by Rita Herron
She gestured toward the door that led to the back, and he and Megan followed her through the hall to an office with metal furniture and hard vinyl chairs. Mrs. Buchanan flipped on the light, then gasped.
Someone had been inside the office and tossed it. Files were strewn all over the office, the file cabinet drawers opened, the files dumped helter-skelter across the floor and desk.
Roan cursed, frustration knotting his belly. He had a bad feeling the file he was looking for was missing.
“My God, it wasn’t like this last week,” she said in a pained whisper.
Last week he and Megan hadn’t been asking questions about Joe McCullen’s death.
Chapter Fifteen
Roan scanned the mess of papers strewn across the office with skeptical eyes. An intruder had ransacked the place, obviously looking for something.
Mrs. Buchanan spun the ring around her finger in a nervous gesture. “Who would do such a thing?”
“Someone who didn’t want us to see what was in one of your husband’s files.” Roan surveyed the room and desk. “Your husband had a computer?”
“A laptop.”
“Where is it?”
Her gaze swept the room. “I don’t know. I thought it was in here.”
The laptop was gone.
Megan encouraged the woman to sit down, and Mrs. Buchanan sank into a chair in the corner.
“So he really was murdered?” she said in a haunted whisper.
“I can’t say for certain,” Roan said.
“Was there an autopsy?” Megan asked.
The woman lifted a shaky hand to push at her hair. “Yes. He was killed on impact when his car struck a boulder.”
“Would you mind if I reviewed that autopsy report?” Megan asked.
Mrs. Buchanan inhaled sharply. “No, that would be fine. I want the truth about my husband’s death.”
Megan rushed to get the woman a glass of water while Roan yanked on gloves and began to comb through the papers, searching for anything that might have Joe’s name on it. Of course, if the killer had stolen the file, he wouldn’t find anything.
The PI had organized the files by case number, so he sorted the miscellaneous pages by matching numbers. His wife had been right, most of the cases involved reconnecting birth parents and biological children. Three cases revolved around a kidnapping—all led back to a parent kidnapping a child from the other parent.
So why had Joe been using the PI?
Determined to unearth the answer to that question, he checked the filing cabinet. Most of the files had been dumped on the desk and floor, but a few remained inside, although their contents had been rifled through.
He examined them, but didn’t find Joe’s. Dammit.
He checked the drawer labeled M-P. Empty.
Frustrated, he searched the desk drawers. Sticky notes, pens, stapler, paper clips.
He fumbled through the mess, then noticed a sticky note with the word “Grace” written on it—a question mark was behind the name.
Grace...
“Do you know anyone named Grace?”
The man’s wife shook her head no. “What is her last name?”
“It doesn’t say.”
“Grace,” Megan said in a low voice. “Wasn’t that Maddox’s mother’s name?”
Roan’s gaze jerked to Megan’s. She was right.
He stared at the slip of paper again, his heart pounding. Joe McCullen’s wife had died years ago when the boys were small. Hadn’t she died in a car accident?
So had the PI...
Questions ticked through his head, but he had no answers. But the fact that the PI had a question mark by Grace’s name made him wonder if whatever Buchanan was looking into for Joe had something to do with his wife.
* * *
AS SOON AS they stepped outside Buchanan’s office, Megan phoned to request a copy of his autopsy.
“I wish I knew what this means,” Roan said.
“Maybe Maddox will have some insight.”
“I hate to bother him again. He needs rest to recover.”
Megan gently rubbed Roan’s arm. “Maddox would want to know, Roan. You heard him earlier. This is about his father, and now...maybe his mother. You can’t not tell him.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You’re right.”
The sky had darkened with the threat of another storm, and the wind had picked up, swirling leaves and dust across the parking lot. Shadows played across the sky as the clouds rolled and shrouded the remaining sliver of sunlight.
Megan’s phone buzzed that she had an email as they climbed in the car. She checked it and found the autopsy report.
