by Kathy Altman
“I am grateful for your help with Scott Langford despite the fact that your interference could have had me pulled from the investigation. I don’t need that kind of press. Winning the election means a lot to me.” Charity licked her lips. “That said, those eight weeks you mentioned? It’s awfully tempting to let ourselves enjoy each other for as long as you’re in town.”
Grady’s body jerked, and his navy eyes went black. She finally realized the source of the faint drumming she’d been hearing—a sporadic rain had started. A drop chilled the tip of her nose, and another slid down her cheek.
Grady didn’t even blink as the rhythm increased, working to flatten his hair. He stared at Charity. “What’s stopping you?”
“Besides the investigation?” She choked out a laugh and swiped her palms across her cheeks. “That connection thing we talked about? I don’t want you to leave now. After eight weeks of sleeping together, I’d be clingier than syrup on a waffle.” She lurched forward, rose up on her toes, and kissed his mouth.
Lord, the man tasted good.
His arms came up, but she managed to step back before he could touch her.
She bent her head. “It would be too hard to say goodbye.”
Grady didn’t say anything more. Didn’t try to stop her. She climbed back into the SUV and drove slowly out of the lot, the rainfall on the windshield inviting tears she refused to shed.
Seconds later Charity’s phone chirped with a text from Grady.
If you’re the consolation prize, I hope to hell I never win.
* * *
Grady didn’t think he could be any prouder of Drew. At the same time he was seriously tempted to wring the kid’s neck.
His nephew was determined to attend Sarah Huffman’s funeral. Grady understood that Drew wanted to pay his respects. He even understood Drew’s desire to make it clear to all of Becker County that he had no reason to hide. But Grady knew that ugly looks and even uglier words were inevitable, and he knew the kind of damage they could do.
The only other person who knew it better was Charity Bishop.
He spotted her the moment he stepped into the sanctuary and out of the snow. Yeah, snow. How foolish they all were to be thinking about spring when it wasn’t even May yet. A pissed off sky was spitting some serious flakes at the mourners as they funneled into the church. At this rate they’d have six inches by nightfall. As Grady followed Justine and Drew down the center aisle, a mass of flakes at the back of his neck melted and trickled downward.
Damn, that was cold.
The sight of Charity warmed him.
She stood in front of the first pew, deep in conversation with the blond deputy and an older couple who had to be Sarah’s parents. Their faces were drawn, their postures weighted with grief. Grady gave a slow exhale and allowed his gaze to slide back to Charity. Like her fellow deputy, she wasn’t in uniform. She wore a pale blue sweater and slim black skirt, and her hair had been slicked back from her face. He’d never seen her look so…elegant.
It would be too hard to say goodbye. Her words had haunted him all night long, which meant he hadn’t gotten much sleep. Ironic, considering he’d hired a guy to keep watch over Charity’s house at night so Grady could pass the wee hours in his bed instead of his car.
A lot of good that did him.
“Everyone’s staring,” Justine muttered and pinched his arm. “Including you.”
Grady blinked and glanced around, noting expressions that ranged from sympathetic to suspicious to downright hostile. And the murmuring had started. Justine and Drew had already settled into a pew. Grady gritted his teeth and sidled in beside them. He turned to face front and saw they’d captured Charity’s attention. Her eyes were on Drew, and she looked startled. A moment later, her gaze connected with Grady’s, and something secret and sweet flickered over her features.
He sat too quickly and almost ended up with a face full of pew. Charity looked beyond him and went still. He followed her gaze. Kate and Allison Young had arrived, and with them was Peyton, who’d refused to ride with her family to the church. Justine had been on the verge of ordering her daughter to stay home, but Drew had intervened. Peyton hadn’t thanked him. She could barely look at her brother.
Reluctantly Grady had left Matt at home with the good doctors West. He’d been relieved to hear an Uno tournament was planned, and his parents had both pledged—albeit sourly—to remain sober.
The organ music ended, and the pastor approached the pulpit. God, please get us through this.
