by Jeff Shelby
“What? No,” I began, but the sheriff wasn’t finished.
“That’s why you didn’t want me to talk to him this morning,” he announced. “Isn’t it? You knew he had evidence, just like you knew there was evidence to implicate your son in the drug case.”
Mack looked at me, his brow wrinkled. “Luke?”
I nodded. “I’ll tell you later,” I said under my breath. In a louder voice, I said, “The picture does not belong to me, nor was it found in my house.”
“It was in Tim’s camper,” Mack said.
Sheriff Lewis’s eyes widened and I smiled with satisfaction. At least that had gotten his attention. But then he held up a hand and said, “Shh,” in a loud voice. He tilted his head in the direction of the radio and tuned into the announcer again.
I took two steps and before he could stop me, switched the radio off.
“What in tarnation do you think you’re doing?” he thundered.
“We are trying to share evidence with you,” I said in as calm of a voice as I could muster. “And we need you to pay attention.”
The sheriff glared at me but I held my ground...and kept my hand on the on/off switch.
He sighed. “So you found a picture of Miranda. So what?”
Mack stared at him. “So what?” he repeated. “Isn’t that something you should investigate? Maybe ask Tim why he had it? If you can find him, that is. His brother said he took off with his truck last night. Hasn’t seen him since.”
The sheriff didn’t even raise an eyebrow. “That so?”
Mack nodded.
Sheriff Lewis folded his arms over his ample stomach. “And who’s to say you aren’t just claiming that picture came from Tim’s place?”
Mack frowned. “What?”
“You heard me,” the sheriff said. His pipe wasn’t in his shirt pocket but on his desk, and he picked it up and jammed it between his lips. He worked it to the side, gumming it. “You could just be telling me you found it there. Trying to lead me off the trail of the true murderer.”
“I found it on his desk,” Mack retorted. “In a pile of catalogs and papers.”
“What were you doing in his camper?”
I darted a glance in Mack’s direction. This was what I’d been afraid of. Mack had been in Tim’s camper uninvited. And removed the photo without permission.
Mack waved the photo. “The whys aren’t important,” I said. “What’s important is that Tim might have a connection to Miranda. A connection worth investigating.”
The pipe shifted to the other side of Sheriff Lewis’s mouth. “You know what I think is important?” He reached for a pen on his desk. “Making sure I remember this conversation. I’ll talk to Tim, alright. I’ll ask him if he gave you permission to enter his property. Because if he didn’t, you’ll be looking at trespassing charges.” His eyes narrowed. “Along with murder.”
Mack let out a strangled cry and I abandoned the radio so I could keep him from launching himself over the desk.
“Come on,” I said, tugging his arm.
“But—” Mack sputtered, his cheeks red, his eyes bulging.
The sheriff was on his feet, too, but not to chase us as I pulled Mack out of the room.
No, he headed straight for his radio, to turn it back on as quickly as possible.
He wasn’t about to miss another second of the golf tournament he’d been listening to when we barged in.
THIRTY
“That could have gone better,” I said as we drove back through Latney and toward my house.
Mack didn’t respond, just stared grumpily out the window. “That man is impossible,” he muttered.
He didn’t have to tell me that. I’d dealt with the sheriff far too many times to think otherwise.
We drove the rest of the way in silence, Mack still staring out the window. I tried not to dwell on what had just happened, but it was hard not to. Because there was one thing I couldn’t stop thinking about.
The sheriff had suggested that maybe Mack hadn’t found the photo of Miranda but had just said that to put him on a new trail, a new suspect.
I didn’t believe it, of course, but I also hadn’t been in the camper when he’d found it. I hated suspecting Mack, even for a second, but I had to admit that the sheriff was right about that. It was a possibility, at least in his eyes.
Mack was out of the car as soon as I killed the engine in the driveway. He’d wanted to come home immediately after our encounter with the sheriff, said he had some friends he wanted to call to run by a few details, see if they saw some angles he wasn’t seeing.
I followed him into the house and went past the living room and into the kitchen, dropping my purse and my keys on the counter as I made my way into the room. I warmed up my coffee in the microwave and searched the cupboard for an open box of granola bars. I wasn’t hungry but I knew I needed to eat.
I thought about everything I knew in regards to Miranda’s case. Mack had come through town because of a closed highway and had gone off the road. He’d used GPS to find his way to my house, knowing he was in the general vicinity. Tim had picked up his car, towing it to the clearing, and Miranda’s body had been found in the trunk when we’d gone to claim the car.
And Mack had slept with Miranda the night before.
I waited a minute, mulling all of this over, and then dug my phone out my purse. I searched online for the number I needed, then pressed the screen to connect the call. I had no idea if the call I was about to make would provide any information; in fact, I didn’t know why I was calling at all.
“Virginia Department of Transportation, how may I direct your call?” a pleasant voice asked.
