The Sheriff of Silverhill

by Ericson, Carol

  They stepped into the hushed silence of the funeral home’s lobby, and the heavy scent of lilies and furniture polish hung in the air. A lump formed in her throat as the smells brought back the memory of her mother’s funeral.

  Jerry Sharp, who ran the business with his brother-in-law, Frank Heaton, stepped out from behind the polished desk, his dark suit somber and appropriate.

  “Afternoon, Sheriff. Dr. Simpson told me to expect you.” Sharp adjusted his glasses before glancing behind him. “He hasn’t done the autopsy yet, you know.”

  Rafe shook Mr. Sharp’s pale hand. “We know that. There are a few things we want to check first. This is Agent Dana Croft. Dana, Jerry Sharp.”

  Sharp smiled as he took Dana’s hand. “I feel like I know you since your aunt brags about you all the time. Are you going to stop him? We don’t need this kind of business at our funeral home.”

  She ended the clutch of Sharp’s cold fingers earlier than politeness dictated and cleared her throat. “We’ll stop him. We’re closer than ever. I can feel it.”

  Dana noticed Rafe’s fists bunching his biceps as he watched Sharp’s face. Rafe looked as jumpy as she felt. He couldn’t keep running around assuming everyone knew about the gift or he’d unintentionally give her away.

  Sharp nodded. “That’s what we want to hear. Now if it’s okay with you two, I’m going to join my partner at Mr. and Mrs. Holloway’s place. We have a funeral to discuss.”

  Dana blew out a long steady breath. Good. They’d have the place to themselves. She didn’t need anyone within hearing distance when she went into a trance. No telling what might happen.

  Taking Dana’s elbow, Rafe said, “No problem. If you could direct us to the body and tell us how to lock up when we leave, we’ll get started.”

  Sharp motioned for them to follow him down a small, dark hallway, the heels of his shiny black shoes clipping on the tile floor. He stopped in front of the last door on the left, pulled out a key ring and unlocked the door. “She’s in here. When you leave, just pull the front door closed. It’s already locked. I’ll be back before Dr. Simpson arrives for the autopsy.”

  Mr. Sharp gathered a briefcase and cell phone from his desk. When the funeral director exited the building, Rafe pushed open the door and flicked on the light. The fluorescent glow emanated into the hallway, cast in shadows. The gray light chilled Dana’s bones.

  Rafe stepped into the room and extended his hand. “I’m right here for you, Dana.”

  She grasped his fingers like she was holding on to a lifeline and he gently pulled her into the room. Instead of leading her to life, he was leading her toward death.

  Jacey’s body lay on a table in the center of the gleaming white-and-chrome room, a white sheet covering her body. The fluorescent light emphasized her death pallor even more, contrasting sharply with her black, vibrant hair.

  Dana hated this part of her job as an FBI agent. She swallowed and shuffled toward the table.

  “Are you okay?” Rafe stroked her cheek, but even his touch couldn’t warm her. She refused to let him see her fear. If he tried to talk her out of this, she’d cave in and run from this building like a rabbit from a wolf. Wolf. She had the wolf on her side, right?

  She tossed her head and added a tough edge to her voice. “I’ve seen plenty of dead bodies, Rafe.”

  “Yeah, but not one that’s going to talk to you.”

  Dana shrugged out of her coat and handed it to Rafe, who hung it on the hook on the door. Then she pulled off her gloves and stuffed them into her coat pockets. She turned to face the body again and set her jaw for Rafe’s benefit and her own.

  She was part of the Redbird family. It was time to acknowledge and embrace her heritage. Time to satisfy the expectations of the Ute spirit world and her ancestors. The power of her gift came from doing the right thing. The mission at hand had nothing to do with the circus sideshow acts Lenny forced her mother to perform.

  Dana approached the examination table, rolling her shoulders and flexing her fingers like a concert pianist preparing for a performance. She tugged at the sheet, exposing Jacey’s right arm. Jacey’s red fingernail polish resembled drops of blood on the white sheet. One jagged nail marred the perfect manicure. Did she get that fighting off her killer?

