Redemption at Hawk's Landing

by Rita Herron

  Pain exploded in her skull, and she swayed. A second later stars swam in front of her eyes then the room blurred into black.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Harrison drove back to his office to make the call.

  The detective who’d investigated the Waco case was named Jim Hudson. He’d retired five years before.

  Harrison spoke with the man’s wife, who promised to have him call Harrison. Frustrated, he used a legal pad to list everything he knew so far about Granger and his death.

  Granger’s murder. The only viable suspect he had at this point was his mother, who had no alibi. But she had no motive to kill Granger now, not after so many years had passed. Unless she’d learned that he had hurt Chrissy. Was it possible that somehow she’d discovered the truth?

  If she had, she was so emotional she would have told him or one of his brothers instead of confronting him herself.

  Next he wrote Chrissy’s name and included everything he’d learned to date about her disappearance. Unfortunately, that wasn’t much.

  Granger topped the list of suspects, mainly because of the ribbon found at his house. Then Geoffrey Williams. Next he wrote Chrissy’s birth father with a big question mark beside it.

  He made a third column to list anything he learned about this other child so he could make comparisons.

  His cell phone beeped. Jim Hudson was returning his call. He introduced himself then explained that he’d spoken to the former sheriff of Tumbleweed. “You worked a case where a little girl went missing two years later, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, that case got to me. Never did find the child or figure out who took her.”

  Harrison rubbed his temple. “Tell me the circumstances.”

  “Her name was Cady Winters, eight years old. She lived with a single mother who worked at a local hair salon. She left Cady with an elderly grandmother when she was at work.”

  “Go on.”

  “The grandmother took her to a local county fair. Said the little girl was there one minute, gone the next. Security searched the fairgrounds and canvassed the workers, but no one had seen her or knew what happened to her.”

  “The family check out?”

  “Yeah, Mom was working. Grandmother’s eyesight was failing and she moved slowly, but she adored Cady.”

  “The father?”

  “Died in a car accident the year before. Mother had no boyfriends, no strange neighbors who expressed interest in Cady, no other relatives.”

  “What about someone at school or their church?”

  “They didn’t belong to church. I spoke to Cady’s teachers and she said Cady was quiet, shy and had very few friends. No one at the school seemed suspicious, either.”

  “Did you have a theory?” Harrison asked.

  Hudson’s long-winded sigh rent the air. “I figured it had to be some stranger who saw her at the fair. As much fun as those events are, they’re a hunting ground for pedophiles and predators.”

  “What about the workers?”

  “Questioned them all, ran background checks, nothing popped.” His voice cracked. “Poor little girl was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone lured her away and drove off with her.” He paused. “Her name and information is still in the database for the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children”

  “Sheriff Dunar told you about my sister?”

  “Yes. I suppose the two could be related, but we had no leads to follow.”

  If Chrissy and this girl had been taken by the same person, they were dealing with a repeat offender.

  Possibly a serial kidnapper or killer.

  Neither Granger nor Williams fitted that profile.

  He thanked the man and asked him to call if he remembered anything else. He hung up then logged on to the computer and ran a search for the girl’s name in the NCMEC database.

  He drummed his fingers on his desk while he waited. Finally a photo appeared. His stomach convulsed at the image—Cady was blonde and blue-eyed with a big smile that showcased a missing tooth. She looked innocent and sweet just as Chrissy had. She wore a pink flowered jacket, and pink and purple ribbons in her hair and was nuzzling an orange kitten to her cheek.

  He was just about to phone Lucas and ask him if he’d found anything regarding the missing Waco girl when his phone buzzed.

  He quickly glanced at it—Honey.

  Reminding himself to keep it professional, he punched Connect. “Sheriff.”

  “Harrison...help...”

  His heart thundered. “Honey?”

  The sound of her labored breathing echoed over the line as he jogged outside to his SUV.

  * * *

  HONEY DRAGGED HERSELF to a sitting position, retrieved her gun and clenched it in her lap in case her attacker returned.

  The room spun, and she leaned against her bedroom wall. Her head throbbed. Her fingers met sticky blood in her hair, and she tried to get up, but she had to close her eyes and concentrate to keep from sliding to the floor.

  Harrison’s voice echoed over the line. “Honey, talk to me. Are you all right?”

  Was she? No. “I will be,” she murmured.

  “I’m on my way.” The phone clicked silent, and she let it drop to her lap while she clenched her gun with her other hand. She wouldn’t be caught off guard again.

  The room blurred. She closed her eyes to stifle the dizziness and inhaled deep breaths. The sound of the wind whipping the trees outside made her tense. She opened her eyes and listened for footsteps. A low clattering sound—mice in the attic?

  Seconds slipped into minutes.

  Something banged against the house. More rocks? No...a shutter banging in the wind.

  It had been windy the day her mother left. When her father told her that her mother was gone, she hadn’t thought it would be forever.

  Mothers didn’t just go away. Even inept ones like hers.