She clicked to open the attachment.
The medical examiner who’d performed the autopsy was a doctor named Lindeman. She skimmed the results of the cause of death—head trauma. His brain had swollen with blood from the impact of the collision. Other lacerations, bruises and a broken femur, ribs and collarbone. Glass fragments pierced his skin, one had embedded in his leg causing more blood loss.
So far the injuries were consistent with the accident.
She skimmed further, though, and frowned at the tox report. “It says here that the doctor found a high level of alcohol in his blood.”
“Mrs. Buchanan didn’t mention that he’d been drinking.”
“No, she didn’t.” Megan massaged her temple with two fingers. “Maybe the ME decided to spare her the detail.”
“Could be. But with her suspicions, we have to ask.”
“I’ll call her.”
“And I’ll phone the sheriff who covered the accident and see if he investigated.”
Megan punched the woman’s number. “Mrs. Buchanan, I’m looking at your husband’s autopsy. Did the medical examiner mention that your husband had a dangerous amount of alcohol in his system?”
“No. That can’t be. Barry hadn’t had a drink in twenty years.”
Megan sucked in a breath. “So he was an alcoholic?”
“Yes, a recovering one. He attended AA meetings regularly.”
“Perhaps he fell off the wagon.”
“No,” she said vehemently. “Barry never touched alcohol. He messed up when he was young because of drinking and caused an accident that seriously injured a friend. He never forgave himself. He made it his mission to visit schools where he spoke to teenagers about the dangers.”
* * *
ROAN GRIPPED THE phone and explained to the sheriff in Laramie about his talk with Buchanan’s wife. “Did you see the autopsy report?”
“Of course I did,” the sheriff said. “The fact that the man had alcohol in his system suggested he lost control. That explained his accident.”
“What about the brakes failing?”
“According to the mechanic, there was a slow leak in the brake lines.”
“Did you consider the possibility that the brake lines had been tampered with?”
“Why would I? The man was drunk or he wouldn’t have been going so fast. If he’d been going slower, he might have been able to stop in spite of the leak.”
“The wife seems to think that this wasn’t an accident.”
“She was in denial,” the sheriff said. “Didn’t want to believe that her husband was drunk and caused his own accident. She even claimed he didn’t drink, but he was an alcoholic. Husbands don’t tell their wives everything, you know.”
True. But Roan wasn’t satisfied.
But the sheriff cut him off and hung up. Roan filled Megan in as he drove from the parking lot. “The sheriff knew about the alcohol, but didn’t find it suspicious.”
“I know people fall off the wagon all the time, but Barry’s wife insisted that her husband never drank. He felt guilty over an accident he caused when he was younger, so he spoke to teen groups about the dangers of drinking and driving.”
Roan arched a brow. “If he didn’t willingly take a drink, someone could have forced it in him.”
“It’s possible,” Megan said.
Roan mentally contemplated the random pieces they’d learned so far. Gates and his plan to sabotage the McCullens, Morty and Edith Burns’s murders and now Barry Buchanan’s murder.
Joe had hired the PI. His wife’s name had been scribbled on a sticky note suggesting she had something to do with why Joe had hired him.
The clouds opened up, once again dumping rain on the dry land and slowing him down. Just as he reached the turnoff for the hospital, though, a dark van raced up on his tail. Tires screeched. The car sped up and started to pass him.
Roan scowled and gripped the steering wheel, ready to flip on the siren and chase the bastard. But suddenly the van raced up beside him, and a gunshot blasted the air.
Megan screamed, and he swerved sideways. The bullet missed the glass window by a fraction of an inch.
Another shot rang out, and Roan swerved again. “Get down and hang on, Megan.”
She ducked, and he jerked the car to the left to slam into the van. The van swung sideways, tires squealing as it careened forward.
Roan pressed the accelerator, determined not to let him escape, but the van disappeared around a curve.
