Chapter 2

      Savannah awakened with grief pressing thickly against her chest. The early-morning October sunshine drifted through the frilly lace curtains in her bedroom, and all she wanted to do was pull the pillow over her head and forget what had happened the day before.

      Charlie was dead. The thought hit her in the stomach with the force of a blow. Other than Meredith and her landlady, Winnie, Charlie had been the only friend she’d made since coming to town. And now he was gone, dead in a way that made no sense whatsoever.

      She’d never again see that slow, easy grin of his, never hear his acerbic sense of humor or match her wits against his in a game of chess.

      “Charlie,” she whispered, her voice nothing more than a hollow echo of itself.

      She wanted to weep, but she’d spent most of her tears the night before. Besides, crying didn’t change anything and neither did covering her face with a pillow and hiding in bed all day. She owed Charlie more than tears, more than denial.

      She was a reporter, and even though her published work so far was nothing more than a couple of gossip columns and fluff pieces, as Sheriff Ramsey had characterized them, it was time she became an investigative reporter and found out the truth about what had happened to Charlie. She owed the old man that much.

      Galvanized with a new determination, she showered, then dressed in a pair of black pencil-thin slacks and a lightweight lavender sweater. Even though it was only the first week of October, the weather had been unusually cool.

      The scent of bacon and freshly brewed coffee greeted her as she stepped out of her room and headed downstairs. No matter what time Savannah got up in the morning, her elderly landlady was always up before her.

      Winnie sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in front of her. She smiled a greeting as Savannah entered the kitchen. “Coffee’s on and the bacon is fried. All you need to tell me is how many eggs you want.”

      “None. I’m not hungry this morning.” Savannah went to the cabinet that held the coffee mugs, then poured herself a cup of the brew and joined Winnie at the table.

      She suspected the old woman hadn’t rented the upstairs of her house to Savannah because she needed the money but rather because she wanted companionship and somebody to cook for. Winnie’s husband had died three years before, and it was obvious she was lonely.

      “How did you sleep?” Winnie asked, the wrinkles in her forehead deepening in concern. When Savannah had come home from Charlie’s place the day before she’d told Winnie what had happened.

      Savannah wrapped her hands around the warm coffee mug in an attempt to fight off a chill. “Terrible.” She suddenly remembered the nightmares that had plagued her all night, visions of blood and death and poor Charlie.

      Winnie shook her head. “I just don’t understand it. I don’t understand how anyone becomes so desperate they commit suicide.” She paused a moment to take a sip of her coffee. “Why, I saw Charlie yesterday at the grocery store and he seemed just fine.”

      Savannah stared at Winnie. “You saw Charlie at the grocery store? What time?”

      “I don’t know, it must have been around noon. We met in the ice cream section and he told me how much he loves butter pecan and I told him I was quite partial to plain old chocolate.”

      “Did he buy ice cream?”

      Winnie frowned. “I saw him get a gallon out of the freezer, but I didn’t see him when he left the store.”

      Savannah took a sip of her coffee, her brain burning up as it worked overtime. She knew how much Charlie had loved his butter pecan ice cream. Many evenings she’d shared a bowl with him as they had played a game of chess.

      Did a man who planned to commit suicide buy groceries? Did a man who intended to take his own life buy a gallon of ice cream?

      All through the night her gut instinct had told her that Charlie didn’t commit suicide, and the fact that the old man had bought ice cream an hour or so before his death only deepened her gut instinct.

      Winnie eyed her over the rim of her coffee cup. Despite being seventy-two years old, Winnie was still a sharp tack. “What’s going on in that head of yours, Savannah?”

      “I just don’t believe that Charlie committed suicide. Aside from the fact that he bought ice cream a short time before his death, I know Charlie would have never done something like that, knowing I was coming to his house. He would have never wanted me to find him like that.”

      “Then what do you think happened?”

      “I think Charlie was murdered. He was murdered and somebody made it look like a suicide and I intend to prove it.”

      “How are you going to do that?”

      Savannah frowned thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. One of the first things I need to do is talk to Sheriff Ramsey.” She took a sip of her coffee, then shook her head. “There’s been too many deaths around here lately.” Strange falls off tractors and from haylofts, a gas heater explosion and other odd deaths. The citizens of Cotter Creek were either unusually unlucky or something more frightening was going on.

      She suddenly thought of the handsome hunk she’d literally bumped into on Charlie’s porch the night before. “What do you know about Joshua West?”

      A smile curved Winnie’s lips. “Before he left town I think every rancher in the area was locking up their daughters for safekeeping. He’s a charmer, spoiled as a dozen eggs left out in the sun too long, but like all those West boys he’s got a good heart.”

      Savannah didn’t care if he was a charmer, or spoiled or had a good heart. His attraction as far as she was concerned was that he was a local who had been out of town for a while and might have some objectivity that could work to her advantage.

      But, more importantly, she knew the West name carried weight in Cotter Creek and the sheriff would give more credence to Joshua than he ever would to her. She had a feeling if she wanted people to take her seriously about Charlie’s death, then it wouldn’t hurt to have Joshua West on her side.

      “Are you sure you don’t want something for breakfast?” Winnie asked. “You know a good breakfast is always the way to start a good day.”

      Savannah laughed. “My mother believed a protein shake and an hour on a StairMaster was the way to start each day.”

      “That’s what happens to people when they got more money than sense,” Winnie scoffed. “A couple of eggs?”

      Savannah relented and nodded her head. She suspected Winnie didn’t care so much about what she ate but wasn’t quite ready for Savannah to fly out the door and leave her alone for the day.

      It was after nine when Savannah left the house, her stomach full and a renewed burn of determination in her soul. Her first stop was at the sheriff’s office, where she was disappointed to learn that Sheriff Ramsey wasn’t in.

      She left the office, got into her car and headed for the West ranch. She hoped she could enlist Joshua West’s help in demanding a full investigation into Charlie’s death. Charlie deserved at least that much, and, as