Sinister (18 page)

“What about people?” he had to ask.

“I don’t hurt them either.”

She was right. She was as she’d always been. He’d let himself think terrible thoughts because he’d been too scared for her. “I know. But people make judgments. They jump to conclusions.”

“They’re going to think I killed my own mother because I’m good with a knife?” she said incredulously.

“It’s possible.”

“They’ll be wrong.”

“We’ll have to make them see that.”

 

 

Ricki and Sam stood watching from the woods as snow whispered through the branches overhead.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “Is that a knife?”

“Wait,” Sam said, putting a hand on her arm.

At that moment Kit looked over at them. “Who’s there?” she demanded.

As Ricki and Sam stepped out, Davis scowled at them. “Are you kidding me? Even out here, I can’t be left alone.”

“We were looking for Kit,” Sam said, facing his brother squarely. “What’s your problem?”

“Leave Kit alone,” Davis snarled.

“What is this stuff?” Ricki asked, pulling up the prism and fur.

“Put them back,” Kit said tautly, and Ricki, meeting the girl’s gaze, set the items back on the snow.

“Is somebody gonna tell me about this?” Sam asked.

Davis looked to Kit, then back to his brother. “It’s too cold out here for the whole story. We’ll go back to the stables. Check on Babylon.”

“Then come to my place,” Ricki said. “It’s warmer.”

After a moment, both Kit and Davis nodded curtly.

 

 

Forty-five minutes later, after a stop at the stables to see Babylon, the four of them convened at the foreman’s house. Ricki tried to keep quiet while Sam did the talking. His voice was low and nonjudgmental and sexy as hell, though it seemed to annoy Davis. She sensed a bit of bad blood between the two of them, though they remained civil.

Davis and Ricki shared the sofa while Kit insisted on sitting on the floor. Leaning against the fat sofa arm, Ricki warmed even more to Kit as Davis told the story of how he had worried that Kit’s firsthand knowledge of the area and her knife skills would make her a suspect in the killings. “I didn’t know the coyote had been all carved up when she found it,” Davis said, raking back his dark hair. “She just took it to the sky tree, trying to do the right thing for its spirit.”

Sam’s voice was level, reserving judgment. “To carve up a human body like something in an anatomy textbook, that takes skill.”

“I cut the throat of a mountain lion caught in a trap once,” Kit said. “He was howling in pain. I had to do it.”

It was a roundabout way of professing her innocence, but Ricki believed her completely. As Sam continued the questioning, Ricki tuned out the voices and focused on her, the animal whisperer who understood creatures so well but had no one to understand her. Her hair and eyes were so distinctively Dillinger, and yet she lived a world apart, self-exiled. Did she ever get lonely? There was definitely grit under those round eyes and long fingers, but there was also a good heart. Ricki believed her.

“So . . .” Sam summed things up. “You were burying the crystal and fur coat as a sort of memorial to Mia.”

She nodded, then got to her feet, dusting off the seat of her pants.

“Where are you going?” Ricki asked.

“The stables.”

“You need to stay with someone,” Sam said sternly, “for your own protection.”

“Stay here,” Ricki offered. “Brook’s up at the main house. You can have her bed.”

“I’ll be at the stables with Babylon,” Kit said firmly.

“I’ll go with her,” Davis said. “She won’t be alone.”

Sam looked at his brother, then at Kit, then back at his brother. Whatever he was thinking he kept to himself as he turned to Ricki. “Then I’ll walk you up to the lodge.”

As Kit and Davis headed out the door, Ricki turned to Sam. Although exhaustion shaded his face, there was something distinctively sexy about the smoky shadows over his dark eyes. “I’m a deputy. I’ve got two loaded guns and a belly full of vitriol for any intruder who wakes me up before sunrise. And you’re the one who didn’t sleep last night. Why don’t you stay here? It’ll save you driving back into town through all that snow. And you can protect me, like the big, bad-ass sheriff that you are.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I would laugh, but I’m just too tired.”

