I tipped my head back, taking in the sky full of stars. No smog. No skyscrapers. Nothing to interrupt or inhibit the view. “I keep thinking this can’t be real,” I said to myself as much as to the man at my side. “How can something so ugly have happened here, in a place so full of peace and beauty.” It was a senseless thing to say, of course bad things happened everywhere, but I couldn’t recall another horror of this magnitude ever happening in Blossom Valley. It pained me, selfishly again, to know the violence had happened on Granny’s land. A place that held a lifetime of my happiest memories.
I looked to Sheriff Wise and found him appraising me once more.
“Tell me again about what happened tonight,” he said. “You might want to start with the reason you were out walking alone at this hour.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You say that as if I had some reason not to. I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve never had a single reason to be afraid on this land or anywhere else in town. I had no reason to think tonight was any different.”
“Except the fact that a woman you knew was murdered here yesterday,” he said flatly. “Didn’t that concern you?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Death isn’t contagious, Sherriff. What happened to Mrs. Cooper is unthinkable, but it had nothing to do with me or this farm.”
“Any particular reason you happened to walk past that particular building?”
I didn’t like his tone, so I worked to better control mine. “I was on my way to the barn beside Granny’s house.”
“Why?”
“To sit in one of Grampy’s cars and think. Get some fresh air on the way.”
Sheriff Wise bobbed his head. “You’re referring to your late grandfather’s classic Mustangs?”
“Yes.” I rolled my eyes and kept moving. “Inheriting them is probably the most interesting thing about me.”
“I doubt that,” he said softly, casting a quick look in my direction. “Folks love to talk about those cars though.” By the little grin on his face, I suspected he would probably like them too.
When he smiled, I could almost see what Birdie Wilks’s card club had been talking about. I normally didn’t go for the unshaven, testosterone-oozing alpha types or anyone with an unreasonably square jawline and standoffish disposition, but under different circumstances, I supposed the term “ruggedly handsome” might have come to mind.
My tummy tightened with a new selfish fear. The sheriff had been asking about me, and it seemed people had plenty to say. I couldn’t help wondering what they’d mentioned besides Grampy’s cars and my old Annie Oakley title.
Sheriff Wise stopped outside the press building and turned to me. “Aren’t you thinking about what else folks said about you today?”
“No,” I lied, considering for the second time that he might be able to read my mind.
“Interesting.” He turned his blue eyes to the door where the intruder had emerged, then slid a pair of gloves over his hands before climbing the steps. “Looks like the door was pried open.” He ran his fingers along the splintered jamb. So much for new locks to keep bad guys away. He flipped the light switch and motioned me inside. “Can you tell if anything is missing?” he asked.
The room looked the same to me. There wasn’t anything to steal besides the press and related materials, which would’ve required something much larger than a four-wheeler for transportation. “I don’t think so.” I crossed my arms to hide the growing tremor in my frame.
Sheriff Wise circled the room. “How did you manage to cross paths with the intruder?”
“I saw the light was on and assumed one of your people had forgotten to turn it off when they left. The door was unlocked when I tried the knob. I pushed it open, but he slammed it back at me.” My fingers moved to touch the tender spot on my forehead. “I fell onto the porch, then he bowled right over me.” The stings and aches of my injuries flared in response to the story.
“Any idea who the man might’ve been?”
“Yeah. Mrs. Cooper’s killer,” I said. “Who is obviously not Granny.”
The sheriff paused his examination of the space and turned his attention back on me. “Why do you assume it was the killer?”
“Who else would sneak into a crime scene?” I asked. Then a more interesting question formed in my mind. “Why?” I whispered, turning my gaze around the room again, more carefully this time. Why would the killer risk returning? Especially so soon?
“Why, indeed,” the sheriff echoed, crouching to snap photos of the splintered door jamb.
“What if the killer was looking for something and I interrupted him?” I asked, beginning to search the floorboards.
