light the stove to keep warm. If the pilot light was out, the gas could have filled the apartment and caused the explosion.”
Colby glanced at her. “And this homeless guy seeks refuge on an army post complete with gate checks and 24/7 security?”
“I admit it doesn’t sound likely.” He was right. Security was tight on Fort Rickman. If the project manager hadn’t seen the broken window, the military police would have.
“You want to hear my theory?” he asked.
She licked her lips, not knowing what to expect. “Okay.”
“The perp was interested in you, Becca.”
She held up her hand. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I beg to differ. It’s the most plausible explanation.” He hesitated and then added, “Anything in your past that could play into the explosion?”
He wouldn’t let up, and she couldn’t chance what would happen if he knew the truth. “Not that I know of.”
“You were fearful last night when the fire was raging, and when we were walking to my BOQ you mentioned some guy’s name.”
“I don’t remember saying anything specific. Besides, my new home was going up in flames. It wasn’t that I was fearful, Colby. I was relieved to have gotten out alive.”
He nodded. “My oldest sister—her name’s Gloria—claims I survived Afghanistan because of her prayers and God’s mercy. He must have been watching over you last night.”
Thoughts of her own sister made her eyes burn with unexpected tears. She turned her gaze to the side window, not wanting Colby to notice.
His hand reached for hers. “Did I say something wrong?”
For a guy, he had a keen knack of sensing her emotional struggle. Plus, his touch was reassuring, yet she didn’t want to seem like an emotional female. In truth, a lot had happened and if she added fatigue to the mix, she could almost forgive herself for appearing weak.
“My...my sister died eight years ago. I keep thinking I’ve worked through my grief, then something happens and it rushes back again.”
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m glad Gloria prayed for you.” She offered him a weak smile, hoping her face wasn’t blotched and her nose beet red from the tears.
“My father always said I was headstrong, but my sister Katie claimed I just needed prayer to keep me in line. In hindsight, it was probably wanderlust that got me in trouble at home and made the military seem a natural way of life.”
“You transferred to Fort Rickman from Germany?”
She nodded, relieved the conversation had moved to neutral ground. “I asked to work for Chief Wilson. There was an opening, and I got my first choice of assignments.”
“Which means your record is excellent or you wouldn’t have been selected for the job.”
“Maybe it was my sister’s prayers finally coming to fruition.”
He smiled and squeezed her hand again, a reassuring gesture, she told herself, that any friend would offer.
They rode in silence for a few minutes before he asked, “Did you meet Dawson Timmons when he stopped by the office last week?”
She remembered both him and his wife. “Nice guy. His wife Lillie was equally so. They invited me to the barbecue at his farm.”
“Just about everyone in CID Headquarters will be there.”
“It was kind of them to include me.”
“They’re good folks. I served with Dawson at Fort Hood. He transferred here and met Lillie. Now he’s out of the army, owns a farm and is living the good life.”
“A soldier turned farmer.” Becca smiled. “His wife must have changed his mind about law enforcement.”
“Actually, he claims to love working the soil.” Colby thought for a moment before asking, “Why don’t I pick you up tomorrow? We can drive there together. That way you won’t have to worry about getting directions.”
“Dawson drew a map for me when he was in the office. Between that and my GPS, it shouldn’t be difficult to find.”
“Call me if you change your mind.”
Becca didn’t believe in mixing business with her social life. No reason to give folks anything to talk about, especially when she already seemed much too affected by the special agent.
The Lodge appeared on the left. Colby turned into the parking lot. “Did you get the memo about Monday and Tuesday being training holidays?”
“I did.” Becca opened the passenger door and stepped onto the sidewalk. “We’ll probably be working on the investigation both days. Thanks for the ride.”
She waved goodbye and waited until Colby drove away before she dug in her purse for her phone and hurried to her car. Once behind the wheel, she called the former sheriff in Harmony, Alabama.
“McDougal,” a raspy voice answered.
“Sir, you may not remember me. I grew up in the Amish community. Now I’m with the Criminal Investigation Division at Fort Rickman, Georgia. There’s been a crime on post that may be related to my father and sister’s murders.”
“Rebecca Mueller, is that you?”
“Yes, sir. Although I go by Becca Miller now.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m driving to Harmony this afternoon and should be there in a couple hours. I’d like to talk to you about the case.”
“I retired and don’t have access to any of the old files, although I’d be happy to see you.”
She glanced at her watch. “I need to stop by Elizabeth Konig’s house first. It might be late afternoon before I get to your place.”
“Do you mind telling me what you want to discuss?”
“Whether Jacob Yoder could still be alive.”
* * *
Colby left the Lodge parking area and turned onto the main road irritated with himself. Once again, he thought of Becca’s flushed cheeks and eyes brimming with tears. Grief was insidious, like a sly fox that doesn’t want to be seen, until something flushes the animal into the open. His sister had a way of bringing his own pain to light by often saying the one thing that reminded him too much of Ellen.
Death was so...
He hunted for the right word.
Final.
He’d learned that the hard way. Evidently,
