“We had nothing to do with the deaths of those settlers, Casey.”
“Maybe not, but you’re playing a game I don’t have time to join. I will not forget your assistance in this matter. Now please leave.”
He rises stiffly and says, “May I at least see the bodies of the deceased settlers? We have had members of our community leave over the years, and I may be able to identify them.”
“They have already been identified. They’re not from your settlement or Rockton. They were a married couple and a teenage boy, trappers who came north a few years ago.”
His chin drops in a slow nod. “We did know them, then. Thank you.”
I wait to see whether he’ll still find a reason to view the bodies, proof that his “excuse” was just that. He doesn’t. As I hold the door, Dalton glances at me, that glance questioning my decision to let Edwin leave. It’s a mild question, though. If he felt strongly about it, he’d interfere.
I lead Edwin outside and flag down Kenny, who hasn’t gone far. I tell him to escort Edwin to the main path. I’m about to ask whether he’s seen Felicity when I spot her sitting with Sebastian.
Edwin doesn’t notice Felicity and Sebastian. He’s keeping his gaze forward, avoiding any hint of curiosity about the town. I murmur that I’ll find his granddaughter and send him on ahead with Kenny.
* * *
Once Kenny and Edwin are gone, I make my way toward the young couple. They’re on the edge of town, sitting on a bench, Felicity gripping the edge of her seat, hunched forward as Sebastian leans in, talking to her.
I contrast that with the first time I’d seen them together. Felicity had come to town, and Sebastian took it upon himself to play host. Not being creepy, just considerate. He’d regaled her with amusing stories, and she’d sat there, both mesmerized and terrified. He’d fascinated her, this first glimpse of a “regular” boy, one from down south, but I know it’d be uncomfortable, too, wondering how she looked through his eyes.
As the “kids”—Sebastian, Felicity, Sidra, and Baptiste—began hanging out, I’d felt compelled to tell Sebastian about a First Settlement resident who murdered three people, and who almost certainly shared his diagnosis. How did Sebastian handle it? Promptly told Felicity what he was and what he’d done.
If I feared that would end the friendship, then I misjudged them both. Sebastian wanted her to know what he was and how he was coping with it, and Felicity appreciated the opportunity to make her own informed decision.
Then, last winter, Felicity herself killed someone. In my gut, I call it justified, but a court wouldn’t agree. There is no provision in our legal system for what Felicity did. We’ve been working on her feelings around that. I think I’ve helped, but Sebastian has helped more.
Now, seeing her leaning toward him, pouring out her thoughts about the meeting with her grandfather, Sebastian listening intently, my heart lifts for them, finding each other in this corner of the world.
“Hey,” I say softly when I reach them. “You need to go, Felicity. I’m sorry. I also need to ask you to stay out of Rockton until this is settled. It’s not you…”
“I know.” She rises. “I apologize for my grandfather’s behavior. It was inconsiderate.”
Inconsiderate on all levels. An insult not just to me, but to his granddaughter. Émilie needled him about not having grandsons. It’s true, though. I wonder whether Felicity feels that if there’d been a male heir, he’d have only needed to be half as capable as her.
“You make him uneasy,” she says, as if reading my mind. “He likes that you are Chinese. He would like it better if you were a man.”
I quirk a smile. “He can’t have everything. I don’t think he minds me being a woman—he just wishes that meant I was easier to handle.”
She returns a ghost-mirror of my smile. “That is true. But if you were easier to handle, he would not respect you. He tells me I am too headstrong. Yet if I were not…” She shrugs.
“You wouldn’t be his heir.”
“As you said, he cannot have everything. Sometimes, I am not convinced he even knows what he does want. I can tell you, however, that I know nothing of these dead settlers. If my grandfather played any role in their deaths or the treatment of their bodies, I heard nothing about it.” She pauses. “I would add that I do not think he did, but you would expect me to say that, so you can put little weight in it.”
“Thank you anyway. I am sorry about the recent encounter with the hostiles. I’m glad no one was hurt.”
Confusion flickers over her face. It’s a millisecond long, followed by a millisecond of anger as she realizes she’s given something away. Then that vanishes, and she shakes her head. I can interpret that, too, a rueful acknowledgment that I played my hand well, and she cannot fault me for the trick.
“Your grandfather is waiting on the main path,” I say.
She murmurs a farewell to Sebastian, who has stood in silence. He leans in and whispers something before she goes and she nods, lips twitching in a wry smile.
Once she’s out of earshot, he says, “So, Edwin claims some of his people were attacked and they weren’t, because Felicity knows nothing about it. Right?”
“Uh-huh. I hate playing her against him but…”
“You gotta do what you gotta do. She understands that.”
“Speaking of unfairly playing people against each other, I don’t suppose she told you why they came.”
He shakes his head. “Nah. Just that Edwin needed to speak to you, and then he played some power game, and it pissed her off. He’s always telling her to hide her cards better, learn a few tricks of her own, and she doesn’t see the point.”
“She prefers blunt honesty.”
“Yep. She’s more like Sheriff Dalton. Her granddad’s more like you.”
