by Rita Herron
THE NUMBNESS THAT had drained Rose of energy seemed to grow as the crime team and medical examiner arrived. She felt as if she was watching a horror show, except this was no show or movie.
This was her real life.
She watched them dust the house for fingerprints and rifle through her parents’ desks, closets and drawers. She wasn’t sure what they were looking for, but Maddox oversaw the search, his expression bleak.
He followed the ME to the bedroom and stayed during the exam, then returned to stand by Rose while they moved her parents’ bodies to transport them to the morgue.
She wanted to go to her mother and kiss her, tell her how sorry she was that they hadn’t been closer, but she couldn’t force her legs to work.
Maddox lowered his bulk onto the sofa, spread his legs and braced his arms on his knees. “Rose, is there someone I can call for you? Another family member?”
Rose blinked back tears. “I told you, no other family.”
“How about a friend?”
Rose had grown so accustomed to holding herself back emotionally because of her parents that she hadn’t developed many friends. She liked Trina, her assistant at Vintage Treasures, but they didn’t hang out socially.
“Not really. My coworker is watching the shop for a few more days.”
“Did you explain what was going on?”
“No. We...aren’t that close.” A self-deprecating laugh escaped her. “I guess my parents rubbed off on me.”
“You let Thoreau into your life,” Maddox said softly.
“And look what a mistake that turned out to be.” She searched his face to see if he was judging her, but compassion flickered in his deep brown eyes. She wanted to believe that he didn’t see her as a fool, or a freak who couldn’t make friends, but self-doubt suffused her.
“Your parents didn’t have a computer?” Maddox asked.
“Not that I know of.”
“Not even for your father’s work?”
Rose frowned. “He might have had one at the office, but he didn’t bring it home.”
“What was the name of the company where he worked?”
“Jensen’s Freight and Trucking,” Rose said.
“Did you meet his coworkers or boss? Did your family ever socialize with them?”
“No. Dad never even talked about work.” Of course she hadn’t thought much about that, either—until now. “My parents always kept suitcases packed in the closet, so they could leave quickly. Did you find them?”
Maddox stood. “No, I didn’t see them. But I’d like to examine their car.”
Rose pushed to her feet, a surge of anger sparking her adrenaline. “I’ll get the keys.” She walked to the bench by the door where her mother always left her handbag.
She dug out the keys and handed them to him, then noticed her mother’s wallet. Her fingers shook as she flipped it open and studied her mother’s drivers’ license. Like most people’s, it was a terrible picture. Her mother’s muddy brown hair had been pulled back at the nape of her neck, her complexion pale with no makeup, her reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose.
Another trivial thing they’d argued about. Rose had suggested her mother have a makeover, but Ramona had refused, saying she didn’t want strange men looking at her, that she was happy with herself.
“How old were your parents?” Maddox asked.
“In their fifties,” Rose said. “Too young to die.”
Maddox’s gaze met hers, the sympathy in his eyes moving her near tears.
The keys jangled in his hand. “Did your parents only have one car?”
“Yes,” Rose said. “My mother drove Dad to work when he was taking a long haul in the truck, so she wouldn’t be without a car. He worried about us needing it in case of an emergency.”
“Come on, Rose. Let’s get some air and examine your parents’ car.”
She nodded, desperate to escape the grisly scene in her house.
She might have had her differences with her parents, but she would find out who’d killed them. They hadn’t deserved to be murdered in cold blood.
* * *
MADDOX SENSED ROSE was on the verge of falling apart. Hell, at this point, who could blame her?
Two days ago, she’d been engaged, planning her wedding, and looking forward to the future.
Not only was she scared for her life now, but she’d also lost the only family she’d ever known.
Worse, they’d died a violent death.
And the questions surrounding their murder and the attempt on her life roused suspicions that her parents weren’t who they said they were.
That they’d lied to Rose.
Rose followed him outside, and he unlocked the car, opened the driver’s door and checked inside. The vehicle appeared to be empty.
Maddox looked over his shoulder at Rose, who was peering in the backseat of the car.
“Did your parents always keep the car this clean?”
“Yes. My father was a fanatic. He wiped it down every night.”
Maddox’s suspicions kicked in again as the strong scent of chemicals wafted from the interior. “He cleaned with bleach?”
“Sometimes. I told you he was obsessive.”
Maddox searched the glove compartment and found a bill of sale and proof of insurance in Syd Worthington’s name. A pack of gum was inside, but again no cell phone. He hadn’t found a checkbook, accounting book, or any financial records in the house, so he searched for them in the car, but found nothing.
He popped the trunk and found two overnight bags tucked neatly inside.
“That’s their bags,” Rose said.
“The fact that they’re in the car instead of the closet means they must have been planning to leave before they were killed.”
Rose flinched. “You think they knew someone was after them?”
“It’s beginning to look that way.” He sighed. “They might have known you were in danger, too.”
“Oh, God,” Rose said in a haunted whisper. “They called the store two days ago, out of the blue. I was surprised and confused. They hadn’t called in months.”
“Did they leave a message?”
