Landry's Law. Kelsey Roberts
not a grammar anything. My momma just insisted that all her boys be polite, especially to women.” He let that sink in for a minute, then said, “Your thesis is on forensic psychology, right?”
Savannah turned and gave him a cool smile. “I keep forgetting that after Richard was killed, you investigated every aspect of my life.”
“It’s my job,” Seth said somberly.
“If you’re not here to arrest me for Richard’s murder, would you kindly take an ad out in the town paper proclaiming my innocence? I’ve found Jasper a little slow to warm to outsiders, and labeling me a murder suspect isn’t helping.”
“I’m not here about Richard’s murder.”
That got Savannah’s attention. “Since I didn’t call 911 about the mouse, what brings you out this way?”
“Harvey Whitlock.”
He watched and saw only a trace of boredom in her expression at the mention of his name.
“Sells real estate and is big on punctuality,” Savannah supplied easily. “I was supposed to meet him at nine and I believe I was about ten minutes late because I was helping a customer at Olive’s.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“At the Mountainview Inn. Why?” Suspicion and trepidation had crept into her voice.
“Your idea?”
“No,” she answered, less open than before. “Olive Baumgartner set it up as a blind date. She can’t stand the fact that—her words—I’m ‘on the ugly side of thirty and don’t have any marriage prospects.’”
Seth smiled. Olive had arranged a date or two for nearly every single person of marriageable age in Jasper. Everyone except her precious Junior. Apparently she had no intention of letting go of her son. Not since Junior became the man of the house at the age of thirteen when Frederick, Sr. died in a hunting accident.
“So, your date with Harvey was just like your date with Richard?”
“Yes. Are you the dating police?” she asked with slight amusement. “If only you knew how ludicrous that was. You think I killed Richard so now you’re going to keep track of all my dates?”
“Something like that,” Seth answered.
“I’ll save you some time. Harvey and I had dinner. He had the beef, I had the salmon. He had two drinks, I had a club soda and a cup of decaf.”
“What did the two of you talk about?”
She rolled her eyes and a mischievous little grin curved her inviting lips. “Whether we should have sex right there in the restaurant, or go back to his place.”
Seth felt his jaw clench. “What did you decide?”
“Neither. I was making a joke,” she said, laughingly.
He felt the sound of her laughter deep in the pit of his stomach.
“We talked a lot about real estate. Harvey thinks I should buy rather than rent for the tax advantages. If I give him copies of my financial records, he will see about getting me qualified for that modest, gray clapboard house out on 141.”
“That’s a nice property. It comes with a dozen or so acres.”
“Well, I’m really not into buying homes right now and I told Harvey that.”
“What happened afterward?”
Savannah raked her hair out of her eyes as the gourmet coffeepot sputtered, then went silent. “At first, Harvey wanted to take me out to the property. You know, do a little hard sell?”
“At night?” Seth asked.
She handed him a cup of coffee and offered him cream and sugar, which he declined.
“That was my reaction. I still haven’t acclimated to the Montana cold.”
“So what did you do?”
Savannah gave him a wary glance. “I already told you I was joking about the sex. Nothing else happened.”
“You said goodbye at the restaurant?”
“Yes—well, sort of.”
“What is ‘sort of’?” Seth asked, hoping beyond hope she wouldn’t say it.
“We started out toward the parking lot when Harvey insisted we go down to the little bridge behind the inn to see the stream reflect the moonlight. I figured he was trying to be romantic.”
“Was it?”
“Not! After about five minutes of saying hello to those idiots who jog that path in any weather, at all hours of the day and night, I left Harvey to enjoy the moonlight and the health freaks on his own.”
“Did you see anyone in the parking lot? Did anyone see you leave? Maybe say goodbye?”
“Remember, I’m not very popular, but I don’t think so. Why?”
Seth met and held her gaze. “Because Harvey Whitlock is dead.”
He watched as Savannah’s jaw dropped. Unsteadily, she balanced back on her hands against the countertop. “This is not possible. You can’t seriously be telling me that I’ve had two blind dates in two weeks and they both died afterward.”
“Kind of. The problem is, I can’t find any evidence or witnesses that these men died after being with you.”
Savannah gasped. “You can’t think I killed two virtual strangers! I would have to be some sort of sicko Black Widow type!”
Seth took in a breath and let it out slowly.
“Are you?”
Chapter Two
Main Street in Jasper had remained virtually unchanged since it sprang up around the 1860s, twenty years prior to Montana gaining statehood. Savannah pulled into a parking spot on the street in the middle of the block. Four expertly restored buildings stood side by side in the shadows of the Rockies. Were it not for the meters and one neon sign, she would have felt very much as if she was stepping back in time.
Once she exited her car, Savannah was careful not to go in the direction of the newest building on the block. Well, new was a bit of an exaggeration, she mused as cold, clean air filled her lungs. The sheriff’s office had been built around the turn of the century, so the brick and barred-window building lacked the Victorian charm of the other homes-turned-businesses. She’d avoided him for two weeks, and she was content to keep it that way.
The moment she entered the shop, she was assailed with the strong aroma of homemade candles and heavily scented sachets. A bell tolled when she closed the door. “Olive?” she called out as she took off her heavy coat and hung it on the coatrack—which, like everything else in the shop, was for sale.
“Be down in a little bit! Junior and I are having a late lunch,” Olive called from the second story.
Olive’s Attic was exactly as the name implied. It was a cramped space filled with everything from locally dug arrowheads to tailored vintage clothing. And Savannah knew clothing.
She went over to one of the forms to examine a dress Olive had added to the inventory. Savannah read the designer tag from the twenties sewn into the garment, then read the ridiculously low price and knew her paycheck for the week was shot.
For Savannah, Olive’s was like a small treasure trove. People from Jasper and the surrounding communities brought things to Olive on consignment, usually after a death in the family. Savannah smiled, thinking to herself that instead of calling Montana Big Sky Country, they should call it the Land of the Mothballs. It seemed as if no one ever threw out anything. They just left things in mothballs until ritualistically surrendering them to Olive for sale.
If Savannah had had the money