by Sam Cheever
Hal pushed me behind him.
“Get those damn doors open,” the artist yelled.
I scanned a look toward the tree line and saw a single figure standing where the coyotes had been. The man was bare chested, with long, dark hair held back from his face by a brightly colored band around his temple. He wore a loin cloth over leather chaps and held what looked like a bow in one hand.
I gasped, pointing toward the Native American figure and backing toward the building. “Oh my god, is that?”
Heather gave a small cry and lifted the gun again, her attention on the ghostly figure. Hal launched himself at her and they both went down, disappearing in the knee-length grass and weeds. The gun went off but the bullet pinged harmlessly away.
Sounds of scuffling ensued and I left Hal to it, thinking that if he couldn’t best a ninety-pound woman then he was in the wrong business.
Even if she was crazy and had a gun.
I looked back toward the tree line and Uncle Dev waved before turning and disappearing into the trees.
I remembered that costume from Halloween when I was ten. I’d gone as a Native American too, but I’d been a princess. I smiled at the memory.
Hal dragged Heather Masterson out of the grass and I saw that he’d cuffed her hands behind her back. I couldn’t help wondering where he’d been hiding those cuffs...
Her small face was dark with rage and she was spewing just about every swear word I’d ever heard, and then some. She tried repeatedly to jerk out of Hal’s grip but she wasn’t going anywhere.
“Let’s get this back to the house so I can call Arno.”
Heather spit at him and he sidestepped it, shaking his head.
I nodded, then had a thought. “Wait, let me check something first?”
He nodded and I quickly opened the hangar doors, ducking inside. The office was pretty much the same way we’d left it. Except for the missing remote-control cars on the shelf.
But that was the only exception. To my pleasure, I saw that the Cessna painting was back in its frame and hanging on the wall where it had always hung.
I smiled.
Turning away, I left the office and returned to Hal and his literally spitting mad prisoner. “Okay, let’s go.”
He gave me a look but I shook my head and we took off toward home.
ARNO SAT ACROSS FROM us and jotted notes as we told him about our face-off with Heather Masterson. I left my uncle’s participation out of the storytelling because, even though he’d clearly considered stealing the painting again, he hadn’t ended up doing it.
My own beef with him about leaving me in the crosshairs of a crazy killer was private. I would deal with that later.
But for the moment...
The front door opened and the young uniformed deputy Arno had sent out to the hangar walked in with the Cessna painting under one arm. It was the quick work of only a couple of minutes to pull the frame off and tug the top canvas free.
Arno stepped back to admire the Monet, whistling softly. “I’d given up on ever finding this painting.”
“I can’t believe it was hanging in my father’s office.”
Arno glanced my way. “About that...”
“Stop thinking what you’re thinking,” I told him. “My dad only took it from her so he could return it to the right people.”
“Then why didn’t he?”
“He had a delivery that day. I’m guessing he was trying to figure out what to do with Heather Masterson. She’s been a point of interest and a fixture in Deer Hollow for most of our lives. And she has powerful friends. He most likely wanted to consider his options carefully before he accused her.”
Hal frowned, looking very unhappy, and I made a mental note to ask him why after Arno left.
“He shouldn’t have made his delivery that day,” Arno said.
I shrugged. “He was kind of anal about doing what he’d promised. But I agree. Hindsight says he should have stayed home and dealt with the more important problems of the stolen painting and Heather Masterson.”
And his poor decision had ended up costing three more people their lives. A ball of pain danced in my belly with the thought. I wondered how long it would take me to view him again the way I had growing up. As a kind and talented man who’d always done his best for the people around him and the community that nurtured and supported us.
I gave a small sigh and Hal wrapped an arm around me.
“Just so you know, the car that menaced you?”
I nodded.
“Heather Masterson’s car. She didn’t drive it into town very often so it didn’t occur to me at first. But when she became a person of interest I checked her home and found it. I also found some letters to her from Devon Little.”
I felt my eyes go wide. “Uncle Dev? What were they about?”
Arno shrugged. “They’re part of the investigation now so I can’t reveal their contents. But suffice it to say he was involved in getting that painting here. To Deer Hollow.”
Hal stiffened beside me. “He was Cox’s informant.”
Arno just stared at my PI while I turned to a puddle of sloppy regret beside him. Had I let an accomplice to murder go? My gaze jerked to Arno’s. “Did he have anything to do with killing my parents?”
“We won’t know until we capture him.” Arno glanced at Hal. “Thank you for giving us the heads up on his whereabouts.”
Hal jerked his head in an uncomfortable nod while I did my best not to stare at him with my mouth open.
“Well, I’ll get going. I have paperwork,” Arno said. He fixed us with a speculative gaze but finally turned away and left.
As soon as the door closed behind him, I whirled on Hal. “You squealed?”
To his credit, he didn’t flinch away. “Yes.”
I was at a loss for how to respond to that naked admission. “I...you...” Then it hit me. He’d saved my butt again. I should have told Arno about Dev but hadn’t. I’d fallen into my old role of protecting my family and it had put me on the wrong side of the law. I didn’t like that he’d gone behind my back. But I understood it. “It was the right thing. I’m sorry I didn’t do it myself, so you didn’t have to.”
