by Claire Booth
Table of Contents
Cover
Also by Claire Booth
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Acknowledgments
Also by Claire Booth
A Sheriff Hank Worth mystery
THE BRANSON BEAUTY
ANOTHER MAN’S GROUND
A DEADLY TURN *
* available from Severn House
FATAL DIVISIONS
Claire Booth
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
This first world edition published 2020
in Great Britain and 2021 in the USA by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of
Eardley House, 4 Uxbridge Street, London W8 7SY.
Trade paperback edition first published
in Great Britain and the USA 2021 by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.
eBook edition first published in 2020 by Severn House Digital
an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited
Copyright © 2020 by Claire Booth.
The right of Claire Booth to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8997-3 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-78029-719-4 (trade paper)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0440-0 (e-book)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents
are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Except where actual historical events and characters are being described
for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are
fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.
This ebook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk,
Stirlingshire, Scotland.
For
Shannon,
Lori and Fred, Kindra and David,
Paul, Akira, and Evan
ONE
Maggie was concerned. It was that worried mouth downturn she’d been doing a lot lately when she looked at him.
‘Look, I’m fine. Seriously. I’m going to work, I’m mowing the lawn, I’m even taking Maribel to Girl Scouts. I’m living a normal life. Everything’s normal.’
Hank smiled at his wife. A forced mouth upturn he’d been doing a lot lately when he looked at everybody. Maggie sighed.
‘You are not OK. You’ve been in a funk ever since you all figured out who killed that guy in the apartment. And since … well, the car crash.’
Hank’s smile dissolved. He couldn’t keep it going. As long as he didn’t think about the crash that killed six teenagers last month, he was OK. That was why he was throwing himself into work. And chauffeuring a bunch of five-year-old girls around. Nothing took your mind off things like a group of giggling Daisy Girl Scouts in the backseat.
Maggie grabbed his hands and pulled him down on the couch next to her. The house was actually quiet. The kids were in bed, and Maggie’s dad was downstairs in his basement en suite. Maybe Hank could make some noise and wake one of them up. Then they’d no longer be alone and wouldn’t have to have this conversation she seemed so determined to start.
She said a few things and saw he wasn’t listening. That led to her letting go of his hands and standing up. He was relieved, but a little surprised she gave up that easily.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Will you be here tomorrow afternoon? One of the kindergarten moms is dropping Maribel off since I’ll be mid-shift at the hospital, and someone needs to be here when she gets home.’
‘Where’s your dad going to be?’
Maggie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Kiwanis, maybe?’
‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell them I’m working from home for the afternoon.’
‘Good. Now I’m going to bed.’ She turned and started down the hallway. He watched her go, which he realized was the last thing he wanted.
‘Can I come with you?’
She turned back to look at him, confused.
‘What kind of question is that? Of course you can. Where else would you sleep— oh … you’re not talking about sleep, are you?’
He stood up. She held out her hand, and this time there was no reluctance when he took it. He kissed her right there in the hallway and prayed that everyone stayed asleep.
The next day, Hank left the office at noon, lugging his laptop and a large stack of performance evaluations. It actually was work better suited to doing at home, where he could spread everything out without fear that a deputy would walk in and see his buddy’s personnel file. Plus, he was looking forward to having lunch with Maribel and hearing about her day at kindergarten. Her latest thing was the politics of recess. They appeared to be just as convoluted and ruthless as the politics in Branson. She seemed to be traversing them a lot better than he was, though.
He got home and fixed two peanut butter and raspberry jam sandwiches, cutting the crusts off hers and dropping them into the dog’s bowl. Guapo, whose finely tuned ears always caught that sound, came tearing down the hall from Benny’s room, scrabbled across the kitchen linoleum, and emptied his dish in two seconds. Then he sat on Hank’s foot and waited for a pat on the head.
‘You’re supposed to be in your crate,’ Hank said as he leaned down to scratch behind Guapo’s ears. As always, the left one stood straight up and the right one flopped over like a limp piece of flannel. ‘Who forgot to put you in there this morning? And what horrible things have you done with your freedom?’
He removed his foot from underneath the mutt’s sizable rump and poured out two glasses of milk. Lunch was all set when the doorbell rang – that would be Maribel and the carpool mom. He
opened the door to find a six-foot-two barrel-chested man instead.
