the threshold of the door. She was trying to go out the front...maybe to get to her car? Maybe to reach her phone and call for help?
But she’d been bleeding badly, quickly grew weak and lost consciousness before she could make it to the door or her phone.
A shiver rippled up her spine. Had the same person killed Morty Burns, then came here and shot Edith?
Or...she had to consider the possibility that it was murder-suicide. Morty could have shot Edith then left and killed himself.
Except...the timing didn’t seem right. And most suicides were gunshots to the head—Morty’s had been to the heart. Also, if he had committed suicide, why wouldn’t he have killed himself here beside his wife?
Morty’s body had been dumped...
Which brought her back to the intruder theory. What kind of cold-blooded person shot an innocent woman and simply stood there and watched her die?
And why kill either of these people? Were their deaths connected to Joe McCullen’s?
* * *
QUESTIONS ASSAILED ROAN as he sped toward the Burns farm.
The fact that Edith was related to Arlis Bennett, the cousin of a man who Joe’s sons had put in jail for cattle rustling, seemed too coincidental not to raise suspicions.
He had to discuss the situation with Maddox. Finding the couple’s killer could be instrumental in determining who’d poisoned Joe.
Storm clouds moved in the sky, painting the run-down farm a depressing gray. The pastures and fields were overgrown, the farm equipment looked rusty and broken down and the barn needed a new roof. He saw no cattle or horses on the land, either.
Had money troubles driven Morty to help Boyle Gates or his brother-in-law sabotage Horseshoe Creek?
His police SUV rumbled and he rolled to a stop beside Megan’s van. On the lookout for trouble, he scanned the perimeter of the property in case someone was lurking nearby.
Dead leaves swirled in the wind across the brittle grass, and the door to the toolshed next to the house banged back and forth. An engine rumbled and he turned to see the crime team’s van racing over the hill.
He glanced back at the house and saw Megan step into the doorway. Her hair was pulled back in that tight bun again, her glasses in place. Her expression was stoic, eyes dark with the reality of what she’d discovered in the house.
For a brief second, he wanted to sweep her away from the gruesomeness of her work and his job. Take her someplace cozy and romantic like a cabin in the mountains where they could float down the river on a raft then curl up on a blanket and make love beneath the stars.
Car doors slamming jerked him from the ridiculous thoughts. He was not a man who made love under the stars or...made love at all. Sex was a physical release.
It had been good with Megan. Damn good. But it wouldn’t happen again.
She did her job because she liked it and was good at it just as he was good at solving crimes. Dead bodies were their life.
Not cozy mountain retreats.
“Dr. Lail called,” Lieutenant Hoberman said as he and two crime techs approached. “She found a body?”
Roan nodded. “Yes, the wife of a murder victim she’d autopsied.”
Lieutenant Hoberman’s brows rose. “Both murdered?”
“It looks that way. Maybe you can help us pinpoint what happened.”
Together they walked up the drive to the porch and climbed the steps. “You okay?” Roan asked Megan.
She gave a short nod, then led the way inside. The stench of decay filled the air, the sight of the woman’s body fueling Roan’s anger when he spotted her gray hair and gnarled hand reaching out as if begging for help.
Everyone pulled on latex gloves as they entered, and then they gathered around the victim. One of the crime workers began snapping photographs while the other started searching for forensics.
“It looks like she was cutting vegetables when someone entered from the back of the house,” Megan said. “I think she heard the noise and turned to see who it was, then he shot her in the chest.”
Poor woman was probably in her sixties. Dozens of pictures of her with a slender thirtysomething woman sat on the bookshelves. Then photos of Edith and a dark-haired boy and girl along with a card that read, “Happy Mother’s Day, Grandma.”
Roan’s chest squeezed. She was a grandmother for God’s sake.
She hadn’t deserved to be gunned down in her home.
Roan’s phone buzzed. Darren Bush. He excused himself and stepped on the front porch to take the call.
“Deputy Whitefeather, I got your message.”
“Yes, we’re still investigating the fires at Horseshoe Creek. When did Joe McCullen make his will?”
“Ten years ago, but he reviewed it each year.”
“Did he make any significant changes in the last few months before his death?”
“No. Well, he did purchase a couple more plots of land. He added one of those in the settlement. It went to Bobby Lowman.”
Right. “So he didn’t plan to change his will and cut Barbara or Bobby out?”
“No, God no. He was adamant about taking care of his family.”
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