Hal didn’t say anything. He clearly hadn’t been happy to do it either.
I dropped onto the couch, feeling too drained to even speak.
Hal took a seat next to me and we sat in silence for several moments. Finally, I turned to him. “I guess that explains why you look like you want to punch somebody.”
“You mean like your Uncle?”
“Yeah, he deserves a good punching. But in the end, he did leave the painting and he helped us with Heather.”
“How did he know we were going to need that help?” Hal asked, one dark eyebrow lifted.
I frowned. “You think he’s still communicating with Heather.” It wasn’t a question.
“He double-crossed your parents all those years ago. Took advantage of their side business to make some money for himself. And I’m guessing he was the one who implicated your parents with the theft of the painting.”
I thought about what he said and realized, with a painful jolt, that it made perfect sense. If he’d arranged for the stolen painting to come to Deer Hollow, and then told Cox it was there so he could point a finger at my parents with the FBI, then... I gasped. “Heather never saw who took the painting.”
Hal nodded. “Devon probably told her it was your father. When your dad confronted her based on Betty’s information of having seen her hanging around the Auction that day, it just verified her suspicions.”
I frowned. “But wouldn’t he have been confused when she accused him of taking the painting?”
“Probably. But if your dad was as good on his feet as you are, I’m guessing he went along with her accusation and tried to leverage it.”
His compliment gave me a warm spot until I made the next connection. “And it got them killed,” I murmured, my heart breaking. “That means that even if Devon didn’t put those rocks on the
runway...”
“He signed their death warrants. And he hid the cause of their deaths on your property, further endangering you.”
Tears flowed down my cheeks and I didn’t bother to wipe them away. I’d managed to clear my parents’ names and in the process discovered that all of us had been duped by a con artist for years.
Hal was staring at me as if there was more he wanted to say. I sighed. “If you want to tell me something, Hal, please just say it. I’m too tired to guess.”
“Devon Little put you in danger by first stealing that painting and then leaving it here for the last two years. And he turned you into bait so we’d take care of Heather Masterson for him. You could have been killed. Caphy was badly hurt...”
I blinked, realizing he was right. Dev had endangered my dog with his shenanigans. It would be a long time before I forgave him for that. “He did. You’re right. He made some really poor choices.”
“Like your father.”
I flinched. He’d hit me right in the bullseye of my broken heart. “I don’t want to talk about my dad right now.”
“Your dad knew Heather was unstable. He knew someone had stolen from her. And he just went off and left you behind. She could have come looking for the painting back then. She could have killed you or used you as bait to get it back from him.”
I closed my eyes as each of his accusations pierced my closely-held delusions. Tears burned behind my eyelids. I shook my head. “He left me with Uncle Dev. I was protected.”
“Were you? I’m not really impressed with Uncle Dev’s commitment to your well-being.”
He was right again. But there had to be more to it. Something we weren’t understanding. “He must have had a good reason to leave.”
Hal seemed to be biting his tongue. I could tell there was more he wanted to say, but he apparently realized it wouldn’t change anything and would only hurt me more. So, he kept his mouth closed and pulled me under his arm, kissing me on the temple as we settled back on the couch.
Several quiet, healing moments passed and I began to relax, enjoying his warmth and the constant support of the man providing it. Even his anger was healing. He was angry for me rather than at me and I understood that. It was a wonderful thing to have someone care that much again.
“I just have one more burning question,” he said a moment later.
I tensed again. “What’s that?”
“How did Devon make the grass move like that”
I grinned, relaxing. “Remote control cars. They were in my dad’s office.”
“Ah. Ingenious.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, sighing happily as he pulled me closer. Only a couple of things threatened to ruin the moment. “I miss my dog,” I said a moment later.
“I know.” He rubbed my arm.
I waited another beat. “You’re going to leave now, aren’t you? Go back to Indy?”
He didn’t respond at first. His big, warm hand kept rubbing my arm as we sat there in companionable silence.
Finally, he gave me a squeeze. “I’ve got some vacation time coming. How about if I stick around Deer Hollow for a while and you can show me all the best tourist traps in the area?”
I smiled, leaning my head against his chest. “I’d like that.”
His heart beat slow and strong under my ear. “So would I.” He said. “I’d like it a lot, actually.”
I lifted my gaze and looked up into his too-handsome face. Our eyes caught and held. Then he slowly lowered his head and touched his lips to mine.
And just like that, all the bad stuff of the last few days drifted away.
At least for a little while.
WHAT’S NEXT?
Read More of Sam’s Work: Did you enjoy Humpty Bumpkin? If you’d like to read more books like this from Sam Cheever, check out her other bestselling books:
Silver Hills Cozy Mysteries: http://www.samcheever.com/series.html#silverhills
Murderous Craft: http://www.samcheever.com/murderouscraft.html
Honeybun Heat Series: http://www.samcheever.com/series.html#honeybunheat
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
USA Today Bestselling Author Sam Cheever writes mystery and suspense, creating stories that draw you in and keep you eagerly turning pages. Known for writing great characters, snappy dialogue, and unique and exhilarating stories, Sam is the award-winning author of 60+ books.
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