Colton 911: Deadly Texas Reunion. Beth Cornelison
job. And Atticus dropped his bomb. A murder case.
Summer divided a concerned glance between the two men. “You’re sure she was murdered? She’s not just missing?”
Ian sat taller in the wooden ladder-back chair, which was all she could currently afford for her clients, and snapped, “Of course we’re sure. Her body was found in the Lone Star Pharma parking lot. What rock have you been living under?”
Summer let the snide comment pass as she narrowed her gaze on her visitors. “Wait. Lone Star Pharma? Are you Patrice Eccleston’s family?”
The discovery of the young woman’s body during repairs to the Lone Star Pharma parking lot had been a hot topic of gossip and speculation in town. Solving the much-discussed murder case would prove her mettle to the town and give her fledgling PI office the boost it needed.
And give Patrice’s family the peace of mind and closure they were seeking, she mentally amended with a self-conscious pang.
Atticus blinked and dabbed at his eye, clearly fighting tears. “Yes. Patrice is my daughter.” A pained look crossed his face, and he amended, “Was my daughter. I…” He heaved a shuddering sigh full of pain, and Summer’s heart twisted. The grief etched in his face was heartbreaking.
“Is,” Summer said, leaning toward Atticus and flattening a hand on her desk as she reached toward him. “Patrice will always be your daughter. No matter what. I’m sorry for your loss, sir. I would love to be able to help bring in the person responsible for her murder.”
Atticus met her gaze, hope lighting his eyes. “Thank you. It rips me apart knowing that the cretin who did this to her is still out there. She deserves justice!”
Summer nodded. “She absolutely does.”
While she was considering how to proceed and mulling the ramifications of taking the case, her dark gray feline companion hopped up on her desk and flopped on the paperwork she’d been reviewing earlier.
Ian’s face reflected surprise then affront at the cat’s appearance, as if Summer having her pet in the office with her was the height of unprofessionalism.
“Not now, Yossi.” Summer lifted her cat to the floor and brushed stray fur from her desk. Continuing as if nothing had happened she asked, “Isn’t the police investigation still open? While I’m happy to take your case, I don’t want to step on any toes at the police department.”
“Yeah,” Ian said, “the police say they are looking into it, but we’re not getting many answers outta them.”
“Chief Thompson is a good man. I like him, and I know he’s doin’ what he can. But…we want answers. Right now, we just aren’t getting anything with the cops.” Atticus used his sleeve to wipe his face. “We figure, maybe people who know something are scared to talk to the cops. Maybe you could learn something Chief Thompson hasn’t.”
“Fresh eyes on the case and all that.” Ian waved a hand toward her. “Maybe you’ll see something they missed?”
Summer leaned back in her squeaky desk chair and nibbled a fingernail. It wouldn’t do to get on the police chief’s bad side. She couldn’t appear to be second-guessing Chief Thompson’s efforts in the case. She glanced out her office window, which had a view of downtown Whisperwood, and watched the pedestrians and pigeons ambling along the small-town street. Embarrassing the chief of police wasn’t her worst consideration. If it looked like she was trying to interfere in his investigation, hinder his collection of evidence or—
And just like that her brain short-circuited. Her train of thought derailed, and her full attention snagged on a man in jeans and a snug T-shirt striding down the sidewalk at a brisk clip. His latte-brown hair, broad shoulders and loose-limbed stride tickled the back of her neck, stirring long-ago memories.
“Come on, Tadpole. Show these guys you’re not scared!”
Surging forward, she grabbed the cord to the blinds and yanked them higher for a clearer view of the street. Yossi took this as an invitation to jump onto the wide windowsill, and her cat settled down to bird-watch. She squinted, trying to get a glimpse of the man’s face, but his back was to her.
“Ms. Davies? Is there a problem?”
The man on the street placed a paper cup from JoJo’s Java on the roof of his car, opened the driver’s door, retrieved the coffee cup, climbed in and drove away. She continued to stare out the window at the empty parking spot for several heartbeats after the man’s vehicle disappeared down the street.
“You’re moving?” he asked. “Where?”
Twelve-year-old Summer frowned, shrugged. “Wherever the Army sends us.”
He licked his lips and blinked hard, his eyes sad. “Will I ever see you again?”
No. As it turned out, she hadn’t seen her best childhood friend since that goodbye seventeen years ago. They’d written to each other for a while, but—
A loud thumping drew her out of her musing. She gave her head a small shake and turned to find Ian Eccleston slapping his hand on her desktop. “Hell-oooo? Ms. Davies, are you listening?”
Atticus tipped his head. “My dear, are you all right? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
I may have. Summer raked her hair back from her face. Gathering her thoughts after what—or rather whom—she’d just seen was a bit like chasing down a spilled bag of marbles as they rolled in every direction.
“I’m sorry. I thought I saw…someone from my past. Someone important…”
But he hadn’t been back to Whisperwood in years, to her knowledge. Why would he be here now?
“Can you help us with this case or not, Ms. Davies?” Ian asked. “I have to say, based on what I’ve seen so far of your operation…” He cast a disdainful look around her Spartan accommodations, allowing his disapproving glare to stop on Yossi, who crouched on the windowsill. “I’m not feeling especially confident in your ability to handle a matter as important as my sister’s murder.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. I promise you, if I take your case, I will leave no stone unturned in searching for the truth. I provide the highest quality service to every client.”
“If you take the case?” Atticus frowned and cast a side glance to his son before pinning her with his rheumy eyes. “You’re not sure?”
“I want to take your case. I want to help you. But considering the circumstances, I think it would be wise for me to do a little preliminary groundwork before I make any promises.”
Ian rolled his eyes and grumbled to his father, “See, Dad. What did I tell you?”
“Hush, Ian. It may be a long shot, but Ms. Davies is our last best hope.”
Last best hope? She wasn’t sure if she should feel honored or insulted by the characterization. But being the grieving father’s last hope for peace and justice was the red flag waved in front of her. A challenge. A mission. More than anything, she wanted to prove to these men, prove to the town, prove to herself that she hadn’t made a mistake moving to Whisperwood three months ago. She was a good investigator—no, a great investigator—and she was determined to do what the naysayers and skeptics around her said she couldn’t. She’d prove them wrong.
She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. “Here’s what I can do,” Summer said, pulling out a blank notepad and clicking open her favorite pen. “I can take down your information, have you give me some background and insights into Patrice’s life, and then I’ll do a preliminary evaluation. If it looks like I can contribute something to the case that the police haven’t covered, and that my efforts won’t hinder or interfere with Chief Thompson’s investigation, then we’ll proceed. Deal?”
“What do