Denim Detective

by Adrianne Lee

  Had not given them closure.

  They would only find that, she realized now, by facing this ordeal together.

  Resolve sent slivers of heat through the gathering cold that gripped her body, shoving the chill into retreat. The tremors lost momentum, then eased and slowed.

  She couldn’t look away from her hurting husband. It was as though she were seeing him for the first time. The true Beau. She smoothed her hand down his cheek, felt the pulse jumping at his temple, sensed the tension in his jaw. She deepened her touch, seeking to reach him as he’d reached her, to let him know that she needed him as much as he needed her and that she wasn’t going to run out on him this time no matter how rough things might get.

  For a long moment their gazes locked, then she asked again the question that shimmered between them. “What if Callie is alive?”

  He groaned and a glossy sheen crossed his eyes. Tears. He hadn’t shed a single tear over losing Callie. He wouldn’t shed them now, but they were there. On his soul.

  “Don’t you think I want to believe that, too?” His words were a caress, as soft as a baby’s breath, as fierce as a father’s love. “That I always wanted to believe it?”

  Her knees nearly buckled at the admission. She feathered her fingers over the fine lines around his eyes, his mouth, memorizing this rare vulnerable moment, feeling as if he’d laid open his heart to her. In all the time they’d grieved for their daughter, he’d never allowed her to share his pain.

  “Oh, Beau, I know you do.” Tears stung her eyes. She felt her own heart opening and felt trust taking a tiny step out of the shadows and into the sunlight.

  He moaned, shoved his Stetson onto the counter near the sink, and buried his head in his hands. His shoulders slumped as if he were caving in on himself. She pulled him to her, nestling his head on her chest, hugging him. Hate filled her. For the sniper who’d brought this man to his knees. For that unknown woman who’d slashed through their lives like a grim reaper with a deadly scythe.

  Beau lifted away from her, his eyes red rimmed, his breath a whisper on her mouth. His sorrow palpable. “Why? Why would someone do something this…this vicious?”

  Deedra frowned. It was a strange question coming from a man who’d seen more than his share of the cruelty one human being could inflict on another.

  Voices from outside brought them both jerking toward the back door. Beau straightened away from her, flexed his shoulders and schooled his expression as he shoved his Stetson onto his head. Deedra struggled for composure, but felt too spent for pretense. Nell had been murdered and her killer was tormenting Deedra and Beau. In this house of death, they’d found the possibility of hope, but even that didn’t console. It only increased the horror of this living nightmare.

  Footsteps pounded up the back stairs. Beau squeezed her hand one last time. “Soon as Nora Lee and you give statements, I’ll have her drive you home. I’m going to stick around and make sure no one screws up, that Callie’s dress is handled with the utmost care to preserve whatever DNA or other evidence might be on it.”

  Deedra wanted to stay with him. With Callie’s dress. “Beau, I can’t leave you…”

  “Please, Dee.” His eyes pleaded with her, and she saw just how tenuous was the hold he had on his composure. He couldn’t bear falling apart in front of his peers.

  She stifled her own need to stay with Callie’s dress and kissed his cheek, assuring him that she could get through the next hours if he could. But in fact she felt numb, exhausted, her back throbbing. And tired as she was, she wasn’t sure she could or would sleep without Beau holding her. Without holding him.

  ALONE IN THE BIG BED, Deedra tossed and turned, avoiding sleep, fearing she’d be tortured with dreams of Callie. Eventually exhaustion overtook her, but she didn’t dream of her missing daughter. Instead, no matter how often she jerked awake and fell back to sleep, her nightmares had her running through the woods near the accident site, fleeing from some unknown hunter. The hunter carried a high-powered rifle with a precision scope; over her heart, Deedra wore a bull’s eye.

  The interpretation seemed obvious: the sniper wanted Deedra out of the way, wanted Beau to herself. But for some reason Deedra didn’t feel the sniper’s anger directed at her. She was just the vehicle, the means to get to Beau. He was the real target. The focus of the hunter’s hatred. The one meant to suffer the ultimate wound. To live his life a broken, grief-stricken man.

