by Mina Khan
The pickup pulled into her view and parked. Lead cold betrayal dragged through her as she recognized the vehicle. She scuttled forward, carefully parted some of the branches with her fingers and peered through. The door opened and the overhead light inside the cab lit Jack’s face.
A dull ache spread inside her. Where had he been this late? And why was he driving around without headlights at night?
Her eyes and nose burned, heralding tears. What the hell? She’d expected this development. Or at least should have. Jack was a suspect. Just a suspect. Nothing more. Now he was even more suspect.
What she hadn’t expected was her own reaction. Somewhere along the way she’d started to think, hope, he’d be a good guy.
She shook her head to clear away the emotional jam and realized he’d already disappeared inside. Annoyance and curiosity quivered inside her. For half a second, she considered hammering on the door and demanding answers. A quick glance at her outfit changed her mind.
What if Jack had a plausible reason for being out and about? How the hell would she then explain her lurking in his bushes in the early morning hours in hot pink Tinker Bell pajamas?
Turning away from the house, she looked up. A faint lightness smudged the dark. Dawn approached fast. No time to wallow in what-ifs.
Lynn had just slipped back into Jen’s house and locked the door, when the phone rang. Unease bubbled in her gut. Early morning calls didn’t often bring good news. A mad dash later, she snagged the receiver before a second ring. “Hello.”
“You owe me.” The familiar dark whisper made her stomach roil.
“Who is this?”
“I took care of your problem.”
“What are you talking about?”
A soft chuckle. “You’ll know soon enough.”
The call ended. Icicles formed along her spine, chilled her to the core. Lynn dropped the phone back to its cradle and paced. Who was this caller? Was it Jack? Her heart stopped.
What had he done? What did he want? She pressed her hand to her lips. Did he know about the dragon?
The radio beeped and crackled in the kitchen. Heart pounding, Lynn ran toward the noise. A door slammed and footsteps thumped behind her. She and Jen careened to the radio just as it announced a five-alarm structure fire at the Range Hotel.
Chapter 14
Tears filled her eyes as Lynn watched the beautiful old hotel, engulfed by flames, burning bright like a torch against the dawn sky. The fire highlighted a face here, revealed a detail there, in unusual clarity while shrouding others in pitch black shadows. Bedraggled transients huddled in silence while the firefighters bombarded the flames with water.
The fire department was winning, but it was too late for the building. The early morning light revealed a burned out hull— all smoking wood and blackened bricks, a mausoleum, surrounded by pools of water.
Lynn took a deep breath. The sharp stink of charred wood cleared her head, reminded her she was on the job. Hernandez would definitely want this story. She snatched a pen and pad from her backpack and took notes.
Jen had set up her station and was busy handing out water and cookies to the homeless. Lynn picked out Anderson by his trademark Stetson hat and Roberts stood next to him. Both men watched the fire, their backs to her. Like it or not, she’d have to try for an official quote. See if she could find out the cause of the fire.
An October chill had finally set in. She zipped her jacket to the neck and made her way toward them.
“Too bad they let this building turn into a dump,” Anderson said.
Roberts shook his head. “Lit up like fireworks.”
“Dry wood, trash brought in by the homeless,” Anderson said. “Nothing but fuel. Add cigarettes and make-shift fires to that… Boom.”
A man clutching a leather satchel jogged up to them. “Sorry, I was in the middle of a foaling when the call came.”
“Poor sod’s beyond help, but glad you’re here,” Anderson said. “Come on, let me take you in.”
Lynn hurried up to Roberts. “Who’s that?”
“That’s Jim Grayson. He’s a local vet and the precinct Justice of the Peace.”
“Justice of the Peace?”
Roberts jerked a handkerchief out from his jacket and wiped his sweaty face. “He’ll officially pronounce the man dead.”
Dread choked her. Lynn couldn’t make a sound. She swallowed and tried again. “Dead? They found a body?”
Roberts nodded. Grim weariness lined his face.
“Who?”