I arch my brows.
“Hey, you just admitted to playing people against each other. The difference is that you aren’t an arrogant asshole about it. Edwin’s been in charge too long. Spent too long being the smartest person in the room. He only likes games when they’re rigged in his favor.”
“Speaking of the smartest person in the room…” I say, giving him a meaningful look.
He laughs. “Oh, I’m not the smartest.” He smiles. “Just the most dangerous.”
He winks at me, and then jogs off with a nod. I watch him go, and a thought flits through my head, but before I can pursue it, Phil appears, striding through town, and I jog to catch up.
TWENTY-ONE
“Phil?” I call.
He keeps walking, moving fast toward his house, and once he reaches it, he’ll be home free. I break into a run and swing into his path.
“Phil, please,” I say. “Five minutes.”
He stops, his jaw twitching as his gaze slides past me. “I do not have time—”
“Five minutes. That’s it. I swear.”
An abrupt nod, and he waves toward his house. We walk there in silence. Once we’re inside, he closes the door.
“I really am busy,” he says.
I nod and stay in the hallway. “We need to discuss how to handle things in the future.”
Cool blue eyes rest on me. “Do we? My position in this town tells you how to handle matters. I should have been apprised of the new information. You didn’t trust me not to run to the council with it.”
“It isn’t about trust—”
“Eric is in charge here. You and I support his efforts. That makes you a colleague, not an underling. However, it means I am not your underling either. I am management level. I need to know everything that affects the management of this town.”
“Do you?” I say.
His jaw twitches again. Before he can answer, I continue, “Is that what you want? I’m not being facetious, Phil. Eric and I need you to take a long and hard look at your position and what is expected of you and whether you actually want what you’re requesting. You’re right. You and I are management level supporting Eric. But we’re not in charge of the same depar
tment. You actually don’t need to know new developments in a criminal case. It isn’t your department.”
“It is if it affects town security.”
“Does it?” I ease back. “Does it make an actual difference whether these settlers were murdered by hostiles or not? We’re keeping residents out of the forest. That covers all bases. And while Eric may be our CEO, he’s not on Rockton’s board. He works for them. We work for them. If Eric and I decide not to keep them abreast of every new development, that’s our choice. They expect it from us, to be honest. Do you want them to expect it of you?”
When he says nothing, I continue, “That’s what you need to decide, Phil. Where do you serve Rockton better? As the guy they can trust to pass on all new information? Or do you want to risk them finding out that you’ve jumped sides?”
I meet his gaze. “Have you jumped sides? Or is this your exit strategy?”
He blinks. “What?”
“Your exit strategy. Your way out of Rockton.”
“I know what an exit strategy is, Casey. I just don’t understand how it applies…” He trails off and then says, “You think I want the council to realize they cannot trust me. They’ll recall me and send someone else in my place. The problem with that is what they’ll do when they recall me.” He lifts a hand. “And, no, I don’t fear being buried in a shallow grave. What I fear, Casey, is the loss of my career. I was headhunted to the organization before I graduated from university. I interned there and immediately went to work for them upon my graduation. I have exactly one position on my résumé. A position I cannot use if they fire me.”
“You can always use them on a résumé. You just can’t use them as a reference.”
“They would deny ever having employed me, and a future employer would not find any record of such an organization. They’ve paid me very well for accepting this ‘quirk’ of my employment. Should I ever leave, they’ve promised to provide a proper reference from one of the board members’ corporations. That presumes, obviously, that we part on good terms. Otherwise…?” He shrugs. “I believe Eric would say they have me by the balls. In an iron grip.”
“Okay, then you need to decide how to handle that. Do you want us only to tell you things you can pass along? Or tell you everything and let you handle the fallout if they realize you withheld information? Take time to think about that, please, Phil. I will apologize for not letting you know about the bullet, but in my defense, we were still working through the implications.”
He nods. “Understood. I’m sorry if I overreacted.”
“You didn’t. It was a shitty way for you to find out.”
“You were putting Edwin on the spot. I realize that. And I will let you return to your investigation and decide, with Émilie’s input, how to handle this with the council.”
“Or, since she’s technically your boss, you could just let her handle it. If she decides not to pass the information along…”
A smile touches his lips. “I will consider that. Thank you.”
* * *
When I get to the station, it’s empty. I’m about to retreat when Dalton calls, “Back here,” from the rear deck.
I find him in his chair, boots braced on the railing. He’s wearing the hat I bought him for sun protection, which bears more than a passing resemblance to a Stetson. He has it pulled down to shade his eyes, and as I walk out, I have to smile.
“You should be on the front porch with that pose,” I say. “Put a shotgun across your lap, and you’d be the perfect Wild West sheriff.”
He tilts up the hat. “Nah, the perfect Wild West sheriff doesn’t need a shotgun. Just a steely-eyed glare.” He narrows his eyes. “How am I doing?”
“I’m thoroughly intimidated.”
I hop onto the railing next to his propped-up feet. Behind me, a raven croaks, and I toss her a piece of bread. She’ll gobble it down and retreat, knowing she only gets one each time she spots me. A moment later, Storm appears from wherever she’s been wandering. The dog climbs onto the porch and thumps down between us.
