Rose from the Grave

by Candace Murrow

  CHAPTER 23

  Empty, the one-room church seemed hollow, gutted of life. A draft swept through, chilling its only inhabitant: Chance Eliason. He'd called Pastor Fletcher earlier while Kat slept and arranged to meet him in the sanctuary to pick up the petition.

  Chance sat in the back row, waiting for him to arrive, and imagined Sunday services sandwiched between two parishioners. He could not. He'd never been a churchgoing man unless he counted the times his mother dragged him by the ears to St. Mary's.

  The last time he frequented a church, besides the meetings he attended here, was at Faith Lutheran Church in Boston for Meredith's funeral service, held there at the insistence of her parents. He shuddered at the memory—the funeral itself and the cold shunning of her family. They never cared for Chance. Considering his background, they had a right to their opinion.

  He cringed at the man he used to be. If only he had a chance with Kat.

  He couldn't shake the feeling she would call on the sheriff without him. The woman was independent, gutsy, and difficult, to say the least. But that was what he liked about her. That, and the feel of her sweet-scented body snuggled against him. His cheeks stung with heat at having those thoughts inside the walls of a church. His mother would heartily disapprove.

  Of all the days to have something planned. Heading back to his ranch was what he really wanted to do, but he'd cancelled his appointment once and didn't want to reschedule. Also, he had an obligation to deliver the town's petition. He just hoped to heaven Kat would handle the sheriff with kid gloves. Holmes could be as difficult as Kat.

  Pastor Fletcher strode down the middle aisle with papers flapping in his hand. His rubber-soled shoes squished on the hardwood floor. His hair was mussed, and his cardigan sweater was buttoned cockeyed. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Chance. I lost track of time."

  Chance took the petition from him. "I appreciate your minding this. This is the first opportunity I've had to run it to the courthouse."

  "No problem at all. We had a good turnout that afternoon, and as you can see, most everyone signed."

  Chance skimmed the pages. "I'll file this and hopefully it'll make a difference."

  As he strode from the church, the pastor caught up with him at his truck. He knew what was coming next and decided to waylay the message. "I don't intend to show up on Sunday, so you can save your breath."

  "Actually, I was worried about Ms. Summers." The pastor's face reddened. "I know she's still in town because whenever I come here I make a point of driving by just to check. In fact the other night I saw lights across from the house, you know, on that old road leading to town, the one nobody uses. It's so bumpy and overgrown with grass I was surprised."

  "What kind of lights?"

  "They might have been taillights. I'm not sure. They were moving away from me through the trees. It just seemed strange. I don't know anyone who uses that old road, probably kids. Anyway, she ought to let the congregation help with her grief. Everyone needs comforting."

  "That's up to her, don't you think?"

  "If she's as fragile as Brianna, God rest her soul, I'm sure we could help her."

  "Why don't you let Ms. Summers decide that?"

  "I just worry about her, you know? Staying in that house must be deeply depressing."

  Chance placed a hand on the pastor's shoulder. "Leave Ms. Summers's welfare to me. You have enough to worry about."

  The pastor tsked and wagged his head. "And I'm supposed to be the one doing the comforting."

  * * *

  Chance slowed in front of the Benton County Bank where Nate Wheeler was exiting the building. Chance parked and waited for Wheeler to enter his office. No sense in exchanging polite chitchat. Besides, he wanted to get back to Kat as soon as possible. The pastor's observation--seeing lights in the woods across from Brianna's house--disturbed Chance. At least in his house Kat was safe.

  The bank building was as ancient as the town, one of the first buildings constructed. Tall, circular beams of polished oak gave the interior a stately look. It smelled of old wood and old money.

  A woman in a navy blue pantsuit and short, stylish hair motioned him into her office. With her help he set up a personal bank account for his daughter and transferred a large sum of money into it. He instructed the woman to send the blank checks directly to Stella.

