Shadow Point Deputy. Julie Lindsey Anne
you used to talk about all the time?”
Cole shot his brother a droll look. “I mentioned her once, months ago, and I didn’t know her name. I’d hardly call that ‘all the time.’”
“Compared to the vast number of other women you never mention, once is a lot. Did you get her number?”
“Yeah. From Dispatch, but she didn’t answer.”
West barked a laugh and shook his head. “All right. If you’re here, then everything must be fine there. So let’s figure this one out.” West led the way back to the river where the fog hovered like an apparition over the swollen waters, muting the view of a busy college town across the way.
“We know the victim’s name was Roger Minsk.” West pulled a notebook from his coat pocket and flipped the pages.
“Never heard of him.”
“He hasn’t been in town long. According to county records, he bought a big house upriver this summer. The maid called the station to report him missing three days ago. I haven’t had time to follow up.” He furrowed his brow. “She said he was a businessman who traveled.”
Cole shook his head. “No one’s blaming this on you. He’s a grown man. With a maid.” His nose wrinkled as the information settled in. Not a lot of folks in Shadow Point kept maids, even if they could afford it. “Who does that?”
West dropped his attention back to the notepad. “Well, this guy, for starters. She didn’t have access to his calendar or contacts, so I wasn’t in a hurry to worry. I knocked on his door that night and again yesterday. No answer. He was on our list of things to look into if he didn’t show up by today. I was hoping he was on vacation.”
“Did the maid say anything else?”
“She said she cleans for Minsk twice a week and nothing had changed since the last time she’d been there. It didn’t look as if he’d slept in his bed the night before.”
“So we don’t know when he went missing, but we have a window.”
West nodded. “The medical examiner will get us a time of death. I’d say we know the cause.”
Right. The gunshot wound to the head was hard to miss. Cole turned back toward his cruiser. “I’ll visit the maid, see what I can find out about the victim, then report back. Maybe I can even get her to let me into his place. Two birds.”
“Yep.” West agreed. “Do it. I’ll be here if you need me. Don’t forget to check in. We don’t know who we’re looking for or what this is about, and I don’t like it.”
Cole waved a hand overhead, making good time across the empty field, a list of questions for the maid solidifying in his mind.
“Deputy?” West called from the growing distance between them.
“Yeah?” Cole pivoted on his next step, for a look back at his brother, still standing sentinel at the river. He lifted his chin in question.
“Do me a favor and check in on Miss Horn while you’re out. See if she needs anything.”
“Yep.”
West raised one arm in his direction. “Maybe dinner and a movie.”
Cole turned away with a smile. “I’m keeping it professional,” he called over one shoulder.
Not like West and his wife. They’d reunited last year after a decade apart. One minute, she was involved in a crime spree, and the next thing Cole knew, he was standing witness in a rented tuxedo as the two said their vows.
Pass. Cole wanted all those things one day, but he had a lot of other things he wanted to do first. Find out who tossed that man in the river, for example.
He waved off a renegade reporter headed his way. “No comment.” And ducked behind the wheel of his cruiser. This was what held Cole’s interest. A puzzle. A mystery. Protecting the peace. These were the things that kept him up at night and got him out of bed in the morning.
He pulled slowly away from the crime scene, taking note of the smattering of faces in the gathering crowd. Had one of them seen something they weren’t willing to divulge? Had they been around last night, feeding cats and playing unwitting witness to murder? If his theory was right about another person being present, he could only hope they wouldn’t wash up on the riverbank like Roger Minsk.
Cole’s phone buzzed against his ribs, pulling his attention away from the crowd. He freed it from his inside jacket pocket. Rita Horn’s number lit the little screen. “Deputy Garrett,” he answered, already pointing his car in the direction of her home. A rush of anxiety tightened his grip. If she was in trouble...
“Hi, um, this is Rita Horn. From this morning. I had the ransacked house.”
An easy smile curved his lips. She was okay. His foot eased back on the gas. “I remember. How’s the lock working out?”
“Okay, I think. I’m not home, actually. I hoped we could talk somewhere in person.”
The background noise registered with him, then dozens of voices and...
“Is that a marching band?”
“Uh. I think. I can’t see it from here, but it’s football season, so I guess. I’m at the college in Rivertown. Can you meet me at the library near the square? Do you know it?”
Cole took the next left toward the bridge over the river. “Sure. Can you tell me what’s going on?”
Wind crackled through the phone. Rita didn’t speak.
“Go on,” he urged. “You called for a reason. Let me have it.”
“Okay,” she began, then paused once more.
“Rita?”
“I was at the docks last night, and I think I’m being stalked by a murderer.”
Cole’s gut fisted. His fingers whitened on the steering wheel, and he rammed his foot against the gas pedal. Rita was the witness. She’d fed the cats. Of course she had. He shook his head as the cruiser raced across Memorial Bridge. Away from West and the crime scene. Directly toward the insanely captivating redhead who fed homeless cats and people, and raised a teenage brother when she was barely done being a teen herself. Toward a woman whose kind heart and good deeds had just gotten her into serious trouble.
If she was right about being followed, Cole had to reach her before the killer did.
Cole had no idea why Mr. Minsk was killed, but whatever had tainted his life should never have crossed paths with Rita Horn. Not now. Not ever.
Definitely not on Cole’s watch.
He eased his foot off the pedal as the small college town popped up around him with its spirit shops and mascot-logoed flags on every lamppost. The pounding of a marching band’s bass line thundered in the distance.
Hordes of distracted students took their sweet time jaywalking across the street in front of him, holding him up, keeping him from Rita. He tapped his thumbs against the wheel and considered using the siren, though it had no jurisdiction here. The water behind them had officially yielded his badge void. “Come on,” he growled, the fear in Rita’s voice still ringing in his ears.
The street cleared, and the light overhead turned red. “Dammit!”
Cole snatched his phone off the passenger seat where he’d tossed it and dialed West. He should’ve called him sooner. Told him about Rita’s confession. Asked where the library was. Now he was wasting precious time and growing unhappier by the second.
“Sheriff Garrett.” West answered on the first ring.
Cole