Always Look Twice

by Elizabeth Goddard

  Instead of replying, the sheriff stepped around to the backyard.

  Donny Albright sat propped against a tree. A bullet hole in his temple. A pistol near his limp hand. Moffett was taking pictures.

  A sour feeling stirred in Heath’s gut.

  They stood looking over the body. He could hear Harper’s voice in his head, complaining about evidence being disturbed. If only Donny’s death would mean this was the end of it and Harper was no longer in danger. His death seemed too convenient.

  “Well, this is too bad.” Taggart crouched to eye level with Donny.

  “The county coroner’s on the way,” Shackelford said. “You got the warrant?”

  The sheriff nodded, looking into the woods as if searching. “Get ballistics and make sure his hand fired that weapon and there’s gunshot residue on the contact wound. That’ll give us the first clue as to whether this was a fake suicide.”

  “You don’t think he killed himself?” Moffett asked.

  “I didn’t say that. But we’ll know soon enough. I want to get on top of this before the state boys get here. If this is the man we’re after, then everyone is going to want a piece of him for killing that hiker, especially if he’s also the person who killed Arty. But we need to find the murder weapon, the rifle he used, to confirm it.” Taggart looked at Heath. “You’re with me. Moffett, you too, after you’re done with pictures here. Shackelford, you wait for the crew and direct them back here. I don’t want too many people in that house yet.”

  Heath followed Sheriff Taggart into Donny’s home. “What do you think happened?”

  “He must have known we were coming and he couldn’t escape,” Taggart said. “But that’s only speculation. I wish we could have questioned him.”

  Inside the man’s meticulous house, stuffed, mounted elk and moose heads stared back at them from the walls.

  “The warrant is for the rifle, but if you see anything suspicious or that could relate to this crime or another crime, let me know.”

  In the bedroom, Heath spotted hunting garb on the floor. The clothes he’d worn when he shot Sophie?

  Propped in the corner was a rifle. From where he stood, it appeared to be the same rifle that had killed Sophie. Arty too? “Sheriff, in here.”

  Sheriff Taggart stepped into the room. “Well, now. Just what we were looking for.”

  Through the bedroom window, Heath could see Donny’s body leaning against the tree.

  “What are you thinking, McKade?”

  “Donny Albright killed a woman, maybe her new husband, for reasons we’ll never know. He tried to kill Harper twice, and his second attempt killed Arty. Now he’s going to set out the evidence for us and go out back and shoot himself? That’s too easy.”

  “I get that you wanted to have words with him, but sometimes killers come to the end of themselves.”

  “Do you really believe that’s the case here, Taggart?”

  “A gunshot wound to the side of the head, the mouth, or the front of the chest usually is a suicide. But let’s talk this out. What if he unwillingly shot himself? Was somehow coerced into killing himself? Then our next question is how. What did someone hold over him?”

  Queasiness stirred in Heath’s gut. “For that, we’ll need to talk to family and friends to find out more about him.”

  “If this was set up to look like a suicide, that means the real killer wants us to think he’s dead so we’ll stop looking. If he thinks we stopped looking for him, that’s when he gets careless. I might decide to let him think we’re done. But honestly, I hope we’ve found our killer.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  WEDNESDAY, 12:15 P.M.

  BRIDGER COUNTY SHERIFF’S OFFICE

  Harper sat with Meghan to view the images she’d taken, only greatly magnified with special software. Though others had looked at them, crime scene photos were part of her training, and she might as well do something useful. Perhaps she’d spot something unusual or significant that could help them.

  But with thoughts of Heath facing off with the person who could be the killer, she struggled to concentrate.

  Her cell rang. Emily. Harper stood to stretch her legs. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

  “Never better. I slept in. It feels so weird to finally sleep in my own bed.” Emily sighed. “Can I just say that despite all this nasty business at the end, I loved the months of camping with you. It was the experience of a lifetime. Like you said, maybe we can do it again one day. That is, when you’re finally home.”

