does murder make sense?” Liz asked. “But killers always have a reason that makes sense to them—even if it’s illogical to us. Our job is to do our best to figure it out.”
Liz swept the area again with her gaze and offered up a silent prayer.
Dear Lord, please help me bring the person who did this to justice.
“Still…” Sal looked at Liz. “You’d think she would have tried to run out the front door. Why was she running upstairs?”
“Maybe this might have something to do with it.”
Darlene, standing in the hallway entrance, held up a large plastic bag filled with a white powdery substance. “I spotted the edge of this bag sticking out from between the box spring and the mattress in the master bedroom.”
Sal took the bag and opened it to examine the contents. “Cocaine. Looks like we have our motive. Drug deal gone wrong.”
Liz chewed on her lower lip. “The Hendersons? Drug dealers? I don’t know, Sal. It’s hard to believe the Hendersons were involved with drugs.”
“Just how well did you know these people, Sheriff?” Sal asked. “Didn’t they just move here this year?”
“I didn’t know them that well. I knew Kate from casual encounters at church. All of us have met Tom. He’s done some computer work for us at the station.”
“Isn’t he the guy who installed the new software and GPS system in our patrol cars?” Darlene asked. “He updated the software on our desk computers, too. He didn’t look like a druggie to me.”
“You know what all druggies look like?” Sal mocked. “I’ve been wasting my time. I should drive you around town and let you point out the possible druggies who may have killed that dealer behind Smitty’s bar last week.”
“Knock it off, Sal. There’s a time and place for teasing and this isn’t it,” Liz reprimanded.
Sal raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Just saying, boss. These days drugs are everywhere.”
Liz sighed. Sal was right. Whether she liked the idea or not, drugs had crept into her quiet little community. But she also agreed with Darlene. It was difficult picturing the Hendersons as part of that seedy side of life.
Needing to get back to the station to begin organizing the investigation, Liz glanced at her watch and asked, “Who did you call to take Jeremy and how long ago did they leave?”
Sal and Darlene glanced at each other and then gave her a blank look.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Sheriff.” Sal shot her a hard stare. “Who’s Jeremy?”
A sense of dread raced up and down Liz’s spine. “Jeremy is their five-year-old son.”
“The Hendersons had a son?” Darlene asked.
“Yes. A special-needs child.”
“I checked the house myself, Sheriff. There’s nobody else here.”
“He has to be, Sal. Kate homeschools him. They don’t have any relatives living nearby that would be taking care of him.” Liz pushed past Darlene frantically. She raced from one bedroom to the next, checking the closets, looking under the beds. She came up short in the doorway of the master bedroom and looked hurriedly around the room. Trying to keep the panic out of her voice, she called his name.
“Jeremy.”
Silence.
Liz dropped to her knees beside the master bed and looked underneath. Nothing. She raced to the closets. Tom’s closet was filled with shirts, pants, sneakers and polished shoes all organized and in their proper place—but no Jeremy.
Her eyes made a quick sweep of Kate’s closet, skimming over the shoe racks and storage bins. Her hands brushed aside the dresses, blouses and slacks.
She raced to the bathroom and looked inside the shower stall, even opened the linen closet.
“Jeremy.”
“I told you, boss,” Sal called from the doorway. “There isn’t any kid.”
A sense of unease crept up her spine. She suddenly remembered something Kate had told her about Jeremy. He liked to burrow under things. She raced back to Kate’s closet.
“Jeremy?”
Her eyes searched the contents on the floor. The storage bins. The pile of folded blankets in the back corner.
Then she froze.
* * *
Dr. Adam Morgan’s tall, imposing presence and crisp stride made people move out of his way without the need to ask. He didn’t pause at the nurses’ station or pull a chart or even speak to anyone for directions. It wasn’t necessary. He could see the police officer sitting on a chair outside the corner room at the end of the hospital corridor and he didn’t waste any time getting there.
He flashed his identification badge and shifted his weight from one foot to the other while he waited for the officer to check his name against the list of people allowed access to the room. When he received the okay, he pushed open the door, strode into the room and then came to an abrupt stop.
Lizzie.
When he delivered his medical report to the sheriff’s department later today, he fully expected her to ask him to come in and answer some questions. Knowing her first impression of him after all these years would be important to what he hoped to achieve now that he’d moved back, he’d been trying to brace himself for it, trying to prepare how he’d act, what he’d say. But he hadn’t expected the encounter to be this soon.
Not here, sleeping in a chair beside the hospital bed with her arm outstretched protectively over the sedated child.
Not now.
His heart skipped.
Her features were exquisite—smooth skin, gently sloping nose, cheeks rosy with sleep. Her teenage lankiness had blossomed into softly rounded, female curves. The golden highlights in the loose bun tucked behind her neck caught the sunlight from the window. She was even more beautiful than he remembered.
He didn’t think he had made a sound but her eyes shot open.
The electric shock of sky blue looking back at him pierced his heart and froze him in place. A slow, sleepy smile tugged at the corners of her mouth when she saw him. Happiness lit her eyes, basking him in sunshine. He had missed this so much over the years—and then she came fully awake. The smile faded. The brightness dimmed. Being a psychiatrist, Adam recognized the flash of pain and hurt that danced across her features before she masked her emotions with another one—anger.
“Adam.” He tried not to wince at the cold tone in her voice.
“Good morning, Lizzie.”
He knew it would be difficult seeing her again, but even years of studying human behavior
