The Birth Mother

by Pamela Toth

  The sheriff’s office was in an old building on Whitehorn’s main street. Emma had driven by plenty of times, but she’d never been inside before today. Wordlessly she followed the sheriff up the front steps, gripping the iron handrail for support.

  “Come on back to my office,” he said as he led the way through the reception area, speaking briefly to a woman seated behind a counter. She glanced at Emma, who had to resist the urge to stop to explain that she wasn’t guilty of anything. Of course it wasn’t as though everyone who came in here was a criminal. For all the receptionist knew, Emma might be lodging a complaint of some kind. With her head held high, she followed Sheriff Rawlings through a set of swinging doors into a room with several desks, all empty, and another barred door that she presumed led to the jail. Emma shuddered. At least Janie’s husband Reed wasn’t here. Perhaps she could clear this up and get out of here before he came in and she suffered more embarrassment.

  The sheriff led the way to his private office. “Would you like some water or a cup of coffee?” he asked after he’d shown her to a plain wooden chair facing a desk stacked with files. “I can’t vouch for the coffee, but the water’s pretty good.”

  She knew he was trying to put her at ease, but ever since he’d mentioned the dead woman’s name, Emma had been as tense as a drawn bow. She now wished she’d paid more attention to the gossip at the café. Although she pitied Christina, Emma had shut her ears to the sometimes grisly speculation about her murder.

  “No, thanks. I’m fine,” Emma said as the sheriff waited expectantly, his hand on the knob.

  Nodding, he shut the door and sat in a leather chair that squeaked in protest. Emma tried not to let her nervousness show, but hiding it wasn’t easy. What if she couldn’t remember clear back to the night in question? After all, it had been eight months ago.

  The sheriff opened a manila folder on his desk and picked up a pen. His first few questions were pretty routine, verifying her full name, her age, her address, and when she’d come to town.

  “Where are you from?” he asked.

  “Clear Brook, South Dakota.” She gave him her street address and the names of her foster parents when he asked. “You don’t have to contact them, do you?” What would they make of all this? They hadn’t approved of her search for her biological mother, anyway. Every time she called, they asked when she was coming home.

  “Probably not.” His reply was far from reassuring. “And what brought you to Whitehorn?”

  The question hung between them. She thought of Lexine. No way was Emma going to tell him about her connection to a real murderer. Instead she shrugged. “I was just driving through and it looked like a nice place. I saw the Help Wanted sign in the Hip Hop, so I decided to stay for a while.” Even to her ears, her explanation sounded weak.

  He was already writing on his pad. “I see. Well, we should be able to clear this up pretty quickly,” he said. “All we’re doing at this point is eliminating names, so would you mind telling me what you were doing in the woods the night Homer saw you?” He looked at Emma expectantly.

  “I—I’m sorry,” she stammered, “but I haven’t been in those woods since I came to Whitehorn. Homer’s mistaken.”

  The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you’ve never been there? Not last summer?”

  Emma gulped and nodded. “I’m positive. Why are you setting so much store in what Homer Gilmore says? From what I’ve heard, he’s often confused about what he sees in those woods.” Surely the sheriff was aware that Homer claimed to have run into creatures from outer space among the trees.

  The sheriff consulted his notes, although Emma suspected it was just for show. “Actually, Homer isn’t the only one claiming to have seen you there the same day Christina Montgomery was killed. Someone else did, too.”

  Emma’s mouth dropped open. “That’s impossible. Who else would say that?”

  “I’m not at liberty to give you that information.” He was watching Emma carefully, making her feel as though she were under a microscope. “If you weren’t in the woods that night, where were you?” he asked.

  “When was it exactly?”

  When Sheriff Rawlings mentioned the specific August date, she didn’t have to think about what she’d been doing. Her cheeks burned as she tried to figure out how to answer his question without humiliating herself.

  “May I see a calendar?” she asked, stalling for time.

  “Sure.” He opened a drawer and slid a card across the desk to her. On it were printed all twelve months of the previous year with the name of the local hardware store emblazoned across the top, each letter shaped like a different hand tool. The numbers of the individual dates swam in front of Emma’s eyes like tiny black tadpoles as she stared, trying desperately to think. She knew that telling him an outright lie was the worst thing she could do, so she would have to admit to at least part of the truth, but how much?

  “I was probably working that day,” she said, tapping the calendar with her fingertip. “The Hip Hop was short-staffed last summer.”

  He leaned forward, resting his folded arms on the desktop. “I’ll need for you to account for the entire day and night. What shift were you working?”

  “I almost always work either breakfast or lunch, and sometimes both, but I did work a couple of late shifts that month.” Her mind raced. “Then I would have gone back to my apartment.”

  His dark eyes assessed her. “Do you live alone?”

  Her head bobbed. “That’s right. I rent the studio over Reed Austin’s garage.”

  “Any chance you can figure out if you went somewhere that night after work, or whether anyone saw you? Perhaps Reed or Janie?”

  Emma widened her eyes. “Are you kidding? That long ago? This is crazy. I didn’t even know Christina Montgomery, except for seeing her in the café once or twice. Besides, I thought Homer himself was a suspect. Maybe he’s trying to distract you.”

