by Alexa Verde
“I can bring Daisy with me to the gallery often enough. I’m still afraid to bring her to the stable where she might get hurt.”
She nodded as if he’d said something she’d suspected. “That’s exactly it. You’re holding on tightly to your daughter because of what happened to your wife, your stepsister, your baby brother. Too many losses for one person. But you have to let Daisy breathe, live, and learn to do things on her own. You can’t be by her side twenty-four-seven.”
“I’m doing my best to be a good father,” he whispered as he managed to tear his gaze from her face and suppressed the urge to check on his daughter. He could hear Daisy giggle from here.
Why couldn’t Gwendolyn understand something so simple?
“You are a great father. But you’ll be an even better father when she sees you happy.” Gwendolyn hesitated, then continued while she worked with one of the brushes. “Once, Liberty returned from spending all night in the stable with a horse who’d had colic, totally exhausted and bruised. I asked her how she could do it. I mean, colic, deworming, checking for ticks and other parasites in summer, pulling a young calf when the cow had difficulty birthing...”
“What did she say?” he asked when Gwendolyn paused, then returned to their task. Maybe he needed this bonding process more than the Appaloosa did.
“She said she loved her job so much that even unpleasant tasks didn’t bother her. She. Just. Loved. It. The same way when I did the job assignments I didn’t like, everything irritated me. So... What kind of father would Daisy rather see?”
The horse neighed as if seconding the question.
“I can’t fail another person like I failed Annika, Tara, my brother, Snowflake.” Pain sliced through him.
“You didn’t fail them.”
He winced at her conviction. She didn’t understand.
He was done grooming, and he couldn’t be near the horses in a state of distress, so he asked Gwendolyn to go outside. Besides, he needed to see that Daisy was okay. He took a few deep breaths to ensure he was calm while he stayed close to the horse.
He’d make sure to find out her name. And he wanted badly to get to know her better, as well as other horses. For many years, he’d found relationships with horses much more rewarding than with people. He gave the mare a long look, hoping it wasn’t goodbye yet.
Then he and Gwendolyn cleaned the tools and their hands and stepped out.
With Liberty leading the pony on a rope and Daisy sitting comfortably in her saddle, Conner and Gwendolyn walked on the crisp snow, and he told her things he’d only told the horses before. About Tara’s disappearance.
Then about Annika’s accident.
“If only I didn’t insist on us going out that evening, Annika would still be alive. If I was stronger at the time, I could’ve protected Tara.” He closed his eyes, then opened them. “You see a ghost car. I don’t see the ghost of Tara, but I feel her presence. Isn’t it crazy? The more years pass, the less I want to believe she’s gone.”
“It’s not crazy at all.”
“Throughout the years, I saw a few cars following me. I mean, nothing ever happened, so I stopped worrying about it. Then the day of the accident...” He didn’t want to relive the memories, but he needed to tell someone. After all, he didn’t have horses to talk to any longer.
Gwendolyn touched his hand as her steps slowed on the crunching snow, which probably wasn’t easy for her because she seemed to be on the higher alert in open spaces. “Take your time. Do you think someone could’ve caused the accident?”
“No, that’s not it. A cat dashed in front of us, and Annika swerved off the road to avoid hitting the cat. She lost control of the vehicle and hit a tree instead. I... I lost consciousness. I only remember the scent of burning rubber, the pain, the sound of my own scream. I came to in the ambulance.” He paused, trying to figure out how to explain the rest.
“See? You couldn’t have saved her. You should stop blaming yourself. And, for what it’s worth, I’d probably swerve to avoid hitting a cat, too.” Soft and soothing, her voice poured over him like a healing balm to his wound. “It wasn’t your fault.”
He looked at his daughter in the distance, indeed the best legacy he could have from Annika.
“Later, the police told me they received a call from someone named Calista Smith. The person driving by saw the accident. Neither my wife nor I were thrown out of the car. Calista Smith somehow pulled us out before the car exploded. Annika died before she made it to the hospital. I survived with broken bones.” His heart was crushed like his bones had been.