‘Hello, Hank.’
‘Father Tony?’
The priest gave him a beatific smile and stepped over the threshold, which forced Hank to shift to the side. He stepped forward again and peered outside. There was no sign of his daughter or a kid carpool anywhere on the street. He closed the door on the chilly November air and turned to face his guest. What would the etiquette be in this situation? Could one be blunt with a man of the cloth? He decided to try it.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m here just to say hi, maybe chat a little.’
Everything clicked into place.
‘Maribel isn’t coming home right now, is she?’
Father Tony had the grace to look sheepish. ‘No. She is at a friend’s house for the afternoon. We just needed a reason to get you home.’
‘“We”? You mean, you and my wife?’
‘Yes,’ Tony said calmly. ‘She thought it might be good for us to talk, and she knew it would be impossible to get you to come down to the church.’
‘So you ambush me?’
Tony grinned. ‘I prefer to think of it as meeting my parishioners where they are at. And we did not figure you would want me showing up at the sheriff’s station.’
Thank God he hadn’t done that. It wasn’t that Hank didn’t like Tony. He did, a lot. The priest was kind and generous as well as eminently sensible, which was one of Hank’s favorite qualities. And the guy was exhibiting it now, Hank had to admit. It was sensible to corner him here at home. Shrewd, even. Hank gave in to it, and invited Tony into the living room.
‘Actually,’ Tony said, unslinging a soft cooler from his shoulder that Hank hadn’t noticed he was carrying, ‘I brought a little something for lunch.’
He pulled on the zipper and the smell of chile relleno escaped. Yep – shrewd. And crafty. Approaching Machiavellian. And also an excellent cook. Hank led him into the kitchen. They pushed aside the peanut butter sandwiches and dished up the stuffed and fried peppers. They ate in silence for a minute or two, and then Tony asked how the kids were doing. Hank smiled to himself. Exactly as he would play it if he were the one doing the interrogating. Get the person comfortable. Talk about non-threatening topics. Pretend to be interested in a three-year-old’s bedtime antics.
He took another chile and chided himself. This wasn’t an interrogation. It wasn’t like Maggie had called the Gestapo on him. Tony was a concerned friend. He dug into his second helping and let Tony lead the conversation. The priest took another helping too, and apologized for the excess of cheese.
‘I cannot help it. I always add more than I should.’
Hank, who thought that there was no such thing as too much cheese, could only shake his head in protest. His mouth was full.
‘Ah, you forgive me my weakness for cheese?’
Now Hank was nodding.
‘That is kind of you to do so.’ Tony took a bite. ‘I guess it is always easier to forgive others than to forgive yourself.’
And there it was. Hank had to smile. It was very well done. He took another bite to give himself time to think.
‘Too much cheese really only hurts yourself,’ he said slowly. ‘You’re not harming others with your actions.’
‘What about you?’ Tony said, pointing at Hank’s almost clean plate. ‘I’m harming you, right?’
Hank sighed. The priest’s counseling net had tightened to the point of no escape. ‘I’m eating this of my own free will.’
‘Yes. That is correct.’ Tony put down his fork and leaned forward. ‘And those teenagers, they also chose to eat the cheese. They chose to drive down that road. They chose not to follow your directions to go home.’
‘They wouldn’t have had a choice if I’d followed them.’ That was what people didn’t understand. He’d abandoned them. He pulled them over, gave them just a lousy little warning, and allowed them to drive off. If he’d followed them to make sure they went home, they wouldn’t have died. He was responsible.
Tony looked at him like he knew exactly what he was thinking. So the priest decided to drop the light-handed food metaphor and whack him with a figurative cudgel instead.
‘You need to come to some kind of acceptance. Of what happened, and your role in it. There are different ways to do that. You could consider that it was God’s will, which is of course what I would recommend. You could think that without the crash, that murder would probably not have been solved – and where’s the justice in that? You could appreciate that the investigation brought your young deputy back to you. Sam, right? He has gotten better, his spirits have lifted. These are important things. You need to acknowledge them.’
Hank made a few noncommittal sounds that he hoped would end the conversation. But Tony’s bludgeoning wasn’t done.
‘So I think that perhaps you need to take a break. Go do something enjoyable, where you have space to breathe. Do you like fishing? Camping?’
