did you happen to find him, Sheriff? It’s getting late for a visit.”
The sheriff’s shoulder trembled beneath Dylan’s hand. “You didn’t find it?”
“What? I already said there was no note—”
“Not from Oliver. It would have been from Steve Mars.”
Dylan fought a shudder. A ghost hadn’t killed Chet Oliver. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about whatever Chet had for you. He came into the diner after you left today. He said he had something for you, something Steve Mars had wanted you to have.”
Dylan nodded. “He sent a letter to me in Detroit. Told me the same thing.”
“A letter’s one thing. But the fool was talking about it in the middle of Marge’s Diner. William Warner was there, getting something to go. It’ll probably be all over tomorrow’s paper. And for what? It’s old news.” The sheriff’s face reddened, and his breathing grew more labored.
From an antique bureau, Dylan grabbed the glass of water he’d given him earlier and pressed it back into his hand. “Take a sip. Don’t worry. It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not. I came here to tell him to keep whatever it was. You didn’t need to go through any of that pain again. You just came home. I didn’t want him driving you away.” The sheriff laid his hand over Dylan’s.
Dylan glanced over his shoulder at the lifeless body of Chet Oliver. “He won’t be doing that now. I looked through his desk and his filing cabinet. There wasn’t anything addressed to me.”
“That’s just as well.” The sheriff took a swallow of water.
Dylan shook his head. “But I wanted to know what Steve Mars had left for me. I need some answers. It’s been ten years.”
“Answers to what?” With a shaky hand, Sheriff Buck set his glass back on the bureau, sloshing water onto the gleaming wood. “Some times things just happen. There’s no reason, no explanation. You just have to move on.”
Dylan nodded as if he under stood. But he didn’t. He’d been gone ten years, but he’d never moved on. And for his part, neither had Sheriff Buck Adams.
After Dylan’s mother had dumped him for Dylan’s father, the sheriff had never married. He’d stayed in love with a married woman and then with a dead woman. No, the sheriff didn’t know any more about moving on than Dylan did.
The young officer scram bled inside. His face flushed and eyes wide, he whispered, “She’s out there.”
Dylan narrowed his eyes. “Who?”
“A big-city reporter. She wants to talk to the officer in charge. She has questions, lots of them.”
Lindsey Warner. “I didn’t realize she was working for her father. I thought she was home—what had Marge said?”
The sheriff offered no information. The older man rested his head in his trembling hands.
“Yeah,” Dylan continued as if he’d been given an answer, “with a broken heart. Subdued.”
“Subdued!” The kid’s voice cracked.
“She’s not subdued?”
“Hell, no!” His face reddened even more. “Sorry, sir.”
“You can handle her.”
“No, sir, really you should talk to her. I’ve never talked to a reporter before.”
“Tell her she can come to the station tomorrow. We’ll have more information after the coroner gets here. We can’t tell her anything tonight.”
The young officer’s eyes filled with doubt.
“You can do it—” Dylan read the badge pinned askew on the kid’s shirt pocket “—Deputy Jones.”
After the kid dragged his feet out the front door, Dylan squeezed the sheriff’s shoulder again. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise. We’ll find out who did this and why.”
Murder had revisited Winter Falls. This time Dylan was going to get all the answers.
He thought again of the stain on his kitchen floor. He reined his thoughts in. Jimmy was gone. A new victim had taken his place. Dylan had to think of something else.
He thought of Lindsey Warner. Subdued. Hell, no.
“SUICIDE.” LINDSEY SNORTED at her reflection in the rearview mirror of her Jeep. Then she squinted against the glare of the morning sun ricocheting off the rusted hood.
The young deputy, Jones, had called it suicide. Of course, he hadn’t offered it freely. No, Lindsey had had to pry the information from him.
Deputy Matthews had been stupid to let a rookie try to handle her. Even experienced, cynical city detectives hadn’t been able to handle her.
She gripped the steering wheel tighter as the old Jeep bounced along the gravel road. She was headed to the police department this morning, all right.
But after Jones’s stuttered explanations, she hadn’t returned home. Although she’d been gone awhile, she still had connections in this town. The coroner played cards with her father.
Despite the late hour, he’d given her an off-the-record preliminary report. She couldn’t print it until she got confirmation of…
Murder. A murder in Winter Falls. Again.
How did Deputy Dylan Matthews feel about a murder on his first day back on the job?
She hadn’t known Chet Oliver. She’d been gone nine years, and before then, she hadn’t had need of lawyers or city trustees. Dylan knew him, though. Chet Oliver had represented his brother’s murderer, but there hadn’t been much to rep re sent. Steve Mars had pleaded guilty. That case was closed.
Would this case be closed so easily? Although she hadn’t known Oliver, she believed he hadn’t deserved to die. Neither had Jimmy Matthews. She couldn’t imagine how his brother’s murder must still affect Dylan.
Some times it still affected her. His had been the first dead body she’d ever seen. Since then, on the police beat, she’d seen many more. It never got easier.
She shuddered and turned up the heat. Warm autumn mornings didn’t exist in northern Michigan.
She pressed on the accelerator. She had some questions for Deputy Dylan Matthews. Over the clatter of the heater motor, a siren wailed. A glance in her rearview mirror confirmed the flashing lights on the vehicle behind her.
The Jeep tossed up a shower of stones as she ground it to a stop. The last thing she needed was another ticket. Her insurance premiums were putting the agent’s kid through an Ivy League college as it was.
Then again, if it was young Deputy Jones, she would demonstrate to him how ill advised it was to lie to Lindsey Warner.