I didn’t know where I needed to be directed so I explained what I was looking for and the woman put me on hold. A minute or so later, another woman picked up.
“I’m actually looking for information regarding an accident two nights ago,” I said. “At least I think it was an accident. One that shut the freeway down.”
“Where was the accident located?” she asked.
“I believe on I-64, heading north from Harrisonburg.”
I heard her fingers tapping a keyboard, and then there was a pause. “I don’t see any freeway closures in that location.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “It was the night of the big snowstorm. The freeway was shut down.”
“Nothing in our records indicates the freeway was closed, ma’am. Perhaps it was another location?”
I bit my lip. “Maybe it was further north?” I suggested.
“I don’t see any reports of any major interstates shut down the night in question,” she said.
My heart lurched. “Are...are you sure?”
“As sure as I can be with the information my computer is providing me,” she responded.
I thanked her and ended the call before sagging against the counter.
I didn’t know what had compelled me to call about it. And now that the call was over, I wasn’t sure how I felt about placing it.
Mack had lied to me about the freeway, about how he’d ended up in town.
I swallowed against the lump forming in my throat.
What else had he lied to me about?
THIRTY ONE
“No,” I said out loud.
I was talking to myself, because I was still standing alone in the kitchen, thinking about Mack and his potential ties to Miranda.
It couldn’t be true. He couldn’t have killed her.
I knew Mack. I knew him as well as I knew the members of my own family. He wasn’t a cold-blooded killer.
But it was looking more and more like he was a liar.
It was obvious after the phone call I’d just made that he hadn’t told the truth about how he’d ended up in Latney. I didn’t know why he’d lied, but he had. There was no disputing that.
Just because he’d lied about that, though, didn’t mean he’d lied about his involvement with Miranda. I thought back to what he’d told me about her.
Instead, he’d volunteered information. Private information. And, yes, Mack was a bit of a ladies man and didn’t mind referencing his conquests, but in this situation? If he’d actually been responsible for her death? No sane person would purposely disclose details that might incriminate them in a crime.
Something was off.
I just didn’t know what,
But I knew who I needed to talk to in order to get some answers.
Mack.
I set my coffee down, just a tiny sip gone from the mug, and headed toward the living room. I knew he was making calls, probably upstairs in the guest bedroom, but he’d come downstairs eventually. He’d be itching to go somewhere, to investigate. Either that or he’d want food.
I was surprised to find him sprawled out on the couch, a full glass of whiskey in his hand. He was still dressed in the ill-fitting jeans but had stripped out of the flannel and was sporting a plain white t-shirt instead.
He glanced in my direction.
“You done with your phone calls?” I asked. It seemed like a safe question to start with, especially since I wasn’t ready to start interrogating him about what I’d just learned.
He gave a slight nod of his head.
“Anyone able to help?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Eh. We’ll see. I have a friend looking into a couple of things. We’ll see what he comes up with.”
He sounded remarkably composed, at least compared to what he’d been like earlier in the day. I wondered if this was the calm before the storm, the eye of the hurricane passing over before the winds were unleashed once again.
I sank into the chair next to him. “What are you doing now?”
He pressed his lips together, then smiled. “Thinking.”
“Thinking,” I repeated. “About what?” I wasn’t exactly in the mood for small talk, but I still wasn’t quite ready to confront him with my questions, either.
He sipped from his whiskey. “Oh, just how nice it is here.”
I had no idea how he’d gone from his dogged pursuit of information to appreciating the house I lived in.
I surveyed the room. “It’s ended up being a good house,” I said with a smile. It had its quirks, of course—what old house didn’t?—but I still loved its charm and hominess.
“I meant the town,” Mack said. “I mean, the house is great, too.”
“The town? You mean Latney?”
He nodded.
His statement took me by surprise. We hadn’t spent much time in town other than trying to grab a bite at the Wicked Wich, and almost every other moment outside of my house had either been spent in pursuit of finding his car or trying to figure out how Miranda had ended up in his trunk—and who had put her there.
“What do you like about it?” I asked. I was genuinely curious.
He took a minute to answer. “The pace,” he said.
“The pace?” I was incredulous. “But you’ve been chomping at the bit to leave!”
“Let me finish,” he said, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead. “Yes, it’s a little frustrating for me, especially in the circumstances I’m in, but I can see how people would appreciate it here. The slowness. The deliberateness. You’re sort of forced to notice things.”
I was still dubious. “Hmm. And what have you noticed?”
He sipped his whiskey. “I’ve noticed there are some good people around here.”
I snorted. “Like the sheriff? Tim?”
“Well, no,” he admitted. “But people like Declan and the women at the church who collected clothes. Your neighbor, for being so willing to come over and clear your driveway. Those are good people.”
I nodded. “Yes, they are.”
“Good people are hard to find sometimes, especially in the city.”
I thought it might have more to do with his line of work, but I didn’t mention this.
“They’re good guys, right?” Mack asked.