Justine spent the entire service vibrating with tension. Whether from the attention they were receiving or the absence of alcohol in her system, Grady had no clue. Drew sat in rigid silence, hands clasped tightly between his knees. Grady had lost track of Charity, but he swept the crowd only once in search of her. Just as well she wasn’t in his line of sight, because he wouldn’t have been able to keep his eyes off her, and the town had enough to talk about.
After the service, mourners left the church in solemn, silent clumps. The flakes had slowed, but not enough. As the procession of vehicles headed for the cemetery, car after car swung out of line. Only a couple dozen people trekked through the inch or so of powdery snow to rim the gravesite.
Charity stood directly across from Grady under an umbrella held by the deputy who looked like he’d rather be hanging ten off the coast of Oahu. The deputy grabbed for his phone, frowned down at the screen, and whispered something to Charity. He handed her the umbrella and walked away, phone to his ear. A sharp elbow to Grady’s side scolded him for staring again. He drew in a breath and focused on the pastor’s words.
* * *
Showing up at Sarah Huffman’s funeral had been a given. Even if Charity hadn’t been involved in the murder investigation, the real estate agent had been a friend. A friend with a whole hell of a lot of secrets, but who didn’t have a secret or two?
She wrenched her gaze away from Grady and scanned the rest of the mourners at the graveside. Shivering, she blinked a snowflake out of her eye. No unfamiliar faces. Not surprising, considering how small the turnout. Had the killer decided to skip the service? Or was he—or she—already here?
This hadn’t been a crime of passion. The murder had been deliberate. Planned. Carried out by a careful mind. But what possible motive could one of these people have for committing murder?
Once they figured out the why, they wouldn’t be far from the who.
Between Grady and Justine slouched Drew. He’d stood tall in the church, but his obvious grief—and no doubt all the speculation—had gradually molded his shoulders into a hunch. Beside him, Allison and Peyton, both in ridiculously high wedge heels and short, black skirts, leaned against each other. Something was definitely going on with those two. Each somber sentence intoned by the pastor had Peyton edging farther and farther away from her brother. The greater the distance between them, the grimmer Drew’s face, and the more palpable the tension among the rest of the crowd.
Peyton’s expression remained condemnatory, but Allison’s wavered between sad and uncertain, and she kept sneaking glances at her ex. Peyton finally gave her a hip bump, and from that point on, Allison kept her gaze trained on the snow-coated grass at her feet.
A hand touched Charity’s elbow. She allowed Mo to pull her aside.
“We have the weapon,” he said, sotto voce. “They found an ear bud cord buried at the scene.”
Her pulse began to pound. “Sarah’s?”
“Maybe. We didn’t find any electronic devices. But remember we’re looking for a pair of straps, one with a thicker segment? The cord they found has a break in the wire, up near the connector. Someone used duct tape to repair it.”
“Is something like that strong enough to…” She couldn’t say it. Not here.
“The ME will tell us for sure.” Mo shifted closer. “Thing is, it has a pattern on it. Butterflies.”
Charity glanced over at Drew and saw, to her chagrin, that most of the mourners were looking their way. “B
utterflies aren’t very masculine, are they?” she whispered. “I’ll meet you back at the station. See if you can find the owner of those ear buds.”
By the time the service was over, the whispering had resumed. Again Charity expressed her sympathies to Sarah’s pale-faced parents, promising to keep in touch. Then she made a beeline for Peyton Langford, slowing when she overheard Drew talking to his uncle.
“I shouldn’t have come,” the teen muttered. “Everyone was talking about me instead of remembering her.”
Charity paused long enough to say, “That was the bravest thing I’ve seen in a long time. Sarah was lucky to have you for a friend.”
Drew’s eyes glittered, and he nodded jerkily.
Before she could turn away, Grady spoke. “I expected to see you in uniform.”