  The sheriff glanced down at the folder in front of him. “Homer has been ruled out,” he admitted.

  “Why?” Emma demanded. “Did he have an alibi?” She needed to go to the library and bone up on the investigation from the back issues of the local weekly. It was impossible that Homer or anyone else could have seen her in the woods. The sheriff was just fishing around.

  “I can’t discuss the details of an ongoing investigation,” he recited as though he were reading from a TelePrompTer screen. “All I can tell you is that we’re not considering him at this time.”

  “What about me?” She hoped he’d deny it, admit he had nothing, and let her go.

  He stood and braced his hands on the desktop. “I think there’s something you aren’t telling me,” he said, leaning forward. “If you need time to check out that day, I understand. You can get back to me, but make it soon. Meanwhile I’ll verify what hours you were at work.”

  Emma stared up at him, cold horror sweeping over her as the gravity of her situation finally sank in. It wasn’t enough to merely tell him she’d been home in the evening. She needed to prove it. And what if the Austins had seen Brandon’s car? Would he be dragged in for questioning? “Do I need an attorney?” she whispered hoarsely. Perhaps she’d made a mistake in even talking to the sheriff without counsel.

  “Do you want one?” In the outer office, a phone rang. Someone must have come in, because Emma heard a masculine voice pitched low enough that she couldn’t make out the words.

  “I don’t think so.” Where would she get that kind of money, anyway? “Could I have some water now?”

  The sheriff got to his feet. “Sure thing.”

  After he left, shutting the door carefully behind him, Emma rubbed her temples with her fingertips as she wrestled with the desire to clear herself and the reluctance to admit what she’d been doing on the night in question. No doubt the sheriff had heard it all before and nothing shocked him, but that didn’t make it any less embarrassing for her. She hated the idea of discussing the private details of her life with a relative
stranger.

  She was tempted to peek at the open file on his desk, but she didn’t want to get caught snooping. Then another humiliating idea popped into her head. If she told the sheriff about Lexine, would Brandon find out?

  Before Emma could decide what to do, Sheriff Rawlings was back with a plastic cup. She thanked him and took a sip.

  Still standing, he extracted a small card from his pocket. Was he going to arrest her? The water she’d swallowed threatened to come right back up.

  “I think it would be a good idea if I read you your rights,” he said as she bit back a cry of alarm. “You have the right…” As he recited the familiar phrases, voice droning, Emma stared blankly. Sheer terror froze the muscles of her throat and dried the inside of her mouth. Today had started out so well. How could this be happening to her?

  While she did her best to keep the tears at bay, he finished reading. “Do you understand everything I’ve said?” he asked again.

  “Y-yes,” she stammered, shaking all over.

  He sat back down across from her and steepled his hands beneath his chin. “Emma, do you realize how serious this is?” he asked. “It’s a murder investigation. Someone killed a young woman who had just given birth. That someone didn’t want her found. Christina’s family has been through a lot of heartache. If I find out later that you’ve refused to cooperate because you’re covering up for someone else or that you’re keeping back something that may help us solve this case, the situation will be all the more difficult for you.”

  “I told you, I wasn’t there, not the night Christina disappeared and not any other time, either.” Her voice rose with each word.

  He ignored her outburst. “Now’s the time to talk to me,” he insisted. “Otherwise it could go very badly for you.” He waited. When she didn’t say anything more, nibbling her lip instead, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Are you still insisting you were alone after work on the night of Christina’s murder?”

  Emma felt like a rat in a trap. She didn’t know what to do and there was no one to ask for advice.

  “If I had been with someone that night, would you have to question him?” This was so embarrassing. After all this time she and Brandon had another chance, but how would he feel about being involved in a murder investigation? What would his family think?

  “Yes, the man would have to corroborate your story,” the sheriff replied. “Were you with someone?”

  What choice did she have? There was no way they could link her to the crime and she didn’t think they could arrest her without evidence. She took a deep breath. “No,” she insisted. “I’m sure I was alone.”

  He looked disappointed. “You’re sticking to that?”

  “Yes, but I did have a reason for coming to Whitehorn,” she admitted. “If I tell you, will you promise to keep it confidential?”

  His expression was impassive as he rubbed his jaw with one hand. “I can’t make that kind of promise,” he said flatly, “but I’ll do my best not to reveal the information unless it becomes necessary. That’s all I can do.”

  That would have to be enough. Quickly Emma told him about her search for her birth mother and how it had brought her to Whitehorn. Was she making a terrible mistake, admitting her relationship to a convicted criminal, a multiple murderer? Would he assume she’d inherited the tendency toward violence? She hesitated, wondering again if she should talk to an attorney first or if that would just make her look guilty.

  “And have you found your mother?” the sheriff prompted when she remained silent.

  Emma swallowed and licked her lips. “Yes. It’s Lexine Baxter.” To her surprise, except for a slight widening of his eyes, Sheriff Rawlings barely reacted to her startling announcement. “You know who Lexine is, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Oh, yeah.” For the first time he seemed to drop his professional mask. “Lexine and I go way back. Have you talked to her yet?”