  He left the bank, satisfied he'd made the right decision to allow her the responsibility of budgeting the money he gave her, instead of sending checks drawn from his own account. Stella was like her mother in every respect, and Chance was confident she could handle the responsibility.

  Nearing his truck, he spotted Wheeler at the window of his office with a cell phone to his ear. Chance wanted to get back to Rosswood, but he couldn't pass up an opportunity to fish around for information. He had his own suspicions about Wheeler.

  Wheeler snapped the phone shut just as Chance entered. "What do you want, Eliason?"

  "So, I see you're in town."

  "Yeah, so?"

  "Were you around last night?"

  "What if I was?"

  Chance lifted a shoulder. "Hell, I don't know. I thought maybe your conscience was bothering you, and you might have something to confess."

  Wheeler grazed Chance's arm as he passed by to open the door. "I have nothing to say to you."

  Chance was on his way out but made a point to stop and face Wheeler. "If you had anything to do with trashing Brianna's house, the sheriff will be contacting you, but you could save the county a lot of time and effort if you would just confess and get it over with."

  "Get out."

  "You read Brianna's stories, didn't you?"

  "What stories?"

  "Come on, Wheeler, I know Brianna came here to use your printer."

  "I never read them."

  "She printed them here. Were you blind?"

  "I said I didn't read them. Now if you don't mind, I have work to do." He pushed the door toward Chance, but Chance blocked it with his foot.

  "What's the matter, Wheeler. Was Brianna going to tell your wife about the two of you?"

  Wheeler glared at Chance, his lips pursed in defiance.

  "You better think twice about terrorizing Kat Summers."

  He nearly shoved Chance out the door.

  Chance watched him flip open his cell phone and stride into the back room. Chance bet he was calling his lawyer. If he was guilty of anything--messing up Brianna's house or worse yet, having anything to do with her death--he would certainly need one.

  Or perhaps Wheeler had nothing to do with any of that. For Chance, just having an occasion to needle him was satisfying.

  One more stop at the courthouse to deliver the petition, then he'd hurry back to Rosswood to help Kat.

  CHAPTER 24

  Rusty toed his feet into his cowboy boots, slipped on his hat, and took one last drag from his cigarette before snuffing it out and leaving his one-room cabin located on Chance's property. On seeing Rusty, the burros trumpeted their greetings. He was late getting up.

  He wandered over to pat the friendly ones gathered by the fence. He loved these four-legged beasts about as much as he loved Brianna. Only she would never know that now. He smoothed the neck of an old gray jenny, who blinked an appreciative eye.

  Chance had left a while ago. Through the haze of sleep, Rusty had heard the truck's engine. He noted Kat's SUV stationed in the same spot as it was the night before.

  "Brianna's sister is one fine-looking woman, and I can't for the life of me understand why the boss is stringing her along. Had that French lady the other night. You saw her, didn't you? Another looker." He stroked the burro's forehead.

  "The boss, he's greedy when it comes to women, if you ask me. Might like the taste of one myself, except I like 'em one at a time." He shook his head low. "Too bad about Brianna."

  * * *

  Kat locked the door to Chance's house, knowing she didn't have a key but hoping to catch up with him later. If not, she could always stay at Bri
anna's house, as unpleasant as that might be, or get a room at the motel. She'd been in Rosswood over a week now, but she wasn't about to leave town without calming her suspicions.

  The air was chillier than an October morning in Seattle, but fresh and crisp, unlike the clogged city air. Brianna's shirt was hardly adequate.

  A few burros hugged the fence line with their eyes focused on Rusty, who swaggered up to her. "Howdy." He tipped his hat as he sidled up to her car.

  Tired and irritable, she needed to press on to meet Sheriff Holmes, and she wasn't in the mood to chat, if that was what he had in mind. She smiled, but got into the car, hoping he would get the message. She rolled down the window. "Can I help you?"