  Dana curled her fingers around Jacey’s icy hand. When the warmth of her own skin connected with the deathly chill of Jacey’s, an electric shock coursed through Dana’s body. The current seemed to flow from her to Jacey, and the other woman’s flesh vibrated in response.

  Blackness edged Dana’s peripheral vision and her head jerked back. She sensed movement from Rafe and heard a sharp intake of breath. If he touched her, she didn’t feel it. She was slipping away from the physical world.

  She moaned, a low guttural sound. Did that come from her or Jacey? She could no longer feel Jacey’s hand. They had melded together. She didn’t know where her body ended and Jacey’s began.

  Dana let go completely. Years of resistance and barriers melted away.

  The vision took her.

  Chapter Nine

  She gagged.

  Before he grabbed her throat, she’d felt warm, safe, secure…waiting for Brice. She squeezed her eyes shut, the smell of the latex gloves filling her nostrils. She clawed at his forearms, but her hands slid off the slick windbreaker jacket. She tried again, gathering the material in her fists this time, yanking to the sides. Her fingernail snapped.

  Fear flooded her body with a rush of adrenaline. She kicked out, the point of her high heel meeting the solid leather of a cowboy boot. He kicked back, momentarily knocking her off her feet. He held her aloft with his hands around her throat and shook her like a rag doll.

  She slumped, the energy from the adrenaline leaking out of her pores. Perhaps he was choking it out of her. As her strength waned, his seemed to grow. Like a monster feeding on her fear.

  Her fingers wandered over the hands that clamped her neck in a vice. They stumbled across the heavy ring he wore on his left hand beneath the thin glove. As the fight seeped from her body, her lashes fluttered open.

  A crown. A gold crown.

  Dana choked and then coughed. A pair of strong hands encircled her waist…not her throat. Warm, safe, secure.

  Her eyelids flew open and the harsh light of the examination room flooded her vision, hurting her eyes. She blinked and looked down at her hand, still clutching Jacey’s cold fingers. Tears blurred her vision and she swayed, stumbling back.

  Rafe wrapped his arms around her as he pulled her against his chest. Her head fell to the side, and a tear trailed into her ear where Rafe whispered assurances.

  She couldn’t bear the sight of Jacey’s lifeless form so she turned in Rafe’s embrace and buried her face in his shoulder. Pressing her nose against the rough material of his shirt, she inhaled his scent…clean, masculine, alive.

  All of her losses rushed through her veins. She’d been a fool not to trust Rafe with her pregnancy. She’d allowed Pam to exploit her insecurities and play on her fears, never giving Rafe a chance to prove himself. Never giving him a chance to stand up to his father.

  “Are you okay?” He cupped her face in his hands and ran a thumb across her cheek, catching a tear.

  “I think so.” She clasped his wrists lightly and locked her gaze on his eyes, drinking in their warmth, coming back to life. “Let’s go back to the lobby and I’ll tell you what I saw.”

  Rafe began to rearrange the sheet on Jacey’s body and Dana grabbed his arm. “Wait.”

  She nudged the sheet from Jacey’s legs and spotted an angry purple bruise across both shins. A kick from a cowboy boot. She yanked the sheet back into place.

  Rafe grabbed Dana’s coat from the hook on the back of the door and swung it open, gesturing for her to go through first. Dana took measured steps to keep from running out of the room.

  The vision had scared the hell out of her. The murderer had his hands around her throat just as surely as he had them around Jacey’s. If Ja
cey had looked into the face of her killer before dying, Dana may have been able to identify him. As it was…

  Rafe perched on the edge of Sharp’s desk while Dana paced before the front window. She blew her nose, tossed the tissue in the trash can and then dug her heels in the floor in front of Rafe.

  She told Rafe about her vision from start to finish. His face blanched beneath suntanned skin and he flinched a few times, but he let her finish.

  “I didn’t see the man’s face, but I felt his hands and I locked on to Jacey’s thoughts. We already know he wears latex gloves and I could smell those. He also wears cowboy boots, which doesn’t narrow the field much, but now I know that indentation on the girls’ throats is from a ring, a heavy ring on his left hand.”

  “Did you see the ring?”

