“You’re moving?” he asked. “Where?”
Twelve-year-old Summer frowned, shrugged. “Wherever the Army sends us.”
He licked his lips and blinked hard, his eyes sad. “Will I ever see you again?”
No. As it turned out, she hadn’t seen her best childhood friend since that goodbye seventeen years ago. They’d written to each other for a while, but—
A loud thumping drew her out of her musing. She gave her head a small shake and turned to find Ian Eccleston slapping his hand on her desktop. “Hell-oooo? Ms. Davies, are you listening?”
Atticus tipped his head. “My dear, are you all right? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
I may have. Summer raked her hair back from her face. Gathering her thoughts after what—or rather whom—she’d just seen was a bit like chasing down a spilled bag of marbles as they rolled in every direction.
“I’m sorry. I thought I saw…someone from my past. Someone important…”
But he hadn’t been back to Whisperwood in years, to her knowledge. Why would he be here now?
“Can you help us with this case or not, Ms. Davies?” Ian asked. “I have to say, based on what I’ve seen so far of your operation…” He cast a disdainful look around her Spartan accommodations, allowing his disapproving glare to stop on Yossi, who crouched on the windowsill. “I’m not feeling especially confident in your ability to handle a matter as important as my sister’s murder.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. I promise you, if I take your case, I will leave no stone unturned in searching for the truth. I provide the highest quality service to every client.”
“If you take the case?” Atticus frowned and cast a side glance to his son before pinning her with his rheumy eyes. “You’re not sure?”
“I want to take your case. I want to help you. But considering the circumstances, I think it would be wise for me to do a little preliminary groundwork before I make any promises.”
Ian rolled his eyes and grumbled to his father, “See, Dad. What did I tell you?”
“Hush, Ian. It may be a long shot, but Ms. Davies is our last best hope.”
Last best hope? She wasn’t sure if she should feel honored or insulted by the characterization. But being the grieving father’s last hope for peace and justice was the red flag waved in front of her. A challenge. A mission. More than anything, she wanted to prove to these men, prove to the town, prove to herself that she hadn’t made a mistake moving to Whisperwood three months ago. She was a good investigator—no, a great investigator—and she was determined to do what the naysayers and skeptics around her said she couldn’t. She’d prove them wrong.
She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. “Here’s what I can do,” Summer said, pulling out a blank notepad and clicking open her favorite pen. “I can take down your information, have you give me some background and insights into Patrice’s life, and then I’ll do a preliminary evaluation. If it looks like I can contribute something to the case that the police haven’t covered, and that my efforts won’t hinder or interfere with Chief Thompson’s investigation, then we’ll proceed. Deal?”
“What do you want to know?”
“What I like to call the big Hs—her hobbies, hangouts, habits and homies.”
Atticus raised an eyebrow and sent her a puzzled look. “Homies?”
“Uh, you know, her friends. But homies starts with H, so…” She cleared her throat. “So what do you think?”
“I think I’ll do whatever it takes to put my daughter’s murderer behind bars.”
Nolan studied the storefronts along Main Street and reminisced about the summers he’d spent here in Whisperwood when he was younger. His cousins’ ranch, a thousand-acre spread near Austin, had been the perfect place for a restless boy to spend his summers learning to rope calves, find the best fishing holes and ride his assigned horse, Joker, alongside his cowboy cousins. Sometime between first grade and graduating from high school, he’d fallen in love with the small-town charm of Whisperwood, as well. In the years since his last summer at the Colton Ranch, he’d missed the hot days wrangling cattle, the sticky nights chasing lightning bugs—and a special girl who’d made his early years at the ranch especially memorable. Summer.
With hair the color of beach sand, a laugh as bubbly as the sodas they’d sip under the cottonwoods and a smile as bright as the sun, Summer had been every bit as warm and wonderful as the season she was named for. As unlikely as the match had seemed, his cousins’ neighbor had quickly become his best friend at the ranch. But then, she was no girly-girl like his sister, Emma, who preferred American Girl dolls and air-conditioning over the boys’ rough-and-tumble antics in the great outdoors. Tomboy Summer had easily kept up with him and his cousins as they climbed, raced, dug, swam, wrestled, fished, mucked and sweated away the hottest days in the Texas Hill Country.
And then Summer and her family had moved.
Nolan sighed, remembering the June day when he was thirteen, and he’d learned his best friend was leaving town. He’d arrived at the Colton Ranch, raring to saddle up and go get Summer for a long horseback ride in his cousins’ pastures.
“Dude, she’s moving to North Carolina this weekend,” his cousin Forrest had said. “Didn’t she write you?”
Now Nolan rubbed his chest, feeling a hollowness behind his breastbone that paled compared to the sucker punch his younger self had experienced learning of his loss. He’d still had fun with his cousins in subsequent years, but the days lacked the nebulous goldenness and luster he’d known when he’d had Summer at his side.
Bending his neck to glance at the storefront signs out the passenger side of his car, he spotted a couple more new businesses mixed with the old familiar ones. He spotted the Whisperwood General Store, where he, Donovan and Forrest had filched a box of condoms—and felt so guilty about it they’d returned the same day to put them back. Down the block was the Bluebell Diner, where the chocolate chip pancakes were better than anything his mother or Aunt Josephine could make. His stomach rumbled appreciatively, even though he’d enjoyed a hearty breakfast at the ranch two hours ago. At the corner was a new business, Kain’s Auto Shop, where the bay doors were open and someone in gray coveralls bent over the engine of a dusty pickup truck.
At one of the few traffic lights in the sleepy town, he sipped his coffee and decided the addition of JoJo’s Java to the downtown storefronts was a definite boon. He didn’t consider himself a coffee snob, but the rich house brew was excellent and hit the spot on this cool autumn morning. At his hip, his cell phone buzzed an incoming call.
“Special Agent Colton,” he said out of habit, then frowned, wondering if he would still be a special agent when the trumped-up investigation was completed.
“How very official of you, Nolan,” said a female voice at the other end of the line. “I wish I had a fancier title to throw back besides your cousin-in-law Bellamy.”
He smiled, picturing his cousin
