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“She and Gary, her stepfather, had had a huge argument and Clara couldn’t take living with them anymore.” It dawned on Leanne that Bethany might not want that information getting out because it wouldn’t cast Gary in the best light. Leanne further knew that he’d just topped the suspect list. So be it. If that man was involved in any way, she’d...
Bethany bristled and Leanne shot her half sister an apologetic look.
“She said you needed help with Mila,” Bethany countered, talking about Leanne’s six-month-old daughter.
Leanne hated the deception, but her back had been against the wall and Clara had sounded desperate. Leanne had planned to sit Clara down and explain all the reasons the two of them needed to tell Bethany the truth.
“I know she did.” Leanne turned to her half sister and her shoulders softened. “I’m sorry we lied to you, but Clara insisted you’d never let her come otherwise and she was desperate to get out of the house.”
“So that made it okay to deceive me?” More hurt spilled out of Bethany.
“I’m sorry for that. But I also know that my niece wouldn’t end her own life. She has a boyfriend she cares about and only one year left at home. Something happened, and if we don’t impress the sheriff with that knowledge, her killer will go free,” Leanne implored.
“What’s her boyfriend’s name?” Sawmill asked.
“Christian Woods.” Leanne turned to her sister.
Deep grooves lined Bethany’s forehead and dark circles cradled her eyes. Leanne could see that she was getting through, and she prayed the woman would do the right thing by her daughter in death even if she hadn’t in life.
Then it seemed to dawn on her that Gary could be investigated when her pupils dilated and her lips thinned.
“How do you know she didn’t feel guilty for lying to her mother? Or maybe she and her boyfriend had a fight? Kids do all kinds of crazy things in the name of love,” Bethany countered. She perched on the edge of her chair as she focused on Sawmill. “My daughter was mentally unstable. She said that kids were bullying her at the new school. She didn’t fit in. I can’t remember how many times she threatened to harm herself. I didn’t take any of it seriously at the time, figuring she was just blowing off steam. Now, I’m not so sure.”
“Can you provide a list of names?” Sawmill took notes. Leanne saw that as the first positive sign. “How long ago did you move to Cattle Barge?”
“We’ve been here around seven months. Gary thought it would be best to move the family before the end of the last school year, so Clara could make friends before summer.” The fear in Bethany’s voice gave Leanne pause.
Was she afraid of Gary being investigated? Afraid of the possibility of bringing up another child alone? Or, looking closer, just plain afraid of Gary?
Leanne scanned her half sister’s arms for bruises. She had on sweatpants and a sweater with the sleeves rolled up. Bethany had had problems with substance abuse when she was younger. Leanne learned after locating her half sister that Bethany had been in and out of rehab twice during high school. Then she’d had Clara instead of her senior year and, by all accounts, turned her life around. Without a high school diploma or job skills to fall back on, it had been a tough life. She’d worked hourly wage jobs. Bethany had struggled to make ends meet until she’d met Gary five years ago. An almost immediate pregnancy was quickly followed by marriage performed at city hall. Gary had driven a wedge between Bethany and Leanne.
According to Clara, the man was an iceberg when it came to emotion. Leanne wondered how well her sister really knew her husband.
“I apologize for the questions,” Sawmill said. “Can you tell me more about your husband and daughter’s recent fight?”
“Yes, it happened the other day, but Gary was only reacting to Clara’s moodiness,” Bethany admitted. It galled Leanne that her half sister would defend his actions. She neglected to mention the times Gary had forced Clara to get up off the couch for no good reason, saying that she had to ask permission before she sat down. Or when he’d made her kneel for hours on end because she’d worn what he considered too short of a skirt. Gary’s father had been an evangelist. Gary used the same punishments he’d received as a child on Clara.
Clara was a normal teenage girl who wanted a little freedom.
“What about alcohol or drugs?” the sheriff asked and it was Leanne’s turn to bristle. She already knew the answer to that question.