“Then stay. Here.” She took his arm and guided him to the back of the house. “Let me show you to your room, sir.”

He snorted, then opened his eyes wide when he saw her bedroom with a painting of the prairie on the wall and the double bed with its pale blue comforter. “Your bed? No, Ricki. I’ll stay, but give me the second bedroom.”

“Here’s the thing about that,” she said, escorting him into her room. “I don’t really know how to explain to my teenaged daughter that a thirty-something man slept in her bed. It seems like something that would be good for years of therapy.”

“Ahhh . . . didn’t think about that.”

“Just promise me you’ll take your boots off first,” Ricki said briskly. “I can’t stomach the idea of boots in my bed.”

Sam sat on the edge of the bed and leaned down to untie his boots. “I should have taken them off at the door. That’s what happens when a man lives alone. You revert back to the old bunkhouse manners.”

The sight of Sam sitting on her bed, stripping down to his stocking feet was just too homey and familiar; it sent a thrill through Ricki’s nether regions. Damn, the man looked good. It was one of those pinch-me-I’m-dreaming moments, and she sorely wanted to tackle him down to a prone position and tangle in the covers with him.

But that probably wasn’t a good idea. No, she needed to choose option B, Brook’s bed
.

“Okay, then.” Her palms were sweating, and she wiped them on her jeans, trying to appear casual. As if she put a gorgeous man to bed in her room every night. “There are towels and soap and stuff in the bathroom, and help yourself to anything you want in the fridge.”

“Thanks.” He stood up, tall and solid and only inches away from her. “But I think I’ll just go to bed.”

She could feel the heat of his body through her sweater. “Good night.”

That was her exit line, but she couldn’t move her feet. And why was he standing so close? Was that a signal? An invitation? Because the answer had to be no, though every nerve ending in her body was shrieking yes.

“Good night.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek, his lips like a brand.

That did it. She tipped her face up to him and pressed her lips to his, testing. She couldn’t help herself.

He hesitated for a heartbreaking moment, then they were kissing, deep, thorough kisses that sent hormones surging, her body pressed to his.

Want pulsed inside her, a steady, hot burn fueled by the erection she felt straining against his jeans. There was an electric thrill at the knowledge that he wanted her, too. She held her body against his, her tender softness embracing his hardness. He was all muscle and bone, but she fit against him like a glove. She was malleable and soft, and as she melted against him, she savored the way that the spaces between them could be so easily filled.

Physically, they would work well together.

It was the emotional, social bond that would bite them both in the ass.

He slid a hand up under her sweater, cupped a breast and they both groaned in pleasure. This was not high school. This was not two amateurs fumbling around in the dark. But that didn’t diminish the tingling pleasure of it all, the sweet sip of the giant cup that neither of them were ready to imbibe in.

Not just yet.

But with her eyes closed and his hand caressing her breast and her hands running over the planes of his muscular body, she could allow herself to forget all the things that kept them apart.

Just for one sweet minute.

Despite the obvious limitations of the top bunk, Ricki slept well knowing Sam was in the next room. In the morning, she rolled over and caught the savory smell of brewing coffee. Heaven on earth.

She stared at the ceiling and pressed a finger to her lips, as if she could trace the remnants of the kisses. Sam was a good kisser, but that had been no surprise. Sam and Colt were the same age, and so she’d had a close-up view of the many loves of Sam Featherstone as he and her brother skated through high school. She’d always figured that a guy who could land so many pretty girls had to have some secret skills in the dark.

And last night—finally!—she’d been the recipient of his legendary sumptuous lips, warm hands and hard body. Just a short make-out session that left them both wanting more, but still, it had been the fulfillment of a childhood crush—a crush that was quickly blossoming into a full-blown attraction. She was going to have to tone things down now. She and Sam couldn’t get involved. She had a daughter to raise, as did he, and he was dead set against mixing business and pleasure. But there was nothing to say she couldn’t enjoy having him here, making a pot of coffee in her kitchen.

