"It's not Eric I'm worried about."
That surprises me, and I look over to see those worry lines etched deeper.
"Eric is a friend," she says. "And as a friend, I only want the best for him. But I consider you a friend, too, Casey, and there are things about Eric ... It's not as simple as it seems. He's not as simple as he seems."
"I know."
Her look sharpens to impatience then. "You can say that, but you really don't. I have his medical file. There are aspects to his past..." She straightens. "There are things in his past that he does not talk about. Absolutely does not. I attempted to broach it once, and he shut me down so fast I nearly got whiplash."
His medical files. Of course. He may have had health issues when he arrived in Rockton. If there is one record of Dalton's past, that's where it would be.
"If you mean how he got to Rockton..." I say carefully.
"That he's lived here all his life?" She shakes her head. "He hasn't, Casey, and I can't tell you any more than that, except that what happened to him before that means he's a deeply damaged man and--"
"I know."
"You don't. I'm sorry. I don't mean to be harsh, but--"
"His files show that he wasn't born in Rockton," I say. "They tell where he was born. How he lived as a child. How he ended up here."
She has her mouth open as if she was ready to argue before I got a word out. Now she stares at me, open-mouthed, and says, "He told you," and I see her expression, and I wish to God I'd just kept my damned mouth shut. She's been his friend for years, and he refused to acknowledge what happened, and now he's spilling his guts to someone he met a few weeks ago.
She straightens. "Yes, of course. That's Eric. If he's going to ... get involved with you, he's going to make sure you know what you're getting into. He's a good man, Casey. But he's also dealing with some serious psychological issues. I think the damage can be fixed. It takes years, though, and as hard as I've been trying, I'm not sure I've made any inroads."
"Do they need to be made?" I say, as gently as I can. "I know there's damage. Hell, I know all about damage. But Eric's is a different kind. I'm not convinced it's something that needs to be fixed. I think it just needs to be understood."
"He can't live this way forever, Casey, stuck up in this town, a thousand miles from everything. It's not natural."
"It is for him. He's happy--"
"No, he's convinced himself he's happy. He could do so much more. Be so much more."
I bite my tongue because I can see I'm not going to change her mind. I remember Dalton talking about women from his past trying to "fix" him, and while he's never been romantically involved with Beth, the dynamics are the same, and that saddens me, because I expected better of her.
No, that's not fair. She's a doctor, and it's her job to fix people. She just doesn't see that this problem doesn't need mending, and I can't tell her so because that would be incredibly egotistical of me--the newcomer who claims to better understand a man Beth has known for years.
So I say, "Maybe. I don't know. Right now, though, there's something else I'd like to speak to you about."
I ask her about schizophrenia. I stick to my hypotheticals. Beth might know about Dalton's past, but there'd be no reason to mention Jacob in those files.
Unfortunately, Beth doesn't know much about the condition. Less than I do, it seems. She's a medical doctor, not a psychiatrist. I make a note that I'll need to bite the bullet and speak to Isabel instead.
"Do you know anything about ergot poisoning?" I ask next.
She frowns. "I believe it's connected to a fungus that can infect rye."
"Right. It's one of the possible explanations for the hysteria surrounding the Salem witch trials."
I somehow manage to say this as if I know exactly what I'm talking about. Because, you know, in my old life, I devoted myself to expanding my knowledge of the world, chasing any esoteric tidbit that interested me. Sadly, no ... That would be Dalton, the guy who reads about ancient Mongols in his spare time.
Dalton had suggested this theory. Not ergot poisoning specifically, because there's no rye growing here. But he'd wondered if some environmental poison could be responsible for Jacob's sudden and violent personality shift.
Dalton had listed off a half-dozen things in the forest that could cause mental confusion and hallucinations. Beth knows nothing about any of them. I'll add this to the items for Dalton to research when he takes Diana to Dawson City.
We talk for a little longer. The subject of Dalton doesn't resurface, and I'm relieved. I value Beth as a friend, and by the time she leaves, I feel that's been put aside, at least for now.