  That day Honey had cleaned the house, swept the floors and wiped down the kitchen. She tidied up the living room, made her bed and washed the sheets on her parents’ bed. She’d even found an extra pillow in the closet, took a scrap of fabric and made a decorative pillow, thinking her mother would be excited to see things spruced up.

  There hadn’t been much food in the pantry, but she managed to pull together enough ingredients to make spaghetti and had set the table. She’d fantasized about her parents and her sitting down and having dinner together like a real family.

  A tear trickled down her cheek. That hadn’t happened.

  She’d kept the spaghetti sauce warm for hours, even after her father had staggered in and passed out on the couch. Hating the rancid way he’d smelled, she’d stepped outside and waited on the porch. Every time a car had driven down the street, she’d hoped it was her mother.

  But her mother hadn’t come home that night. Or the next or the next.

  After a month, she’d stopped listening or watching for her.

  She hadn’t eaten spaghetti since.

  * * *

  HARRISON ROLLED INTO the Grangers’ driveway, senses alert as he scanned the property for trouble. Honey had been here a day and a half and already she’d been vandalized and threatened.

  He wouldn’t blame her if she packed her bags and left Tumbleweed tonight.

  He parked, climbed out, made his way to the porch and knocked. The door wasn’t locked, so he eased it open and peered inside.

  The living room had obviously been ransacked, couch destroyed and a message painted on the living room wall.

  “Honey, it’s Harrison.” He slowly inched into the hall, praying Honey was okay. The mattress on Waylon Granger’s bed had been ripped with a knife, stuffing overflowing, the dresser mirror smeared with something that looked like blood.

  “Ho
ney?”

  “In here,” she called.

  He stepped back into the hallway, then toward Honey’s room. She staggered toward him and met him in the doorway. He grabbed her arms to steady her. She looked pale, and blood dotted her hair.

  “Dammit, Honey, you need a doctor.”

  “No, just help me so I can wash this blood off.”

  He slid an arm around her waist and supported her as they walked to the bathroom. “What the hell happened?” he asked.

  She sank onto the toilet seat, and he checked her eyes to see if they were clear.

  “When I got home, someone had vandalized the place. Whoever it was must have still been here. I hurried to the bedroom to get my gun, but someone struck me from behind.”

  Just like her father had been hit from behind.

  “Let me see where you were hit.” Anger mushroomed inside him as she twisted on the seat. He brushed her hair away from the bloody mess. “Good God, Honey. You may need stitches.”

  “No, I’m fine. Just give me that hand towel.”

  He snatched one from the towel bar and pressed the towel to her injury to stem the bleeding.

  “Did you see who hit you?” Harrison asked.

  She shook her head. “No, it happened really quickly.” She winced as he removed the towel and examined her wound again.

  “You have a gash about an inch long but it’s not too deep,” Harrison said. “But you could have a concussion, Honey. We should go to the ER.”

  “I don’t need a doctor,” she said. “It’s just a bump.” She took the cloth from him and dabbed it over her injury, cleaning it and the blood from the strands of her golden hair.

  “I’m going to call a crime team out here,” Harrison said. “Maybe whoever did this left prints.”

  The message on the wall sounded personal, and in light of the threatening phone call she’d received, he couldn’t dismiss the possibility that this person was serious.

  And dangerous.

  He knelt in front of Honey to check her eyes again. “Are you sure you’re all right? Do you feel nauseous?”

  “No, I told you I’m fine.”

  “Maybe you should leave town,” Harrison suggested. “I can call you when I solve your father’s case.”

  Honey squared her shoulders. “I’m not leaving, Harrison. I let people run me off when I was young. I won’t do it again.”

  “But this is dangerous, Honey.” He gently tucked a strand of her hair behind one ear. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  Her soft whispered sigh tore at him. “Then let’s find the answers so we can both put this behind us.”

  “All right,” he conceded. “But you aren’t staying here alone. I’ll either stay here or you can come to my place.”

  A sliver of awareness flared in her eyes, then disappeared quickly. Wariness followed.

  “Just make the call.”

  He stood, determined that he would get his way on this.

  He didn’t intend to let anyone mistreat Honey, not ever again.

  * * *

  HONEY’S FIRST INSTINCT was to clean up the mess her intruder had made, but Harrison reminded her that cleaning would destroy evidence. So she stepped onto the front porch and waited while the crime scene team dusted her house for prints, collected samples of the red smears on the walls and combed the debris from the mattress and couch for a hair or fiber, something that could help identify the culprit.

  Needing a distraction from thinking about the attack, she phoned the numbers Dr. Weinberger had given her to discuss the disposal of her father’s ashes. A warm breeze blew through, bringing the scent of wildflowers somewhere nearby, and she looked up to see the mountain slopes rising toward the skies at the bluff.

  The houses on this street needed to be torn down or gutted, and she’d been so absorbed in the painful memories of her past and her father’s murder, that she’d forgotten how beautiful the rugged mountain and terrain was.