“That was heroic on her part. And I’m so sorry it happened to you.” Compassion laced Gwendolyn’s words.
He breathed in the frosty air. “I tried to find her. I wanted to thank her. I mean, I don’t even know how a woman could pull me out of the vehicle.” He winced, hoping he didn’t sound sexist.
“Must be a very strong woman. Probably a surge of adrenaline helped.”
“Well, I couldn’t find her. A person with that name didn’t exist.” He’d been grieving too much to question it at the time, but he’d started searching for an explanation later. The explanation he’d come up with sounded crazy to him.
“Maybe someone didn’t want the praise.” Gwendolyn paused, then stepped closer. “I’m grateful to God that He spared you. That Daisy has you to raise her. That you exist.”
He couldn’t help it. He stroked Gwendolyn’s fingers, causing her eyes to widen. “Have I told you lately how amazing you are?”
Her lips twitched up a little. “I’m not amazing. I’m just a woman who wants you to be happy. Even...” She swallowed hard. “Even if I’m not there to witness it.”
He placed a kiss on her cheek, breathing her enticing scent. “Ditto.”
Though he’d much rather have her witness it. He wanted to find a way for them to be together. To take that risk.
Her eyes turned liquid again, and neither one of them said a word.
Then she whispered, “As for the legacy... The best legacy we can give to the people who came before us and would come after us is the legacy of love and happiness.”
Chapter Seventeen
In the evening, Conner did his best to ignore the unease in his stomach as he had to leave his daughter with an unusual babysitter. He followed Gwendolyn and Vera Clark to one of the mansion offices. “Um, are you sure Daisy will be okay with your husband?”
Vera laughed. “You don’t have any reason to worry.”
He wasn’t a hovering parent now. He had reason to worry. Up till now, he’d only left Daisy with Gwendolyn or Liberty. Maverick, one of the Clarks’ golden boys, was famous for being a reckless race car champion before his retirement. That image didn’t go great with babysitting skills—right?
While Conner understood that discussing a murder case wasn’t for curious little ears, he glanced back, ready to scoop up Daisy if she needed him.
The picture in the living room stopped him, and his jaw slackened. Was this the guy who’d worn dashing tuxedos to parties or slick racing uniforms to the track?
Maverick sat at a small round desk, rocking the baby in one arm. Nearby, Danica and Daisy were hard at work, adding large fabric triangles to a headband, which probably meant cat ears. And glitter. Lots of glitter.
A kitten curled up on the fourth chair, peacefully asleep.
Daisy was so concentrated on the task, the tip of her tongue stuck out just like the kitten’s. Unlike his daughter, whose white socks and cowboy boots matched, Danica wore one azure blue sock and one matching the orange cat ears she was making. Her shoes were pink and orange, respectively, as if she’d gotten dressed without looking. Conner had braided Daisy’s hair that morning, but Danica wore her chestnut hair in messy waves.
“Uncle Maverick, this ear doesn’t want to stay glued.” Danica scowled at the offending piece.
“Let me help you.” Maverick adjusted the piece to the headband, then placed it on the girl’s head. “All done. Look
s beautiful.”
Daisy placed hers on her head and smiled shyly.
“Yours looks great, too.” Maverick rocked the baby again, then reached for the markers. “Now, who’s up for having whiskers painted?”
“Me! Me!” both girls squealed.
Vera stopped and followed his gaze. She wore her long blonde hair in a braid and had the happy glow of a woman content with her life. “Just in case you wondered, Danica didn’t get dressed in a hurry. She likes that style. She must be taking on my sister-in-law’s love for bright colors.”
She didn’t need to say which sister-in-law.
Daisy grinned at him, then waved, and he waved back before she returned to her task.
He caught Gwendolyn’s gaze, understanding and reassurance in her eyes. “I told you. Daisy will be fine with Maverick and Danica.”
Okay then.
Conner entered the room as joyful sadness shivered over him. He wanted Daisy to do well among her peers, had worried when she hadn’t. But a tiny pang said she didn’t need him quite so desperately any longer.