  How Emma hated to recall her visit to the prison. “I went out to see her, but it didn’t go well.”

  “I’m sorry. That must have been very difficult for you.” His expression thawed ever so slightly. “You know I’ll have to talk to her about this.”

  All Emma could do was to hope that word didn’t get around. “Of course. Maybe you can understand that I’m just not ready for everyone to know she’s my mother.”

  Something flickered across the sheriff’s face, but was gone again before Emma could interpret it. He jotted a note on a pad of paper. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

  There was no way she was going to bring Brandon into this unless she absolutely had to. Perhaps she could clear it up without telling him.

  The phone on the desk rang and she nearly jumped out of her chair. Frowning, the sheriff picked it up.

  “Yes?” He listened for a moment, his gaze on Emma. Then he glanced at the closed office door.

  “You can’t go in there!” Emma heard someone outside say loudly.

  As the sheriff hung up the phone and got to his feet, the door flew open and Brandon walked in. He barely glanced at Emma.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded. “Why is she here?”

  “You want me to show him out?” asked a uniformed deputy from the doorway behind him.

  “It’s okay,” the sheriff replied. “Go on.”

  The other man complied.

  “And you would be…?” the sheriff asked Brandon, as calmly as if people burst into his office every day.

  Brandon put his hand on Emma’s shoulder and smiled down at her reassuringly as she stared back at him, utterly dismayed by his presence. “Janie told me where you’d gone,” he said before he redirected his attention to the sheriff. “I don’t know what Emma has told you, but I’m the man who was with her the night that woman disappeared.”

  Five

  For the space of a heartbeat, both Emma and the sheriff stared at Brandon, making him wonder if he’d misread the situation entirely. When he’d gotten to the ranch and mentioned old Homer Gilmore’s bizarre accusation to Collin, Collin filled him in on everything he remembered about the Montgomery murder. They talked as they rode out to one of the far pastures. When Brandon got back, he found out about Emma. After Homer’s outburst, it didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out what the sheriff was after—and to guess that Emma might try to keep his name out of her explanation.

  If she had looked as guilty giving it as she did now, she’d be wearing handcuffs.

  “Brandon, what are you doing here?” she gasped, breaking the silence that followed his outburst. “How did you find me?”

  “Like I said, Janie clued me in.” He looked from her pale face to the sheriff, who’d gotten to his feet when Brandon invaded his office and was watching him now with an inscrutable expression.

  “Mind telling me your full name and your connection to Miss Stover?” he asked.

  “This is Brandon Harper,” Emma said quickly. “He’s a customer at the Hip Hop.” Her eyes pleaded with Brandon, but he had no intention of following along.

  “And he was with you the night of Christina Montgomery’s disappearance?” the sheriff asked.

  “That’s right.” It was Brandon’s turn to jump in before Emma could answer. The muscles of her shoulder were rigid beneath his hand. She would have to accept his help; there was no way he’d let her face this ordeal alone.

  “Are you all right?” he asked quietly as he gave her a reassuring squeeze, aware of the sheriff’s scrutiny and not giving a damn.

  Emma’s nod was jerky. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “This is exactly where I need to be,” he contradicted her sharply.

  “I’d appreciate if you’d both refrain from further conversation until after I’ve talked with Mr. Harper alone,” the sheriff told them as he punched a button on the intercom. “Shane, would you come in here for a minute?”

  The uniformed deputy who had tried to stop Brandon from barging into the office poked his head back through the doorw
ay. “Yeah, boss?”

  “This is Shane McBride. Would you take Miss Stover out and get her some coffee while Mr. Harper and I talk?”

  “Sure thing.” Deputy McBride looked expectantly at Emma, who clutched her purse as she got to her feet. She must have realized that arguing would be futile, because except for one panicky glance at Brandon, she followed the deputy without protest.

  “Okay, Mr. Harper,” the sheriff said as soon as the door was once again firmly shut. “Let’s hear your explanation of why you came charging into my office like the cavalry.”

  “First you answer a question for me,” Brandon replied. “Is Emma a suspect?”

  The other man’s gaze didn’t waver. “Let’s say that I haven’t ruled her out yet. Now tell me about the night Christina Montgomery disappeared.”

  “I’ve already said I was with Emma that night. After she got off work, we went to her apartment.”

  The sheriff jotted something on the pad in front of him. “And at what time did you leave Miss Stover’s?”

  Brandon thought for a moment. “I got a call on my cell phone. It was pretty late, probably after one. I had to leave for Reno, where my business is located.”

  The sheriff folded his arms on the desktop and leaned forward. “Do you always get business calls in the middle of the night?”

  Brandon bit down on his impatience. “I’d switched off the phone. When I turned it back on, there was an urgent message from an associate. I returned his call and learned that I had to get back for a morning meeting, so I left right away and drove back to Reno.”

  “I see. And did either you or Miss Stover go out of the apartment at any time before then?”

  Brandon shook his head. They’d been too busy exploring their mutual passion, but he didn’t volunteer that. Surely the sheriff could read between the lines without Brandon spelling it out for him.

  “The ranch your grandfather wants to buy isn’t far from the area where the body was found. Were you ever in those woods last fall?”