“A homeless guy who’d been camping out here like the rest.” Robertson glanced around at the group crowding Jen’s station wagon. “Unlike the others, he didn’t make it out.”
Her heart fluttered in her throat. She wondered if it was the same homeless guy she’d been seeing around. She turned and searched the crowd. No sign of the man.
Roberts rubbed his hands together and blew on them. “I spoke to the guy a few days ago.”
“You knew him. I’m sorry.”
Roberts let out a short, joyless laugh. “Can’t say I knew him, but we’d spoken. He spun me quite a tale.”
“What’d he say?”
Roberts looked at her, a wistful smile on his lips. “He claimed he saw a dragon.”
Her heart plummeted. What? When? How? A dark whisper echoed through her head, I took care of your problem. She licked her lips. “Huh. So, what started the fire here?”
“We think the guy must have got drunk and fallen asleep while smoking.” The sheriff sighed. “We found empty liquor bottles and cigarette butts around the body.”
Cigarette butts again. Guilt bellyached inside her. A man was dead, she should tell the police about the cigarette butts she’d found. “Are they the same brand that you found at Jen’s?”
“Can’t comment. It’s an ongoing investigation.”
“Thanks for what you did share.” She unzipped her back pack and dropped her pad and pen inside. Her hand lingered, touching the plastic bag hidden within. The sheriff wouldn’t be happy about her poking around.
She zipped the bag and turned away. Took a few steps. What if the butts she’d collected could help catch the guy doing all this? What if it could have prevented this death?
A breeze played with her hair, brought the scent of smoke to her. Lynn whipped around and marched back to the sheriff.
He watched her, a quizzical look on his face.
Her fingers hurried to outrun her doubts. Lynn pulled the evidence bag out and held it out to Roberts. “Do these match any of the cigarettes you found?”
He stared at the bag like she was holding a live scorpion. “Where did you get this?”
“I was driving by Jack Callaghan’s house and I thought I saw somebody skulking among the shrubs.” The words ran out like water from a leaky faucet. “So I went back later and investigated. I just took a few, there’s more there by the bushes in the front.”
Chapter 15
The axe blade glinted, sharp and silver, in the sunlight. Jack adjusted his grip, hoisted it over his shoulder and brought it down with a satisfying thunk, splitting the log in two. He threw the pieces onto the growing pile, and placed another log on the stump.
Heat steamed off his back and sweat drenched his shirt. He had enough firewood for two winters, but he didn’t feel ready to stop. He needed hard, physical labor, mind-numbing work, anything to keep his mind off Lynn.
Engaged. The wedding announcement said she’d be married in less than a month. No wonder she’d balked at kissing him. He gritted his teeth. She could’ve told him. Instead, she’d played him for a fool. He put extra force into the next swing and was rewarded with a satisfying thwack!
He should have stuck to the occasional bar waitress who just wanted some fun. But no, he had to fall for Lynn. Gone out on a limb and risked everything for a relationship. What the hell for? To be lied to or manipulated into a damn pretzel? Suffer like his heart had been tossed down a dry well?
No thanks. He’d ta
ke fun and meaningless with a dash of honesty. He thwacked the log again.
The sound of car doors slamming echoed from the front of the house. Shit, he wasn’t in any mood for friggin’ visitors. He hacked at the next log.
“Morning, Jack.”
He turned and wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. Sheriff Roberts and his deputy, the hulking Jenkins, stood behind him. Since he couldn’t confront Lynn, might as well scratch his itch by taking on these guys. “What do you want?”
“A concerned citizen reported seeing some suspicious activity around the front of your house.” Roberts smiled and shrugged. “Thought I might check it out, if it’s okay with you.”
Jack’s grip tightened around the axe handle. Concerned? Make that nosy and ugly. People needed to keep themselves out of his damn business. “You got a warrant?”
Roberts’ lips flatlined. “You got something to hide?”
They stood soldered together by twin glares. Jenkins’ cleared his throat.
The sheriff’s body sagged. “Look, I’m just trying to do my job.”