Roan sped up, but another car pulled out just as he soared over the hill, and he had to brake and swerve to the shoulder of the road to avoid hitting it.
* * *
MEGAN TRIED TO compose herself as Roan pulled over and climbed from the car to examine it. He retrieved something from the trunk.
Five minutes later, he climbed back in the front seat and dropped a baggie on the console. “I managed to dig one of the bullets out of the side. I’ll have the lab analyze it and see if it came from the same gun that killed the Burnses.”
He covered her hand with his. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “You know, I thought Barbara and Bobby had the most to gain if Joe McCullen was dead, but they can’t be doing this.”
“You’re right. I’m beginning to think Joe’s murder didn’t have anything to do with them. That whatever this PI was working on for him got them both killed.”
Megan considered his suggestion as the storm raged around them and they parked in the Pistol Whip Hospital parking lot.
The rain had slackened, but still water dripped from the trees. She pulled her jacket hood up to shield her from the rain, and Roan settled his Stetson on his head. Then they hurried inside.
Rose and Mama Mary were huddled together in the room with Maddox.
“I tried to get Rose to go home,” Mama Mary said as she greeted them, “but she refused to leave.”
Maddox laid a hand on his wife’s belly. “She’s going home tonight if I have to get up and drive her.”
Rose laughed softly. “Now I know you’re going to be okay. You’re getting bossy.”
Her casual joke seemed to ease the tension.
Maddox laid his spoon on the tray. “Thanks for the soup, Mama Mary.”
She flattened her palms on her big hips. “Well, I couldn’t have my boy eating that nasty hospital stuff they call food. If a man wants to get well he needs nourishment.”
Maddox chuckled and tolerated her fawning over him. But as soon as she took the tray, he sobered and looked up at Roan. “What did you find out?”
“Actually, I have more questions.” Roan explained about his visit to the PI’s office and his conversation with the man’s wife.
Megan slid into a seat beside Rose and Mama Mary.
“When I spoke to the sheriff who investigated Buchanan’s death,” Roan continued, “he didn’t seem suspicious. But Mrs. Buchanan was adamant that her husband didn’t drink. And that he was meticulous about keeping his car in tip-top shape.”
Maddox pulled at his chin. “You still don’t know why my father hired him?”
Roan glanced at Megan, and she understood his hesitation. Joe McCullen had one illegitimate son with another woman. Could he possibly have had another?
* * *
“AT THIS POINT, we don’t know, but Buchanan specializes in connecting families with lost members.”
“You mean like adoptions?”
“Yes. He’s handled a couple of kidnapping cases, but mostly works with adopted children or birth parents trying to find one another.”
Maddox wheezed a labored breath. “But that makes no sense. Dad knew about Bobby.”
The air grew hot with tension. Finally Maddox looked at Mama Mary. “You knew about Bobby. Did Dad have any other indiscretions?”
Roan fisted his hands by his sides. That was how Maddox would look at him—as an indiscretion. A mistake.
“No, Joe didn’t have another affair, if that’s what you’re asking. I told you, your folks were going through a rough patch when that happened.” She puffed up her chest. “Your daddy loved Ms. Grace. But she was extremely depressed over losing the twins.”
“I knew about them,” Maddox said, “but not that Mama was that depressed.”
“Speaking of your mother,” Roan said, his pulse hammering at the defensive look in Maddox’s eyes. “I found a sticky note with her name on it in Buchanan’s desk drawer.”
“My mother’s name,” Maddox said beneath his breath. “I don’t understand.”
“Someone broke in and ransacked Buchanan’s office. If he had a file on your father, it was gone.”
“So we’re back to nothing,” Maddox said, his voice gravelly with frustration.
A dozen questions settled in the air. Mama Mary made a low sound in her throat.
“You said Mr. Joe hired this man. And that he had Ms. Grace’s name on a sticky note.”
Roan swung his head her way. “That’s right.”
Mama Mary wrung her hands together. “Oh, my word...it can’t be.”
