brags about it.” The farmer glared in the direction of the Rigsby farm. “I hate cheaters.”
“If you knew your neighbor was involved in the kind of insurance fraud that means you have to pay higher premiums, would you be willing to testify at a deposition on behalf of the insurance company?”
The man arched an eyebrow. “Testify?”
“That you’ve seen him shoveling snow, horseback-riding and snowmobiling.”
The farmer jerked a nod. “Damn straight.”
Peter turned and took the shotgun out of his truck. He handed it back to the farmer. “Is there a road that will take me to the Rigsbys’ south pasture? I’d like to get a few pictures of Bill Rigsby snowmobiling.”
The farmer gave Peter a gloating grin. “There sure is.”
An hour later, Peter drove toward the hospital in Honey Creek to see Craig Warner. He had a dozen or more incriminating photos of Bill Rigsby and his son riding snowmobiles, chopping wood and loading hay bales in the south pasture. More than enough evidence for his client to prove that Rigsby’s disability claim was false. With that matter behind him, Peter focused his attention on the problems that had kept him awake at night in recent weeks—the attacks on his family.
While he hadn’t been close to his father before Mark had disappeared, believed to be dead, Peter took personally the recent discovery of Mark Walsh’s body and apparent murder. Any ill will he had for his father because of his numerous affairs and his desertion of the family didn’t offset Peter’s hunger for justice. Mark Walsh was his father, bad one though he’d been, and his murder cut too close to home for Peter to rest easily. Was the murderer’s vendetta just against Mark or was there a broad conspiracy at play? Knowing that Craig, the man who’d run Walsh Enterprises for years and been like a second father to Peter, had been deliberately poisoned made the conspiracy theory more valid to Peter.
After parking in the hospital lot, Peter slammed his truck door as he headed inside.
Craig was alone in his hospital room when Peter arrived, which suited Peter just fine. He really didn’t want to have the conversation he intended to have with Craig in front of his mother, who had been hovering by her lover’s bedside since he’d been admitted.
“Afternoon, Craig. How’s tricks?” Peter worked to keep his smile in place when he saw how pale and drawn Craig still looked even after several days of chelation therapy to rid his body of the arsenic in his system.
“Peter, good to see you. I was just about to call you.” Craig rearranged the tubes that fed fluids and detoxifying agents into his blood and tried to sit up.
Seeing Craig, who’d been the picture of strength and virility before his poisoning, laid low by the arsenic sent a chill deep into Peter’s bones. We could have lost him.
“Looks like I saved you a call then, huh? What can I do for you?” Peter removed his coat and took a seat beside the narrow bed.
“Keep an eye on your mother for me. She’s still so upset over this poisoning mess. I’ve told her I’m going to be fine, but you know how she worries. She’s wearing herself out dividing her time between me and all her regular responsibilities with the company and her family—especially that son of yours. Her grandson is the world to her.”
Guilt kicked Peter in the shins. He’d long known he depended too heavily on his mother for babysitting Patrick after school, but Jolene insisted on watching her grandson rather than hiring someone else. As a single father, Peter was grateful for the help and didn’t argue the point.
“Come on, now, Craig. I thought you knew by now, no one tells Jolene Walsh to slow down. She’s happiest when she’s taking care of her chickadees.” Peter forced a grin. He, too, had seen the strain his mother was under. Who could blame her? Having her husband’s body discovered and her closest friend poisoned…
“Are you calling me a chickadee?” Craig said weakly, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
Peter laughed. “Never. But you know what I mean.”
Craig nodded. “So what brings you around today?”
“I can’t stop by to see how you’re feeling?”
Sinking deeper into the stack of pillows behind him, Craig sighed. “I know you better than that, Peter. Something’s on your mind, so spill.”
Peter rubbed his temple and stared at his boots. “Have you heard anything else from the sheriff about who is behind your poisoning?”
“Lester Atkins is the only arrest the sheriff’s made.”
“Yeah, and we both know he didn’t act alone. Someone paid him. Someone supplied the arsenic.”
Craig nodded. “Sheriff Colton said he’d look into the possibility Atkins had help.”
“Sheriff Colton is first and foremost a Colton,” Peter scoffed. “I’d bet anything the Coltons had a hand in this. Maybe Damien was wrongfully convicted fifteen years ago, but I wouldn’t put it past his family to have arranged my dad’s real murder—and your poisoning—as revenge. Or to cover some other crime. Or…hell, the possibilities are endless when it comes to the Coltons.”
Darius Colton and his offspring knew how to wield power and intimidate the right people. They’d been a thorn in the Walsh family’s side since before Mark disappeared and Damien Colton was accused of his murder.
“I’ve considered the possibility that the Coltons could be involved myself. Finn’s been treating me for the poisoning, so I don’t think he’s our man.” Craig closed his eyes and sighed. “But if another Colton is responsible, how do we prove it?”
Peter gritted his teeth and shook his head. “Not through official channels, that’s for sure.” Because Wes Colton was the sheriff, Peter needed to find a way to circumvent the sheriff’s department and get to the bottom of his father’s murder and Craig’s poisoning.
“I can hire someone to look into the matter. Money is no object for me.” Craig paused for a breath, his weakness from the poisoning still evident. “You and your mother are family to me, and I have a feeling we haven’t seen the last of these attacks. Until whoever is behind this mess is stopped, we’re all still in danger. That includes you and Patrick.”
A chill shimmied through Peter. Craig was right. He had to protect Patrick.
Despite his heavy case load—cheating spouses, insurance fraud, missing teenagers, adopted kids looking for their birth parents—Peter had to find the person behind the attacks.
He met Craig’s dark eyes with a level stare. “I’ll do the legwork myself. I have resources at my disposal, law enforcement and investigation training.” If not much time.
He hated that taking on a private investigation into his father’s death would mean more time away from Patrick. But how could he let Craig’s poisoning, Mary’s attack and Mark’s murder go unsolved?
Craig’s wan face creased with worry. “Are you sure you want to dig into your father’s business and expose yourself to his skeletons?”
Peter’s