“Who? Gunnar and Declan?”
He nodded.
“Yes,” I said, nodding. “They are.”
He swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “Which one are you going to pick?”
I stared at him. “What?”
He swallowed a mouthful of whiskey. “You heard me. Which one are you going to choose?”
I glanced down at my lap and suddenly wished I had a large alcoholic drink in my hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I murmured.
Mack chuckled. “Oh, please. “
I stayed quiet.
“Fine,” he said in an agreeable voice. “You don’t want to answer that question, I’ll ask another. You happy here?”
I looked up. Mack was staring at me, waiting for my reply.
It was a good question. I’d had my fair share of hardships in Latney from the very first moment I’d stepped foot in my new house. But despite all of the difficulties and misunderstandings and, well, crime that had presented itself, none of these things had gotten in the way of my happiness. I liked my home, I liked living in Latney, and I liked the people I’d met. Well, most of them.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m happy.”
“That’s good,” he said, swirling his drink some more. “That’s the most important thing. Being happy.”
I cocked my head. This was not the conversation I’d anticipated having when I walked into the living room moments earlier. “Are you happy, Mack?”
He shrugged. “Sure. I mean, I’m not happy I don’t have my car and I’m not happy I’m a suspect in a murder case but yeah, by and large I’m pretty happy.” He hesitated. “Feels like there’s only one thing missing.”
“There is,” I said dryly. “Your car.”
He flashed a brief smile. “Besides that.”
I was curious. “What?”
There was another moment of hesitation. He brought the glass to his mouth and took a longer, deeper drink, wincing as he swallowed down the liquid. “Someone to share it with,” he said in a low voice.
I blinked, not sure I’d heard him correctly. “Oh,” I said. I wasn’t sure what else there was to say.
“Not that I’m dying of loneliness or anything,” he said quickly. “I am fine.”
He said it firmly, almost as if he needed to convince himself as much as me.
“But I’m not getting any younger,” he said. His eyes focused on the window and he got this faraway look in them. “And it would sorta be nice to come home at night to someone. Spend weekends with them. Slow down a little and just...be.”
I thought about suggesting a pet. A dog, maybe. Because, as much as I could relate to what Mack was saying, he just didn’t seem the type of person who could ever settle into a monogamous relationship.
At least not the Mack I had known.
Which brought me immediately back to the thoughts I’d had in the kitchen.
“Mack, can I ask you something?”
He turned his gaze back to me and waited.
“I’m not interested in you,” he said, his eyes glinting with amusement.
I blushed. “I wasn’t going to suggest that.”
“Good,” he said, nodding. “Besides, you’ve already got two men interested in you. You don’t need to throw another into the mix.” His eyebrows lifted. “Not that I’m interested in you. I mean...” His voice trailed off as he realized the hole was digging for himself.
“I’m not interested in you, either,” I told him.
“Thank God.”
I cleared my throat. “It’s about Miranda. And some things you’ve told me.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “So you want me to answer personal questions but you won’t answer them yourself?”
He
was referring to his questions about Gunnar and Declan. I felt a pang of guilt and tried my best to ignore it.
“Sure,” he said, shrugging. “Go ahead.”
I was quiet for a minute, the guilt settling over me like a too heavy blanket.
“Fine,” I said, blowing out a breath. “I like Declan and Gunnar. I’ve been involved with both of them. And I don’t know who to choose.”
He stared at me, the drink arrested halfway to his mouth. He lowered it. “Wow. Okay.”
I frowned. That was all he had to say? Wow?
I said as much to him.
“Look, I’m not gonna lie,” he said, running his hand over his hair. “You have a tough choice. Both of them seem like good guys; I’ve already said that.”
“I know.” I closed my eyes. “That’s the problem.”
“Do you have to decide?”
My eyes flew open. “What? What do you mean?”
“Do you have to make a decision right now?” he repeated. “Is there any urgency?”
There sort of was. Declan was making plans to leave the country, possibly soon. He’d intimated that he wanted me to go with him, but I also was getting the sense that he wouldn’t take the position if I asked him to stay.
And Gunnar. Gunnar and I had experienced our own set of issues, things that had torn apart our budding relationship, but something had shifted over the last month. Part of it had been him coming to me for help, of course, but there was something else. He’d mellowed in his jealousy, in his possessiveness. He’d learned to respect my boundaries and trust me in my other relationships. Having Mack there had been a perfect example of this. Despite the fact that a man was staying with me—a man who had no problem parading around naked or stripping out of his clothes at any given moment—he’d experienced all of it without batting an eye.
“I don’t know,” I said, finally answering Mack’s question. “But I probably should.”
“I don’t know if you want my advice, but I’m going to give it you anyway.”
I smiled. Mack’s advice was always hit or miss.
“No one can make this decision but you,” he said. “And you should take as much time as you need. You’re happy here, you’re settled, you’re not going anywhere. You have time.”