Sheriff Wise stretched upright and dropped his hands to his sides. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” I nudged a hunk of mud with my toe. Just some dirt off one of the authority’s shoes. Not a smoking gun.
“Don’t hypothesize,” Sheriff Wise said. “I’ll handle the investigation. If you want to help, then you need to find out where your granny was at the time of the murder. See if there’s anyone who might’ve seen her at home having lunch like she claims because without an alibi, she’s the obvious prime suspect.”
My jaw tightened. “Granny didn’t do this.”
“That’s what you keep saying.”
“Because it keeps being true,” I snapped. “You’re wasting time looking at her when the killer is still out there.” I hugged my middle a little tighter and gritted my teeth against a flood of emotions. “If Granny hurt Mrs. Cooper, then who broke in here tonight and why? I think this proves her innocence.”
Sheriff Wise swept his gaze over my hot cheeks and locked in on my eyes. “I think that sounds like a mighty convenient theory.”
I wrinkled my nose. “What?”
“I don’t like theories. Theories are just speculation that alters the investigation. People with theories conveniently begin to find evidence to support the idea they’ve already cemented in their heads. It’s no good. I follow facts.”
“I like theories,” I said, stubbornly.
He frowned. “How about this one? I think you could have easily splintered this door jamb and made the call to my department in an effort to prove your granny’s innocence and move my focus onto some mysterious unidentifiable male?”
I could only gape at him in surprise.
“That’s right,” he said, looking exactly like the infuriating man I’d met earlier. “Theories cause trouble. I won’t dismiss your granny as a possible suspect until the evidence leads me elsewhere, and frankly, your desperation to prove her innocence is keeping my eyes on you as well.” He pulled a flashlight from his pocket and headed outside, swinging the beam across the ground between apple trees. “Which way did you say the four-wheeler went?”
Fire burned in my gut as I stormed out behind him. “I was the victim tonight,” I seethed, careful to keep my voice low and my temper in check. “I don’t appreciate being treated like a suspect.” I turned on my heel and marched back in the direction we’d come.
“Where are you going?” he called after me.
“Home.” I moved as quickly as possible without limping. “Don’t bother following me.”
“Well, I can’t agree to that,” he said, his voice growing nearer. “I’m going to need a formal report.”
“Not tonight,” I said, fighting a rush of emotion. Tonight I needed a hot shower and about ten hours of sleep.
Sheriff Wise didn’t speak again, but I felt him follow me all the way to my door. I jumped inside and locked up without a goodbye. Had he really suggested I’d faked the break-in to distract him from arresting Granny?
Ridiculous!
I’d been hoping to help the sheriff get to the bottom of Nadine’s murder, but clearly I was on my own. Two investigations were probably better than one anyway. We’d cover more ground and clear Granny’s name sooner.
* * *
I woke to the sounds of desperate mewing and tiny paws on my face. I’d slept str
aight through my alarm and missed the kittens’ morning feeding by an hour. “Ugh.” I grunted upright on my couch and wished I’d taken the kittens and their box to my bedroom instead of falling asleep in the living room.
My head pounded. My neck, back, and legs ached. The scrapes on my hands and knees were puffy, red, and partially scabbed.
I shuffled to the kitchen to prepare the kittens’ bottles. The sheriff’s face flashed back into my mind and I frowned. I didn’t like rude or bossy men, and he was by far the worst I’d ever dealt with. Accusatory too. His soulful blue eyes and unreasonably engaging smile probably got him what he wanted most of the time, but it wouldn’t be that simple with me. Not where the fate of Granny and Grampy’s orchard was concerned or the good name of my family. And why did it seem like every question he asked had a secondary purpose? Who was he anyway? The county sheriff or opposing legal counsel? And where had he come from? Why did he get to march around town asking everyone about me when I knew nothing personal about him?
I toted the bottles back to the couch and arranged the kittens on my lap, balancing everything so that I had one free hand to perform an internet search on my phone. First stop, the local sheriff’s department website for the scoop on our good Sheriff Wise. “What do you think, kitties?” I asked. “What’s this guy’s story?”
