Brenda?” Lacy asked. “She was his wife. He would have told her if someone was threatening him before he told me.”
“He never said anything like that to her,” Travis said. “And she doesn’t know anything about his law practice.”
“I’m pretty sure all the files from the business are still in storage,” she said. “You don’t need my help going through them.”
“I do if I’m going to figure out what any of it means. You can help me avoid wasting time on irrelevant files and focus on anything that might be important.”
His intense gaze pinned her, making her feel trapped. She wanted to say no, to avoid having anything to do with him. But what if he was right and he needed her help to solve the case? What if, by doing nothing, she was letting the real killer get away with murder? “All right,” she said. “I’ll help you.”
“Thank you. I’ll call you tomorrow or the next day and set up a time to get together.” He picked up the box with the rock, touched the brim of his hat again and left.
Lacy sank into a nearby arm chair. This wasn’t how she had envisioned her homecoming. She had hoped to be able to put the past behind her once and for all. Now she was volunteering to dive right back into it.
* * *
TRAVIS CRUISED EAGLE MOUNTAIN’S main street, surveying the groups of tourists waiting for tables at Kate’s Kitchen or Moe’s Pub, the men filling the park benches outside the row of boutiques, chatting while they waited for their wives. He waved to Paige Riddell as he passed her bed-and-breakfast, drove past the library and post office, then turned past the Episcopal Church, the fire station and the elementary school before he turned toward his office. The rock someone had hurled through Lacy’s front window sat in the box on the passenger seat, a very ordinary chunk of iron-ore-infused granite that could have come from almost any roadside or backyard in the area.
Who would hurl such a weapon—and its hateful message—through the window of a woman who had already endured too much because of mistakes made by Travis and others? Eagle Mountain wasn’t a perfect place, but it wasn’t known for violent dissension. Disagreements tended to play themselves out in the form of letters to the editor of the local paper or the occasional shouting match after a few too many beers at one of the local taverns.
When Travis had arrested Lacy for the murder of Andy Stenson, he had received more than one angry phone call, and a few people had refused to speak to him ever since. When he had issued a public statement declaring Lacy’s innocence, most people had responded positively, if not jubilantly, to the news. He couldn’t recall hearing even a whisper from anyone that a single person believed Lacy was still a murderer.
On impulse, he drove past the police station and two blocks north, to the former Eagle Mountain Hospital, now home to the county Historical Society and Museum. As he had hoped, Brenda Stenson was just locking up for the day when Travis parked and climbed out of his SUV. “Hello, Travis,” she said as she tucked the key into her purse. A slender blonde with delicate features and a smattering of freckles across her upturned nose, Brenda seemed to be regaining some of the vivacity that had all but vanished when her husband of only three years had been murdered. “What’s up?”
“Lacy came home today,” he said. “I was just over at her folks’ place.”
“How is she? I saw her mom yesterday and told her to tell Lacy I would stop by tomorrow—I thought maybe the family would like a little time alone before the crowds of well-wishers descend.”
“So you don’t have any problem with her being out?” Travis asked, watching her carefully.
She pushed a fall of long blond hair out of her eyes. “Lacy didn’t kill Andy,” she said. “I should have spoken on her behalf at the trial, but I was so torn up about Andy—it was all I could do to get out of bed in the morning. Later on...” She shrugged. “I didn’t know what to think. I’m glad she’s out.”
“Except that now we don’t know who is responsible for Andy’s death,” Travis said.
“No, we don’t. It makes it hard to move on, but sometimes these things never get solved, do they? I hate to think that, but I’m trying to be realistic.”
“I want to find the real murderer,” Travis said. “I feel like I owe it to you and Andy—and to Lacy.”
“You didn’t try and convict her all by yourself,” Brenda said. “And you fought harder than anyone to free her once you figured out the truth.”
“But I started the ball rolling,” he said. “And this isn’t really going to be over for any of us until we find out what really happened that day.”
She sighed. “So what’s the next move?”
“I know we’ve been over this before, but humor me. Do you know of anyone who was angry or upset with Andy—about anything? An angry husband whose wife Andy represented in a divorce? A drunk driving case he lost?”
“Andy hadn’t been practicing law long enough to make enemies,” Brenda said. “And Eagle Mountain is a small town—I know pretty much everyone who was ever a client of his. None of them seem like a murderer to me.”
“I think the odds that the killer was a random stranger are pretty low,” Travis said. “So one of those nice local people is likely the murderer.”
Brenda rubbed her hands up and down her arms, as if trying to warm herself. “It makes me sick to think about it,” she said.
“If I can convince Lacy to help me, would you mind if we go through Andy’s case files?” Travis asked. “I figure she would have known his clients almost as well as he did.”
“Of course I don’t mind. Everything is in storage. I haven’t had the heart to go through anything myself.”
“I don’t know if it will help, but it seems like a good place to start,” he said.
“Stop by whenever you’re ready and I’ll give you the key to my storage unit,” she said.
They said good-night and Travis returned to his SUV. He had just started the vehicle when his cell phone buzzed. “Hello?”
“Sheriff, Wade Tomlinson called to report a shoplifter at their store,” Adelaide said. “He said he saw you drive past a few minutes ago and wondered if you could swing by.”
“Tell him I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.” Travis ended the call and turned the SUV back toward Main, where Wade Tomlinson and Brock Ryan operated Eagle Mountain Outfitters, a hunting, fishing and climbing store that catered to locals and tourists alike. Technically, a call like this should have been routed through the countywide dispatch center. The dispatcher would then contact the appropriate department and the officer who was closest to the scene would respond. But locals were just as likely to call the sheriff department’s direct line and ask for Travis or Gage or one of the other officers by name.
Wade Tomlinson met Travis on the sidewalk in front of their store. “Thanks for stopping by, Sheriff,” he said. He crossed his arms over his beefy chest, the eagle tattoo on his biceps flexing. A vein pulsed in his shaved head. “Though I guess we wasted your time.”
“Adelaide said you had a shoplifter?”
“Yeah,