“I found an empty bottle of beer in her room last weekend,” Bethany answered truthfully.
“What did Mr. Schmidt think about that?” Sawmill asked, and Leanne could tell by his line of questioning that he wasn’t taking her murder claim seriously.
“He never knew. I hid it because Clara begged me to,” Bethany said.
“What would’ve happened if he’d known?” Sawmill continued.
Bethany blew out a breath. “Another fight.”
“He’d been threatening to send Clara to a super strict all-girls school,” Leanne interjected. “And that beer belonged to Renee, not Clara.”
Renee was the daughter of one of Gary’s friends. Clara didn’t care for the girl but couldn’t turn her back on her because Gary would shame her.
Bethany turned sideways to look at Leanne. The woman shot a look that could’ve melted ice during an Alaskan winter.
“And you believed her?” Bethany asked.
Chapter Three (#u01a94f79-530d-52fa-9732-ae0cb5779ad9)
“Of course, I did. Clara never lied to me,” Leanne responded with a little more heat than she’d intended. So much for keeping things cool in front of the sheriff.
Bethany made a harrumph sound and pushed to her feet. “I’d like to speak with the sheriff alone.”
Leanne started to protest but the sheriff cut her off.
“There’s coffee at the end of the hall and everything said here will go into my report,” he said, motioning toward the door.
It was his witness, his investigation. With no other viable choice, Leanne stood and walked out the door. She’d been too harsh with her fragile half sister and this was going to be the price. Everything had balance, a yin and yang, she thought, except for her personal life, which had been turned upside down since having a baby six months ago. She wouldn’t change a thing about her life with her baby girl, except maybe more sleep. Definitely more sleep. And if she could turn back time, she would make sure that Mila’s father wouldn’t have died on her watch.
Dalton followed her out the door and she could feel his strong presence behind her.
“Coffee’s this way,” his low rumble of a voice said, and the sound penetrated a place deep down, stirring emotions she had no desire to acknowledge as existing anymore. Her traitorous body wanted to gravitate toward the feeling and bask in it. A little reality and a strong cup of coffee was all she needed to quash those unproductive thoughts.
She stepped aside, allowing the man with the strong muscled back to lead her down the unfamiliar hallway. He made a left before what she figured was an interview room. She closed up her coat, shivering against the cold temperature in the building.
A dark thought struck that the sheriff might be hauling her sister to the interview room any minute. Bethany had no idea how much her actions were about to impact her life, and a mix of protectiveness and frustration swirled in Leanne’s chest. Bethany might be clueless but she’d had a rough start, had cleaned up her act, and Leanne knew deep down that her sister was trying her best. Was it good enough? Before having Mila, Leanne might’ve judged her sister more harshly. After having a baby, she realized the job wasn’t easy and didn’t come with instructions.
“The coffee here doesn’t taste like much, but it’s strong,” Dalton said, pouring two cups and handing one to her.
She took the offering, wondering why he knew so much about the quality of the coffee at the sheriff’s office. “I’m afraid I’m at a disadvantage here. You already know my name and more about my personal life than I share with even my closest friends, but I don’t have the first clue who you are.” The part about having close friends was almost laughable. Happy hours after work and shopping with the girls had never been high on her list of priorities. She’d worked hard to make detective by thirty and there hadn’t been room for much else in her life.
“Dalton Butler. And I’m pleased to meet you.” He switched hands with the mug and offered a handshake.
She took his hand—his was so much larger and rougher than hers—and realized making physical contact had not been a good choice. Electricity exploded through her, bringing to life places she didn’t want awakened. She reasoned that it had been a long time since she’d had sex and her body was reacting to the first hot man she touched, but there was so much more to it, to him, than that.
From the callouses on his skin, she deduced that he must work outside, which in these parts most likely meant on a ranch. His outfit of jeans, boots and a denim jacket had already given the same impression.