  He peered in at rather close range, the tobacco smell as ripe as the smell of alcohol, reminding her of Doug Jones, the ranch hand from town. "Just wondered if you needed anything, since the boss is gone."

  "I'm fine, thank you."

  "Noticed your rig here overnight. You stayin' here now?"

  "Not for long. There was a minor problem at Brianna's house." She stuck the key in the ignition, hoping to end the conversation.

  He curled his fingers over the opened window. His nails were crammed with dirt. "That Brianna. She was a spunky one." He grinned, showing his crooked, yellow-stained teeth. "A looker, like you."

  Intrigued at his reference to her sister, Kat relaxed her hand. Maybe he could provide some information. "I hear she spent a lot of time on the ranch."

  "Oh, yeah. She loved them animals. We spent lots of time together working the ranch, and she never once moaned or complained about anything. That's the way she was. She was a real hard worker. Wished I'd had the guts to ask her out."

  "You never did?"

  "Not rightly. I just fantasized about it once or twice. Knew a gal like her wouldn't give a fella like me a second look."

  He paused, perhaps waiting for Kat to say something to the contrary, but she took the silence as a cue to start up the engine. "Well, I really need to go. I have an appointment to attend to."

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. "If you ever want to get familiar with the ranch, I'd be pleased to oblige."

  She squeezed out a smile, slowly backed the SUV around, and aimed for the highway. A strange conversation. Was he coming on to her, or was he just being polite? It occurred to her that a rejected ranch hand, even if Brianna had let him down easy, could be a suspect. Then again, maybe not.

  The sheriff's cruiser was already parked in front of Brianna's house, and he met Kat at the door. A powerfully built man, he stood a head above her.

  "Have you been here long?"

  "A few," he replied.

  She let him inside the house, which was as cold and unwelcoming as a winter's cave. He gave the room a long, steady look before kneeling to examine the broken cup and the crumpled afghan. Kat followed him into the bedroom where with very little effort he tugged open the window. "Hmm . . . Must've come through here," he said.

  "I don't think so. When I got home, the door was wide open."

  "Could've left by way of the door. You should keep your windows locked anyway." He turned his attention to the clothes heaped on the bed, seemed to zero in on Kat's undies, blatantly laid out in a row. He picked up a pair of pink bikinis and dropped them on the others. "Anything missing?"

  Her cheeks heated, and she inwardly cursed Chance for insisting on keeping her clothes where they'd found them. "It was just trashed."

  "Hmm . . ." He rubbed the point of his chin.

  "Is there anything you can do?"

  "Don't know that I can."

  "What about fingerprints?"

  "Did you touch anything?"

  "Maybe."

  "That's the problem, see? There's nothing missing here, and you've touched the evidence."

  "But there must be something you can do to find out who did this."

  He edged past her and strode into the living room.

  "Wait a minute." She charged after him.

  He turned, nearly knocking into her. "I'll file a report, but there's nothing more I can do. You'll just have to be more careful about locking up."

  "The house was locked. I'm sure of it," she said, though in all honesty she was no surer of locking the door than she was of the time she fell asleep last night.

  "My advice to you is to finish up your business and head back to Seattle. It seems you've made yourself an enemy. Someone doesn't want you here. If I were you, I'd take the hint." He walked off.

  Anger shot through Kat like blistering lava. "Is this what you call police work in this town?"

  He wheeled around. His narrowed eyes spoke a thousand words.

  "Is this how you investigated my sister's death? When I came here six months ago, I trusted you'd done your job, but now I'm not so sure."

  "And what do you mean by that?"

  She took a deep breath to calm down. "Look, Sheriff, I don't want to argue with you, but my own instincts tell me Brianna could have been murdered."

  "Murdered. You think your instincts are better than all my years of doing this job?" His voice remained level, even though he was clenching and unclenching his fists. "Tell me something. What makes you such an expert in police matters?"

  "I just think you may have overlooked a few things."

  "Like what?"