  “No.” Dana’s shoulders slumped. That part of the vision had disappointed her. She could smell, she could feel, she could taste the fear, she could even hear Jacey’s choking and gasping, which had become her own, but she had remained in darkness. Was it because Jacey had her eyes squeezed shut?

  Until the end.

  A gold crown. Had she seen a gold crown? Imagined it?

  “I—I might have seen a gold crown.”

  Rafe’s brows shot up to the lock of hair curling over his forehead. “The killer was wearing a gold crown on his head?”

  “On his head?” She hadn’t thought of that. “I didn’t actually see a gold crown I just flashed on the words. I was thinking a gold crown in his mouth, on his tooth.”

  “Chuck Hernandez, the owner of the Elk, has a gold tooth.”

  She drew in a quick breath. “Do you think he could’ve stolen Brice’s phone and sent that message?”

  “What? And then rushed over to the Shopco parking lot to strangle Jacey in the middle of a busy night at the bar? I doubt it.”

  “Maybe we have more than one guy out there. Maybe it’s a team, you know, like the Hillside Stranglers.”

  “I think the likelihood of two serial killers discovering each other in a small town like Silverhill is remote. Maybe you saw or envisioned a gold crown like someone would wear on his head.”

  She chewed her bottom lip. “That’s the problem. I didn’t see anything. The words popped into my head. Do you really think someone is running around wearing a crown while he strangles women, like king for a day or something? Isn’t that a little strange?”

  “Because everything else about a man murdering women and then tying bandanas around their heads is normal?”

  “You have a point.” She plowed her fingers through her hair. “This isn’t what I expected. I thought I’d just see the guy, we’d go to his house, find evidence and arrest him. Instead we’re looking for someone who wears a gold crown and a ring on his left hand.”

  “You did great. Now we know he wears a ring.”

  “Yeah, like every other married man in town and on the reservation. That’s not much help. Maybe I should…” Her gaze darted toward the hallway where Jacey rested in an uneasy peace.

  “Negative. Dr. Simpson is going to be here to do the autopsy.” He pulled her toward him and hooked his legs around hers. “Let’s get out of here. How about some dinner later on, after you touch base with Steve and I go through Chuck’s list with Brice?”

  Dana placed her hands on Rafe’s thighs, the strength of his solid muscles comforting beneath her palms. She needed comfort right now. She needed normal. She needed to escape the weight of the Redbird family legacy and its expectations, if just for one night.

  “Dinner sounds great. It’ll give me some time to think about what I saw. Maybe I’ll have some better ideas when the fog clears a little more.”

  Rafe’s lips skimmed her forehead. “Or maybe you’re done thinking for today. You haven’t been to La Paz since you’ve been back, have you? One margarita from La Paz and you’ll be experiencing fogginess of another kind.”

  She nodded with a stupid grin plastered to her face. She’d never had a drink with Rafe before, never had a grown-up date with him. And when this investigation ended and they caught their man, she’d tell Rafe about Kelsey. Maybe he’d understand and forgive her.

  Her cell phone rang and Dana extracted herself from Rafe and crossed the room to grab the phone from her purse. She peered at the display. “It’s Steve. I’m late.”

  She answered the phone and told Steve she was on her way. Rafe had hopped off the desk and stood by the front door. “I’m going to get back to the station and touch base with Brice. We’ve been here a long time.”

  A key scraped in the lock and Mr. Sharp stepped through the door with Dr. Simpson close on his heels. “I was surprised to see your squad car still in the driveway, Sheriff. Did you get everything you needed?”

  Dr. Simpson cleared his throat. “Is there a problem?”

  “No problem.” Rafe placed a steadying hand on the small of Dana’s back. “We wanted another look at the mark on Jacey’s neck. It’s a bruise now, but it looks like it might be the band of a ring. Can you look at that more closely during the autopsy, Doc? Maybe take a few pictures?”

  “Sure.”

  Dr. Simpson’s gaze darted between her and Rafe and Dana’s stomach flip-flopped. He didn’t believe them. How could he possibly know what they’d been doing here? Maybe the ordeal of the vision still showed on her face.

  She licked her lips. “No matter how many times I see a dead body, it always takes a toll on me. I’m looking forward to that drink at La Paz, Rafe.”