She was grateful he couldn’t see her goose bumps. The last time she’d seen him in a black suit was at their senior prom. He’d never admitted it, but she’d known he hadn’t worn a tux because he hadn’t wanted to advertise the fact that unlike her, he hadn’t had to rent his outfit.
Grady had been a hottie then. Now his good looks were edged with maturity and strength, and he was so damned male it hurt to breathe.
Charity had spent the entire night regretting her words. It would be too hard to say goodbye. What good had it done to admit what she felt?
“We talked about it,” she managed. “Whether or not to suit up. In the end we decided that would put the focus on how Sarah died, rather than how she lived. We didn’t want to do that to her family.”
“That was nice,” Drew blurted.
Grady murmured his assent. Charity’s cheeks prickled with heat. Dear Lord, how long had it been since she’d actually blushed?
She took a step back and noticed Justine several feet away, arguing with Peyton. Back on track, Bishop. She watched mother and daughter, their slim builds, long, jet hair, pale skin, and fierce expressions making them mirror images of each other. Peyton finally crossed her arms and turned her back on her mother. Fists at her sides, Justine heaved a long-suffering breath and spun toward Grady and Drew.
Not anxious to get caught up in family dynamics—or to deal with Justine and her caustic comments, thank you very much—Charity gave Grady’s sister a wide berth and headed for Peyton. She’d only taken two steps when Scott Langford marched up, sun-reddened face tight with the promise of battle. He pushed a palm at Charity and scowled at Justine.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded of his ex-wife.
“I could ask you the same,” Justine drawled.
“I asked first.”
Justine tipped up her chin. “She was my friend. I forgave her.”
Scott snorted. “I was your husband. You can’t forgive me?” He wrapped a fist around his gray silk tie. “Or do I have to be choked to death first?”
“That’s enough,” Grady growled from behind Charity. “Remember where we are.”
Charity’s backbone tingled from the warning that lurked beneath his tone.
“Everything okay here?” Cal Brennan and his buddy Sunny appeared on either side of Scott. They wore dark suits and even darker expressions, but neither Justine nor Scott paid much attention. They were too busy staring doom and gloom at each other.
Charity quickly introduced the firefighters to Grady. “We’ll be fine, guys, but thanks for checking.”
A stern-jawed Grady nodded at the pair before they turned away and headed for the parking lot, shoulders rigid, heads close in conference.
Charity mentally rolled her eyes. It was a wonder none of the men were grunting and groaning under the strain of lugging all that testosterone around.
Justine poked a finger at her ex. “I could probably find my way to forgiving you for what you did to me. I’ll never be able to forgive you for what you did to your own son.”
“You and me both,” Scott said fiercely, and everyone shut up. No sound broke the silence but the whisper of flakes sliding from the sky and the occasional brush of cloth as someone shifted position. Scott stared over Justine’s shoulder at Drew, who remained apart from the group, eyes on the coffin that had been lowered into Sarah’s grave.
With a growl that sounded more damp than irritated, Scott turned to Charity. “The bastards who trashed my house—know who they are yet?”
“We’re working on it, Mr. Langford.”
“Not hard enough.” This from a cultured female voice that harbored more bitter than a lemon grove.
With a sigh Charity turned to face Oliver Bloom and his wife, a thin woman with pitch-black, pixie-cut hair and a natural prettiness, despite too many worry lines.
“These vandals have become a huge problem in Becker County. And they’re getting away with it again and again.” Janet Bloom stared fixedly at Charity. “Last month our mailbox went missing. And just the other day, someone egged our front porch.”
“Better eggs than dog shit,” Scott muttered.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Bloom. Mr. Bloom. Can we talk about this later, down at the station?” Charity cast a pointed glance around them. Investigating Sarah’s murder was one thing. Airing civic complaints at the woman’s funeral was something else entirely.
Janet raised an eyebrow, along with her voice. “So you are protecting someone.”
Charity kept one eye on Peyton Langford. She really did need to talk to her before Kate whisked her away. “Did you report these incidents?”