“Edwin lied about a standoff with a hunting party,” I say.
Dalton grunts.
“You figured that?”
He lifts one shoulder. “About as much as you did. Felicity confirmed?”
“Unwittingly.”
“So what do you think Edwin’s up to?”
“You first.”
Dalton reaches down to pat Storm. “I think he came for exactly the reason I said. To give you shit about the hostiles. Kick your ass for not moving fast enough. Bitch about you not personally informing him of the tourist attack. Showing up in person only meant he was serious. When I chewed him out for it, he had to regroup. Made up some bullshit about having information. Probably hoped after that memory-lane trip with Émilie, we’d forget to press him on his purpose.”
When I don’t reply, his boot brushes my hip. “You disagree?”
“No. I don’t think Edwin had anything to do with the death of those hostiles or the staging. Unless the First Settlement got a handgun in the last few months, we know they only have rifles.” Last winter, one of Felicity’s friends tried to buy a handgun from us, and the discussion made it clear they had none and, like Cherise, saw no point in them.
I continue, “He’s right about the staging. He’d be subtler and, yes, the problem with the staging is that we were unlikely to find it.… Back to that in a moment. Felicity knows nothing about the settler deaths, and I don’t think he did either. That doesn’t, however, mean that no one from the First Settlement was involved.”
“Without Edwin’s knowledge.” Dalton pauses to rub Storm’s ear. “You think that’s why he let you send him packing so easily. He wanted to hightail it home and see if his people had anything to do with this.”
“He certainly didn’t leave because he felt bad realizing he’d been an asshole.”
Dalton snorts and then puts out a hand, a gesture for me to come over and sit with him.
“I do believe we’re on the clock, boss,” I say.
“We are indeed, meaning if I say”—he motions me toward his lap—“you gotta obey.”
“Pretty sure that’s a harassment suit waiting to happen.”
“Write out a report. I’ll make sure it gets to the proper authorities.”
I slide from the railing and step over Storm. Dalton eases back in his chair, tugging the hat down again as his eyes half close, arms open for me to slide into them. Instead, I veer to the door, his alarmed “Casey?” following me. I return with two bottles of beer from the icebox.
“Since we’re apparently on a work break,” I say.
He smiles and takes one, his hand sliding over it to flick off the layer of condensation. I lower myself onto his lap, and icy fingers glide down the back of my neck, making me yelp and nearly drop my own bottle.
“Payback,” he says.
“For getting you a beer?”
“For encouraging me to drink on the job.”
“You don’t need to drink it,” I say.
“I succumb to peer pressure far too easily.”
He flips the cap into the rusted can by his chair. I remember the first time I saw him drinking during a shift. I’d been appalled. Exactly the sort of behavior I expected from this redneck bully of a sheriff.
It hadn’t taken long to realize just how old those caps in the can were. He did have the occasional beer midafternoon, but considering how many hours he put in, no one could fault him for that.
I lean back against him. It’s a brief respite. We both know that, and after a pull from my beer, I say, “I messed up with my theory.”
“Ah.” His arms tighten around me. “Confession time. All right, Detective, tell me the very minor error that you made and then self-corrected before anyone caught it.”
“Edwin caught it.” I lay my head against his shoulder. “I kept thinking that whoever killed the settlers meant for us to mistake it for a hostile kill. Add to their body count and intensify the sit
uation. But that doesn’t make sense.”
“Only if you presume the people responsible have the forethought to realize the flaw in their plans. That’s presuming a lot, Casey.”
He’s not being sarcastic here. Most crimes aren’t masterful acts of forethought and calculation. It is very possible that someone stumbled over the dead settlers, saw an opportunity, mutilated the corpses, and then said, “Shit, how do we show these hostile kills to Rockton without them realizing we did it?”
That’d been the strongest argument against Cherise’s culpability. She’s far too smart to stage a crime scene and then lead us to it.
“You’re right,” I say. “Someone could have done this, seen the flaw, and backed off to think it through. In the meantime, Cherise and Owen moved the bodies. If people from Edwin’s settlement are responsible, that’s the answer. But it’s also possible that this has nothing to do with us. That the killers were just covering their tracks by making it look like a wild-animal attack.”
“Which we then mistook for hostiles.”
I nod. “We can tell the bodies were slashed with a knife, but to the average person, with no forensic knowledge?” I shrug. “Knives and claws both tear.”
“That would make this an unrelated crime. It’s equally likely that someone found bodies, had a brilliant idea, and then realized it was stupid. Two potential theories.”
“Yes. I’m just kicking myself for not realizing the second one.”
“It’s been less than twenty-four hours since April discovered that bullet. It’s not like we’ve executed a suspect.” He rests his chin on my shoulder. “You aren’t down south anymore, Casey. None of your colleagues are going to question your handling of the case, and there’s no jury of public opinion to pillory you with ridiculous expectations.” He pauses. “Except Edwin, but he doesn’t count.”
A Stranger in Town Page 18