A soft breeze kissed Jack’s heated skin, soothed some of the anger away. Dang, he was being an ass. “What kind of suspicious activity?”
“Someone lurking around.”
He leaned the axe up against the house. “Let’s go check it out.”
“With all the strange goings on around here, we can’t be too careful,” Roberts said leading the way.
“Yeah.” Jack walked, his back stiff, between them. Jenkins loomed behind almost breathing down his neck.
When they reached the front of the house, Jenkins slipped like a shadow and joined Roberts’s search in the bushes and trees. What the hell did they expect to find?
“Sheriff!” Jenkins pulled out a camera from his coat pocket and snapped picture after picture.
Jack hurried after Roberts and saw some cigarette butts scattered under the azalea bush.
“Smoking’s real bad for your health,” Roberts said over his shoulder.
A muscle ticked at Jack’s jaw. “I don’t smoke.”
“Well, somebody does and he’s been peeping in your windows.”
Jack gritted his teeth as anger twisted through him. Somebody had been on his property. Spying on him. His hands bunched into fists. He wanted to stomp the damn butts into the ground and then do the same to the peeping Tom.
Jenkins took out an evidence bag and tweezers from another pocket, and went after the smokes. Jack exhaled as he unclenched his hands. “Can I see one of those?”
Jenkins stood, closed the evidence bag and held it up for him.
He reached for it, but Roberts stopped him. “We don’t want your fingerprints on it.”
Jack sighed and peered at the see-through plastic bag. He made out a bit of a printed logo. “Can I smell them?”
Jenkins and Roberts exchanged a glance. After a nod from the sheriff, the deputy cracked the top open.
Jack leaned forward and took a deep sniff. A sharp bite of tobacco laced with a hint of licorice. Anger battered at him. He stumbled backward. “I’ve smelled that before.”
Roberts’ eyes widened. “Details?”
“Sam White, the foreman at the Callaghan-Avery ranch, smokes something like that.”
Jenkins gnawed his lower lip. “Sam White and probably three-fourths of the county. Even I smoke the same brand.”
The man had a good point. Didn’t mean he’d have to like it. “Oh, well then. Sorry can’t be more help.”
The sheriff and deputy ambled toward the car. Jack followed to make sure they got the hell off his property.
Roberts stopped and popped the trunk. He pulled out a pair of broken-in boots and held them up. “Look familiar?”
“Look like my old work boots that went missing from the barn a few weeks back,” Jack said. “Where’d you find them?”
“Downtown,” he said, tossing them back into the trunk. His eyes stayed on Jack. “You want them back when we’re done with them?”
Why would he want back boots with worn off soles? And why did the sheriff want them? He shook his head.
Roberts shut the trunk and crunched across the caliche to the driver’s side. “Planning any trips anytime soon?”
“No.”
“Good. Let us know if you do.”
Lynn slammed down the phone into its cradle harder then she’d intended.
Reporters working around her borrowed-cubicle popped up like gophers and threw curious glances her way. While the newsroom came with many resources, it didn’t afford her the privacy of Jen’s guest room. Her face burning, Lynn threw a new notebook into her backpack and headed for her assignment— a re-election announcement by Commissioner Ward on the County Courthouse steps in downtown San Angelo.
She’d just left a fifth message for Henry Chase of Hope Developers and not heard a peep out of him. The guy had to be avoiding her.
A carnival atmosphere greeted her on the courthouse lawn. Red, white and blue balloons and streamers adorned the antique-looking lampposts and wrought-iron stair rails at the main entrance. Rousing marching music played from a boom box. The candidate stood surrounded by men in suits and jeans, and coiffed and manicured women. Lynn watched the popular man smile and handshake his way among the crowd.
She had her notepad flipped open and pen poised when the music died down and Ward made his announcement. Applause greeted his words. She needed a live quote from the man, something spontaneous rather than practiced. If that wasn’t asking too much from a politician.
Seeing an opening, she pushed forward and shoved her hand forward. Ward gave her a hearty handshake.
