Scene of the Crime: Bridgewater, Texas. Carla Cassidy
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stopped by the house to spend some time alone in the room where life had been stolen, hoping that something would jump out at him, that he might see something in a new light, but the only thing new had been the arrival of Jenna Taylor.
“Hey, Harley,” Matt said as he greeted the old man clipping a row of scrubs in front of his house.
“Sheriff.” Harley nodded and dropped his clippers to his side. “Hot enough for you?”
“Only going to get hotter,” Matt replied.
“You find that killer yet?”
“Working on it.”
Harley frowned. “Forty-three years Mary and I have lived in this house and never has she asked me twice to make sure the doors are locked. But the last two nights she’s had me check the locks half a dozen times. She’s scared, Sheriff. Scared that some madman is going to get her like he got that young woman.”
“You tell Mary we’re going to get this guy. It’s just a matter of time,” Matt replied.
“Forty-eight hours have already passed. Doesn’t that mean your best chance of getting him is gone?”
Matt stifled a groan. God help the people who watched crime shows on television and believed everything they saw. “Harley, very few crimes are solved in forty-eight hours. Trust me, we’re going to solve this case.” With a wave of his hand, Matt continued down the sidewalk, his thoughts even more troubled than they had been moments before.
The murder had shaken people and there were details that hadn’t been released, details that made Matt’s guts clench. He hoped his gut was wrong, that this was a specific, isolated murder. But he had a bad feeling.
The sheriff’s office was located in the center of Main Street. It was a two-story brick building. The jail was located on the second floor and the first floor was divided into three rooms. The largest room held four desks where the deputies and the dispatcher worked. The second room was an interrogation/conference room and the third was Matt’s office.
“Hey, Sheriff,” Deputy Joey Kincaid greeted him as he walked through the door. The young man was the only person in the place. “Anything new?”
“Afraid not,” Matt replied. Joey was the most eager-to-learn-the-ropes deputy he’d ever worked with. He was like a sponge that soaked up any knowledge Matt might have to give him about the job. And he was an unusually quiet young man who rarely spoke unless he was asking questions.
“Anything new here?” Matt asked.
Joey shook his head. “Nothing. Linda and Jim went to lunch and I’ve just been holding down the fort.”
“I’m going to take a quick shower. If anyone calls, just take a message,” Matt said and then stepped into his inner office.
The first thing he looked at was the small, framed photograph that sat on his desk. In the photo was a beautiful blonde woman, his wife.
For three years she’d been his world and then that world had been stolen away by a madman. He reached up and touched the scar on his face. It never itched unless he looked at the photograph and remembered all that he’d lost.
It had been five years since Natalie had been taken, but there were days the wound felt as fresh as if it had just happened. Other days it felt like a dream he’d once had in another lifetime.
Matt headed to the bathroom with a shower just off his office where his uniform hung waiting. He stripped naked and stepped beneath a spray of hot water.
He worked to wash the stink of death off him before he donned his official khaki slacks and shirt. It was just after noon. He’d spend an hour or so reviewing the file on Miranda, then head out to the Sleepy Owl Motel and question Jenna Taylor.
Maybe if he conducted an official interview with her she’d be satisfied that he was doing his job and would go away.
He stepped out of the shower and dried off, then pulled on his clothes. Back at his desk he opened the pitifully thin file that contained the crime scene photos, reports of the evidence gathered and the interviews that had been conducted so far in the Miranda Harris murder case.
He didn’t know how long he’d been reading when he heard the sound of voices coming from the other room. Assuming that Linda Jerrod, the dispatcher and Deputy Jim Enderly had returned from lunch, he got up to check in with them.
The minute he opened his door he saw her. Jenna Taylor, her pert butt parked almost on top of Joey’s desk. The flirtatious smile that had lifted her lips slid away as Matt stepped into the room. Joey’s face turned bright red and he jumped up from his desk.
“Hmm, Sheriff, this is FBI Agent Taylor. She was just asking me some questions about the Harris case,” he exclaimed.
“Yes, we met earlier,” Matt said and tried to hang on to the anger the sight of her had evoked. Between her badge and her beauty, she’d probably been able to twist poor Joey into a million knots.
“Joey, go to lunch,” he said. “And you—” he pointed a menacing finger at Jenna “—in my office.”
Chapter Two
Sheriff Matt Buchannan was livid.
Jenna could tell by the color that filled his face, making the scar on his cheek stand out in stark relief. She sat in the chair opposite his desk and waited for the explosion she knew was imminent.
He reared back in his chair and drew a deep breath. “Do you not believe in taking orders?” he asked, his voice deep and deceptively calm.
“Depends on who’s giving them,” she replied.
His eyes narrowed as he held her gaze. “Stay away from my deputies, and trust me, that’s an order you don’t want to ignore.”
“I was just trying to get information about the murder. If you don’t want me bothering your deputies, then let me see your file. Give me copies of the crime scene photos and any interviews that you’ve conducted in response to the crime. Play nice with me and I won’t have a reason to go anywhere else to try to get information.”
He leaned forward and pulled out a piece of paper. “How do you know Miranda?”
Jenna realized that apparently he intended to interview her and had ignored her request for the official reports of the crime. “Miranda and I have been best friends since we were twelve years old.”
“Had you been in contact with her recently?”
“I spoke to her by phone the Saturday night before her death.” A rise of grief welled up inside her, but she mentally shoved it away. She refused to allow herself to show any emotion in front of this man with his hard gray eyes.
“Did she mention anyone she was having problems with here in town?”
Jenna shook her head. “No, even though she’d only been here a couple of months, she loved living here. She loved working as a waitress at the café and told me she was making lots of new friends.”
“What brought her here to Bridgewater?”
The heightened color had left his features and once again Jenna was struck by the fact that the sheriff was a hottie. She noticed the photo on top of his desk, a pretty blonde she assumed was his wife. She wondered what kind of a husband he was with his commanding presence and autocratic air. Probably a real pain in the butt, a his-way-or-the-highway type.
“Agent Taylor?”
She realized she hadn’t answered his question. “She was coming off a bad divorce and was looking to start over someplace new. She’d driven through here last fall and had thought it was a charming little town, and decided this was as good a place as any to start a new life.”
“You said a bad divorce? Bad how?”
“Nothing violent or anything like that.