Dalton brings breakfast. He can't stay long. We're sitting on the bed, propped up against the headboard.
"Fucking council wants me to get my ass to Dawson City."
"To escort Diana."
"Yeah." His tone softens as he looks at me. "About that ... how are you doing?"
"Trying very hard not to think about it."
He nods, and I know what he's thinking, so I say it for him. "I need to talk to her, don't I? Try for some closure."
"Yeah."
"I'll do it before you leave."
"Before we leave. You're coming with me. I told the council you have more to research. They agreed to postpone the trip until this afternoon, and then we'll stay overnight in Dawson City. At the inn. Where no one can barge in the goddamn door."
"Ah, so that's your real plan. Not that you value my research skills. You just want sex."
"Damn straight."
He tugs me onto his lap. I turn to straddle him, and he smiles and says, "Even better," and pulls me into a kiss. It takes less than thirty seconds to get both of us shirtless, him fumbling with my bra before giving up and pushing it over my head, and then his hands are on my breasts and damn, that feels--
A distant knock sounds on the front door.
"Ignore it," Dalton says, still kissing me.
"Planning to."
I get the button open on his jeans and I'm pulling down the zipper when, "Detective Butler?" It's my next interview.
Dalton whips my bedside book and knocks my bedroom door shut. I chuckle.
"Casey?" the voice calls from downstairs. "Are you okay?"
"God-fucking-damn--"
I cut Dalton's curse short with a kiss. I start to roll off him, and he tries to grab me back, but I whisper, "Dawson City. One private room. Eight uninterrupted hours," as footsteps sound on the stairs.
"Casey?"
"Just a sec!" I call.
Dalton grabs me and tugs me back onto him. "He'll wait five minutes."
"Kinda want more than five minutes, sheriff."
He gives an abashed, "Yeah, sorry. Fuck."
He rolls off the bed, gives me a quick smack of a kiss, and then grabs his shirt and walks out, still pulling it on, to the sputtered apologies of whoever is in the hall. I wince and shake my head. Apparently we aren't keeping this a secret from anyone.
I put my bra and shirt on, then call, "Come in," and start my morning of interviews.
SIXTY
I have three interviews scheduled and two additional people show up, not with anything significant to add, but trying to be helpful, and I don't want to discourage that. When Dalton brings lunch, I'm talking to someone who recalls seeing Mick the night of his death. She spotted him walking toward the woodshed. Yeah, like I said, not useful, but I listen and thank her for her time as Dalton waits impatiently outside the door.
We go downstairs and dine on the back deck. I'm telling Dalton a story about the chase of a seventy-year-old wannabe graffiti artist when Isabel walks around my house.
"Ah," she says. "That's what that sound was. Eric laughing. I do believe I've never heard it before."
Dalton shoots her the finger.
She walks over and eyes us, sitting hip to hip, Dalton's hand on my knee.
"Well, well," she says. "The rumours are true, then. Interesting."
"
You want something?" he says.
"Good afternoon to you, too, sheriff. No, I don't want anything from you. I came to speak to Casey about her investigation."
I tense, and Dalton gets to his feet.
"Down, boy," she says. "I'm not here to harass your detective." She lifts a folder she's carrying. "I found this in Mick's things, and I thought it might be important."
I check my watch.
"Yes, you have time for me, Casey," she says.
"I'm checking Eric's time." I turn to him. "It's almost one. You'd better go take that council call. I'll handle this."
He gives Isabel a look.
"I'll behave myself," she says.
"You better. Casey's been stabbed three times. Doesn't need your shit." He turns to me. "She gives you a hard time? Radio Will and have her locked in the cell."
"On what charges?" she asks.
"Pissing me off."
"Ah, the usual, then."
When he's gone, she says, "Well, he's in a very good mood. I'm glad to see it. I know Will was flitting around, but Eric's the one for you."
She steps onto the deck, and I expect her to take one of the chairs, but she gracefully lowers herself to sit beside me on the edge. "Does Beth know about you two?"
