Murder Under The Mistletoe. Terri Reed
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Heather to a large mudroom just off the kitchen, where he washed his hands while Heather grabbed a first aid kit from the cabinet over the washing machine and set it on the counter beside the washbasin. Next she dragged a chair in from the dining room.
He looked at the sturdy lattice-back chair with the pale yellow seat cushion. “I don’t want to ruin any more of your cushions.”
She found three towels in a drawer and brought them over. After laying one across the chair, she pushed on his shoulder. “Sit. I can’t work with you standing.”
Even sitting, he was as tall as her petite frame. She stood in front of him. The scent of her skin, a mix of soap and vanilla, teased his senses. Her face was a study in concentration as she unwound the cloth she’d fastened around his head.
“This is going to hurt,” she warned as she dabbed him with a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic.
The biting pain made him wince. When she finished, he sighed with relief.
“I think I can use butterfly bandages to close up the wound.” She worked with quick efficiency. “Why come at night? Why not come in the daylight with a search warrant?”
“Because I didn’t want to alert the bad guys that we’re onto them. I was hoping to get in and out unnoticed.”
She made a delicate-sounding snort. “But if you’d found the notebook, would its contents be admissible as evidence?”
“Yes, it would. The person, or persons, involved in the drug ring have no reasonable expectation of privacy on your farm, even if they are staying in one of the cabins. You’re the only one who would be exempt from the rule because you’re the owner. But you’re not involved, so that point is moot.”
“How can you be sure I’m not?”
“Seth was adamant you weren’t. Plus, I did a background check on you. You’re clean. I have no reason to believe you’re tangled up in this mess.” Could he be mistaken? His gut tightened. “You aren’t, right?”
The corners of her mouth quirked, and she shook her head. “I’m not.”
The last bit of doubt drained away. “Good.”
“You don’t even know what you’re looking for,” she said.
“True. But I’m sure I’ll know it when I see it.”
She frowned, her brow creasing. “Are you the one who called me?”
He cocked his head. “No, I never called you.”
“Well, someone did, and they seemed to share your thought that Seth’s death wasn’t just an overdose.”
A spike of concern sent his blood pressure soaring. “What did the caller say?”
“That my brother’s death was more than it seemed and I should leave the farm because it’s not safe.”
Dread punched him in the stomach. “When was this?”
“A few hours ago.”
His head pounded a rapid staccato. “All the more reason for me to find the book quickly. We need to put a stop to this fast before anyone else gets hurt.”
She stepped back and put the first aid kit away, then tossed the soiled towels into the washing machine. “I’ll help you look for the notebook, but first you need some fluids. Follow me.”
Bemused by her take-charge attitude, he allowed her to lead him out of the mudroom. She stopped in the kitchen and turned on the light over the sink. A large butcher block served as a center island. Long wooden counters and blond oak cabinets with glass doors gave the place a homey feel. The appliances were older but clean. Blue-and-yellow gingham curtains hung over the window behind the sink. The place had a cozy feel that was foreign to Tyler.
She took a tall glass from a cupboard, filled it with tap water and handed it to him. “Drink.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” He took the glass and drank the cool liquid.
She dug into a drawer and came up with two over-the-counter painkillers. “Here, these should help.”
“Thanks.” He popped the tablets and swallowed them with another large gulp of water. When he was finished, he set the glass on the large center island. “Let’s check your brother’s room.”
In Seth’s room they worked in silence, rummaging through drawers, checking under the mattress, under the bed. In the closet, inside the crawl space in the closet floor. Their search resulted in nothing but frustration.
Fisting his hands, Tyler glanced around the tidy room, taking in the tall dresser standing in the corner, the desk and chair placed beneath the window and the long twin bed covered in a geometric-patterned quilt.
Seth had told Tyler he’d kept the journal on the farm; it stood to reason it was in this room. There were many places to hide a notebook in the large farmhouse, but which nook or cranny had Seth used?
Tyler’s head throbbed and so did his heart. He couldn’t change the past, only hope he could affect the future. Wasn’t that what his gran always told him?
Next they tackled the living area. It was a large great room that flowed into the dining area with the kitchen around the corner to form an L shape. Tyler searched the well-worn leather couches, while Heather checked the bookshelf, taking the books down, inspecting them and then piling them on the floor.
Tyler even checked under the large throw rug covering the hardwood in the living room. No secret compartments. No secret hiding places. He moved on to the dining room while Heather continued her slow but steady pace through the bookshelf.
The large rectangular table had no drawers or hidden slots in which to stash a notebook.
“Mommy?” A small boy stood at the bottom of the stairs staring at Tyler with wide eyes beneath a fringe of dark brown bangs. He wore footie pajamas with rockets all over them. A plush dinosaur dangled from one tiny hand.
Tyler untucked his shirt and quickly pulled it over his hip holster, hoping the boy hadn’t noticed his firearm. No need to frighten the child.
“Colin, honey.” Heather rushed to her son’s side. “What are you doing up?”
Keeping his eyes on Tyler, the child said, “I heard a noise.”
She picked him up, hugging him close. “It was just me and...” She looked at Tyler as if she weren’t sure how to introduce him.
Tyler stepped closer. “I’m Tyler. A friend of your uncle Seth.”
“Uncle Seth is with Daddy now,” Colin replied gravely.
“Yes, he is,” Tyler said. He gave the boy a sad smile. “I’m sure they are both watching over you and your mommy.”
Colin scrunched up his nose. “What happened to your head?”
Heather grimaced.
“I had an accident,” Tyler said, touching the bandage on his head. “With a frying pan.”
Heather’s eyes widened, and a pink blush stained her cheeks. He grinned at her. She flushed a deeper shade of red.
The boy snuggled into the crook of his mother’s neck. She kissed the top of his head. The sight of Heather and her son made a touching picture. Tyler’s chest grew tight.
“I’ll be right back,” Heather said and carried Colin upstairs.
Something shifted and constricted inside Tyler as he watched them go. Heather’s love for her son was obvious in the tender way she treated him. Tyler had never known that kind of love.
Certainly not from his mother. She’d been too busy scoring her next high or lost in a haze of drugs to bother with affection. Her only son had been a means to gain the weekly welfare check, nothing more.
After