Hank started to shake his head, but then stopped himself. It wasn’t a bad suggestion. In fact, everything Tony said was completely reasonable. He told the priest he would try. Tony beamed, and rewarded him with a story about the last parish fundraiser – spilled lemonade, a flimsy aluminum dish of red spaghetti sauce, and Mrs Ragnelli’s slippery high heels. Apparently, her dry-cleaning bill was the highest ever charged down at the Speedy Son Cleaners.
‘Now she’s trying to figure out who spilled the lemonade so she can get reimbursed.’ Tony grinned and rose to his feet. ‘I will meet with her tonight to try and calm her down. I just hope she does not wave the bill in my face again.’
Hank stood as well. ‘Now that does make me feel better – that I’m not the most difficult thing you have to do today.’
Tony chuckled as Hank walked him to the door. He was halfway down the walk when Duncan’s car pulled into the driveway. Benny popped out and raced into the house. Duncan followed much more slowly. He said hello to Father Tony and shambled up to Hank on the doorstep.
‘You better be all fixed by now. That took forever.’
His father-in-law was incapable of sugar-coating anything.
‘So this was a coordinated campaign?’ Hank asked. ‘You were in on it, too?’
‘Maggie gave me my marching orders – keep Benny away while the priest guy was here. Make you think it was some playdate that was already planned.’ He stretched. ‘We’ve been sitting in the car down the street for a half hour waiting for him to leave.’
Hank peered out at the Camry in the driveway. ‘Why is Aunt Fin still in the car?’
‘She’s got no kid stamina. She can walk five miles no problem, but she can’t survive two hours at a McDonald’s PlayPlace with a three-year-old.’
Hank didn’t blame her. That was the seventh circle of hell. Even experienced parents were exhausted by it. Dunc’s sister never had kids, so it was all new to her and probably ten times as torturous. He watched her climb slowly out of the car and drag herself toward the house.
‘I am seventy-eight years old, my boy, and I could have happily gone to my grave without experiencing that place.’
Hank helped her up the steps. ‘I appreciate you guys doing that.’
She reached up and patted his cheek.
‘It’s the least I could do, dear. You all have let me stay here longer than I have any right to ask for. I’m the one to be thanking you.’
A thought slowly hatched as Hank watched her walk into the house. He alone knew the real reason Fin drove down from her home in Columbia two weeks ago. And it wasn’t because she wanted quality time with Duncan. She’d asked for Hank’s help. Giving it to her might solve more than just her problem. It might satisfy Father Tony, too.
Sheila thought she hadn’t heard correctly. It sounded like he said he was going to take some time off. She patted at her hair, which was pinned up in its customary way, and waited for him to continue.
‘Are you going to say anything?’ Hank asked. He was stand
ing in front of her desk, hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans.
‘You’re really going on vacation?’ she said.
‘Not vacation, really. I’m just taking a few days off. I thought I’d go up to Columbia and visit my old college roommate. He still lives there.’
That sounded like a vacation to her. Hallelujah. The man needed to get his bearings back. He’d been driving her crazy ever since the car crash. Moping around, startling at every little sound, not doing much work, and generally being a real pain in the ass.
‘I think that’s a great idea,’ she said. Possibly with a little too much enthusiasm, because a wry smile appeared on his face.
‘Yeah, that was Maggie’s tone, too, when I told her,’ he said. He turned and studied the big white board where she, as chief deputy, was responsible for posting the shift schedule. ‘It doesn’t look like anyone else is off, so it shouldn’t leave you shorthanded or anything.’
Sheila nodded. ‘Yeah, Doug Gabler got back from his camping trip yesterday, so we’re fully staffed.’
‘Great. So, ah, as far as outstanding issues – there’s the house burglary up north off of Highway Sixty-five, the bozos who keep drag racing out near Taneyville, and the …’ He trailed off and looked at her. ‘You know all this. I guess I should just be asking if there’s anything you need from me before I go.’
Sheila couldn’t think of a single thing. She should come up with something. It would make him feel better.
‘Can I go ahead with the new jail deputy rotation?’ she asked.
He looked surprised that she’d even asked. And truthfully, she wouldn’t have bothered to, under normal circumstances. If he were here working, she would just have done it unilaterally, maybe giving him an update halfway through the process – if she felt like it. That was how their relationship worked, and they both knew it.