"Mmm, yeah. Eric isn't exactly making a secret of it."
"Hell, no. He landed the town's prize catch, and everyone's going to know it."
I give her a look.
She smiles. "All right, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and say that's not the entire reason. So how did Beth take it?"
I shrug.
"Not well, but you don't know me enough--or like me enough--to confide. I'm sure you saw that one coming, though, given how she feels about Eric."
"She's very protective of him," I say.
"You noticed, huh?"
"Kind of hard to miss. He seems to bring out her maternal instincts."
Isabel chokes on a laugh. "Yes, Beth might be older than Eric, but that's not maternal instincts she's feeling."
I look at her. Then, "Shit. I had no idea. Are you sure?"
"Well, let's see. About eighteen months ago, she came and asked my 'professional' advice on seduction. She didn't tell me who she intended to seduce, but there was really only one option, so I told her I'd strongly advise against it. She ignored me and made her move. He shot her down. I believe she tries again every few months, to see if he's changed his mind. He hasn't. He wouldn't have even before you came along. She's been subtle enough about it that they can remain friends, but..."
"She's still interested."
"Interested implies she'd like a few hours of his time. Beth wants more. Much more."
"Damn him," I mutter. "Why the hell was he so insensitive this morning?"
"He is letting her know he's off the shelf. Bluntly, as he does everything, and yes, I feel bad for her. Beth and I don't always see eye to eye, but she deserves something good in her life. Unfortunately, that's not Eric, and it never was, so you can stop feeling guilty."
"I'm not--"
"Sure you are. I would, too, however much I'd know it wasn't my fault. You consider her a friend, hence you will feel bad. But she obviously didn't tell you she was interested. You did nothing wrong. Let it go. She's better off this way."
I shake my head.
Isabel looks at me. "You think she'd be happier chasing a guy who doesn't want her?"
She has a point, and I shrug.
"I know Beth and I aren't the only ones who don't see eye to eye, Casey, but I'm still hoping we can get past it. For now, how about you forget what I do for a living, and I'll forget you don't like what I do for a living. Yes, that's very generous of me, I know."
"I can't run interference for you with Eric."
Her eyes widen. "Are you suggesting I would attempt to ingratiate myself with you to gain an ally in the sheriff's fight to shut down my establishment? I'm impressed. Yes, that's exactly what I hoped when I met you. But you treated me well with Mick, despite your personal feelings. You got stabbed by some madman in the woods, and you're already back on the case, conducting interviews from your bed. Everyone's impressed. So my overtures have gone from blatant self-interest to genuine interest. I would like to get to know you better."
"You can start by handing over that file."
She smiles. "Business first. I approve." She starts to pass it to me and then stops, her hand still on it. "The fact I'm bringing this to you is a sign of my trust in your abilities, Casey."
"No, it's a sign you want to find out who killed your lover."
"True, but this is..." She sets the folder on my lap. "Mick was hiding that. Which might suggest he was hiding other things, including an affair, and it's difficult for me to admit that. But if I thought there was a remote chance he was, I would admit it. As humiliating as it might be to have my young lover cheating on me, it'd be worse to be proven wrong. Mick had faults. He had secrets. Screwing around wasn't one of them. But this was."
I open the folder. It's a sheaf of papers. On the top one is a list of names. I've seen them before. In Dalton's journal. They're the real names of those he suspects are in Rockton under false pretences.
I flip through the file to find notes on each name. It seems like exactly what I saw in Dalton's journal. Notes on the suspects and their crimes.
"You aren't asking me what those names are," she says.
I look up at her. "Do you know?"
"I've heard rumours that there are people here who shouldn't be. Secrets are profitable, and I may have been known to pay for them."
"Is that where Mick got these?" I ask.
"No. I've heard perhaps three stories. Not nearly in the detail of that file, and to be perfectly honest, I don't want those secrets, Casey. The only reason I'd care to know who those people are is so I can stay as far away from them as possible. When I want secrets, I want things like your friend getting here by lying about her ex. That's useful. What's in there is dangerous."