“Daisy still loves you and needs you,” Gwendolyn whispered as if reading his mind. “She always will.”
But maybe it’s time for you to live your own life....
Gwendolyn didn’t say it, but he could guess it.
He notched his chin up a bit.
A window hugged by creamy curtains allowed warm light into a room sparse in furniture but rich in electronics. A whiteboard occupied one of the caramel-hued walls while local maps covered another. Twin oak bookshelves contained tomes on forensics. Three oak chairs matched the desk in simplistic sturdiness. Small bronze equine statues serving as bookends and an antique bronze lamp with a matte shade offered the only decoration.
Vera moved to the oak desk with a computer, printer, and stack of folders. “My husband turned out great with children. He even agreed to a fingernail painting session after he puts the baby down for a nap, so don’t be surprised later. That said, I declined Danica’s request for my lipstick this morning because even Maverick’s patience might have its limits.” Vera gestured for them to sit down.
Conner pulled out a desk chair for Gwendolyn, and when she sank onto it as if feeling weak, his gut tightened.
Gwendolyn shook her head. “I hate to break it to you, but the lipstick might’ve been for the kitten. Don’t worry, though, I explained things to the girls.”
Despite her easygoing tone, tension pulled her features. Discussing her father’s murder again must be gut-wrenching, and as his hand moved toward her nearly on its own accord, he had to shove his hands into his pockets to stop from reaching out.
Her face went intentionally blank. “Thank you for doing this for me, Vera. Especially now that you retired from investigations.”
Vera propped her hip against the simple desk. “I guess we always want what we don’t have. Or maybe Jenna’s passion for investigation is contagious. Either way, I was excited to work on this case. I missed helping people find truth and justice.” Then her eyes dimmed. “I mean... Sorry. I know this is painful for you.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Gwendolyn, the kind soul that she was, managed a wobbly smile. “You’re helping me.”
“Well, helping myself, too. Jenna and I want to start a detective agency. This case could be the beginning for us.”
Gwendolyn’s lips twitched up a little more. “I’m glad your sister-in-law returned home and found happiness with the ranch foreman.”
A gleam appeared in Vera’s eyes as she tipped her imaginary hat. “What can I say? We love cowboys here.”
He sure hoped that statement applied to Gwendolyn. Not that... that he was a cowboy any longer. He drew in a deep breath to lift the sudden weight from his chest.
Then Gwendolyn sobered as she patted the folders. “Now, I’ve used a lot of your time already. Let’s get to the case. It’s going to be difficult to find the culprit twenty-five years later. Besides, unlike now, there was no camera footage, no passersby with cell phone cameras to record something useful.”
Vera spread her hands. “I know! Those were prehistoric times. Anyway, that’s when human connections become more important than ever. I pulled some strings, and those strings pulled more strings. And then my grandmother did the same. Well, she mostly pulled at her current boyfriend, who is the chief of police here, and he did the rest.”
“That sounds like a lot of pulling.” He couldn’t help himself.
“No kidding.” Vera opened the top folder and removed several photos. “My sister-in-law, Heather, searched the web. It’s great to have an IT person in the family. She was glad to be useful. Her husband barely allows her to do anything since she’s pregnant with the twins. Hmm, I hope she covered her tracks well.”
He preferred not to ask why Heather needed to cover her online tracks, and neither did Gwendolyn.
“If it gets too much, let me know.” Vera handed Gwendolyn the folder. “I got ahold of some police files and traveled to the crime scene, too.”
Gwendolyn paled and bit into her lower lip as she looked at the photos, her freckles becoming more pronounced.
He squeezed her forearm, wishing he could spare her the pain. “If it’s too much...”
The hollowness in her eyes as she looked up emptied something inside him. “I need to do this.”
Her gaze assessing, Vera folded her arms across her chest. “Maybe it’s best if I just tell you the results.”
“I need to do this.” Gwendolyn’s voice grew stronger.
He squeezed Gwendolyn’s arm again and backed off. He could respect that determination.