They chugged their formula, tugging at the nipples and kneading my legs with their tiny paws.
When the web page finally loaded, I went straight to the biographies.
Sheriff Colton Wise began his career in service at the age of eighteen when he enlisted with the US Marine Corps, I read flatly, determined not to be impressed. Nine years and three tours of duty later, he returned to his hometown of Clarksburg, West Virginia, where he joined ranks with local law enforcement and continued to serve with the National Guard. Wise quickly became the youngest detective at the Clarksburg PD. I stopped to process the accomplishments and readjusted the kittens’ bottles. So he’s an overachiever. So what? I read on.
From there, Sheriff Wise assisted local federal agents on a Joint Terrorism Task Force . . .
I scoffed. “Well, that’s just ridiculous. How old is he?” I asked the kittens, trying to figure his age on the fingers of my free hand. “Can one guy even do all these things since turning eighteen?”
The kittens didn’t have any answers.
I forced myself to keep reading. A Joint Terrorism Task Force that resulted in more than thirty arrests and stopped a known terrorist cell from mobilizing in the state. I threw my palms up. “That’s it. I don’t care. Irrelevant information.”
I set the kittens in their litter box and went to clean out their empty bottles. If Sheriff Wise was such a great lawman, then why was he stubbornly looking at Granny as if she could be a killer?
I took my time getting ready, planning my day and organizing my thoughts. I might’ve also performed two more searches for Colton Wise and Clarksburg, West Virginia.
An hour later, I arrived at Granny’s door with the kittens in a box and dissatisfaction in my chest. Colton Wise was thirty-three, a full five years older than me, with two lifetimes’ worth of achievements. I’d also learned that he had a big family, retired parents, a school teacher and a coal miner, and three siblings. One sister and two brothers, all grown. They attended church, participated in fund-raisers and seemed to adore Colton. Thanks to his family’s dedication to Facebook, I had all the lovely details that made up Colton Wise. And they irked me.
The details, not his family.
“Morning, Granny,” I said, setting the box on the floor near a small rug covered in cast-off shoes and muck boots. “Were you able to sleep?”
“Nope.” She dropped her cross-stitching on the table and came to see the kittens. “Who are these precious sweeties?”
“Kenny Rogers,” I said, shooting her a droll look, “and Dolly.”
Granny smiled. “Dot finally got you.”
“She preyed on me in my weakened state. Plus look at them. It was a lot easier saying no to the three-legged pygmy goat and the flogging rooster.”
Granny gathered the kittens into her arms. “Help yourself to coffee.”
I upturned a mug from the drying rack and filled it to the top. “Thanks.” I fell onto the chair across from hers and groaned. “The sheriff said you need an alibi. Then he told me he’s watching me too.”
Granny puckered her brows. “Well, that’s not good.”
“Nope.” I sipped my bitter pick-me-up and contemplated everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. None of it seemed real. Certainly not Mrs. Cooper’s untimely death or the sheriff’s misdirected ideas about Granny. I still wasn’t sure how I’d wound up with two kittens who still needed to be bottle fed. And I hadn’t forgotten my ex, Hank, was coming back to town today. I needed a major distraction, and I had a good idea for one. “What are you working on?” I asked, dragging the corner of her unfinished cross-stitch in my direction.
A delicate framework of purple and blue flowers worked their ways around the canvas in a fancy border. Large navy-blue letters in the center instructed: TAKE A SHOWER, YOU DIRTY HIPPIE.
“It’s for Kimmy Thorton’s grandsons,” she explained. “She’s going to hang it in their Jack and Jill bathroom. What do you think?”
It took me a minute to respond. “Lovely stitching?”
“Thank you. What do you think about the saying?”
“Clever?”
She sighed, releasing the kittens onto the floor. “It’s rude, isn’t it?” she asked. “I’ve been getting more and more requests for things like this, and I’m not sure what to do about it. Last week I finished a five-by-seven for a friend’s kitchen that read, DON’T MAKE ME POISON YOUR FOOD. I know where I won’t ever be eating again.”