  Robbed of first Callie, then her.

  In the next instant, the faceless hunter caught up with Deedra, lifted the high-powered rifle to her shoulder and drew a bead. The explosion echoed through Deedra’s ears. Pain radiated across her chest. At first Deedra thought the hunter’s bullet had found its mark. She glanced down. Instead of blood oozing from a wound, the bull’s eye over her heart was metamorphosing. The red center and the black and white stripes evolved into two human eyes, one mirroring the other. For a long moment she stared, confused, and then she understood.

  An eye for an eye.

  She startled awake. Daylight filtered into the room, and she was no longer alone. Beau must have come in sometime in the wee hours of the morning. He’d gotten into bed so quietly, he hadn’t awakened her. But she felt his warmth beside her now, felt his hand on her waist and heard his gentle snores.

  She glanced at him. He faced her, his head deep on his pillow. Her heart sang at the sight of him, the melody a bit happy, a bit melancholy. His raven hair fell over his forehead, his thick lashes brushed his tanned cheeks, and a black shadow filmed his strong jaw. He looked so vulnerable.

  Had there been any truth in her dream? Did the sniper want to destroy Beau emotionally?

  She shivered at the terrifying thought, more frightened of it than of taking a bullet square in the chest.

  She touched his tousled hair lightly, longing to wake him and bury herself and her fears in his embrace. He would tell her that her dream was just that—a dream. Not real. But seeing his tranquil expression, she couldn’t bring herself to disturb him. Let him enjoy the peace while he could.

  She would use the time to reason out why she’d been so positive in her dream that Beau was the focus of the killer’s nightmare and that she and Callie were merely pawns in the end game.

  She eased out from under his arm, slipped out of bed, showered and dressed. Finding the kitchen empty, she helped herself to coffee and settled at the table. The bay window overlooked the barns and corrals. Ranch hands were busy with morning chores, feeding the animals, cleaning the stalls. One was touching up the paint on this side of the barn.

  As she watched him dip the brush into the bucket at his feet, she was blindsided by her last image of Callie. Bouncing feet, the soles of her Mary Janes stained red. She’d been fidgety that day, anxious to go “bye-bye” with Mommy, dancing around in her mint-green dress…. “Oh, God.”

  Coffee washed down the lump that sprang into her throat. Where was Callie? Who had her? Was she being treated with love and kindness? No, God, no. She couldn’t go there. Couldn’t fall into that pit of fear for her daughter. Not again. It would destroy her.

  She forced the thoughts from her mind, pulled her gaze from the window and realized Pilar had left the morning’s mail on the edge of the table. Grasping for any distraction, she gathered the small stack of envelopes and began looking through them. Most were bills or letters for Sean or Beau. One stood out. A sweet-scented, card-size envelope addressed to Beau. With a curlicued E. Her breath lodged in her lungs. This was from the person who’d written on the bathroom mirror. The sniper. Deedra’s hand began to tremble. She dropped the envelope, struggling not to rip it open and see if there was any mention of Callie.

  “That’s probably just what you want me to do, isn’t it?” she murmured, scooting her chair back. “Destroy all the evidence you left on this.”

  She hurried over to a bank of drawers, found a freezer-size zip bag, plopped the unopened envelope inside and then closed the seal. She took several deep breaths, several sips
of coffee and paced the length of the kitchen twice. Standing behind her chair, she leaned over and smoothed the edges of the bag, examining the envelope through the clear plastic. There was no postmark. It hadn’t been processed through the post office.

  It had been brought here. Placed in their mailbox out by the road or carried into the house.

  But by whom?

  Her nape prickled, a shivery sensation that Freddie would have called someone walking over her grave. She raised her gaze to the window and saw Cassidy Brewer, barrel-racing-rodeo-queen-turned-nurse, astride Sassy, her retired champion Appaloosa. She’d forgotten Cassidy boarded her horse at the ranch.

  The pretty blonde was speaking animatedly with Sean. She looked gorgeous. Sun glistened in golden hair that hung loose to her waist. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes flashed flirtatiously. She really does belong here, Deedra thought, jealousy stabbing her already wounded heart.