“Why does that name sound familiar?” She examined him, his clear blue eyes that seemed to hold so many secrets. She was beginning to hate secrets.
“My father owned a famous ranch in the area,” he conceded as the contents of his mug suddenly became very interesting.
“Maverick Mike Butler of the Hereford Ranch?” That explained why the man seemed to know the layout of the sheriff’s office so well. At first, she’d feared he might have been previously on the wrong side of the interview table, especially with the way he related to the sheriff. Now, she realized he’d been there because of his father’s murder. The fact that the case still wasn’t solved would explain his chilly response to Sawmill.
But what did he want with this investigation?
“What’s on your camera?” she asked, figuring she could ask at another time why the son of a famous rancher—and one of, if not the, richest men in Texas—would have so many callouses on his hands. There were other things she didn’t want to notice about him, like the half-inch scar above his left brow at the point where it arched. And the crystal clearness of his blue eyes.
He fished his phone out of his pocket and held it out on his palm between them. Leanne stepped closer to get a better look at the screen and that was another mistake because she inhaled his scent, a mix of outdoors and warm spices. A trill of awareness shot through her. She blinked up, trying to reset her body and thought she caught the same reaction from him as his pupils dilated.
Chalking the whole scene up to overwrought emotions, she studied the picture he brought up on his phone.
“Why is this important?” She shot him her best don’t-feed-me-a-line look.
“It’s the type of knot used.” He enlarged the hangman’s rope and her heart squeezed, looking at the device that had killed her niece.
“Which is?”
“The trucker’s knot,” he supplied.
“Why is this significant other than I’m guessing that only a Boy Scout would know how to tie it?” Examining the knot shot pain through her. She had to set aside her personal feelings, block out emotion and focus on finding the jerk who’d done this to Clara. “Justice for Clara” was Leanne’s new marching orders.
“Right. A Boy Scout would know this and that has to be taken into consideration in finding the killer, but the person who did this gave them an out.” His inflection changed and she could sense his relief at talking about this... But relief from what?
“You said killer.How do you know this wasn’t a suicide?” She latched on to the first piece of good news in hours. Hours that felt more like days.
“Was your niece ever a Brownie? Girl Scout?” he asked, ignoring her question.
Leanne shook her head and his lack of surprise made something dawn on her.
She blinked up at him, searching his eyes.
“I know it wasn’t suicide.” His tone was finite and his jaw muscle ticked.
“How can you be so sure?” She wanted to hear those words so badly.
“The knot. One tug in the right place and they could’ve been free,” he supplied.
There was more to the story based on how much he seemed to care. There was something else present behind his eyes, too. Hesitation? Lack of trust? Her investigative experience had taught her when to press and when to back off. This was time for the former.
“Can I ask a question?”
Dalton nodded.
“Why do you care about what happened to my niece?” And then she thought about what else her police training had taught her. Actions were selfish. People were motivated by their own needs and rarely put anyone else’s first. She’d seen it time and time again through her work as a detective in a major city. The only reason he’d care about Clara was if her death was connected to something important to him.
He glanced at her and that one look spoke volumes.
And then she realized that he’d said the word they and not her.
“How many others have there been?”
* * *
DALTON STOOD IN front of the beautiful detective trying to decide how much of his hand he should show. It sounded a little far-fetched even to him that the same murderer would strike fourteen years later. But he knew without a doubt this was the work of one person. And the odds increased when he considered the event had happened on the exact same day at the same spot. “As far as I know, one. But there could be others in different locations.”
Proving his theory was a whole different story, and he also had to contend with the fact that the detective was about to find out that he’d been the prime suspect in his then-girlfriend’s murder.
“How long ago did the first occur?” Her voice was steady, calm. There was so much going on in the detective’s mind that he could almost hear the wheels churning behind those intense honey-brown eyes.
He hesitated before answering, wondering if she’d accuse him of being out of touch like the sheriff had. On balance, she needed to know.