  “About coming home, I have some news on that front. They’re checking out someone who could be the killer. If it’s him, then it’s over, and I can come back.”

  “Harper, that’s great news.”

  “If it’s him, it’s good news.” She held on to that hope.

  “What about the two hikers?”

  “They haven’t found them. At least they haven’t told me they have.” The image of Sophie’s face—eyes vacant, body lifeless—invaded her mind again. A sudden wave of grief washed over her. She kept her emotions at bay, wanting her conversation with Emily to be upbeat.

  “Maybe it’s premature, but I’m so relieved,” Emily said. “I can’t wait for you to be safe. I can’t wait for you to be back home where you belong.”

  Harper needed to change the subject. “Please let me know what the neurologist says. Is your appointment tomorrow?” She realized too late that Emily probably didn’t want to think about it. Learning about possible seizure issues had to be terrifying. At the same time, it was good the doctors had pinpointed the problem so she could have a thorough examination at home and get the right medications.

  “Yeah . . . about that. My appointment isn’t until next week.”

  “Oh?”

  “I did have a reason why I needed to get back though. I have to attend a gala at a museum. Along with several other creative types, I’m speaking. My book, Fire and Ash, is being featured.”

  “Oh, Emily, that sounds like a big deal. When is the gala?”

  “Saturday night. It’s in Dallas.”

  “What? And you didn’t tell me?” So much for them not keeping secrets. Harper would have to get a plane ticket and head home soon—that is, if Emily even wanted her to go. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t want to pressure you into returning before you were ready. I wanted you to come back with me, but not because you felt obligated to attend the gala.”

  “It sounds like you’ve known about this for a while.”

  “Yes. I learned about it when we first started on our tour of national parks. But come on, it’s not like you’ve attended all my events. It’s really not a big deal.”

  Of course it was. “I still think you should have told me, and we could have headed home together. Maybe you’d still have your Airstream.” Harper wished she hadn’t brought that up.

  Emily sighed. She spoke to someone else, then directed her words to Harper. “Sorry, Michelle is here to pick me up. We’re going shopping. I need a new dress for the event. I never mentioned it because you needed time to focus on getting better. I wasn’t sure if that meant staying on the road longer than we had planned, so I didn’t bring up the gala. Then there wouldn’t be any pressure to rush back. I hope you understand that I didn’t tell you for your own benefit.”

  Sometimes Emily amazed her. Her sister was selfless. Emily had practically put aside her life—including any real dating prospects—for a year for Harper. She would have a hard time not carrying a measure of guilt though—her issues had almost kept her sister from this gala and it sounded like Emily was excited to go.

  “Thank you, Emily, for being the best kind of person. The best sister. I’m so relieved that you get to attend the gala.” Harper chuckled. “And that you finally told me about it. I know they’ll love you and your book.”

  Emily scoffed, teasing Harper. “You haven’t even read the book.”

  “I’m sorry. I thought you u
nderstood why.” A smidgeon of guilt pinged her heart. Emily’s mysteries involved murder, after all, and Harper had needed a break.

  “I do understand. Please don’t feel like you have to be there. I’m not going alone.”

  “So who’s the lucky guy?” Harper had a feeling Emily was keeping another secret.

  “Excuse me? I didn’t say anything about a guy.”

  “You didn’t have to. I figured it out. So who’s attending the gala with you?” Harper wished she could be there now.

  “My old editor, actually. He’s flying into Dallas and will meet me there.”

  “Your old editor?”

  Emily laughed. “My previous editor. We’ve known each other a long time, but he took a job with a different publisher. That frees us up to explore a different kind of relationship.”

  “Wait. He took a different job? Are you saying he did that so that you could date?”

  Emily chuckled. “I haven’t been home to date, but now instead of talking only about the book, we’ve been chatting about personal stuff. What we would do when I returned home. Initially, I wasn’t sure it would go anywhere, so I didn’t tell you that either or else I never would have heard the end of it.”

