Martel didn’t exert enough force on the gun to pull the trigger, much less hold it in place to kill herself. There were no powder burns, either.”
“So the gun had to be held at least a few feet from her,” he murmured, frowning as he considered this fact.
Chelsea nodded and lifted her glass. The tea was cold and tart from the generous squeeze of lemon she’d put in. She hadn’t added any lemon to his glass on the assumption he still liked it with one spoon of sugar and no lemon.
Eight years was a long time, she reflected. Perhaps his tastes had changed. However, he didn’t say anything as he took a long drink, then rubbed at the condensation on the glass while he thought.
She continued with her conclusions about the crime. “I think the killer didn’t decide to shoot her until he placed her in the chair. They’d been quarreling. Perhaps she’d hit him first. Now she was vulnerable, in his power. He needed to get rid of her, to keep her quiet—”
“Why?” Pierce demanded.
Chelsea met his gaze. “The victim…Miss Martel…was pregnant. About four months, I would say.”
“She couldn’t have been,” he said. “She was an old maid, the town librarian, for Pete’s sake. She didn’t date anyone.”
“Maybe not,” Chelsea said coolly. “But she was certainly having an affair. I’d look for a married man with a lot to lose if the scandal got out, someone in a prominent position in town, maybe someone on the city council.”
“Yeah, right,” Pierce said in a snarl, rising to his feet and looming over her. “The council is composed of a retired rancher, a high school coach at least fifteen years younger than Harriet, plus three women. That’s certainly a bunch of likely suspects.”
“The motive was conjecture on my part,” she readily admitted. “Your investigators will have to ferret out fact from fiction. I’d start with the woman’s secret life.”
Lips that had once kissed her thousands of times thinned to a straight line. “What about your life?” he asked in a soft tone that sent shivers along her neck.
She met his gaze that contained no signs of welcome for her in it. “What about it?”
“Why did you come back to Montana?”
Smiling slightly, she answered truthfully, “I always loved the mountains.”
He studied her for another ten seconds, then walked off, disappearing around the house. A minute later she heard his vehicle on the gravel as he left.
Peering through the trees at another house no more than a football field away, she wondered why he’d bothered to drive. He lived over there, just across the creek that fed icy mountain water into the lake. Kelly had said it was a marvelous house, meant for a family.
Chelsea sighed as gloom settled over her. An innocent life had been snuffed out when the librarian was killed. The violence of deliberately inflicted death disturbed her. The person hadn’t cared about the child at all.
Laying a hand over her abdomen, she recalled her own plans. She’d assumed she would have a home and family. She’d thought Pierce would be the man in her life. Instead she had an apartment and no husband or children in sight.
Some things were never meant to be. She managed a smile at life’s ironies, reviewed the report and went inside before dark.
“Chelsea, I can’t believe you’re here!” Kelly Dalton Brenner threw her arms around her best friend and gave her a bone-shattering hug late Thursday afternoon. “I’m so glad.”
Chelsea returned Kelly’s bear hug. They’d met in medical school and had been assigned the same cadaver to autopsy. The horrifying—at the time—experience had made them friends forever. Now Kelly was a family physician with a busy practice in a large county with few doctors. Her husband, Jim Brenner, was a hunting and fishing guide and owned the local sporting goods store.
“I’m glad, too. This is a beautiful place.”
Kelly tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. “Bet you couldn’t sleep—not enough noise. All the city dudes complain about that the first couple of nights.”
“Actually, there was too much racket. Those crickets and tree frogs kept up a chorus all night. One of them was definitely off tune.”
“Come on. It’s nearly time to eat.” Kelly pointed toward the house barely visible through the trees lining the creek.
“Are you sure it’s okay for me to come?” Chelsea hated the uncertainty that plagued her. With it was an undefined sense of excitement brought on by more than the prospect of a Fourth of July picnic and fire works by the lake.
“Of course. The whole town is invited.”
That news didn’t make her feel more comfortable. She was hesitant to see Pierce again. Perhaps because her dreams last night had been so graphic. She’d woken once with the feel of his lips on hers, so real she’d had to touch her mouth with her fingers to be sure it hadn’t happened.
“Bring a jacket. It’ll be chilly by the time we have the fireworks,” Kelly advised.
Chelsea went inside, clipped a fanny pack on and stuffed a jacket inside it. With a straw hat to protect her from the sun, she rejoined her friend and set off along the lakeside path.
Her mouth was dry by the time they covered the two or three hundred feet between her cabin and Pierce’s home. The scent of sizzling meat and the sound of children’s laughter filled the air. Volleyball, baseball and a game of horseshoes were in progress. Several people swam or rode in paddleboats about the lake.
And a good time was had by all, she thought, mocking her nervousness as she and Kelly approached the cooking area.
Pierce and his brother-in-law, Jim, manned the huge barbecue grill, where steaks, chicken, hot dogs and hamburgers cooked.
“Hey, about time,” Jim called out. “We need help.”
“What should we do?” Kelly asked, volunteering for duty. She grabbed an apron and tossed one to Chelsea.
Chelsea had no choice but to smile, don the apron and get to work. Jim assigned her to slicing tomatoes and onions while Kelly set out condiments and bags of chips.
Pierce had been laughing and talking when the women arrived. Now he was silent. Chelsea felt like an intruder.
“Hey, Doc,” a male voice called. Holt Tanner separated himself from a crowd of friends and came over. “I heard you finished the autopsy yesterday.”
Chelsea admitted she had.
“Will the report be ready tomorrow?” he asked.
Around Pierce’s age, the lawman shared the same intense intelligence and curiosity that Pierce had displayed about the case yesterday.
“Yes. In fact, it’s ready now. I printed it out this morning,” she told him.
“Great. Let’s go get—”
“You’re
