Murder And Mistletoe. Barb Han
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.
“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