  He nodded. “I’ll see you there at seven, after your meeting with Steve.” He stuck out his hand. “Thanks, Mr. Sharp. How’d it go with the Holloways?”

  Sharp lifted his black-suited shoulders. “How does it ever go? They’re devastated.”

  Dr. Simpson clenched his jaw, one hand fisting at his side. “It’s hard on the families, and then to add insult to injury the victims’ lives are dissected and somehow they become the guilty parties.”

  “You know Alicia Clifton’s family, don’t you, Dr. Simpson?” Rafe squeezed the doctor’s shoulder.

  “This is killing them.” Dr. Simpson wiped the back of his hand across his brow. “You have to stop this maniac before any more families are destroyed.”

  “We will, and your autopsies are going to help us. The FBI’s been impressed by your work, Dr. Simpson. The fact that the Bureau hasn’t called in its own pathologists speaks volumes about their respect for you. You’ll help your friends, the Cliftons.”

  Dr. Simpson’s red eyes watered as he nodded.

  Rafe opened the door and Dana stepped outside, taking a deep breath. Maybe the FBI was wrong to rely on the locals. Everyone seemed to be taking this hard on a personal level.

  She tucked a lock of hair behind her left ear. “Whoa. That was intense. Did you get the impression Dr. Simpson was suspicious of us?”

  “He was definitely jumpy.” Rafe’s blue eyes narrowed as he gazed at the jagged peaks of the Rockies. “Maybe we’re reading too much into his behavior. It’s gotta be tough doing an autopsy on an old friend’s daughter.”

  “Is he friendly with the Holloways too?”

  “Not like the Cliftons. He’s skiing buddies with Jack Clifton, was best man at their wedding too.”

  Rafe continued to stare at the mountains, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Alicia Clifton. It always comes back to Alicia Clifton.”

  RAFE CHECKED HIS WATCH. Ten minutes until he met Dana at La Paz. He saved the file on his computer that contained Brice’s notes on the patrons at the Elk Ridge Bar. Dana’s stepfather, Lenny Driscoll, had figured prominently in those notes.

  One of the waitresses had remembered Lenny and his roaming hands. When she got off work early and left the bar, she recalled seeing Lenny in the parking lot with a cell phone in his hand and avoided him. Had he just sent Jacey Holloway a text message?

  Rafe glanced at his watch again. Nine minutes. He blew out a breath and shoved back from his desk
. Hell, it took a good five minutes to walk to La Paz, and Dana always arrived promptly. He didn’t want to be late for their first real date.

  He called out to his deputy who was yelling at a drunk in the jail cell. “I’m outta here.”

  It took him four minutes to walk to La Paz. He greeted the hostess and requested a table in the back. Even though he planned to steer the talk away from killers, dead bodies and visions, he and Dana didn’t need anyone listening in on their conversation.

  Ben Whitecotton, the curator of the new Ute Cultural Center, approached his table. “Evening, Rafe. Business or pleasure tonight?”

  To give himself time, Rafe whipped the napkin off the table and dropped it on his lap. If he said pleasure and Ben saw Dana joining him, the gossipmongers would have a smorgasbord. If he said business, all ears would be trained toward their table. He took a sip of water. “A little of both. How’s the cultural center coming along? We have security all lined up.”

  Ben flashed white teeth. “You read my mind. I was going to ask you about security. We’re going to have some important artifacts on display, and we’re expecting a big crowd.”

  “We have it all under control.”

  “Not quite, Sheriff.” Ben shook back his long hair. “When are you going to stop this killer of our Ute women?”

  Rafe steepled his fingers. Great. All they needed was for Ben Whitecotton to come after the police for racism. “It’s the million-dollar question. What can I say? We’re working on it. And you gotta know, Ben, we’re investigating this just as hard as we would if the killer weren’t targeting Ute women.”

  “I know that.” He tilted his chin toward the door. “Because you have her on the case.”

  Dana sailed through the door of the restaurant, a furrow between her brows. She spotted Rafe in the corner and waved. Shrugging out of her coat, she approached the table. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Two minutes. You’re slipping, Agent Croft.” Rafe stood up and pulled out the chair across from his.