Deadly Christmas Secrets. Shirlee McCoy
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all the details before he began a mission. “Her body was never found.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “What information does he have?”
“A photograph. A piece of cloth that he says might be part of her blanket.”
He didn’t think it was possible, but she paled more, swaying slightly. Her dog nudged her side.
She touched his head and seemed to ground herself.
“I received something similar.”
“A photo?” Sheriff Hunter asked.
“No. A newspaper article and a piece of something that might have been Amelia’s favorite blanket.” The words rasped out, and Logan cupped her elbow, afraid she might pass out. She looked that shaken, that anxious.
“Did you keep it?” the sheriff asked, and she nodded.
“I called the DC police about it, but they haven’t gotten back to me.”
“When was that?” Logan asked, leading her toward the two-story cabin that sat in the middle of a cleared lot. An acre. Maybe a little more. He’d looked at the plans before he’d driven out, gotten a good feel for the land. Not because he’d expected trouble. Just because it was what he did.
It had paid off this time.
He knew the topography. The creeks. The flatland and forests. The twenty acres she owned wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to get lost in when the forests were as deep and untouched as the ones that surrounded Harper’s place.
“Last night. I called Thomas Willard. He’s a homicide detective who led the investigation into my sister’s murder.” She opened the door.
No key.
She obviously hadn’t locked up before she’d left.
That bothered him.
Life was filled with danger. A person couldn’t avoid it, but he could certainly prepare for it.
“You might want to lock that the next time you go out,” he said, and she shrugged, soft brown hair slipping from its clip and falling across her face. She had freckles on her nose and on her cheeks, long black lashes tipped with gold. He’d say that she spent a lot of time outside, and that she knew her land about as well as anyone could know anything. He’d also say that she probably thought she had things under control, that it was within her power to keep trouble from coming down on her head.
That was a dangerous thing to assume.
He wanted to tell her that, but they were strangers, and he was making assumptions based on what he saw—the tidy little two-story cabin, the rifle that looked as if it had never been used hanging above a small fireplace, the wood-burning stove with its neat pile of wood beside it. Unless he missed his guess, there was more piled by the back door, several cords of it in storage on a back porch or in a shed. She probably had a month’s worth of supplies, an emergency generator for lights, everything she thought she’d ever need. That was good. Great, even. But the best-laid plans didn’t always pan out.
“It’s never been a concern before,” she said, tucking the stray hair behind her ear, her fingers speckled with flecks of red mud. “Now that it is, I’ll be sure to lock up. If you gentlemen don’t mind waiting here, the package is upstairs. I’ll get it.”
She ran from the room, heading toward the back of the cabin, her dog following along behind her. Logan figured there was a kitchen there, maybe a small laundry room and the staircase that led up to the second story. He was curious to see the place, get a feel for how difficult it would be to secure.
He stayed where he was, though, because he’d been asked to, and because he had a few things he wanted to talk to the sheriff about.
“Have your men found the sedan?” he asked as footsteps tapped across the floor above his head.
“Not yet, but the guy can’t have gotten far. Not with a blown tire.”
“There are plenty of places to hide around here,” Logan pointed out. “I’d guess he pulled onto some side road, hid the car and took off on foot.”
“I’m guessing you’re right, and since there are only a few crossroads between Harper’s property and town, I’m feeling pretty confident we’ll track the car down quickly.”
“And then?”
“Take some dogs into the woods, see if we can find our guy.”
“In the meantime, Harper will be out here alone.”
“You think the guy is going to come back?” Sheriff Hunter asked.
“I think he didn’t accomplish his goal. Harper is still alive.”
“You’re assuming Harper was the target,” Sheriff Hunter pointed out.
“That seems like a logical assumption.”
“In my opinion, it would be just as logical to assume that someone is after you. In your line of work, that wouldn’t be unlikely.” Logan didn’t ask how he knew what kind of work Logan did. If Sheriff Hunter hadn’t heard about the visitor to his small town the previous night and checked things out, he’d have had people checking Logan’s credentials as soon as he’d gotten the plate number off the Jeep.
“It wouldn’t be, but there were a dozen opportunities to take me out on my drive here. Not to mention my sleepover in Dora’s Sleep Haven last night. Place has no security. The windows don’t even lock.”
Sheriff Hunter smirked. “You should have asked a local. We would have pointed you to our pastor. He has a nice in-law suite that he loans out to anyone who has a need.”
“In other words, I’m the first person ever to stay with Dora?”
“There was a guy a few years back. Turned out he was running from the law and wanted a place to hide out. Not so smart to hide in a town that has fewer than a thousand residents. Dora called me. I did a little checking. Guy ended up spending the next night in Snowy Vista’s town jail.”
“Probably a lot more comfortable than Dora’s place,” Logan muttered.
“Probably.” He walked to the fireplace and lifted the shotgun. “Not loaded. I’m not keen on her living out here on her own, but if she’s going to stay, it would be a good idea to have some security.”
“You planning to talk to her about it?” he asked. If Sherriff Hunter didn’t, Logan would. She needed protection. At least until the guy who’d been driving the sedan was caught.
“I’ll give it a try. She has her own way of doing things. Not sure she’s going to listen to me.”
“She will if she wants to stay alive,” Logan responded as Harper walked back into the room.
Amelia.
She was all Harper could think about as she paced her bedroom, the sound of voices drifting up through the floorboards. Logan’s voice. The higher-pitched voice of his coworker, Stella Silverstone. She’d arrived three hours ago, striding into the cabin as if she owned the place. She’d made tea, fed Picasso, acted as if it wasn’t any of her concern if Harper didn’t want twenty-four-hour protection at the cabin.
“It’s her business,” Stella had said when Logan and Sheriff Hunter insisted that Harper shouldn’t stay in the cabin alone. “If she wants to die before she finds out if her niece is alive, what’s it to you?”
That was it.
All it took.
That one thought, that one little hope that Amelia was alive was enough to make Harper put up with anything or anyone.
Amelia alive...