"So where did Mick get it?"
"All I can think is that he was keeping notes for Eric. That Eric was digging into people, and he didn't dare keep a record in his handwriting, let alone in his house. So he asked Mick to help. Which Mick would have. Given his own past."
"Which is?"
She taps the folder. "I added a page for him. If you have questions, you know where to find me."
Before Isabel leaves, I ask her about schizophrenia. We talk for a bit, but she doesn't add much to what I know. Some of it fits Jacob and some of it clearly does not.
Afterward, I can't get to Mick's notes as quickly as I'd like. My next interview arrives early, and that's supposed to be my only one for the afternoon, except Brian shows up, bearing information that is less than useful. However, he also comes bearing gifts: cookies and another apple pie.
I get the feeling those gifts were the point of his visit, rather than the uninformative information. He admits there's a good reason I haven't had any actual visitors other than Petra. Dalton has been telling everyone else to leave me alone. Or, more accurately, leave me the fuck alone.
There's a moratorium on all social visits until tomorrow, by which time he's decided I'll be well enough to take them. I could argue with that, but he has a point. The interviews are taxing enough. It just would have been nice to be told why no one was coming to visit me.
I conduct the afternoon's meetings in my living room, getting myself prepared for the trip to Dawson City.
I'm packing when Anders comes by.
"Boss is tied up with council shit," he says. "They're going over plans for rebuilding the woodshed. To leave on schedule, he'll need to meet you at the hangar. I said I'd walk you over."
"Thanks."
He holds my duffle bag as I put in a change of clothing. "So, you and Eric, huh?"
I glance over.
"He told me. I think he figured he should be the one to do it, which I appreciate. We had a nice talk."
"Oh?"
"Yep. Let's see, h
ow'd it go." He lowers his voice to Dalton's pitch. "You hear about me and Casey? No. So you and Casey...? Yeah. Ah. You and Casey. That okay? Sure. I'm happy for you. Yeah? Yeah. Okay. Good." Anders looks at me. "It was a guy conversation."
I laugh. "I see."
"If it was anyone else, I'd be less okay with it, but Eric? He deserves you. You deserve him. I am happy for you both."
He gives me a one-armed hug, and I say thanks. Then I toss my toiletries in the bag and he carries it downstairs. I need to grab my jacket from the backroom, and when I come back, he's got Mick's folder. I'd left it on the front table when I went to pack, planning to take it for some in-flight reading. He's staring at the first page--the list of names. When I walk in, he slaps it shut.
"Sorry," he says. "I'm snooping."
"You're a cop. You're supposed to snoop."
He smiles, but it looks strained. He's had to pick up the slack while I recuperate and Dalton plays nurse. I catch a glimpse of the toll it's taking as he hands me the folder.
"You okay?" I ask.
He jumps, as if startled by the question. "Sure. Why?"
"You look seriously overworked."
"Always." He points at the folder. "Since I'm professionally allowed to be nosy, I'm guessing that's a list of real names?"
"Hmm?"
"Real names of locals."
"Something like that. Just a lead I'm chasing." I stuff the folder into my duffle, which he takes and waves me to the door without another word.
SIXTY-ONE
We're heading through town when Dalton joins us.
"All done with the council?" I ask.
He makes a noise under his breath, one I interpret to mean he's annoyed at the interruption to his day but yeah, it's done.
"Meant to run the pre-flight check earlier," he says. "You okay with hanging out? Or do you want to rest at the station?"
"I'd like to see how you do it. Not that I'm going to be a pilot anytime soon, but I'm interested."
That pleases him, and he nods. He talks to Anders for a moment, before the deputy takes off to run an errand. He'll bring Diana after that, something I'm in no rush for.
We're on the edge of town when we spot four of the militia, armed and on horseback, heading for the woods.
"Hey, boss," Kenny calls with a wave.
Dalton eyes them and veers in that direction. "What's this? Don't need four guys for patrol."
"Hunting mission," Kenny says.
City of the Lost Page 34
