Rugged Defender. B.J. Daniels

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      “Wish it was worth telling. Let’s just say I’ve been on the run, but I’m back.”

      “To stay?” Dawson asked.

      “Hard to say.”

      Dawson slapped him on the shoulder as they neared his truck. “Well, I hope you’re home for good. How long have you been in town?”

      “Just got in earlier.”

      “Well, then you haven’t heard. Annabelle Clementine and I are engaged.”

      “No kidding,” Justin said. “Congratulations. I’m glad to hear that. I always thought you and Annabelle belonged together. I heard her sister Chloe’s here for the holidays.”

      * * *

      SHERIFF MCCALL CRAWFORD motioned Chloe into her office. “You look so serious, maybe you’d better close the door.”

      She smiled as she closed the door and took the chair the sheriff offered her. “I’m here about the Drew Calhoun shooting.”

      McCall nodded. “What about it?”

      “I’d like to see the file.” The sheriff raised a brow. “It happened five years ago and was ruled an accident. I wouldn’t think you’d have a problem with my seeing it.”

      “I have to ask why you’re interested,” McCall said. “As a reporter?”

      “I’m currently not a reporter for a newspaper,” she said, but feeling like whatever had pushed her into that career would always be with her. Curiosity. The kind that killed cats. “I’m taking some time off to consider my options.”

      “What exactly are you looking for then with Drew Calhoun’s death?” the sheriff asked.

      “Answers.”

      McCall said nothing for a few moments. “Is there anyone who might want to get you involved in his death?”

      She thought of Justin. “Not that I know of.”

      “So why get involved?”

      “It’s what I do. I’m an investigative reporter. Maybe it is the years of doing this for a living, but I feel there might be more to the story.”

      “There isn’t. I investigated Drew Calhoun’s death. It was an accident.”

      Chloe studied her for a moment. She’d heard good things about McCall. “Then there shouldn’t be a problem with looking into the case.”

      “I would be happy to tell you anything you’d like to know.” McCall leaned back in her chair. “Ask away.”

      “I understand Bert Calhoun believes his son Justin fired the fatal shot. Was there gunshot residue on Justin’s hands and clothing?”

      “Some.”

      Chloe blinked. She hadn’t been expecting that.

      The sheriff continued. “Why don’t I tell you exactly what’s in the report? Drew was found by his brother, Justin, in a cabin on the property. The gun belonged to Drew. Justin said he heard two gunshots and went to investigate.”

      “Two shots?”

      “One bullet caught Drew in the heart, the other lodged in the wall by the door, which he was facing. Both were from the same gun, the one Justin said he found his brother holding in his lap.”

      “So how did Justin—”

      “Drew was still alive, according to his brother, and trying to fire the gun a third time. Justin rushed to him and took the gun away from him and called for help. But before the ambulance and EMTs could get there, Drew died.”

      Chloe sat back. “So why did I hear Bert Calhoun thinks Justin killed his brother?”

      The sheriff shook her head. “I’ve found grieving parents especially have trouble accepting their child’s death. They don’t want to face it. They tell me that their son knew guns, had since he was a boy. That he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to shoot himself.” She shrugged. “The truth is accidents happen all the time. People get careless.”

      “Was there any sign of a struggle?” Chloe asked.

      McCall glanced away and Chloe knew she’d hit on something. “Apparently Drew had a run-in with someone earlier that night. He’d been drinking, according to the blood alcohol level hours later. He had a split lip, a cut over one eye. The eye was nearly swollen shut, which could also explain why he was careless with the gun. He had lacerations on his arms and jaw.”

      “Lacerations?”

      The sheriff met her gaze. “Scratches.”

      “Like from fingernails?”

      “The coroner said that was definitely an option,” she said noncommittally.

      “Do you have any idea who he tangled with that night?” Chloe asked.

      She shook her head. “But he and his brother had been heard arguing earlier in the day. When Justin was questioned his knuckles were skinned and he had a bruise on his forehead. He admitted to having argued with his brother but swears he didn’t beat him up. As for his own injuries, he said they were self-inflicted. He alleged that he’d taken out his temper on a tree out by the pond on the ranch property. When tests were run on his hands, fragments of tree resin were found.”

      “So he was telling the truth,” she said. “Did you pass all of this on to his father?”

      “I did. But like I said—”

      “Bert had his mind made up.” She nodded. “Isn’t it possible that someone fired the shot that would kill Drew, dropped the gun and ran? Drew picked up the gun and fired the shot that was found embedded in the wall by the door?”

      “Possible. Justin said he heard the sound of a vehicle engine as he was calling 911. But we found no evidence another person had been in that room let alone shot Drew.”

      “You ruled it an accident.” She met the sheriff’s gaze. “It sounds more like a suicide.”

      The sheriff bristled. “That’s not what the evidence led me to. I wasn’t alone. The coroner agreed.”

      “But you also don’t want this to be a suicide.”

      McCall sighed. “No one wants to tell a father that his son killed himself, that’s true. But there was no suicide note. No apparent depression or talk of suicide. People who knew him didn’t believe Drew would have purposely taken his own life. Also there is no evidence that Drew was trying to kill himself,” McCall said. “Alcohol was involved. His wouldn’t be the first accident with a firearm when the user has been drinking.”

      Chloe sat forward. “But what if he was trying to defend himself?”

      “From whom?”

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