“What would be the point? And please. Mr. Bloom? I know he’s Oliver to you. Though you’d better get used to calling him ‘sir.’ You’re letting a killer go free, and soon my husband will be sheriff. When he is, he’ll make damned sure every victim gets justice.”
Charity knew she should defend the department, even though Janet’s attack was meant solely for her. But she was distracted by Grady, who’d moved to stand stiffly beside her. She turned her head and indulged in a slow brush of crystals from the right sleeve of her wool coat, breathing in the warmth of his ocean breeze scent.
“It’s clear you’re not on the side of justice, Deputy Bishop,” Janet continued.
“I’m due at the range,” a red-faced Oliver said loudly. He tugged his wife toward the few remaining parked cars. “Let’s go.”
“That’s right,” she tossed over her shoulder at Charity. “It’ll be you, working for him.”
Grady moved into Charity’s line of sight, his expression tight. “What’s going on? Why’d Deputy Morrissey hightail it out of here?”
“You know I can’t tell you.”
“Something to do with the case? With Drew?” When she didn’t respond, his eyes narrowed. “And that little set-to with Bloom’s wife? Wait, you know what? Never mind. Some things I can figure out for myself.” He swung away, gathered up Drew, who looked sick, and Justine, whose eyes were cartoon-character wide, and strode away toward his rental.
Charity rolled her shoulders under a jacket that had gone heavy. The sting hadn’t been quite so fierce when it was Brenda June who thought she’d had an affair with a married man.
Footsteps creaked through snow. The ocean breeze smell was replaced by the scent of vanilla. Kate joined her in staring after Grady.
“I hereby retract my question about you two getting back together. You really don’t get along, do you?”
Charity angled her body away from the roadway. The other woman’s eyes were red-rimmed and tired. “I’m glad you’re still here,” Charity said. “I need to talk with Peyton.”
“I heard you found the weapon.”
Damn it. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Have you seen Allison? I turned away for a moment, and she was gone.”
“Tried her cell?” Charity ground her back teeth. How the hell had word about their discovery spread so quickly?
“I wouldn’t let her bring it.” Kate peered around anxiously, the tip of her ponytail sweeping snow from the back of her faux-fur collar. “How about while you’re talking to Peyton, I drive around the cemetery? S
ee if Allison wandered off to look at headstones.”
Kate hurried away before Charity had a chance to comment. Charity glanced at the two men from the funeral home who hovered at the graveside, waiting for everyone to leave before they summoned workers to backfill the opening. Swallowing a fresh surge of regret, she made her way over to Peyton, who sat perched on the aged stone wall that snaked through the cemetery. Her head was bent toward the phone she cradled in both hands. Considering her only protection from the weather was a zippered purple blazer with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, a thin silk shirt, and the black miniskirt, it was no wonder the girl was shaking.
Or did Charity make her nervous?
“I thought Kate put a ban on cell phones today,” Charity said lightly.
Peyton shrugged without looking up. “We muted ’em.”
“So Allison has hers? You know her mom is looking for her. Is she the one you’re texting?”
Peyton’s thumbs stopped, and she hefted a sigh. “I’m not texting with her.” She lifted her head. “And I shouldn’t be talking with you.”
“Don’t you want to help us find Sarah Huffman’s killer?”
Another shrug. Her thumbs started moving again.
“Peyton. I need to know about you and Allison.”
“We’re friends.”
“Best friends, right?”
“Yeah,” the teen said slowly.
“Can you tell me about your arrangement?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Charity blocked the phone’s display with her hand. After a pause Peyton raised her head, brown eyes more wary than annoyed.
“Allison told me about what you two decided together,” Charity said quietly.
“She told you? About the pact?” Peyton’s hands collapsed into her lap. “I don’t believe you. She wouldn’t have done that. We swore.”
Charity held her breath, torn between excitement and dread. Close. So close. “She would, Peyton. She would if she knew how much was at stake.”
Moisture pooled in the girl’s big brown eyes. “We didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt,” she whispered.