“No.” Rose shivered “I was making plans to elope with Thad, and I knew if I told them, they’d try to talk me out of it. So I...didn’t call them back.”
Maddox grimaced. Had they been calling to warn her that she was in danger?
Chapter Eleven
Maddox thought of his own father dying at home and understood the pain Rose must be feeling. Except he and his father had gotten along, whereas she and her mother and father had been estranged.
Like he and his brothers. One reason he needed to rectify the situation. He could see the regrets in Rose’s eyes. He didn’t want those where his family was concerned.
Complicating matters more, the questions were obviously hitting her, raising doubts about everything she’d known about her parents and upbringing.
Maddox considered waiting on the crime team, but he wanted answers fast. Rose’s life might depend on it. He’d share anything he found with them.
He photographed the suitcases, then hauled them from the trunk to examine them, hoping to find something inside to offer a clue as to where the couple intended to go.
Rose leaned against the car while he removed the larger bag and opened it. Women’s slacks and blouses, underwear, a pair of boots and another pair of walking shoes, three colorful scarves, a toiletry bag containing basic supplies along with several pairs of contact lenses, and a small cosmetic case with powder, lip gloss and a comb.
The number of contact lens boxes struck him as odd.
“They’re different colored contacts,” he said to Rose. “They were altering their eye color.”
“Why would they do that?”
“To disguise themselves.”
Rose stared at him in disbelief. “I can’t believe this is happening. I feel like I don’t even know them now.”
He searched the outer zipper pocket
s, but found nothing. No itinerary, plane, bus or train tickets, no checkbook or cash.
He opened the second bag. Men’s pants and shirts lay inside, neatly folded. A shaving kit, a pair of boots, a rain jacket and three different work uniforms—with three different labels. One was from a construction company, another read Talberts’ Heating and Air and the third said Germaine’s Delivery Service. There were also two baseball hats.
“Have you seen these uniforms before?” Maddox asked.
Rose shook her head. “No, as far as I know, Dad never worked for any of those companies.”
Maddox dug deeper, discovered a fake bottom and removed a manila envelope. He laid it on top of the clothes and removed the contents.
Several thousand dollars in cash, along with fake driver’s licenses and two passports. All under the names Jeannie and Hal Kern.
Rose gasped at the sight of the cash. “Where did that come from? My parents never had any money to speak of.”
“Maybe they’d been saving,” Maddox said. “I don’t see a checkbook or savings account book in here and I didn’t find one in the house.”
“They didn’t trust banks,” Rose said. “But Dad made a meager living, not enough to save that kind of cash.”
He showed her the ID. “Do you recognize these names?”
“No.” She looked up at Maddox with pain-filled eyes. “They were aliases, weren’t they? My parents were afraid someone was after them, and they had money and fake IDs and planned to run.”
“It appears that way,” Maddox said. “I’ll have CSI search the house more thoroughly. If they had this kind of money, chances are they might have more hidden in the house.”
“They were killed because of me,” Rose said, her voice cracking.
Maddox stepped toward her and cupped her face between his hands. “They were killed because of secrets they were keeping,” Maddox said. “Because they weren’t who they said they were.”
Of course, Rose was part of that secret. He just didn’t know if they’d been protecting her from something, or someone, or if they’d kidnapped her from her birth family and had died trying to protect themselves from being caught.
* * *
ROSE STUDIED THE NAMES on the driver’s licenses as the CSI team arrived and went to work.
Jeannie and Hal Kern. She’d never heard of them.
“I wonder if they were going to tell me they were leaving, if that’s the reason they called.” Maybe they’d finally decided to confess the truth—whatever that was.
“Hopefully the lab can tell us their real identities.”
Rose sighed. “If Worthington was a fake name, then Rose Worthington isn’t my real name, either.”
Maddox squeezed her arm. “I don’t know, Rose, but I won’t stop until I find the answer for you.” He searched her face. “Can you think of anyone that your parents would confide in?”
She shook her head. “Like I said before, they kept to themselves and didn’t have close friends.”
“How about when you were small?”
Rose rubbed her forehead, a headache threatening. “No, but I don’t remember much before we lived in Tulsa.”
“You lived in Oklahoma?”
She nodded. “When I was in grade school. And some man did come by then, but I don’t remember his name. My father took him into the study and closed the door so they could talk.”
“You don’t know what they talked about?”
“No, but right after that, we packed up and moved to Texas.”
“How long did you live there?”
“About four years. One day I got home from high school, and they had the car loaded. They said my dad’s job had changed and we left.” She remembered her frustration. She’d just signed up to work on the yearbook and had been excited because a cute guy named Sam had been the editor.
“Is that when you moved to Wyoming?”
“Yes.”
“I want to talk to the people your father worked with.” He led the way to speak to the CSI team.
Rose glanced at the living room, her heart aching at the sight of the investigators tearing apart the house.
“If there’s any evidence here, it’s well hidden,” the CSI who’d introduced himself as Hoberman said. “Either that, or the killer searched the place first and took anything incriminating with him.” He frowned at Maddox. “Did you take anything?”