  Curious as to the status of the other properties, she phoned a local real estate agent named Isla Fontaine and asked her to find out.

  “Most of the properties are owned by the bank,” Isla told her.

  Harrison stepped outside with the lead crime scene investigator. “We’ll analyze the forensics right away,” the CSI told Harrison.

  “Good. I want to get to the bottom of this,” Harrison said.

  The crime team left and Honey pocketed her phone. “Thanks for coming, Harrison. I’m going to clean up now.”

  “I’ve called a crime scene cleanup team,” Harrison said.

  “There’s no need for that,” Honey said. “I can take care of it myself.” She started inside but Harrison caught her arm.

  “No, you’ve been through enough today. You need rest.”

  “I need to have this mess go away,” Honey said.

  “I understand.” Harrison offered her a sympathetic smile. “And it will. But tonight you’re coming to my place so you can sleep.”

  Honey glanced back at the house. The ugly writing on the living room wall mocked her through the screen door.

  Harrison was right. She wouldn’t be able to sleep in this house tonight.

  But staying with Harrison caused anxiety of another kind. It had felt so heavenly when he’d kissed her. She’d felt safe.

  And more alive than she’d ever felt in her life.

  She wanted that feeling again. To be held in his arms. To have his lips touch hers.

  But she was terrified that if he kissed her again, she wouldn’t tell him to stop.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Harrison’s phone buzzed and he quickly connected.

  “Harrison,” Brayden said, “I talked to Mom about Chrissy’s birth father, but she got upset and clammed up.”

  “Did she tell you the man’s name?”

  “No, and I don’t think she will. She’s protecting him for some reason.”

  Did his mother love the man? If so, why hadn’t they gotten together after his father left?

  “He may be married, or an affair could mess up his personal life in another way.”

  Brayden hissed. “Either way, she’s not talking. She’s adamant that he loved Chrissy and that he would never have hurt her or anyone in our family.”

  Without knowing the man’s identity, Harrison couldn’t take his mother’s word for it.

  Another possibility struck Harrison.

  If Chrissy’s biological father thought Granger had killed Chrissy, would he have killed Granger to get revenge?

  If so, why would he have done so now?

  Brayden cleared his throat. “I followed Mom. She’s at Reverend Langley’s house.”

  Reverend Langley?

  Brayden made a low sound in his throat. “I guess she needed someone to talk to.”

  Harrison paced the front porch, his heart squeezing at the turmoil on Honey’s face. “Maybe.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Brayden asked.

  “Let me handle it. I’m at Honey Granger’s right now. Someone broke in, vandalized the place and threatened Honey. I need to get to the bottom of who’s doing this.”

  “You think it has to do with Chrissy?”

  “Yes. Either the perp knows Granger did something to Chrissy and killed Granger, or the intruder is afraid Honey is going to find something in her father’s house to clear her father and point the finger toward him.”

  “Let me know if I can do anything else,” Brayden said. “I’m going back to the ranch to take care of the horses for the night.”

  They didn’t have livestock at this point, but his mother kept horses so they could ride whenever they wanted.

  “Thanks. I’ll keep you posted.”

  Harrison ende
d the call and pocketed his phone. “Are you ready to go?”

  Honey shook her head. “I told you I’m okay to stay alone.”

  “You are not staying here, Honey, so stop arguing,” Harrison said.

  A van rolled up, and a man and woman climbed out.

  “There’s the cleanup crew.” Harrison gestured toward the house. “Go pack a bag while I run an errand. I’ll come back to get you. You should be safe with them here.”

  Harrison hurried down the step from the porch, introduced himself to the cleanup crew, then headed to his SUV.

  If his mother was talking to the preacher about what had happened, maybe he’d convince her to tell the truth.

  Night had fallen, the heat still sweltering. He veered through town then took the side street by the library that led to the church on the outskirts of town. His parents had attended the church together before his father left, then his mother had taken him and his brothers. He searched his memory for any hint of another man his mother had been friendly with, but couldn’t recall anyone in particular.

  He passed a few cars on the road, but the town seemed quiet tonight. Farmland stretched between the town and the bluff, and the little church sat on a small hill surrounded by open land with the mountains as a backdrop.

  The parsonage, a rustic ranch, had been built beside the church for convenience and sat nestled in the woods. The black sedan in the drive belonged to the reverend.

  The dark gray SUV was his mother’s.

  He swallowed hard. She wouldn’t be happy to see him or know that Brayden had followed her.

  But he didn’t intend to let secrets keep him from the truth.

  Eighteen years was long enough to live with the lies.

  He pulled up the drive and parked, then settled his Stetson on his head as he made his way to the front door.

  He raised his fist and knocked, pulse hammering. A minute later the door opened and Reverend Langley greeted him. Silver tipped the reverend’s hair, and crow’s-feet around his eyes testified to his age.

  “Hello, Harrison, I figured you’d show up sometime.”

  Harrison frowned at his comment. “Can I come in?”