Redemption At Hawk's Landing. Rita Herron

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       Chapter Six

      Honey’s head reeled. Harrison’s father had left the family and town a few months after the investigation into Chrissy’s disappearance went cold.

      Rumors surfaced then that he had something to do with his daughter’s disappearance. Others whispered that he’d left because the tragedy of losing his daughter had broken his heart.

      She drummed her fingers on the table. Now she wondered—had he left because his wife had cheated on him?

      The waitress appeared with her soup and sandwich, and Honey thanked her, then dug in. She hadn’t realized she was so hungry but hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was starved.

      The women stood, gathering their purses and hats, and Honey sank lower in the booth, angling her face away from them in case they recognized her. The woman in the blue knit pantsuit paused and peered at her, but Honey looked down at her phone to avoid eye contact.

      The bell on the door tinkled as it opened and they left, then a tall woman with sharp features entered, a big guy with an awkward gait beside her holding her hand. One of his eyes looked blurry, his mouth twitched and he made an odd, high-pitched sound.

      “Let’s sit in that booth, Elden,” the woman said.

      Honey straightened. Elden?

      She’d known him. Elden Lynch was three years older than she was and mentally challenged. She’d felt sorry for him because the kids at school made fun of him. Worse, some of the parents had been afraid of him and had warned their children away from him. Not that he was mean or violent.

      In fact, he was sweet and childlike and just wanted to make friends.

      He shuffled past, rocking his head back and forth. It was him, the boy she’d known.

      Honey was tempted to say something, but his mother glared at her.

      Mrs. Lynch ushered him into a chair. “Stay put, Elden.”

      The big woman stepped over to Honey’s booth. “I heard you were back in town.”

      Honey tensed at the vehemence in her tone.

      “I don’t know if you’re staying around here,” Mrs. Lynch continued, “but if you are, keep away from my son. He doesn’t need any trouble.”

      “I’m not here to cause trouble,” Honey said, her voice firm. “I—”

      “Then get your sorry daddy buried and leave town,” Mrs. Lynch barked. “Tumbleweed is better off without any of you Grangers.”

      Hurt and anger bled through Honey. She wanted to defend her father and herself.

      But an image of that yellow ribbon taunted her, and she kept her mouth shut.

      When word about that surfaced, people would definitely condemn her father.

      It shouldn’t bother her. He had been a sorry drunk.

      Elden’s mother didn’t have to worry about her staying. She’d leave as soon as possible.

      * * *

      “MOTHER,” HARRISON SAID, measuring his words carefully, “I wouldn’t go around telling everyone how glad you are that Waylon Granger is dead.”

      She gave him a sharp look. “Why not? I am glad he’s dead.”

      “He was murdered,” Harrison said, hoping to drive home his point. “That means there has to be an investigation.”

      Brayden’s lawyer instincts quickly kicked in. “He’s warning you not to incriminate yourself, Mother.”

      She finished her wine then set the glass on the table with an eyebrow raise. “And you’re the sheriff so you’re going to find out who killed him?”

      Harrison nodded. “That’s the way it works.”

      “How was he murdered?” Dexter asked.

      Harrison wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I don’t have an official statement from the ME, but it appears he was struck on the back of the head with a rock, then pushed over the edge of the ridge.”

      Other than his mother’s eyes widening slightly, she showed no reaction.

      “You find any forensics?” Lucas asked.

      Harrison maintained a neutral expression. “I found a rock that might be the one that struck him. It’s at the lab now, being tested.”

      “Anything else?” Brayden asked.

      “CSI found a button in the bushes and a short brown hair that was caught on Granger.”

      “The teenagers still go up there,” his mother said, ignoring the comment about the brown hair. “That button could be one of theirs.”

      Harrison narrowed his eyes. Was his mother trying to cover for herself? “True. But it was close to the ledge, so we’ll test it for prints.”

      She tore a roll in half and buttered it.