  In that moment Cassidy glanced toward the house as if she sensed Deedra’s delving stare. As their gazes met, Deedra realized Cassidy’s hand had gone to something at her hip. A holster. The pearl-enameled handle of some kind of silver gun poked from its leather depths. Deedra’s mind flashed on the hunter in her nightmare. In the next instant that vision dissolved into another—the hunter catching up with her, drawing a bead, the high-powered rifle finding its mark.

  An eye for an eye.

  “What are you scowling at?” Beau had come on her so quietly she hadn’t heard his approach.

  She clapped her hand over her lurching heart. “You startled me.”

  “I’m sorry.” Beau hugged her from behind, rocking her gently from side to side and stared out the window. “We’re both jumpy.”

  “Did they find anything on Callie’s dress?”

  “Not yet, Dee. It’s too soon. But they did have the analysis of your pills.” His hold on her tightened and his voice softened. “They found arsenic—rat poison—in two of them.”

  She sucked in a hard breath. It was not unexpected, but still shattering. She shuddered and leaned back into him, glad for his warmth and his strength. The golden-haired nurse was still framed in the window pane. Still staring at her with what looked like pure envy.

  Deedra’s blood chilled. Had Cassidy tampered with her pills? Was she the unknown hunter?

  Did she know what had happened to Callie?

  Sean had mounted his gray stallion. He signaled to Cassidy, and they trotted off side by side. Deedra asked, “Where are they going?”

  “Probably out to check the progress on the hunting cabin repairs. Sean said something about it yesterday.”

  “Oh?” Why would Sean ask Cassidy to accompany him to look at cabin repairs? Sean’s words to Beau echoed in her mind. You shoulda hooked up with Cassidy. She’s as easy on the eyes as they come and she’d give you some big, scrappin’ sons to carry on the Shanahan name. Was he planning on using this opportunity to try to convince the blond beauty to set her cap for Beau?

  Or would Sean discover she already had?

  She drew a shuddery breath. “Beau, I overheard what Sean said to you the other night about Cassidy. Is there a chance that she’s secretly or otherwise in love with you?”

  Unexpectedly Beau laughed, then nuzzled her neck. “Mmmm, are you jealous?”

  More than he would ever know. She pivoted in his arms. “I’m asking if she has motive to want me dead?”

  He peered down at her, his eyes weary but gentle. “Since she was twelve years old, Cassidy has had eyes for no one but Sean. Somehow at that tender age, she extracted a promise from him that he’d marry her when she grew up. But when she grew up, he’d been married twice already and had given up on love. He never took her seriously. Thinks he’s too old for her now. But I think Cassidy has made up her mind to land him this time by hook or by crook.”

  “But he suggested you go after her.”

  “Why would I go after her? I have you.” Beau nibbled her neck. “And you must have stopped listening at that point or you’d have heard me tell him to open his eyes and stop fighting the inevitable. If he wants big scrappin’ sons to carry on the Shanahan name, then he should father them.”

  She smiled, relieved and warmed by his response to Sean. “As stubborn as your uncle is, Cassidy will need a hook and a crook to rope him in.”

  “Yeah, well, Sean has no one to blame but himself for that.”

  Deedra laid her head against Beau’s chest, grateful that Cassidy wasn’t a threat, but wondering who was. “I guess this means Cassidy didn’t leave this.”

  She plucked the zip bag off the table and handed it to Beau.

  “I found it in the pile of mail Pilar left on the table for you and Sean this morning.”

  Beau released her and took the zip bag between his thumb and index finger. “How’d it get into this?”

  “I put it there.”

  “Good thinking.” His gaze had narrowed on the envelope, a hard scowl creasing his forehead.

  He’d shaved, she noticed, and cut himself. A tiny nick near his jaw. It wasn’t bleeding, but she imagined it had stung something awful. She glanced at the scabs on her palms, recalling skinning them on the pavement where Freddie had died. There had been too much pain these past few days. Too much heartache. But that vile envelope likely held more. “I did touch one corner, Beau, but that’s all.”

