curled his lip in a sneer. “Thanks to your family greasing the skids of the judicial system to see that the prosecutor’s flimsy circumstantial case slid by the judges and jury.”
Peter stepped closer, aiming a finger at Wes’s chest. “We did no such thing!”
The sheriff sent a pointed gaze to Peter’s finger before meeting his eyes again. “Want to back off before I charge you with assaulting an officer?”
Drawing a deep breath, Peter dropped his hand to his side, balling his fingers into a fist. “Just tell me where the current case stands. Who are you investigating? What clues do you have?”
Wes shrugged casually. “Everyone’s a suspect until the investigation is closed.”
“Don’t give me that crap. I want answers, Colton!” Damn, but the Coltons could push Peter’s buttons.
He paused only long enough to force his tone and volume down a notch. A public brawl with the sheriff would serve no purpose other than to land him in jail for disorderly conduct. “What are you doing to catch my father’s murderer?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation.”
When Peter shifted his weight, ready to launch into another attack, another round of questions, Wes lifted a hand to forestall any arguments. “And I’m not just saying that to get you off my back or because there’s no love lost between our families. I truly can’t answer any question for you right now.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“It has to be.”
Peter clenched his teeth. “I have a right to know who killed my father.”
“And you will. As soon as I know.” The sheriff pinned a hard look on Peter. “But I won’t blow this case by tipping my hand prematurely or letting you or anyone else pressure me into making an arrest for the sake of making an arrest. My brother knows all too well what happens when vigilante justice is served rather than reason and law. My deputies and I are conducting a thorough investigation. We’ll find the person responsible. Don’t doubt that.”
Scoffing, Peter shook his head. “Well, forgive me if I don’t take you on your word, Sheriff Colton. I haven’t seen any progress on the case in weeks, and now Craig Warner’s been poisoned, too.”
“And you think the two incidents are connected.” A statement, not a question.
“Damn straight. And I’d hardly call my father’s murder and the attempted murder of a family friend ‘incidents.’ They’re felonies. Need I remind you that someone ran Mary off the road a couple months ago? How do we know that whoever is responsible won’t come after someone else in my family?”
“We don’t.”
The sheriff’s flat, frank response punched Peter in the gut. When he recovered the wherewithal to speak, he scowled darkly at Wes. “And that doesn’t bother you, Sheriff? You may not like me or my family, but I have a ten-year-old son at home. How are you going to feel if he gets hurt because you didn’t do your job and find the scumbag who killed my father?”
Wes hooked his thumbs in his pockets and rolled his shoulders. “Believe it or not, I’d feel terrible—and not because I didn’t do my job, because I am doing everything humanly possible to catch the bastard. No, because I’m not the inept, hard-hearted fool you seem to think I am. I don’t want to see anyone else hurt. But I have to work within the law. A proper investigation takes time. There are forces at work behind the scenes that you may not see, but which are busy 24/7 looking at this case from every angle.”
Peter gritted his teeth, completely unsatisfied with the runaround and placating assurances he was getting from the sheriff. “Here’s an angle you may have missed. Not only do I think Craig Warner’s poisoning is related to my father’s murder, I think your family is involved. I’d bet my life a Colton is behind everything.”
Wes’s glare was glacial. “Do you have any proof to back up that accusation?”
“Not yet. But I can get it.”
The sheriff’s eyes narrowed even further. “I’m warning you, Walsh. Don’t interfere with my investigation. If you so much as stick a toe over the line, I’ll throw the book at you.”
Peter pulled his gloves from his pocket, signaling an end to the conversation. “I would expect as much.”
Chapter 3
Thanks to a new missing-person case on Friday and his promise to take Patrick to the game on Saturday, Sunday afternoon was the first chance Peter had to follow up on his suspicions regarding the Colton family’s connection to Craig’s poisoning and his father’s murder. The best place to start, Peter always figured, was the beginning—in this case, the circumstances and events surrounding the Coltons at the time of Mark Walsh’s first “death” in 1995.
He left Patrick in the capable hands of his mother, Jolene, and headed to the library to begin his research. In 1995, when his father went missing and was presumed dead, Peter had been a typically self-absorbed teenager. He hadn’t cared what political causes or social events his family or the rival Coltons were involved in. But in hindsight, he thought maybe he could glean some helpful information to focus his investigation.
As he headed into the library from the parking lot, he noticed a number of large limbs and debris still cluttered the lawn. He frowned at the reminders of the tornado that had struck Honey Creek recently. Most of the brick and stone buildings in town had survived with minimal or no damage, but many homes, including his own, had sustained varying degrees of damage. He scanned the library’s brick exterior searching for signs of damage before mounting the steps to enter the front door.
He spotted his younger sister, Mary, near the front desk and made a beeline toward her. “Well, if it isn’t the future Mrs. Jake Pierson.”
Mary’s head snapped up, and a broad smile filled her face. “Peter! How are you?”
Love—and Mary’s recent, significant weight loss—looked good on his sister. She positively glowed with her newfound happiness.
“Clearly not as well as you. Look at that radiant flush in your face.” He tweaked his sister’s cheek playfully, and she swatted his hand away. “So what are you doing here? I thought your days as librarian were over now that you and Jake are opening the security biz.”
She leaned a hip against the front desk and grinned. “I may not work here, but I have friends who do. And I volunteer to lead the story time in the children’s area on Sunday afternoons. What brings you in today, and why didn’t you bring my favorite nephew with you?”
“Mom’s watching Patrick so I can get some research done.” Peter unbuttoned his coat and glanced around at the tables where people were scattered, reading and studying. An attractive dark-haired woman at one of the corner tables snagged his attention.
Lisa Navarre.
Patrick’s teacher was hunched over thick books, scribbling in a notebook and looking for all the world like a college co-ed the night before exams. Her rich chocolate hair was pinned up haphazardly, wisps falling around her face. A pencil rested above