As she slid out of the bunk and reached for her robe, she heard voices.

“Can you teach me how to shoot?” came the sprightly voice. Brook? What was she doing here? When was she ever out of bed before nine
A.M.
? Ricki was going to kill Pilar if she’d kicked her daughter out again.

“I could show you a few things.” Sam sounded friendly, comfortable. “But you need to ask your mom. She’s a good shot. When we were kids, she usually managed to outscore me and your Uncle Colt in target practice.”

“Good morning.” Ricki found Sam at the kitchen table with her laptop, while Brook leaned against the counter holding a tall glass of orange juice.

“Morning. Hope you don’t mind, I jumped on your computer to access my e-mail.”

“Go for it,” Ricki said, thinking how natural Sam looked sitting at her kitchen table. She stepped close to Brook to get a mug from the cabinet. “Is this my daughter I see, up and about before noon?” Brook looked so sweet, with her hair pulled back and wisps curling at the edge of her face. Ricki was tempted to kiss her, but wasn’t sure if that would be welcome.

“Pilar got everyone out of bed. There’s an army of ladies attacking the lodge, wiping down walls and vacuuming. I couldn’t wait to get out.”

“Did she at least have Grandpa walk you down here?” Ricki asked, pouring coffee.

“Mom! You can see this house from their kitchen windows. And Pilar said she’s sending Rourke down later. She wants me to watch him while she goes into town to take care of some wedding stuff.”

Ricki shook her head. “I won’t be here, and you can’t be alone here, not with everything that’s going on. You can do it up at the lodge.”

“She said she’d pay me! And I told you, the cleaning ladies are there. Don’t ruin this for me.”

“How about out in the barn? Grandpa could give you a riding lesson.”

“Grandpa has meetings all day. He told me you need to do an airport run to pick up Aunt Delilah.”

“I can’t.” Ricki sighed. A little support from the family would have been nice. “I need to work.”

“I wish I could go along to pick up Aunt Delilah, but I have to watch Rourke,” Brook said, but she didn’t sound all that upset. Whether Brook admitted it or not, she liked Pilar’s son.

“Maybe Colt can do it.” Ricki grabbed her cell phone and ducked into the bedroom. “Let me call him.” Quickly she lined Colton up for the airport run. He promised to call Ira and straighten it all out, with a word of warning that it still wasn’t safe to send his grandson outside on his own. Then she hit the bathroom for a quick shower.

When she emerged twenty minutes later, showered and dressed, Brook was finishing off a plate of cheesy eggs and Sam was studying the laptop screen, a sober expression on his face.

“We saved some bacon and eggs for you,” he said. “Plate’s in the oven.”

“Thanks.”

“The eggs are good, Mom. You need to try Sam’s recipe,” Brook said.

He shrugged. “Onion powder.”

“Mmm. Smells good.” Using a towel, she retrieved the warm plate and set it on the table beside Sam. “What’s the latest?”

“Initial reports are back from the ME and the state crime lab,” he said. “You might want to finish eating first.”

“Gross.” Brook scooted her chair back, brought her dish to the sink and headed off.

“She’s a good kid,” Sam said when Brook was out of range.

Ricki swallowed a mouthful of creamy eggs. “This move has been hard for her, but like it or not, we had to get out of there. Her father is dabbling in the drug scene, and Brook was beginning to hang with some kids in crisis.”

“Aren’t all kids in crisis?”

“If you expect that, you’ll never be disappointed.” She popped the last strip of bacon into her mouth and took her plate to the sink. “Okay, I’m ready for the hard stuff. Did the crime lab find any links between the cave and Amber Barstow?”

“They did.” He turned the screen to her. “I’ve had some time to sift through it, and I think this is a good time to frame our investigation.” He’d highlighted a few lines.