Roan’s chest thumped. Maddox pushed himself straighter in the bed, although the movement cost him and he clutched at his bandaged torso.
“What is it, Mama Mary?” Maddox asked.
The sweet woman’s eyes looked troubled. “I...don’t know. I can’t be sure...”
Rose patted her hand. “It’s okay, Mama Mary. Did you remember something?”
The older woman nodded, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “It’s just that Ms. Grace, she was so upset about losing the babies. They were both boys you know.”
Pain wrenched Maddox’s face. “Go on.”
“Like I said, she was depressed and she wasn’t sleeping at night. She kept saying her babies couldn’t be dead, that she heard them crying for her.”
A chill went through the room. Judging from the strained expression on everyone’s face, they felt it, too.
“I thought she was just in denial.” Mama Mary dabbed at her eyes as she looked at Maddox. “She loved you boys so much. You all and your daddy were her life. And she wanted those two other little babies so bad.”
“What happened, Mama Mary?” Maddox asked in a gruff voice.
“Dr. Cumberland said Grace was suffering from depression. Postpartum and grief, it was eating her up, so he gave her some medication.”
“She was drinking on top of that?” Maddox asked.
“That’s what he said the night she died.” She wiped at the perspiration trickling down the side of her face. “But the night before...I heard your mama and daddy arguing.”
“What were they arguing about?” Roan asked.
Mama Mary sniffled. “Ms. Grace said she didn’t think her babies were dead. That she remembered holding them when they were born and hearing them cry. Then suddenly they were gone. Doc said they died at birth, and Ms. Grace was so traumatized she just dreamed she heard them crying. When he told her they didn’t make it, she was so hysterical he had to sedate her.”
Anguish flared in Maddox’s eyes. Confusion also blended with the shock. “My mother thought her babies were alive?”
Mama Mary nodded, her lip quivering. “That’s what they argued about. Your daddy was so worried about her that he called the doc that night. He thought she might be going over the edge.”
“But she d
ied the next day in that accident,” Maddox said.
Mama Mary nodded. “Mr. Joe never forgave himself.”
“So your parents argued about whether the twins survived,” Roan said, piecing together the facts. “And before Joe died, he hired Buchanan, a man whose specialty was finding missing children and connecting adopted children with their birth parents.”
Mama Mary whimpered. “Do you think he discovered something about those babies? That maybe Ms. Grace was right? That someone stole them from her arms and made her think they were dead?”
Chapter Sixteen
Roan considered the possibilities. If someone had stolen Grace McCullen’s babies, and Grace kept probing, insisting they were alive, the kidnapper might have panicked and tried to silence her.
And she had ended up dead. With her, the questions had died, as well.
Until recently when Joe had hired Buchanan.
Now Joe and the PI were both dead, too.
Mama Mary sniffed and wiped at more tears. “I can’t believe this...all these years, I thought those babies were dead, too. Thought Ms. Grace just couldn’t accept that she lost them...”
“We’re just speculating right now.” Maddox turned to Roan. “But if there’s a possibility that the infants were kidnapped, that means I...Brett and Ray and I have two brothers we never knew about.”
Roan’s throat thickened with the need to confess that he was their half brother, but now wasn’t the time. Maybe there never would be a time.
He would have to live with that.
He wasn’t doing this to gain favor with the McCullen brothers. He was a lawman who believed in justice.
“Poor Ms. Grace,” Mama Mary said. “No wonder she was so depressed. If she had reason to think her babies were kidnapped and no one believed her, she must have felt so alone.”
Pain lined Maddox’s face. “Did she say anything specific about why she thought they were alive?”
Mama Mary rubbed her forehead in thought. “Just that she heard them cry when they were born, then she passed out and when she came to, Doc told her they hadn’t made it.”
Maddox rubbed at his chest. “I remember Mama being sad for a while, and Dad said she lost the babies, but I was so young I didn’t really understand. I do remember them talking about a nursery.”