“What’s going on with the Hounds of the Baskervilles out there?”
Noah rose to his feet to peer out the window over the sink. “It’s my early warning system.”
“Warning of what? The apocalypse?”
“That someone pulled onto the private road that leads to this cabin.”
“It’s . . .” She winced as the beagle howled like it was being tortured. “Hard to miss.”
“I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared from the kitchen, but before she could follow and ask what he was doing, he returned with his gun casually clutched in his hand. Crossing to the kitchen door, he pulled it open to step onto the porch.
Wynter was quickly standing next to him, ignoring the crisp chill in the air. They watched in silence as a vehicle turned into the short drive at the side of Noah’s cabin.
Wynter’s breath caught as she realized it was a police car. “Grandpa.”
Noah reached to give her fingers a squeeze. “It’s Chelle. I’m sure she’s here to check that you’re okay. If something had happened to your grandfather, the hospital would have called.”
Wynter stiffened at his words. Not because she didn’t agree that it would be the hospital to contact her if something had happened to her grandpa, but because she didn’t even know where she’d left her phone.
Unlike most people of her generation, Wynter wasn’t obsessed with social media or electronically chatting with her friends. She was forever forgetting where she put it.
“My phone,” she muttered in disgust. “I left it at Grandpa’s house.”
Noah shrugged. “I grabbed your purse and put it in the suitcase with your clothes. Is it in there?”
“I don’t remember.” She muttered a curse. “What if someone was trying to get ahold of me?”
“I left my number with the hospital and your father knows you’re staying here,” he reassured her. “If they needed to get ahold of you, they would have called me.”
Wynter slowly nodded. He was right. Forcing her tense muscles to relax, Wynter turned her attention toward the car that was now surrounded by yapping dogs ranging in size from a German Shepherd to a pug. The driver’s side window slid down to reveal Chelle.
“Are you going to leash these hounds?”
Wynter snorted, glancing toward Noah. “See? I told you it was like the Hounds of the Baskervilles around here.”
Noah placed two fingers in his mouth and released a whistle loud enough to make Wynter’s ears ring. The dogs instantly turned to run toward the barn where they settled in the piles of hay that Noah had spread on the floor.
He turned back to the police car. “It’s safe,” he assured Chelle, waiting for the woman to join them on the porch before he spoke again. “A little early for a house call, isn’t it?”
Chelle managed a tight smile. “Can we go inside?”
Wynter’s heart squeezed, her thoughts once again returning to her greatest fear. “Grandpa?”
Chelle shook her head. “He’s fine, as far as I know.”
Wynter breathed a sigh of relief, only then realizing that Noah had wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. Was he there to catch her if there was bad news?
The thought was oddly heartwarming. She’d always been surrounded by love, from her father and grandpa, as well as her grandmother in Pike, but in many ways she’d had to take care of herself from a very young age. She wasn’t used to having someone standing at her side. Literally and figuratively.
It was nice. Maybe more than nice.
The strange thoughts floated through her mind as Noah steered her back into the kitchen. She instinctively settled on one of the stools next to Chelle. Noah moved toward the counter.
“Coffee?”
“Hot, black, and as strong as you can make it,” the policewoman requested.
Wynter studied Chelle, noting the circles beneath her dark eyes and lines that bracketed her mouth.
“Something’s happened,” Wynter said, her words a statement not a question.
“Yes,” Chelle admitted, waiting until Noah had handed her a mug of steaming coffee before continuing. “Do you know Mona Shelton?”
That wasn’t what Wynter had been expecting. She shook her head. “No. Should I?”
“She’s the wife of Drake Shelton.”
“Oh.” Wynter struggled to remember the woman, but she was drawing a blank. “Drake lived next door to my grandmother in Pike. I’m sure I probably saw her in the yard or on her porch, but I don’t remember ever speaking with her. In fact, I don’t even remember seeing her.”
Noah leaned against the island next to Wynter. “Why are you asking?”
“I got a call an hour ago from the sheriff in Pike who said they’d discovered Mona’s body.”
Body. There would only be one reason that Chelle would describe Mona as a body. Still, Wynter was compelled to ask the obvious. “She’s dead?”
“Yes.”
Noah folded his arms on the table, his expression grim. “How?”
“Her head was bashed in.”
Wynter jerked in shock. There was no good way to die. But there were some awful ways. And that was one of them. “Oh my God,” she breathed.
Noah’s jaw tightened, but his expression wasn’t horrified. Instead he looked wary. “That’s a tragedy, but I’m not sure why the sheriff would call you.”
Chelle took a sip of her coffee, briefly closing her eyes as if savoring the taste. Or maybe she was just trying to gather her thoughts. She looked as if she’d already had a long morning.
“Because I asked for the records on Laurel Moore’s death.”
Wynter jerked. She should have suspected that there was a reason for Chelle to arrive at this hour. It wasn’t like Mona was an old friend.
“This has something to do with my mom?” she demanded.
Chelle took another sip of the coffee. “Mona’s body was discovered at the same Shell station where your mother was shot.”