“So, it was Amber Barstow’s blood in the cave. He must’ve kept her there for a while.”

“The bloodstains in the shed were hers, too. And it looks like those empty bags held blue tarps. The same blue fibers were found in the shed and on Barstow’s body.”

“So we know where he was holed up—on Dillinger and Kincaid land. And from there, he went into town, to Mia’s place.” A tingle ran down her spine at the thought of him being there, so near. “It’s like he’s been breathing down our necks.”

“He was close.” The kitchen light shone on Sam’s glossy dark hair. “I wonder why.”

“The Rocking D is a good half hour from Big Bart’s. Certainly not geographically desirable.” Ricki took a sip of coffee. “Do you think he’s got a vendetta? Anti-rancher?”

Sam shook his head. “Look at the two women he killed. If we’re looking at one killer, why Amber Barstow, a stranger? And then Mia? We don’t have any prints at all to link the cave or shed to Mia Collins’s house.”

“Footprints?”

“We got clear ones from the shed and Collins’s house. My instincts say it’s the same guy, but right now we need to keep it open.” He changed the screen. “The ME’s report on the two corpses shows plenty of similarities between the killings. In both cases the cause of death was blood loss from a severed neck.”

Ricki stared at the report. What a horrifying way to go, looking into the eyes of your killer.

“The two animals and the two victims all had a single tooth cut out. And the medical examiner said the mutilation of the skin was distinctive in both cases. See here?” Sam highlighted a line in the report. “They say Mia’s injuries are consistent with Amber Barstow’s.”

“Another link between the two killings.”

“Like I said, I think it’s the same guy, but it’s not definitive.” He clicked to another screen. “Here’s a list of the patrons at Big Bart’s the night that Amber Barstow was seen there. This isn’t everyone, of course. Just customers who paid by credit card or personal check.”

Ricki scanned the list. “Two of the Kincaids were there. Mariah and Blair.”

“But the time stamp for them appears to be earlier than when Amber was there. Katrina’s checking the whole list, but let’s pull out the ones that fall into the right window.”

“Good idea,” she said.

“Looks like Doc Farley was there. Cashed out late. What sticks out is that he knew we were looking for witnesses from that night, but he didn’t come forward.”

“That’s not like Doc.” Stuart Farley had taken care of the Dillinger family since before Ricki was born. “Too drunk to remember?”

“The bartender doesn’t think so. But he does remember that Doc was there with a woman. Not his wife.”

Ricki felt a stab of compassion for Nora Farley. “So . . . how do you want to handle it?”

“We’re going to be talking to him anyway, seeing as how the mutilations of our two victims seem to be the work of a professional. I plan to see him this morning. I’ll be discreet.”

That was one great thing about Sam; he knew how to keep things quiet. Ricki considered other angles that needed to be pursued. “I want to have a chat with Sabrina and Antonia over at the veterinary clinic since we got our information secondhand about the coyote’s extracted tooth. We need their statements to go on the record.”

“Good,” Sam said.

“Has anyone talked to the last people in the church the day of the fire?” Ricki asked. “Pilar and Emma Kincaid?”

“My staff was turned inside-out yesterday, split up in search parties,” Sam told her.

“How about I take care of it first thing?”

“Okay. See what you can find out and I’ll see you at the town hall at noon.”

“Town hall?” She pushed back the curls on her forehead.

“Today is the mayor’s Christmas party, and everyone in our office attends.”

“Is that the party with the tree-decorating competition? And Santa comes to give toys to the kids?”

“That’s the one. You think Brook would like a toy?”

“Fat chance, but Rourke might, if it’s the right one.” She took a sip of coffee and said, “See there? We may have just found the perfect activity for him today.”

 

 

An hour or so later, Sam thanked Maddie, Doc Farley’s receptionist, who had set him up in an exam room so that he and Doc could talk privately. If he’d gleaned anything from working in Prairie Creek for nine years, he’d learned how easy it was to fire up a rumor and how difficult it was to squash it.