Maddox cursed. “No. I’m the sheriff and I want answers. We can get those better if we all work together.”
The music box on the mantel drew her gaze, and she glanced at the collection in the curio cabinet. Her mother had loved music boxes—it was her one decadent pleasure, she’d said. Whenever they traveled, she’d scour antiques shops and garage and estate sales in search of new ones. Her mother had listened intently to the origin and history behind each piece, had thought them romantic.
Those trips had been special to Rose and had piqued her interest in antiques.
Maddox handed the fake IDs to Hoberman. “I found these in the suitcases in the car. Let me know what you find on them.”
Rose cleared her throat. “Is it all right if I take my mother’s music box collection with me? They...were special to her.”
Maddox glanced at Hoberman. “You’ve dusted them for prints?”
Hoberman nodded. “Yes. I don’t see any reason you can’t have them, Miss Worthington,” Hoberman said. “But this is a crime scene, so don’t take anything else.”
Rose agreed, although there was nothing else in the house she wanted.
“Did your mother keep a journal?” Hoberman asked.
“No, not that I know of.”
A memory tickled Rose’s mind. Her parents shredding mail. Once they paid a bill, they destroyed the paperwork. They’d never allowed her to write old classmates once they’d moved, either.
God...she’d been so frustrated with them for cutting her off from making friends.
Now she realized everything about their life had been secretive. Planned. Orchestrated to keep anyone from knowing who they really were.
* * *
MADDOX’S PHONE BUZZED just as he was getting ready to leave the Worthingtons’ house. His heart stopped for a moment at the sight of his home number.
He prayed his father hadn’t taken a turn for the worse.
“Excuse me, I have to get this,” he said to Hoberman. “I’ll check back with you about the lab results and the autopsy. See if the ME can get some DNA and let’s run it.”
Rose was holding one of the music boxes, sorrow darkening her eyes as she studied it. His phone had stopped ringing, but he didn’t bother to listen to the voice mail. He called home immediately.
“Maddox,” Mama Mary said.
“What’s wrong? Is Dad okay?”
“His condition hasn’t changed, but he’s asked a dozen times today if you’ve talked to your brothers.”
Frustration balled in Maddox’s belly. “I called and explained the circumstances, Mama Mary.”
“Brett and Ray have to see your father before he passes,” Mama Mary said. “He needs to make peace with them.”
“I know. Listen, I’m in Cheyenne, but I’ll stop by later, okay?”
“Good. Yes, thank you, Maddox. You’re a good son.”
Maddox didn’t know what to say. Brett wasn’t bad. He was simply spoiled by his good looks and charm and lived in his own carefree world. Ray was another deal altogether. He had no idea what his youngest brother had been up to the past few years.
Mama Mary said goodbye, and Maddox went back inside to tell Rose he needed to leave. She had set three of the music boxes on the side table and was holding a fourth, a small egg-shaped one painted in pastels.
“Let me grab a box from my trunk and you can put them inside it.”
She offered him a smile, although grief lined her eyes. He hurried to his car, grabbed a box from the trunk and returned to help her pack them up. Maddox didn’t understand her attachment to the antiques, but each musi
c box seemed to hold a memory for her.
“Mom and I got this one at a little shop in Phoenix,” she said. “I begged her for it because it played music from Mary Poppins.”
She wiped at a tear as she set it in the box with the others. When she finished, Maddox carried them to the car and carefully placed the box in the trunk.
“I know you want to get home, Rose,” Maddox said. “But I need to stop by the ranch first.”
“Is something wrong?”
He drove from the house onto the highway, debating how to smooth things over with his father. He couldn’t lie to him.
Maybe he’d call his brothers again...
“Maddox?”
“Sorry. That was our housekeeper. My father is ill and not doing well.”
Rose murmured that she was sorry. “I shouldn’t be taking you away from him right now.”
The despair in her voice tore at him. “Don’t apologize, Rose. I’m the sheriff. It’s my job to protect the people in Pistol Whip.”
She lapsed into silence again, lost in her grief as he covered the land between Cheyenne and the small town, then maneuvered the road to Horseshoe Creek.
Sympathy welled in Maddox’s throat. She would have to plan a funeral as soon as the ME released the bodies.
Unfortunately he’d be doing the same thing soon.
Thankfully there were no surprises lurking in the dark to torment him when his father passed.
* * *
ROSE ALLOWED THE BITTERSWEET memories to flow back as Maddox drove. Night had long fallen, blurring the images of the wilderness and scrub brush, the moon barely a sliver shining on the rugged land.
Trips to antique stores and garage sales had been the best memories she’d shared with her mother. It was almost as if her mother connected to the lost pieces of art and furniture, even dishes, that others had discarded or that wound up being left behind when someone died.
When she was little, Rose used to hunt through the old shops for dolls and jewelry. Sometimes she’d find bunches of costume beads and bracelets, even ear bobs, as her mother called them, in dresser drawers. And since they weren’t valuable, she’d allowed Rose to carry them home to play dress-up.
She’d also found vintage dresses, including prom dresses and wedding gowns that were too worn or tattered to sell, and she’d added them to her dress-up box.