Lawful Engagement. Linda O. Johnston
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his golden eyes. Bedroom eyes—sexy, yes, but even more a sign of exhaustion. She doubted he’d gotten any sleep that night.
Of course, neither had she. She’d gone home, written a story about the murder on her computer and e-mailed it to the Gazette, requesting a photographer to follow up since her digital shots weren’t professional. Then she’d showered, changed and lain in bed, her eyes wide open.
Nancy had called her. Nancy had been murdered….
As Cara’s former fiancé Andrew McGovern had been, only a few months ago. They hadn’t been together in a long time, but his death had still hit her surprisingly hard.
She’d called her parents at six-thirty this morning so they’d hear the news from Cara about Nancy, and about Cara finding her—not from the radio, TV or someone else. They still lived in the house in Mustang Valley where she’d grown up. Always overprotective, her mother had been proud when Cara had joined the editorial staff of the Mustang Gazette, but when she’d insisted on becoming a hard-hitting investigative reporter—
“Ms. Hamilton, this is Sheriff Wilson,” Mitch said. “He’ll be joining us this morning.”
“We’ve met.” Forbidding her nose from wrinkling despite the smoke smell hovering around the sheriff, Cara shook his hand. She had tried interviewing him for stories now and then, but he’d always been condescending, over-bearing and snide, a combination that always set her teeth on edge. Right now he regarded her as if prepared to place her under arrest. “Good to see you again, Sheriff,” she lied. As pleased as she’d be to run into her worst enemy, whoever that was. Of course, her list of enemies was expanding, thanks to her revelation in print of all sorts of nasties committed by the subjects of her stories.
She wasn’t sure, though, which was her worst one.
She accepted a cup of coffee, then exchanged pleasantries about the weather with the sheriff until Mitch Steele interrupted. “So, Ms. Hamilton, let’s start at the beginning for Sheriff Wilson’s benefit. You were a friend of Ms. Wilks?”
“Yes. Not close…” The way she was with her dearest friends in the world, Kelly McGovern—Kelly Lansing now—and Lindsey Wellington. “But we got together for lunch often, exchanged birthday cards, that kind of thing. She even sent me a postcard from Orlando when she was on vacation a few months ago.” Cara stopped abruptly, thinking of how excited Nancy had been to get away. And now she’d never—
“Okay, let’s get to what happened last night,” Mitch said. “You received a phone call from Ms. Wilks about when?”
Putting her grieving aside for the moment, Cara went through the story again, not changing any of it. As far as they were concerned, Nancy had called because she was depressed about losing her job and needed someone to talk to.
No way would Cara mention that Nancy had something important to show her. Not until Cara knew what it was.
Obstruction of justice? Maybe, though she hoped not. Mostly she was trying to protect her source. Though that source was now dead.
Cara’s mouth worked on automatic as she continued describing her arrival, what she had found.
Her mind continued to spin. Maybe Nancy’s reputation had been on the line, and that was why she’d called Cara. Despite her apparent efficiency and dedication, had she done something shady at the law firm and been ready to ’fess up? Did she have evidence she’d intended to show Cara?
Cara had to know. She had to write the truth about the Nancy Wilks’s murder.
And about the others.
“Ms. Hamilton?” Mitch Steele’s deep, irritated voice broke into her thoughts.
“Yes?”
“Tell us again what you did between the time you called 911 and when the authorities arrived.”
Conducted my own quick, fruitless search. “I tried to do something for Nancy, but I could tell she was gone.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact, but had to swallow suddenly. Damn him. She wanted to stay remote, objective, observe it all like a good reporter. But when she was asked questions that made her relive how she’d found Nancy, would she always want to cry?
“Right,” Mitch said. “And did you touch anything?”
Had they found her fingerprints? That could be explained. She’d been at Nancy’s apartment before, though not recently.
“Well, I touched Nancy, and her bedclothes. And of course the doorknob when I came in, and the door to her room, I think.”
“Ms. Hamilton, I don’t think you’re being entirely forthcoming here,” the sheriff drawled softly from behind Mitch.
“Pardon?”
“We’ve reason to believe that Ms. Wilks called you for a different reason. That you came to her home in a panic and killed her, and that you searched the place, then called for help. What did you find, and where did you put the gun?”
Cara felt the color drain from her face. She glanced at Mitch. Did he think she killed Nancy, too? She couldn’t read his expression, though the way his mouth was set, she thought he was angry. At her?
No. She was suddenly sure that Mitch was mad at the sheriff for going on a fishing expedition.
Relief warred with anger. Mitch Steele, the deputy at the scene, might not have ruled her out, but she doubted he considered her a viable suspect. Yet he wasn’t going to contradict his boss.
She, on the other hand, could do just that. And more. For the main reason she had agreed so easily to come in for questioning was that she’d hoped to get some questions of her own answered.
She looked over Mitch’s wide shoulder toward Sheriff Ben Wilson. He regarded her with what appeared to be impassive curiosity.
She’d get him to show more emotion or she’d eat her favorite notepad—which she still carried in her purse.
Coolly she stared back at the man who’d just accused her of murder. “Sorry, Sheriff. You’ll have to do better than that. Nancy called me, I came, and I found her body. Period. I can’t be a real suspect in her murder, and you know it. Did your technicians find any gun residue on me? Any other reason to suspect me?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Look. Nancy was depressed about losing her job at the law firm. You know, Lambert & Church? Where one of the lawyers, Andrew McGovern—” Her fiancé years ago. She swallowed and continued, “Andrew McGovern was murdered by our esteemed former mayor, Frank Daniels. A friend of mine, Andrew’s sister, Kelly, solved that one.”
“Now, wait a minute.” The sheriff was on his feet. “You’re under a misunderstanding there.”
“I don’t think so.” Cara glanced at Mitch, whose dark eyebrows were raised. Was he laughing at her, or with her? She continued, “Then there was the murder of rancher Jeb Rawlins. He was killed by Paul Lambert, and that case was solved by a new associate at the firm, Lindsey Wellington, who’s also my friend. She’s now engaged to Mr. Rawlins’s nephew, who’d been wrongfully accused of the killing. There seem to be a lot of false allegations around here, instead of crime solving, don’t you think?”
“You’re out of line, Ms. Hamilton.” Fury turned the sheriff’s face flaming red. Should she feel afraid? Maybe, but she didn’t.
Instead, she finished with the question that she’d come here with. “Suppose you tell me, Sheriff Wilson, what the connection is among the three murders. There has to be one. They all involve Lambert & Church. And why is it that your department failed to solve the first two killings? Can we be sure you’ll solve this one, or should everyone in town who had any connection with Lambert & Church be afraid for their lives?”
Chapter Three
Since Ben Wilson had become sheriff, Mitch had stirred up his ire a lot, mostly unintentionally. He’d always stifled his impulses and pulled back to avoid