He took a seat on the chair instead of the exam table. A minute later, there was a knock on the door and Doc Farley entered, cordial and friendly. “What can I do for you, Sam?” The doctor’s hair was thick as ever, but graying over a distinct brow ridge, which gave him an air of dignity.

“I just wanted to get in to talk to you without raising eyebrows all over town.”

Doc closed Sam’s file and laid it on the exam table. “What’s this about?”

“Your Saturday night out at Big Bart’s, Thanksgiving weekend. As the bartender recollects, Nora wasn’t with you.”

Farley’s eyebrows rose. “What’s that supposed to mean, Sheriff?”

“I’m not trying to butt into your business, Doc, but your credit card receipt shows you were at the bar pretty late that night. All I want to know is if you saw anything out of the ordinary. Out in the parking lot . . . or even in the lounge.”

Doc pinched the bridge of his nose in concentration. “This is about the girl that was killed, Amber Barstow.”

“That’s right.”

“Sorry, I really wasn’t paying much attention.”

Sam nodded slowly. “Pretty hefty bill for a man alone, having a few drinks. Did you drive yourself home that night? After all those drinks?”

“No. Jesus, Sam. Why don’t you just say what you’re thinking?”

“I think you were there with a woman friend.”

He shook his head. “Nora thinks I was away on a hunting trip that weekend. She doesn’t know.”

Oh, she probably does,
Sam thought. He’d seen too much to think otherwise. “It sure would help if I could talk with your friend, Doc.”

“I’m not naming names. If word gets around, people will be hurt. I can’t let that happen.” He looked down at one of his hands, flexing it slightly. “Not to mention that it would damage my reputation.”

“I understand your concern, but it’ll be easier if you tell me her name now. I’ve got two dead women, and a killer on the loose. A killer who was likely at Big Bart’s that night.” Sam locked his gaze on the doctor’s drawn face. “You were there that night and you haven’t come forward. You see my problem?”

“I have an alibi.”

“This woman you won’t name.”

He met Sam’s gaze. “That’s right.”

“I want to clear you, Doc. I really do. But I need your help. I’d like to do it outside the public eye, save your reputation, but I need to talk with your friend. A corroborating witness.”

The doctor stared blindly at the wall, deciding what to do.

“I need the name of your friend to prove your alibi.” When he was met with more silence, Sam said firmly, “By the end of the day, Doc,” then Sam headed out, leaving the doctor grappling with his inner demons.

 

 

Getting to work and finding a safe place for her daughter and nephew had proven to be a challenge for Ricki that morning. Pilar was looking to dump her precious kid for the long haul.

“I have a meeting in town this morning, and then I have to get back here to meet with Delilah and get her on board. After that, I have to drive to Jackson for a spa treatment,” Pilar had told Ricki. “I won’t be back until late tomorrow, and I’m counting on you and Brooklyn to help me out with Rourke.”

Ricki wanted to point out that Pilar was leaving town five days before her wedding, making Delilah and the rest of them pick up the pieces, but honestly, she was happy to have her gone. The woman sucked all the air from a room.

After Pilar spun out of the snowy driveway, Ricki had followed with the kids. Brook seemed happy to be earning money for corralling her cousin, and Ricki decided that they could hang out at the sheriff’s office and make Christmas decorations for the competition at the town hall party. She wanted to maintain a tone of calm fun, minimizing the fear of the underlying threat that a heinous killer was roaming Prairie Creek.

After checking in with Naomi at the front desk, they started off at Sally Jamison’s flower shop, where Brook and Rourke picked out a dozen Styrofoam balls along with ribbons, pins and glitter glue to make ornaments.

Sally’s hands were shaking as she finished the transaction, and though the woman chattered on like a mockingbird, Ricki could tell she was a nervous wreck. “What about Mia? Have you found the person responsible?” Sally asked, but Ricki shook her head when she started in and inclined her head toward the kids.