Murder And Mistletoe. Barb Han

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СКАЧАТЬ the back burner. Charging toward them, she took the kind of breath meant to steel nerves. She clutched something tightly in her left hand as her right fisted and released a couple of times. She was young, early thirties if Dalton had to guess. As she neared, he could see concern lines ridging her forehead.

      The sheriff followed Dalton’s gaze, which admittedly had been held a few seconds too long toward the object of his attention.

      Sheriff Sawmill immediately spun around to address the stalking female, who was only a couple of feet away from them by now. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but this is a restricted area. Only law enforcement personnel are allowed beyond—”

      The woman cut him off by holding up the item clenched in her left fist, a badge.

      “My name’s Detective Leanne West. Tell me exactly what went down here, Sheriff,” she demanded, with an intensity that made Dalton believe her interest in this case extended beyond official duty. She wore a white button-down oxford shirt under the blue blazer and low heels, which also told him that she wasn’t from around these parts. The butt of a gun peeked out from her shoulder holster. If he had to guess, he’d say it was a SIG Sauer. His first thought would’ve been FBI if she hadn’t already identified herself.

      “I’ll have my secretary issue a full report to your supervising officer when we’ve concluded our investigation.” Sheriff Sawmill crossed his arms and dug his heels in the hard dirt.

      “My SO? Why not tell me? I’m standing here in front of you—he’s not.” Her determined voice had a musical quality to it that reached inside Dalton. This wasn’t the time to get inside his head about why. He wanted information as badly as she did and, at least for now, nothing was more important. If he had a chance to put his demons to rest and give peace to the Miller family, there were no walls too high to climb.

      She was getting further with Sawmill than he had been, so, if necessary, he would be her shadow from now on.

      With the sheriff’s back to Dalton as he was being distracted by the detective, Dalton turned toward the hanging rope and palmed his phone. He angled his cell toward the rope as anger stirred in his gut, remembering the specific knot used in Alexandria’s hanging, The trucker’s knot. Alexandria would have had no idea what that knot was. She hadn’t had a brother or male cousin who she spent time with and she wore more skirts than jeans. Furthermore, every Boy Scout knew that the whole conglomeration could be untied with only four pulls in the right places, meaning she could’ve freed herself at any time if she’d known. And anyone who knew how to use the knot would know how it worked.

      With a quick swipe across the screen, Dalton blew up the focal point, zeroed in on the spot and snapped a pic. The knot could tell him a lot about whether these two crimes were related. All his warning flares were firing, but he couldn’t ignore the sheriff’s argument. A lot of time had passed. News stories had been drudging up the past. There was a possibility that this incident wasn’t related, other than someone being a copycat or inspiring a young person to imitate what she thought was a suicide in the same spot.

      “Because I’m not ready to risk details of this case leaving this lot and being broadcast across the state.” Sawmill’s normally steady-as-steel tone was laced with frustration. “In case you haven’t noticed, this town has had its fair share of exploitation for the sake of ratings in the past three months.”

      “I can assure you that won’t happen.” The detective’s shoulders straightened and her chest puffed out a little at the suggestion she’d bring in the media. The words had the sharp edge of a professional jab.

      Sawmill tipped his head to one side. “Forgive my being blunt, but so can I.”

      * * *

      LEANNE WOULD’VE HANDCUFFED the good-looking cowboy for taking a picture of the hangman’s rope herself if the sheriff was cooperating. Since he wasn’t and she figured the two were in the same boat with Sawmill, she’d let it slide and figure out a way to find out what he was so interested in.

      The cowboy was hard to miss at six-four and he was using her as a distraction, which had her mind spinning with even more questions. Did the man, who was professional-athlete tall with a muscular build and grace to back it up, know Clara? His hair was a light brown with blond mixed in and his eyes were a serious blue. Under different circumstances, she’d have enjoyed the view. But her niece had been taken down from that tree...

      Leanne’s heart nearly burst thinking about it. As difficult as it was, she had to keep her emotions in check and focused. Keeping a tight grip on her sentiments was proving more difficult than expected, and she’d put the sheriff on the defensive already because she wasn’t restraining those very feelings.

      For the sake of finding Clara’s killer, she would do almost anything and that included swallowing her pride. The last thing she wanted to do was cut off her best source of information.

      She softened her approach. “I apologize for getting off on the wrong foot, Sheriff.”

      The sheriff nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, this case needs my full attention.”

      Sheriff Clarence Sawmill was much older than Leanne and he had more experience. She was a solid detective, but her emotions were getting in the way and she was blowing it big-time. The sheriff was already on high alert and, from the looks of him, had been since his town had gone crazy following the news of Maverick Mike Butler’s death. Leanne had read about the famous murder that was still an open investigation and she worried that her niece’s case would get swept under the rug.

      “In the spirit of cooperation, I’d like to offer my assistance,” Leanne said, hoping the softer tact would sway him. She didn’t care how she managed to get the sheriff’s agreement. Only that she got it.

      “Again, with all due respect, we have this covered.” His tone was final as he walked her toward the temporary barricade that had been set up to cordon off the scene. He seemed to realize the cowboy wasn’t following when he stopped and turned. “Dalton.”

      The cowboy seemed to be taking full advantage of the sheriff’s split attention. She needed to figure out his interest in the case.

      “I’m coming, Sheriff,” he said, jogging to catch up.

      Since Leanne never seemed to learn her lesson about fighting a losing battle—and face it, this battle was lost—she spun around to try yet another approach. It was the equivalent of trying to grasp a slippery rope while tumbling down a mountain, but she’d do anything to find out what had really happened. “I can call my SO and have more resources here than you’ll know what to do with. Surely, you wouldn’t want to—”

      “I doubt the city of Dallas will throw personnel at a teen suicide investigation in my small town.” The sheriff’s brow creased.

      “Is that how you’re classifying it?” Leanne balked. “What makes you so sure it’s not murder?”

      “For one. There were no other footprints leading up to the ladder against the tree.” The sheriff took in a sharp breath as though to stem his words. No doubt, he hadn’t meant to share this much. “I’ll include all the details in my report.”

      “How soon will that be available?” she asked, figuring she was already overstepping her bounds. Might as well go all in at this point.

      “You’ll be one of the first to know.” The sheriff signaled for one of his deputies to escort her and the cowboy, Dalton, the last few steps to the barricade.

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