Wynter clenched her teeth as the words hit her like a physical blow. Mona’s death couldn’t be a coincidence. Not when her body was found in the same location.
Noah narrowed his eyes. “Her body was found there? Does that mean she was killed somewhere else?”
Chelle grimaced, as if she hadn’t meant to give away that particular detail. “I don’t have all the specifics, but apparently she was murdered at an abandoned pizza parlor and her body moved to the station.”
“When did it happen?” Wynter asked.
“Sometime between three A.M. and five-thirty A.M.,” Chelle said. “That’s when the body was found.”
Wynter’s thoughts returned to her brief visit to Drake’s home. Drake had mentioned his wife was there at the time.
“What was she doing out at that time?” Wynter frowned in confusion. “Does Drake know?”
Chelle set down her mug, as if accepting the coffee—no matter how strong—wasn’t going to give her the energy she needed to face the day. “They haven’t asked him.”
“Why not?” Noah demanded.
“He’s missing.”
Wynter struggled to follow Chelle’s words. It wasn’t easy. Her brain felt like it was stuffed with fog. No doubt the result of the shock that reverberated through her.
“Drake is missing?” Wynter repeated.
Chelle shrugged. “All they would say was that they haven’t been able to locate him.”
Wynter furrowed her brow, futilely trying to piece together what had happened. “I don’t understand,” she muttered, speaking her thoughts out loud. “Was Drake with Mona when she was killed? And who would want Mona dead? Was she like poor Tillie? Did she have information about Mom’s murder?”
Noah grabbed her fingers and gave them a light squeeze. “Wynter, we don’t even know if this is connected to your mother. It could be a domestic fight that got out of hand. It happens all the time, unfortunately.”
She grimaced. He was right, of course, but she didn’t want to think this co
uld be a case of domestic violence. Partially because she feared her arrival at Drake’s house to discuss his affair with her mother might have caused the argument that led to Mona’s death. That would be unbearable.
“Why would they call Chelle?” she challenged him before glancing toward the policewoman. “It has to be more than the fact that Mona was discovered at the old station, right?”
Chelle hesitated before giving a slow nod. “There is something else.”
Wynter didn’t know whether to be pleased or terrified that she’d guessed there was more. “What?”
Chelle tapped the tip of her fingers on the kitchen table. “Mona received a text around three A.M. telling her that her husband was passed out on the street. The sheriff assumes she drove to pick him up and was killed after she arrived at the location.”
Wynter arched her brows. She had the answer to why Mona had been out and about at three in the morning.
“A trap,” Wynter breathed.
“Yes,” Chelle agreed.
Noah leaned forward, his expression tight. “Did Drake send the text?”
“No.” Chelle paused again. This one longer. And filled with an odd tension. “It came from another phone.”
“What phone?” Wynter asked in confusion.
“Yours.”
* * *
Noah grunted, as if he’d been sucker punched. In fact, it felt like he’d taken a direct hit.
He’d been so focused on why Mona Shelton might have been lured to her death that he hadn’t been prepared for the shocking announcement that the woman had received a text from Wynter’s phone.
Equally disturbed by Chelle’s accusation, Wynter jumped off the stool. “Impossible,” she snapped, marching stiffly from the kitchen.
Noah watched her leave, assuming she was headed to the spare bedroom to search for her phone. He stayed in the kitchen. Not only because he had a gut-clenching suspicion that she wasn’t going to have any luck, but he wanted to speak with Chelle in private.
“What do they think happened?” he asked.
Chelle waited until Wynter was out of the kitchen before she answered. “Mona was at home, obviously alone when she got the text,” she said. “She gets in her car and drives across town. From there they aren’t sure, but they suspect she got out of her car and entered the restaurant. The killer was waiting or followed behind her.”
Noah tried to picture what happened. Mona was alone, perhaps convinced that her husband was out drinking. She gets a text and heads out to scoop the drunken idiot off the street. Then ... What? Was it Drake waiting for her? It was surely someone she recognized. She wouldn’t have let down her guard with a stranger at that time of night.
He shook his head. There was no way to know who or what had been waiting for her. Instead he shifted his thoughts to what had happened after Mona was murdered. “You said the building was empty?”
“Yeah.”
“Why move the body?”
Chelle sent him an approving glance. No doubt that had been her first thought as well.
“Exactly. And there’s more.” She leaned forward, her voice pitched low. Obviously she didn’t want Wynter overhearing what she had to say. “The body wasn’t just dumped at the Shell station. It was arranged in the exact same spot where Laurel collapsed after she was shot.”
Noah’s jaw clenched. It would be easy to leap to the conclusion that it had to be the same killer for both women. But he suspected that the photo of Laurel’s dead body had been splashed across more than one newspaper. Someone could remember seeing it. Or even have Googled the image. It was best to keep an open mind.
“Are there any suspects?” he asked.
Chelle’s gaze dropped, shielding her eyes. “It’s an ongoing investigation. Everyone is a suspect.”
Noah was momentarily confused. What was she hiding? Then he muttered a curse. “Including Wynter?”
“Yes.”