“Fourteen years,” he said, expecting her to end the conversation and try to get back into the office with her sister.
“Other than the knot, what makes you think these two crimes are connected?” She stared at him, and he got the sense she was evaluating his mental capacity.
“Same day and location, same tree and same method,” he stated.
“The knot.” She took a sip of coffee as she seemed to be considering what he’d said. “But fourteen years apart.”
“There could be others that I’m not aware of.” Dalton saw this as the first positive sign that someone other than one of his siblings was listening. Of course, they’d been supportive. The Butler children had always been close. But shortly after the crime, his twin and best friend, Dade, had signed up for the military. His sisters had been busy with college and high school. His father, the Mav, had slapped his son on the back and told him the calves needed to be logged and the pens needed to be cleaned, like his teenaged heart hadn’t just been ripped out of his chest. Guilt ate at him, even today.
Dalton mentally shook off the memory and lack of compassion his father had shown.
“Have you considered the possibility of a copycat?” She had that same look the sheriff had worn so many times when he discredited what Dalton had told him.
“Enjoy your coffee.” He turned to walk away and was stopped by a soft touch on his arm.
“Hey, slow down. I wasn’t saying that I didn’t believe you.”
“Yeah, you did.” Dalton had no plans to go down that road with anyone again.
The detective held up her free hand in surrender. “I’ll admit that I was skeptical, but that’s what makes me good at my job. I don’t take anything at face value. But I’m also good at reading people, and whether there’s a true connection to these cases or not, I can tell you’re not lying. You believe the two are related and I want to hear you out.”
“Tell me everything I should know about your niece,” he said, testing the detective to see how far the information sharing would go. If she trusted him, she’d open up at least a little.
The detective bristled. “She’s in high school.”
Dalton set his mug down, turned and walked out. He had no plans to share his information with someone unwilling to go deep. Telling him a seventeen-year-old was in high school was like saying coffee beans were brown.
The detective was on his heels.
“Hold on a minute. I just said that I know you believe what you’re saying is true and I told you something about her,” she argued.
“I know,” he said out of the side of his mouth. He’d seen the distrust in her eyes. She thought he was as crazy as the sheriff had all those years ago. And since he had no more plays left in present company, he walked outside to where his truck was parked. He’d had one of the ranch hands drop it off since he rode here in the back of a deputy’s SUV. Reporters had started gathering in bigger numbers, no doubt looking for something to report since news—and leads—about the Mav’s murder had gone cold. He shooed them away as he made large strides toward his truck, ignored the detective and shut the door, closing him in the cab alone.
Dalton pulled out of the lot, squealing his tires, although not meaning to. His adrenaline was jacked through the roof at the thought that a murderer—her murderer—was still in Cattle Barge. One of the reasons he’d believed there’d only been one murder in town since was that he thought the killer had moved on. But now?
This guy was shoving the murder in their faces. And he could be anyone. For all Dalton knew, he could be walking right past the bastard every day. Greeting him when the man should be locked behind bars for the safety of other teenage girls.
A question tugged at the corner of his mind. Alexandria’s killer had been quiet for fourteen years. Why strike now?
There had to be a trigger. Dalton intended to figure out what the hell it was and finally put to rest the crime that had haunted him for his entire adult life.
The one spark of hope was that with modern-day forensics, the sheriff would be able to find a fingerprint and nail the jerk. Either way, Dalton had plans to see this through. Tonight was the closest he’d been to Alexandria’s killer, and he could feel it in his bones that these two crimes were related beyond a copycat. He knew for a fact that the use of the trucker’s knot had not been reported in any of the stories. He shouldn’t read them, but how could he help it? He owed Alexandria that much.
Hell, he’d been the one to point out to the sheriff that was what they were dealing with when Sawmill had shown him the picture of the hangman’s rope fourteen years ago. Pointing out the type of knot used had also most likely helped put him on top of the suspect list. At seventeen, he had been naive. He’d believed that he was helping the investigation.