“Okay then.” Vera wrote “The Crime Scene” on the board and started pinning up photos with magnets. “Black-and-white ones are from the file. Colored ones are current. Amazingly, that property’s still abandoned. No one was interested in it, except as you can see, the homeless and people using it as a place to buy drugs.”
Her eyes narrowing, Gwendolyn sat straighter, and a blankness overcame her as if she did her best to disassociate herself.
The last thing Conner wanted was for Gwendolyn to see how her father bled out on the asphalt. Apparently, he wasn’t alone in that. Vera seemed to leave out the more gruesome photos.
“The time of death was between eight p.m. and ten p.m.” Vera wrote on the board as she spoke. “A homeless woman stumbled on him and reported it to the police. He was shot from close range. Suspiciously close.”
“Which means he knew his shooter.” Gwendolyn spoke without emotion.
“Trusted him or her, too. Now, an interesting part. The weapon was a Glock. Forensics identified the bullet they extracted from his body as having been fired from a weapon registered to him.”
Gwendolyn gasped. “How did I miss this important part? The police must’ve told me.” She covered her face with her hands. “Was I... was I so out of it I didn’t remember?”
He moved his chair closer, his heart breaking for her. She might’ve suppressed the memories. “Gwendolyn, it’s not your fault.” He tried to hug her. But she stayed stiff in his embrace, so he let her go.
When Gwendolyn looked up, her eyes were blank. “So he was killed from his own gun. Could he... could he have killed himself?”
Vera shook her head. “The gun was found in his hands, but no gunpowder residue was on his skin. The police checked the woman who’d found him, and there was no residue on her skin, either. And I imagine it would be difficult for her to get close enough to him to pull out his gun if she wanted to shoot and rob him. He was a person who was used to being on high alert, too.”
Gwendolyn nodded as if still processing the information. “Okay, so let’s move on to the real suspects then.”
“Right.” Vera wrote “Suspects” on the board in large letters. “I might be grasping at straws here.”
“I understand,” Gwendolyn whispered.
First, Vera pinned the photo of a young blonde girl smiling into the camera. “Here we have your father’s client’s d
aughter, Brea Cohen. I doubt she’d shoot your father because she’d only get a new bodyguard. But the desire to get a fix could be stronger than logic. Sadly, the girl is dead.”
She paused, and they all mourned the loss of a young life.
“That’s why I wanted to talk to her father and your dad’s client, Mr. Cohen.” Then Vera pinned the photo of a man with white hair and a matching unkempt beard. His devastated pale eyes seemed to look beyond the horizon.
Gwendolyn hugged her arms around her middle. “That’s the photo of the sculptor from the flyer. He can be a suspect, too—if Dad overheard or saw something in the house, something the man wouldn’t want known. Mr. Cohen is also opening an exhibition soon, after decades of silence. I mean, I’m glad if it’s a sign of healing from the tragic loss of his daughter.”
“But why now?” Conner rubbed his forehead.
Vera scrawled a question mark near the photo. “Yes, why now? He and his daughter were each other’s alibi for that night, which doesn’t inspire confidence. The female employee who was supposed to watch Brea’s room at night confirmed the girl’s alibi, too. But something is more interesting. Mr. Cohen is currently nowhere to be found. His housekeeper said he left for a Christmas vacation. The first one since she started working for him seven years ago. He told her he was going to visit his cousin in Delaware. The cousin hadn’t heard from him for a year.”
Whoa. Conner’s jaw tightened. “I don’t like it.”
Vera pursed her lips. “Me, either. I’ll keep searching.” Then she pinned the photo of a clean-shaven man with green eyes. “Ron Amspoker.”
Women might find the guy attractive.
Conner eyed Vera. “I understand he has an alibi, but he could’ve hired, bribed, threatened, or cajoled someone to do his dirty work.”
“I’m following up on his communications from prison at the time as much as I can. Which brings me to Odetta.” Vera added a photo of a woman with short chocolate-hued hair and a bright smile. “Odetta’s alibi was confirmed. However, the restaurant where she worked wasn’t that far from the abandoned warehouse where your father was shot.”