I laughed.
She stared at the red mark on my forehead. “I hope you’re planning to rest today.”
“Actually, I have something else in mind. Would you consider watching the kittens for a while?” I asked. “I’m thinking of visiting Mrs. Cooper’s hiking club this morning, and these two need a bottle every few hours until I can convince them to eat kibble. I’ll pick up some on the way home. Dot says they’re ready to transition. Getting them to want to might be a whole other story.”
Granny attempted to kiss Kenny and Dolly while they attacked the ends of her hair. “I’d love to keep the kittens, but why are you hiking? You hate hiking.”
“I don’t hate hiking.” I just wasn’t a fan of heights after the spill I’d taken from an apple tree in elementary school, and local hiking clubs spent too much time climbing mountains in my opinion. Plus, I was a little out of shape. “I heard that Mrs. Cooper argued with the trail master, and I thought I’d ask her group what that had been about. Maybe one of them knows something that will help me figure out what really happened to her.”
Granny’s smile spread slowly until it reached her eyes. “I’ve invited my stitching crew for cider,” she said. “I’m hoping that once they’re here, the topic of Nadine’s death will come up. Then I can see what they know.”
I tapped my mug to hers, impressed. “We make a good team,” I said.
“True. Plus, in my experience, good old-fashioned hospitality solves most things. Might as well start there.”
Good old-fashioned hospitality hadn’t helped mend fences between Granny and Mrs. Cooper for four decades, but there was probably no point in mentioning that.
At least we both had a plan. “Between the two of us, we should know more by dinner, then we can meet up and exchange notes,” I suggested. “Just be careful not to let the sheriff know what you’re up to. He’ll assume we’re trying to cover our tracks or some other nonsense. That man really gets my goat.” I froze, mug midway to my lips as someone began to knock on the door. “Are you expecting anyone?”
“No.” Granny stood and shuffled toward the sound. She pushed the frilly lace curtain aside and Sheriff Wise’s stern face came into view.
I made a
stink face. “Speak of the devil.”
“Mm-hmm.”
I waited while Granny unlocked the door and invited Sheriff Wise inside.
“Mrs. Smythe,” he said in greeting, “Miss Montgomery.” He removed his sheriff’s hat and made an apologetic face. “I’m here to ask you not to open the orchard for business today. I hope you’ll understand. I’d like time to search the grounds, and I’ve brought a team to help. We’ll be professional. Keep things quiet and respectful for you. We focused solely on the crime scene while we were here yesterday, but especially given last night’s events, I’d like to broaden our search.”
I fought against the urge to remind him that he thought I’d falsified the entire set of events. I wanted them to look. Needed them to find something that would lead them to the real killer, but I didn’t want Granny to have to close for the day. The bad press was bad enough and we needed the business.
“All right,” Granny said.
The sheriff nodded humbly.
I pressed the heels of my hands against my temples. “It’s not all right,” I said. “No guests means no customers. No sales. No income. That’s not fair. We haven’t done anything wrong.”
“It’s just for today,” he assured, “unless we find something that would cause us to need more time.”
Basically, he could shut us down for as long as he needed to investigate the murder, and the longer that took, the more negative attention and fewer sales would come with it. “Super.”
He locked those cool eyes on mine, always evaluating.
“I’d better get going,” I said. “Busy. Busy. Busy.” I kissed Granny’s cheek. “Good luck,” I whispered.
“Where are you going?” the sheriff asked, an echo from last night’s departure. “You don’t work until seven.”
I tented my brows. “You checked my work schedule?”
He didn’t answer, but I thought I saw a flash of something in his eyes. Amusement, I guessed. He had a shiny badge that granted him access to all sorts of information.
Well, I had his mother’s Facebook page.
I forced a tight smile. “I’m going to take a hike,” I told him, and stopped myself short of suggesting he take one as well.
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