job. And this town will lose one of its real assets.”
“I hope we won’t lose you, too,” he said.
The intensity of his gaze unsettled her. She looked away. “Sometimes I think leaving and starting over would be a good idea,” she said. “But I love Eagle Mountain. This is my home, and I’m not too anxious to find another one.”
“Then I hope you never have to.”
The silence stretched between them. She could feel his eyes still on her. Time to change the subject. “Lacy was telling me Eddie Carstairs has been mouthing off to people about his getting fired, trying to stir up trouble.”
“Eddie’s sore about losing his job, but Travis did the right thing, firing him. Any other department would have done the same. The fact that he’s making such a fuss about something that was his own fault shows he doesn’t have the right temperament for the job. You can’t be hotheaded and impulsive and last long in law enforcement.”
Dwight had never been hotheaded or impulsive. He was the epitome of the cool, deliberate, hardworking cowboy. She replaced the book in the box and fit the lid on it. “I don’t want to keep you any longer. I’ll close a little early for lunch and you can follow me to the house—though that probably isn’t necessary.”
“No harm in taking precautions.” He followed her into the front room, where she collected her purse, turned down the lights, then turned the sign on the front door to Closed. “After we secure the book in your safe, maybe I could take you to lunch,” he said.
The invitation surprised her so much she almost dropped the book. Was Dwight asking her out on a date? You’re not in high school anymore, she reminded herself. He was probably just being friendly. Her first instinct was to turn him down. She had too much to do. She wasn’t ready to go out with another man.
Andy’s been dead three and a half years. When are you going to be ready?
“Thanks,” she said. “That would be nice.”
He walked her to her car, and when his arm brushed hers briefly as he reached out to open the door for her, a tremor went through her. Why was she acting like this? She wasn’t a schoolgirl anymore, swooning over a crush—but that’s what being with Dwight made her feel like all of a sudden.
She murmured, “Thanks,” as she slid past him into the driver’s seat and drove, sedately, toward her home. She laughed at herself, being so careful to keep under the speed limit. Did she really think Dwight would suddenly switch on his lights and siren and give her a ticket?
The house she and Andy had purchased when they moved back to Eagle Mountain had undergone extensive remodeling, expanding from a tiny clapboard-sided bungalow to a larger cottage trimmed in native rock and including a detached two-car garage with an apartment above. Only recently, Brenda had learned that those renovations had been financed not by Andy’s law practice, as she had thought, but with money he received from people he blackmailed, including her former boss, Jan Selkirk. The knowledge had made her feel so ashamed, but people had been surprisingly kind. No one had suggested—at least to her face—that she had been guilty of anything except being naive about her husband’s activities.
She pulled into the driveway that ran between the house and the garage and Dwight parked the sheriff’s department SUV behind her. That would no doubt raise some eyebrows among any neighbors who might be watching. Then again, considering all that had happened in the past three and a half years, from Andy’s murder to the revelations about his blackmail and Jan’s attempts to steal back evidence of her involvement in the blackmail, everyone in town was probably used to seeing the cops at Brenda’s place.
Dwight met her on the walkway that led from the drive to the front steps. “You haven’t had any trouble around the house, have you?” he asked. “No mysterious phone calls or cars you don’t recognize driving by? Any door-to-door salesmen who might have been casing the place?”
“If door-to-door salesmen still exist, they aren’t in Eagle Mountain.” She led the way up the walk, keys in hand.
He smiled at her, and her heart skipped a beat again. He really did have the nicest smile, and those blue, blue eyes—
The eyes hardened, and the smile vanished. She realized he wasn’t focused on her anymore, but on her front door. She gasped when she saw the envelope taped there—a bright yellow envelope. Like a birthday card, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t. Her name, printed in familiar bold black lettering, was written on the front.
Dwight put his hand on her shoulder. “Wait before you touch it. I want to get some photographs.”
He took several pictures of the note taped to the door, from several different angles, then moved back to examine the steps and the porch floor for any impressions. He put away his phone and pulled on a pair of thin gloves, then carefully removed the note from the door, handling it by the edges and with all the delicacy one would use with a bomb.
Meanwhile, Brenda hugged her arms across her stomach and did her best not to be sick in the lilac bushes. Dwight laid the envelope on the small table beside the porch glider and teased open the flap.
The note inside was very like the first—yellow paper, dancing cartoon flowers. He coaxed out the sheet and unfolded it. Brenda covered her mouth with her hand. Taped to the top of the paper was a photograph—a crime scene photo taken of Andy at his desk, stabbed in the chest, head lolling forward. Brenda squeezed her eyes shut, but not before she had seen the words written below the photograph. THIS COULD BE YOU.
Dwight could feel Brenda trembling and rushed to put his arm around her and guide her over to a cushioned lounge chair on the other side of the porch, away from the sick photo. He sat beside her, his arm around her, as she continued to shudder. “Take a deep breath,” he said. “You’re safe.”
She nodded, and gradually the trembling subsided. Her eyes met his, wet with unshed tears. “Why?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. I’m going to look at the note again. Will you be okay if I do that?”
“Yes.” She straightened. “I’m fine now. It was just such a shock.” She was still pale, but determination straightened her shoulders, and he didn’t think she would faint or go into hysterics if he left her side.
He stood and returned to the note on the table. The image pasted onto the paper wasn’t a photograph, but a photocopy of a photograph. Dwight couldn’t be sure, but this didn’t look like something that would have run in the newspaper. It looked like a crime scene photo, the kind that would have been taken before Andy Stenson’s body was removed from his office and then become part of the case file.
“Have you ever seen this photograph before?” he asked Brenda.
“I think so,” she said. “At Lacy’s trial.”
Dwight nodded. Lacy Milligan had been wrongfully convicted of murdering her boss. At the trial, the prosecution would have shown crime scene photos as evidence of the violence of the attack.
“Who would have had access to those photos?” Brenda asked. “Law enforcement, the lawyers—”
“Anyone
