Wyoming Christmas Ransom. Nicole Helm
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WILL WATCHED GRACIE get into her truck. He had no idea what had just happened. And damn if it wasn’t at the worst possible time.
After two years of combing through everything, he’d found a secret file on Paula’s computer within an old grocery list. It didn’t name the man she’d had an affair with, but it gave some clues. Will thought maybe a few pictures of the accident might unearth a clue that was connected.
Of course, he had those pictures memorized at this point. He had everything memorized. Losing Gracie’s help didn’t really matter one way or another. Though it was nice to have someone to bounce ideas off of.
Nice to have someone who didn’t look at him like he was crazy, especially on days when he thought he was a little crazy. After all, what man investigated the death of his cheating wife for two years? Especially after every law enforcement agency involved had found no reason to believe foul play was involved.
But he felt it. Knew it. Maybe his marriage had been a mess, but that didn’t mean he could just let it go. Someone had murdered her, he was sure of it. They had to be brought to justice.
Justice would bring him peace. He was sure of that, too.
Regardless of whether or not it was crazy, this was the man he was. Had been for two years, so it didn’t make sense Gracie was quitting out of the blue.
Will cleaned up his tools, frowning at the custom order he was making. It wasn’t turning out how he would have liked. He was going to have to start over, but right now wasn’t the time. He had to work through this thing with Gracie first or his concentration would be shot.
Something had to have happened. Maybe a friend or family member had warned her off him? Gracie was part of the Delaneys, all law enforcement and politicians and upstanding citizens.
Paula, who’d grown up in the Carson clan, had always said that—upstanding citizens—with such disdain because Carsons and Delaneys didn’t seem to have much between them besides disdain and bitterness.
Will hadn’t much cared one way or another about the silly feud so many Bent citizens held such stock in. Land disputes and romantic tragedies that happened over a century ago didn’t really interest him, but he’d sided with the Carsons if asked out of loyalty to Paula.
But Paula was dead, and he wasn’t building any monuments in her honor. Their marriage and relationship had gone sour before her untimely death.
He hated to think that was what drove him—the tangle of screwed-up emotions that came with losing someone you’d once loved and then had grown to hate.
He shook his head. It wasn’t that. It was that he knew something was wrong. For starters, Paula had been on the road to his cabin, a place she never went to even when their marriage hadn’t basically been over. She hadn’t had her purse, and she hadn’t been wearing shoes. Which was the opposite of the nearly anal woman he’d been married to for five years.
Now she’d been gone two, and whoever her lover had been was a mystery no one seemed to care to solve.
Except him. Occasionally Gracie suggested it was some warped sense of pride, needing to know the man his wife had chosen over him, more than it was his concern over her death being wrongful.
Wouldn’t that make this easier?
He just knew Paula too well for her wreck to make sense, and he couldn’t live with himself thinking there might be a murderer out there.
It was likely more emotionally complicated than that, but he chose to focus on the case, on the facts, over those messy emotions that plagued him from where he’d shoved them deep down.
He frowned over at where Gracie’s truck had been parked, trying to go through the whole interaction. He’d been a little curt with her, but she knew how he could get when a project wasn’t going the way he wanted.
The truth was, Gracie was about the only human contact he had on a regular basis these days, and he’d gotten to taking for granted that it would always continue.
She had to be bluffing. She’d be back tomorrow morning with coffee, an apology and those pictures.
He was sure of it. Certain.
Except the next morning came and went, and so did the next, and by the time an entire week had passed without one peep from Gracie, Will was downright pissed. Where did she get off just cutting him off like that? Abandoning him just like...
He grimaced at that thought as he studied the keys hanging from the hook in his kitchen. He needed food and supplies. Usually Gracie brought him everything he needed so he had to go into town only once a month.
Or less.
Truth be told, everything in his life had narrowed, incrementally, over the past two years. Without Gracie to take his mind off it, this past week had been a glaring reminder.
He didn’t like to leave his little mountain. He didn’t like to drive. He didn’t like to face Bent with its people who knew him and his story. Poor widower. The man who couldn’t let the past go.
He didn’t trust that world out there, but if he didn’t get over it, he was going to starve. He grabbed the keys and started for his door.
But about halfway through he turned around and headed for his—well, Paula’s—computer. He could stand to go over the secret file one more time.
He pulled up the document he’d found after meticulously going through every file in her computer, no matter how innocuous the title. This particular file was listed as Grocery List 5/16.
The first page was even a list of groceries. He’d bypassed it he didn’t know how many times over the years because it was clearly a grocery list even after a few scrolls. Then he’d decided to not just skim through every file, but to read through every word in case some clue was hidden in the midst of some article about tax law or a random to-do list.
He hadn’t found it in any of her files from her job as a CPA, but he had found something in this grocery list. He’d noticed just last week that the list repeated itself after ten vegetables. Which was weird. Why would a grocery list need to repeat itself?
So he’d scrolled. For ten pages. Just the same ten vegetables repeated, and then there was what he’d been looking for.
They appeared to be emails with the to/from stripped out of them, but Paula had kept the dates and the subject lines. Love letters. Well, more like sex letters if Will was honest with himself.
It had been hard to read them, knowing his wife had received them while they were still trying to work things out. Sickening really, but he’d needed a clue.
He still needed a clue. So he read them again, sick to his stomach and angry all over again. But he did it. Focusing on every detail, every word choice, every mention of meeting.
He jotted down the referenced meetings this time, then cross-referenced with the computer calendar based on the dates of the email.
And that was when he found his pattern.
Gracie plastered a smile on her face as the party around her was hitting full swing.
Usually a Delaney wouldn’t be caught dead in Rightful Claim, a Carson bar, but the whole town had made an exception to the normal way of town feud bitterness with the engagement party of Gracie’s cousin Laurel to the bar’s proprietor, Grady Carson.
Gracie was happy for Laurel, probably happier than most of the other Delaneys, who thought the Carsons were a vortex of evil, but the happy couldn’t smother her self-absorbed worry over Will.
She hated that she was worried about him when he clearly saw her as nothing, but she didn’t think he’d come off his little mountain, and