  She asked him to step into the bedroom where she kicked the rug aside and unearthed the bloodstain. "Like this."

  He grumbled under his breath. "Saw it."

  Incredulous, she stared at him. "Well, tell me what you think it's from? I'll tell you what I think. To me it looks like blood that was wiped up intentionally."

  "This case was investigated and closed six months ago." He stomped out of the bedroom with her following along.

  "I've been getting disturbing calls, same as Brianna," she said, "from someone here in Rosswood. That's quite a coincidence, don't you think?"

  "Could be."

  "If you aren't going to take that seriously, what about the garage door?"

  "What about it?"

  "You said you found her in her garage, poisoned from carbon monoxide. How could that be when the garage door won't even close? It's stuck halfway open, and there was plenty of fresh air from outside."

  He looked at her as if she didn't have a brain. "Did you ever think she might have extended a hose from the tailpipe into the window of her car?"

  Kat hadn't thought of that. "What happened to the hose?" But he was already at the door about to step outside. "Sheriff, wait. I'd like to see that hose."

  He looked at her, his face pinched tight. "I take offense that you would question my ability to carry on an investigation. And if I remember right, a while back you were perfectly happy with it."

  "This has nothing to do with your abilities."

  "Sure sounds like it does to me. Now if you'll excuse me, I have more important work to do than to discuss a case that's been closed for half a year."

  Undaunted, she followed him to his cruiser. "Did you know your son was seen roughing up Brianna, and he was at her house the night she died? Did you investigate that? In fact, where was he last night?"

  Sheriff Holmes, who'd already opened the door to the cruiser, slammed it shut. The air between them was bitter cold. "I don't have to defend my son, no way, no how, but I will say this. Tim was with me last night, so your blown-up theory about him scaring you and messing up Brianna's house won't fly." He pointed an index finger at her. "So, listen up. The investigation into your sister's death was comprehensive, and it was done right. Case closed."

  He backed out of the driveway and sped off in the direction of town and left Kat wondering why almost every encounter she'd had with the man turned into a sparring match. Was it a clash of personalities, or did he have something to hide?

  The prickly feel of a kitten's claws surprised her. Tiger was purring and using Kat's leg as a scratching post. "Ouch, you little rascal." She cradled the kitten in her arms. "You aren't lost after all."

&nb
sp; She replenished the kitten's dishes and watched her gobble up the kibble. "What am I going to do with you? Zeke would make you his own personal play toy. As much as I'd like to keep you, I think it's time to let you go." Kat's heart tugged at the thought of giving her up.

  "What's the matter with me? I can't take you to Chance's house, and I can't leave you here. It's the best thing for both of us." Tiger lapped water, then brushed against Kat's legs. "You're making this awfully difficult, but I better get this over with before my softer side gets the best of me."

  With Tiger secured in one arm, Kat drove down the street to Tilly's house. When Tilly answered the door and saw the kitten, she burst into a huge smile. She wore one of Brianna's plaid work shirts and a pair of her jeans, both slightly baggy but in better shape than the clothes she'd been wearing. She gently extracted Tiger from Kat's arms, and Tiger purred and rubbed up against Tilly's cheek.

  So much for loyalty. "I'm going to run into town and buy some kibble and kitty litter for you. I don't think she should be outside for a while, or she might just wander back to Brianna's house."

  As Tilly nodded and brushed cheeks with the kitten, her grandmother opened the door wider, bringing forth the odor of fried eggs.

  "I hope it's all right if I leave Tiger with your granddaughter."

  "I don't know if we have the means to take care of her."

  "You won't have to worry about that," Kat said. "Before I leave town, I'll arrange with Hank to keep you supplied with food and litter. He can send me the bill."

  "Well, that's right nice of you, but I don't like to be beholden to no one."

  "Please. You'll be doing me a favor by looking after her. I'd have to feed her if she was at my house."

  "Well, then, Tilly, you tell the lady thank you."