“She was here all night with me.” His words were edged with anger. “And before you ask if she could have snuck out, just remember my pack of hounds. They would have raised hell if she stepped out of the cabin.”
“That doesn’t mean she didn’t make the call,” Chelle pointed out, lifting her hand as Noah’s lips parted to continue the argument. “I’m just pointing out what the sheriff in Pike is going to say.”
“I couldn’t have made the call.” Wynter’s soft voice interrupted the tense exchange. “My phone is missing.”
Chapter 14
Wynter had heard her grandma say she had the heebie-jeebies before, but she’d never known what it meant. As Noah pulled to a halt in front of the farmhouse, she suddenly understood perfectly. It felt like bugs crawling beneath her skin.
It wasn’t just the sight of the police tape that flapped in the stiff breeze around the spot where her grandpa had been shot. Or the gray clouds that hung low with the threat of rain or maybe snow—they didn’t look as if they’d made their decision yet. It was the brooding air of violence that lingered. As if whoever had pulled the trigger had left behind a taint of evil.
Noah switched off the engine and glanced in her direction. “Ready?”
Wynter grimaced. A heavy knot of dread was lodged in the pit of her stomach. It’d been there since she’d discovered her phone was missing.
No, that wasn’t true. It’d been there for days. It was just bigger and heavier now.
“I have to make sure my phone isn’t here.” She forced herself to shove open the door of the Jeep.
She slid out of the vehicle, barely able to take a step toward the house before Noah was standing at her side.
“We’ll do it together.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
Wynter readily leaned against his strength. This morning she needed Noah, and she wasn’t too proud to admit it.
They moved toward the stairs that led to the wraparound porch. A sharp breeze tugged at her jacket and pulled strands of hair from her ponytail. Wynter shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold.
“God,” she muttered.
Noah glanced down with a frown. “Are you okay?”
“How long has it been?”
“How long has what been?”
“Since I went to Pike.”
Noah took a minute to consider his answer. “Five days.”
Wynter shook her head. “It feels like an eternity.”
“Yeah. It does.”
They climbed the wooden steps and Wynter thought of her poor grandpa lying on the hospital bed, fighting for his life, instead of home where he belonged.
“If I hadn’t opened that envelope, then none of this would have happened.”
Noah frowned. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” she responded in fierce tones. “It was Pandora’s box, and if I could go back in time—”
“Secrets never stay buried,” Noah sharply interrupted, his tone equally fierce. “Eventually Pandora’s box would have been opened.”
They crossed the porch and halted in front of the door. “Do you truly believe that?”
Noah turned, laying his hands lightly on her shoulders as he gazed down at her with a somber expression. “Yeah, I truly do.”
Wynter released a shaky sigh. “I’m glad you’re with me.”
His eyes darkened as he lowered his head. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” He touched his lips to hers in a whisper of a kiss before he was straightening. “Where should we start?”
Wynter licked her lips, tucking away the memory of the kiss to savor later. Right now she wanted to be done with her task so they could leave.
“I suppose the best thing is to try to retrace my steps from when I remember having the phone,” she said. “I know I had it in the spare bedroom yesterday morning. I looked at it when I got up.”
“Let’s start there.” Reaching out, Noah shoved open the wooden door. He glanced back at her. “I tried to lock the house before I left last night, but I couldn’t find any keys.”
Wynter snorted
as they entered the living room that was dark from the heavy curtains and decorated with furniture that had been covered with the same crocheted blankets for as long as she could remember. There was a fireplace that was never used, and a glass cabinet that held small knickknacks that had been collected from a lifetime of county fairs, church fetes, and the occasional trip to Canada.
“I doubt my grandpa knows where the keys are,” she told Noah, moving toward the stairs at the back of the room. “When I was a young girl he would leave jugs of cream in the kitchen and people would walk in to grab one and toss some money on the table.”
Noah’s expression tightened with disapproval, but he kept his opinion to himself as they climbed the stairs to the second floor. Although he’d moved to Larkin when he was just fourteen, his years in a big city had left their mark. He would never have the same casual disregard for safety as the locals.
They walked down the short hall to the bedroom tucked beneath the slanted ceiling. It was cramped, chilly, and the narrow bed and two nightstands were the only furniture. But it offered a stunning view of the farm and surrounding dells.
Wynter crossed the barren plank floor to touch the empty nightstand. “I left it here while I slept. When the alarm went off, I got up and took a shower and dressed.” She absently headed out of the bedroom and entered the equally cramped bathroom. A quick glance revealed the phone wasn’t there. “Next I went downstairs to make breakfast.”
“Did you have the phone with you?”
She mentally ran through her movements from the day before. “Yes. I had it on the counter while I washed the dishes because I listened to music. That’s the last time I remember having it before I went into the mudroom to put on my coveralls and headed out. I never take it with me when I’m in the greenhouses.”
They headed back downstairs and entered the kitchen. “So it was lying on the counter the last time you remember having it.”
“Yes.”
Together they searched for the missing phone, opening cabinets and even the fridge on the off chance that she’d done something stupid. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d misplaced the thing. Once she’d thrown it in the trash. No doubt a Freudian slip.
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