  How could Emily have kept this a secret too? When Harper got back, she and Emily would have to have a good, long talk about sisters and secrets. “And you were flirting with Heath.”

  “Harper!”

  Meghan cleared her throat and gestured toward the door. The subject of their conversation had stepped into the room, a mixture of frustration, regret, and relief on his face. How much had he heard?

  “Em. I gotta go. Heath is back. I’ll call you when I know something.” She ended the call.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “We may have found the killer.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.” Still, he didn’t sound completely sure. Trying to read Heath’s expression, she eased into the seat next to Meghan.

  He pulled up a chair and sat next to Harper. “There’s something else.”

  “Well, what is it?”

  “He committed suicide.”

  “Oh.” So they couldn’t ask him about the hikers. Where he’d left Sophie’s body. Couldn’t ask him why. “I had held on to hope that at least Chase was still alive and being kept somewhere and that we could find out where.”

  “Me too.” He released a tenuous breath.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I don’t want to let my guard down until we know for sure.”

  “Wait, I thought we knew it was him.”

  “We found the weapon that looks like the one in the image. Ballistics will tell us if it’s the one that killed Arty. But not Sophie, because we don’t have a body or bullet to compare with. We found clothes. They look like the same ones the hunter was wearing in the pictures you took. They’ll have to process the scene to see if the honeymooners were there at his house.”

  “Then what’s bothering you?”

  “I don’t know, exactly. You took great pictures, Harper, but by those alone, I can’t tell if it’s Donny or someone else. I know forensics will try to use the images. The state lab probably has software to do that comparison. Still, it seems he went to a lot of trouble to try to kill you. And now it’s all too easy. We get a tip, which is hearsay, but we go to follow up and the guy killed himself?”

  Easy and convenient. If only her father’s murder had been so cut-and-dried. They never found the killer.

  She stood up and paced the cubicle. “And what does the sheriff think?”

  “He is leaning toward believing all the evidence will show Donny committed the crime. He was seen with the victim hours before her death, though that still needs to be confirmed. He had a rifle that looks exactly like the murder weapon in his possession. He’s a hunter and would know how to use that rifle and shoot from a long distance. From that perspective, it all adds up.” Heath stood in front of Harper to block her pacing and took her hands in his. “I know you want to go home. You need to get back to your life. You can do that anyway, Harper. And . . . I think you should go.”

  At his words, truth rose up in her—truth that went against all her resolve. She’d ignored it but had to face it now. Harper wanted this to be over more than anything—not so she could go home but so she and Heath could start something new and fresh without danger shadowing them.

  But what did it matter? Heath wanted her to go. She saw the truth in his eyes.

  Was he was urging her to go home because he wanted her to be safe? Or because he simply believed she wanted to go and he wanted her to be happy? As far as something between the two of them, Harper certainly hadn’t encouraged Heath with the way she’d reacted to his kiss.

  So this was it, then . . .

  “Okay. I mean, it sounds like they found him, and I only ever wanted to make sure justice was served for Sophie. Besides, I’m worried about Emily.”

  Harper hoped he didn’t see the hurt and confusion in her eyes.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  THURSDAY, 12:30 A.M.

  CIRCLE S RANCH

  Heath ground his teeth and tried to place the cup quietly on the counter. He’d waited up late for Liam, and not because he was trying to act like a father figure. But it sure felt like it. Liam wouldn’t like it either.

  Liam slipped quietly through the front door and crept across the wood slats, then his eyes found Heath watching him from the kitchen across the expanse. Even in the shadows, Heath couldn’t miss Liam’s severe frown.

  Oh boy.

  Just like when they were living at home. Heath said nothing. He waited for Liam to make his way to the kitchen.

  “Where have you been?” Heath asked.

  “Checking out the custom long-range rifle makers. It takes time to make it around the valley.”

  Heath checked his anger, his emotion, his pulse. Instead of fisting his hand, he wrapped it around his mug. “You didn’t answer my text. There’s a killer out there, so I was worried.”