“Commissioner Ward,” she began.
“Call me Mike. Everyone calls me Mike,” he said, smiling.
The man could do a toothpaste ad. “Lynn Alexander from the Herald. Why are you running again?”
“It’s the satisfaction of serving my community,” Ward said. “Besides, the monthly stipend of seventy-five dollars is my cigarette money. My wife won’t give me any.”
Lynn chuckled at his little joke. “Any ongoing projects you want to see completed?”
“Oh, there are many,” Ward said. “A short-term and long-term solution to our water problems, the proposed Paradise Valley development, adequate facilities and equipment for our local law enforcement and fire departments, better pay for everybody including employees and so on.”
She looked up from taking notes. “So you think the land development will be a good thing for Paradise Valley?”
“Money and jobs coming into the community is always a good thing.”
Jack’s take on the development floated to her mind. “So you’ve no concerns about over-development or the ecological balance?”
“Well….” He tugged at his tie. “Like any proposal, it bears scrutiny.” Ward’s gaze wandered over her shoulder. He waved and nodded at someone. “I need to mingle.”
“Anything you’d like to add that I didn’t ask?”
“No, except that people need to go out and vote,” he said. “They can vote for anybody they like, but they need to vote.”
A whole lot of nothing. Lynn thanked him and stowed her pad and pen into her bag. He tried to give her a campaign button.
“Sorry, Mike, I have to be impartial,” she said. “Good luck.”
As she headed back to the office, her stomach growled, reminding her she needed to grab breakfast. She decided to detour to Diego’s Burrito Shack. Walking in, she spotted Sam, the ranch manager she’d met at Jack’s place. An ugly scowl lined his face as he talked in soft tones to another man. The only other customer sat hidden behind a newspaper. She wished she had a handy newspaper. Lynn ducked her head as she hurried to the counter and ordered a chorizo and egg burrito. The transaction took only a few minutes.
Brown bag clutched in one hand, she tried to sidle by but Sam’s words snagged her attention.
“Yeah, the Callaghans are having trouble,” Sam said. “Serves them right. Ill-gotten gains
are always hard to swallow.”
“If you can’t stand them, why do you work for them?” the other asked between bites. “Anyway, the sister’s an Avery now.”
Sam slammed his palm down on the table. “Once a Callaghan, always a Callaghan. It’s the blood.” He sat back and pulled in a couple of deep breaths. “I work for them because they’re enjoying my inheritance and I might as well squeeze ‘em for what I can.”
Dreading the encounter, Lynn nevertheless pivoted and presented herself at the table. “Hi, I couldn’t help overhearing you and I have to ask— will you repeat what you just said?”
Sam glowered at her. “I have no problem repeating the truth, but what’s it to you?”
She pulled out her notebook and pen. “I’m writing an article for the paper on the proposed land development, and part of the research is tracing the families with land stakes in Paradise Valley.” She smiled. “What do you mean the Callaghans’ are enjoying your inheritance?”
Sam eyed her suspiciously as she dropped onto the bench next to his more even-tempered companion. “I don’t have to talk to you.”
“Well, if you don’t want the world to know your side of the story…”
He hunkered forward. “Part of the land they own used to be owned by the White family. My great-granddaddy homesteaded the place.”
“His grand-dad lost the farm in a drunken gamble.”
Sam tossed his companion a heated look, then turned back to Lynn. “Yeah, well, a more honorable man than a Callaghan wouldn’t have taken advantage of the situation. He ought to have thought about the family.”
Maybe he had a point, but shouldn’t White have thought about the family before risking the land? Lynn kept her opinions to herself as she jotted down notes. “Do you have proof that your family owned the land?”
His gaze skewered her. “I’m telling you like it is. Why do you need proof?”
She shrugged and threw full blame on Hernandez. “The editor requires it.”
Sam looked down at his gnarled and dirt-encrusted hands. “Yeah, my dad tried to sue and the paper covered it. I’m sure the Herald still has those old articles.”