  “Couldn’t be helped.” Agitation was deepening the lines between his eyebrows, tightening his mouth. Beau subscribed to the belief that a man controlled his own destiny. But he’d been robbed of that God-given right the day his daughter disappeared. She ached to ease Beau’s anguish, to kiss away his hurt, but what pained him couldn’t be healed with kisses or with loving caresses, no matter how heartfelt and well meant. What he needed was some light at the end of this tunnel.

  Deedra had none to offer. As anxious as she felt to read this letter, she also feared its contents, feared the news of Callie would be bad.

  Beau held the bag to his nose, sniffed and made a face.

  “Yeah,” Deedra confirmed, wrinkling her own nose. “It reeks of cheap perfume. And there’s no postmark. Someone either placed it on the table with the other letters or put it into the mailbox out by the road.”

  “What did Pilar say about it? Stinking as it does, she would have noticed it while she was separating out the junk mail and magazines. If she didn’t, then we know someone came into the house and put it here for us to find.”

  “I haven’t seen Pilar since I came downstairs. She said something last night about today being grocery day. Maybe she’s gone to town already.”

  He glared at the zip bag. His hand shook slightly, a sign that he gripped his emotions as tightly as he’d rein in a runaway horse.

  Her own restraint felt near snapping. Not knowing what the note said stirred up her fertile imagination in one awful scenario after the other until she thought she’d scream. Maybe not knowing was worse. “Shouldn’t we get it to the forensics lab?”

  “This isn’t one of her stupid mash notes,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “Whatever motivated that ‘lovers’ ruse ended last night with her leaving Callie’s dress for us to find.”

  “I realize that. Believe me, it was all I could do not to rip it open when I found it.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t.” He touched her hair with gentle fingers, traced her mouth with his thumb. “Get the letter opener.”

  Deedra froze. Dread and anticipation tangled inside her. “But what if we destroy delicate evidence?”

  “I’ll be careful, but we’re not waiting to find out if there’s something in this note that will lead us to—” The words choked off and his face darkened.

  Why had she even considered they could delay? Time could be running out, the window of opportunity slamming shut.

  She rushed to the office and collected the letter opener. Beau tugged on latex gloves. A second zip bag lay on the table. Holding the envelope partially in and partially out of the plastic sheath, he sliced the sharp
tip of the opener into the top of the envelope and ran its razor edge to the other side. He pulled the letter free with his finger and thumb, gingerly unfolded it, slipped it into the second zip bag and worked the seal.

  Deedra felt light-headed, her heart racing at a dizzying pace. She hugged herself, bumping her upper arm against Beau’s, needing that connection no matter how small—the reassurance that they’d face whatever they had to together. They leaned over the table and began reading the note.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Did you like my little surprise last night? Did it leave you “green” around the gills? I regret not being able to share that moment with you. But I’m sure you understand why I dared not stick around the Widow Carter’s until you arrived.

  I know the agony of losing a child, but I can only imagine how it felt to discover your precious Callie didn’t die six months ago. She didn’t toddle off into the woods to succumb to the wild beasties.

  And now, you must be aching to know what did become of her….

  Does she have a new mommy and daddy?

  Is she hidden in plain sight?

  Or maybe…she’s dead.

  Eeeney, meeney, miney, moe.

  What happened to Callie?

  You’ll never know.

  Deedra gasped, her hand landing on her chest. She’d thought she’d braced herself for whatever cruelty might be in the letter, but an arrow of pain tore straight through her heart.

  “Definitely no mash note. This reeks of hate.” Beau’s voice was so cold it chilled her. “God, I need some coffee.”

  He strode to the coffeemaker. He was walking without his cane this morning, with only a slight hitch in his step. She gathered her cup from the table and joined him, getting a refill. Figuring it was time to pitch her new theory. “Beau, what if we’ve been wrong all this time? What if ‘wanting you’ isn’t what motivates her?”

  He refilled her cup first, then filled his own, added two lumps of sugar and stirred with a clanking noise. “Then why target me and mine?”