  “My cell died. Sorry.”

  “Ever hear of a charger?”

  “Why the third degree, Heath? We’re not kids anymore.”

  Heath blew out a breath. “I know. I’m sorry.” He was . . . uptight for more reasons than he could count. “What did you find out?”

  “The only interesting lead I found belongs to a man by the name of John Smith.”

  Heath choked on his drink. He composed himself. “You’re kidding.”

  “No.” Liam told him about meeting Chad at Curt’s Custom Rifles. “And we know that if the guy is wanted anywhere or has felony convictions, he can’t buy a gun, even custom-made. But he sure learned a lot from the man who makes them. I suspect that’s all he wanted. I also suspect he already knows enough of what he’s doing and is set up to make his own ammo. He must have had a few questions about the precision in long-distance shots. These guys specialize in that. So John Smith led Chad on that he was commissioning the rifle. Getting as much as he could out of him.”

  Rubbing his chin, Heath thought about Liam’s words. “Can you go back tomorrow?”

  “Why?”

  “We got a tip today that led us to the man supposedly responsible for killing Sophie.” Heath explained about the house and finding the suspect dead. “Taggart called me an hour ago. Because Arty was killed, the state lab got right on it. Ballistics is back. The rifle is the same one used to shoot and kill Arty. Deputy Custer.”

  Liam’s expression didn’t change. “But you’re not buying it.”

  “It seems . . . convenient. Donny had some animals on the wall, but the only expensive weapon he had was the one. How hard would it be to plant the rifle on a guy like Donny? An anonymous tip led us to at least look into him. And then he was dead. The gun was there. The clothes in the picture. Nothing else but what was in Harper’s pictures.”

  That could mean the shooter had taken her camera, after all. His skin prickled at the thought.

  After helping himself to a bottl
ed water from the fridge, Liam slid onto a stool. “I get it. You don’t want to let your guard down. This is about protecting Harper.”

  “Yes.” Heath had resolved that he would get it right this time. He couldn’t afford even one more fail.

  Especially when this was about Harper.

  And that was a problem in itself. Could two people fall in love more easily if they already had a connection, as was the case with Heath and Harper? Despite his best efforts to the contrary, his heart held on to her, his mind focused on her.

  Whoa, boy. He needed to slow his heart way down.

  “Does the rifle have a serial number? I could find out if Chad made the gun in question while I’m there.”

  “Nope. What we want to know from Chad is if Donny Albright and John Smith are the same man.”

  “Will Taggart let you share the guy’s picture with me?”

  “I didn’t bother asking in case he decided to say no. Didn’t want him berating me or firing me from my volunteer job.”

  Liam spewed his water. “You’re a volunteer?”

  “Oh, yeah. Didn’t I tell you that?”

  “How does that even work?” Liam wiped away his mess with a paper towel.

  “I’ll explain later. Check your email. I sent you an image I scraped from the internet. Drive back up there during business hours and show this picture to the gunmaker. See if this is the same guy. Find out if Donny Albright is John Smith. Oh, and take a charger this time.”

  Yawning, Liam stretched. He grinned. “Not sure I want to take orders from a volunteer.”

  Heath was still processing a decent response when Liam rose from the seat, then hung his head. When he lifted his chin, he said, “Sorry, bro. Seriously, anyone who would do what you’re doing for free, not even on the payroll, is a hero. You’re my hero. Keep up the good work, Heath.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  THURSDAY, 7:45 A.M.

  CIRCLE S RANCH

  Heath hadn’t slept a wink.

  Why would he have? He was supposed to be keeping Harper safe. Watching out for her.

  That job would be over today.

  That thought alone had kept him up. Pacing the house. Watching out the windows of this spread that wasn’t his own. Staring in the mirror. The sun had already risen, and everyone was up. Danger hadn’t snuck up on them during the night. He splashed water on his face. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked as haggard as he’d ever been. Even counting his time in the army, and last year when he was shot in the gut.