped off to sleep, a corner of his mind tickled. Could someone else have found out their secret...?
Chapter Thirteen
After Sarah’s talk with herself, she resolved to put Lanford’s case behind her and focus on her job.
She got a call about a drunk and disorderly at the Dew Drop Inn. She called for Festus and got into her car.
By the time she got to the bar, though, the drunk and disorderly’s daughter had come and picked her up. To thank Sarah for responding so promptly, the proprietor offered her a free soda. Not wanting to think about the Davies case and without a lot more to do, Sarah accepted and sat on a stool to enjoy her caffeine jolt.
The jukebox was playing a country song. Apparently, the drunk woman had been mourning an old relationship and had put in a pile of coins, requesting the same song over and over. The crowd was hoping this was the last play of the song since they were more than sick of it. The only option to reset the machine was to unplug it, and it took forever to warm up again. So everyone was waiting, braced for another rendition.
Sarah took a professional glance around the establishment. It wasn’t a place that would draw in a large crowd in a city with lots of competition, but here in Balsam Grove it had none. As a result, Sarah had become familiar with the place, and with the regulars. Not all required her assistance as town sheriff, but some did.
It was a quiet night. Same as most of the nights here. Sarah didn’t expect to need to return once she’d enjoyed her beverage.
The bartender checked in with her. “Sorry to drag you out for nothing.”
Sarah shrugged. “Not a problem. And who knows—if this song plays again someone might get violent.”
He grinned and shoved some peanuts her way. She took a couple to be polite.
“Heard you went out with Lanford Davies.”
Sarah almost choked on the nuts. She willed her cheeks to stay pale. She was unaccustomed to her neighbors being so familiar with her life and so interested in it.
“I didn’t ‘go out’ with him. It wasn’t a date. I had some business in the city, and since he did, as well, and didn’t have a ride, I gave him one. That’s all.”
The bartender wiped a glass.
“He’s a good-looking guy.”
Sarah raised her eyebrows. “Want me to introduce you two?”
The man laughed. “No introduction is necessary. We went to school together.”
Sarah wondered if it was worth asking him about Lanford.
“I know how stories fly around here, so to be clear, I’m not dating Lanford Davies, or anyone else here in Balsam Grove. Want to pass that on?”
He raised his hands. “I don’t spread the stories, I just hear them. Thought you’d want to know.”
Sarah sighed. “Yeah, I do. Lanford claims he’s innocent and wants to find who set the fire, so I checked into a couple of things for him. If he’s right, it could stir up a lot of trouble.”
The man pursed his lips.
“Who else could have done it?”
Sarah noted that the man had the same problem she and Lanford did—there was no one else. He didn’t immediately say Lanford had to have done it because he’d been such a troublemaking kid. Part of Sarah was still desperately looking to support Lanford’s innocence, and that part latched on to even this slight hint.
“That’s the problem. No one else would have wanted to harm his brother and father or set their place on fire. Unless there was a fierce battle going on for land for a storage facility.”
The bartender threw his cloth over his shoulder after checking that all his customers were taken care of.
“I was at the same party as he was that night. Afterward, I racked my brains, trying to remember if Lanford was there when we talked ab
out setting the barn on fire. We were all drinking, it was dark... I just don’t know.”
Sarah sat up. She hadn’t considered speaking to any of the people at the party, since proving Lanford hadn’t been part of the discussion at the bonfire wouldn’t have changed the outcome of the case. There was no way to prove he hadn’t been close enough to overhear.
“Could someone who’d talked at the party about torching the barn have set the Davies fire instead?”
She’d told herself she was done with this case, but if there was a valid lead...
He shook his head. “I doubt it. I mean, a couple of guys might have had it in for Lan. If their girlfriends had flirted with him, or stuff like that. But burning down his house? I don’t think so. Everyone loved his brother, so they wouldn’t have tried to go after Lan that way.”
“If they didn’t realize Lewis and Dan were home, though...”
“But burning down their house? That was going to hurt Dan even if he hadn’t been home. I mean, you could have messed with Lan’s bike. He really loved that thing. That way you’d only have hurt him. I also doubt it could have been an honest mistake. We were all drunk, but there’s a big difference between an old barn and a house.”
“Good point. I’m not sure Lanford will ever be able to settle this.”
“Too bad Billy Robertson didn’t show up at the party till later. No one liked him, so if you have to take someone down, I’d vote for him.”
Sarah remembered the man who’d burst into her office, and the hate he’d had for Lanford. To be fair, he hadn’t stopped by again, or called, or tried to interfere in any way.
“Would he have had a reason to do that?”
“I can’t think of one. He had always been tight with Dan. But being a general pain in the behind for everyone else and working to get that storage facility built aren’t enough of a reason, far as I can tell.”
Sarah tensed. “Billy said he had nothing to do with the storage facility.”
His brow creased. “Did he? Not what I remember.”
“How exactly was he involved?”
A shrug. “I don’t know. Can’t remember where I got that impression.”
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