Denim Detective Page 8

  “Pilar, we’ll be down for breakfast in a few minutes,” he said, dismissing the housekeeper. She left as though happy to escape. Deedra stepped into the walk-in closet without glancing at him, and Beau wanted to kick himself. This was not the homecoming he’d planned for her after last night.

  Damn it all. Yesterday had frayed their respective mettles to the snapping point, but somehow they’d managed to hang on and come out the other side ahead of where they’d been these past few months. At least, that’s how he’d felt this morning when he’d awakened to find her beautiful face on the pillow beside his.

  He realized now that he’d deluded himself. She was still as fragile, maybe more so, than when she’d last been home. Her weight loss should have told him she was running on raw nerves. More frazzled than before. He thought of the pills and wondered whether they were some kind of mood regulators.

  She intruded on his thoughts. “I’ll get dressed and meet you downstairs.”

  “I’m not going yet.” He reached above her head for the camera on the closet shelf. “I want to photograph that writing. For evidence.”

  She gave him a leery glance, judging his motives, he suspected. She didn’t quite trust him. He wasn’t sure how to regain her trust, either. In fact, if he were honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he fully trusted her. Maybe there had been too much damage to their relationship for them to recover.

  He cleared his throat. “After breakfast I’ll speak with the ranch hands and Uncle Sean. Maybe one of them noticed somebody coming into the house this morning.”

  He saw her shoulders shift as if something weighty had been lifted from them. “Thank you. Beau, before you start taking pictures, could you get my bag?”

  “Sure.” He set the camera on the bathroom counter and hurried out to her car. When he returned, Dee was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Both were baggy.

  She frowned at her image in the full-length mirror. “My clothes are too big.”

  He bit back the urge to comment, figuring this was one of those times when no matter what a guy said, it would be the wrong response. He gave her the overnight case, and then went back to the camera.

  Through the lens, he studied the lipstick graffiti. The letters had been formed with hard, sharp strokes as if written in searing anger. He focused on the wording, and the hair on his nape prickled. He’d seen this printing. Recently. But where? It wasn’t Dee’s, but another woman’s. Damn it. Who? The answer flickered on the edges of his memory.

  The rattle of pills against plastic sent the memory fleeing. Deedra had dug a medicine bottle from the overnight bag he’d brought her. She peered into the depths of the plastic container, then said, “I’ll need to see Dr. Haynes and get these refilled. Set up my surgery, too.”

  “I’ll take you in later this morning if you can get an appointment.”

  “Good.” She tugged the top off the pill container.

  “Dee.” He pointed to the message on the mirror. “Does this writing look familiar to you?”

  She bristled, the pill bottle tilted over her upturned palm. “I told you I didn’t do it.”

  “Dee, if we’re going to figure out who’s trying to kill you, we have to work together. Because, so far, working separately hasn’t done us any good.”

  “That’s for damned sure.” Two pills landed in her palm.

  “Then can we call a truce?”

  She blew out a taut breath and nodded. “Okay.”

  He pointed to the mirror. “Does this handwriting look familiar to you?”

  She stared at the writing, tugging a disposable cup from its dispenser and filling it with water. “You know, there is something… Those, uh, curlicued Es. I’ve seen them recently somewhere…” She raised the pills to her mouth, then stopped, her eyes rounding as an answer dawned on her. “Oh, my God, Beau. The woman who writes you love notes.”

  He swore and slapped a hand against his thigh. That was it. “You’re right. It’s her.”

  Deedra’s fist curled around the pills, and she stepped closer to him, her gaze blazing with accusation. “Who is she?”

  “Dee, I swear to you on…on Callie’s grave, I have no idea.” He touched his chest over his heart with both hands. “The relationship she describes between us in those mash notes is a delusion. Not only have I never been with this woman, I don’t even know her.”

  He wanted to touch her, to pull her into his arms and assure her of his sincerity with every ounce of his being. But she held herself too stiff, resistance tight in her expression. He dropped his hands to his sides. She’d have to decide. Either she trusted him, or…

  She lifted her hand to her mouth to take the pills and Beau felt a shock of fear. Oh, Lord, what if…? He grabbed her hand. She yelped in startled pain and dropped the pills. “What are you doing?”

  “The pills. Your car wasn’t locked. She could have—”

  He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Deedra stepped back as though he’d slapped her. Her gaze fell to the dropped pills. She bent and gathered the two capsules, and then offered them to Beau. He collected the nearly empty bottle and replaced them.

  “I believe you.” She spoke so softly it took him a moment to realize what she’d said.

  The band unwound from his chest, easing his breathing. “I’ll call Nora Lee, get her out here to dust for fingerprints.”

  She frowned. “Is it likely she’ll find any? Even crime-committing morons know to wear gloves these days.”

  “Then I’ll call Heck, hire a private forensics lab from Butte. They’ll go over this room and the bedroom with a fine-tooth comb, as well as analyze these capsules.”

  She frowned. “Haven’t we compromised the scene already? Added our DNA to whatever might have been left behind?”

  “Yeah, but these days more crimes are solved with science than old-fashioned puzzle work. The team can eliminate us and Pilar, and with any luck, they’ll find a hair or fiber or other evidence to point us in the right direction. Maybe on one of the pills, if not the container. Maybe near the bed, or on the counter, the mirror, the cabinet.”

  “The lipstick.” Deedra swept open the drawer where she kept the tube of lip gloss that matched the lettering on the mirror and dug through the array of cosmetics. “It’s not here.”

  Beau grabbed the waste basket. “Not here, either.”

  “She took it with her.”

  “That doesn’t mean she wasn’t careless.” But the look Dee gave him echoed his own doubts on that subject. So far they had nothing on this woman except her delusional mash notes, and since he’d never even guessed she was at the heart of the attacks on Dee, he’d tossed most of those—or handled them without thought. But this time the woman had gotten careless. Coming into their home, into their bedroom, she’d increased the chances that she’d left behind a clue or two to her identity.

  For the first time in a long time, he felt encouraged.

  His stomach gave a hungry growl. “Come on, let’s go see what Pilar fixed for breakfast.”

  NORA LEE ANDERSON ARRIVED around lunchtime with a man and woman from the Butte forensics lab Beau had contacted. Deedra had met Nora Lee when Clyde DeMarco was still sheriff, a couple of months after Callie went missing. She wore a uniform that had enough police regulation gear attached to dwarf her compact figure, and an air that warned she could more than handle her job. She had the high cheekbones and coloring of an ice queen from the fjords of Norway, slanted frost-blue eyes and a full, serious mouth. Her hair was short, a snowy cap. For all her chilly exterior, Deedra had found her sympathetic and warm during some of her hardest hours. She would never forget that kindness.

  They exchanged greetings, and Beau led the three to the bedroom. Deedra retreated to the kitchen.

  Sean Shanahan was seated at the breakfast table in the bay window that overlooked the barn and corrals.

  Over the rim of his coffee cup, he locked Deedra with a cold stare.

  Her heart clutched, and she wished she’d accompanied Beau u
pstairs with Nora Lee and the forensics team. She tore her gaze from his and circled the counter to the half-full coffeepot. Sean’s gaze drilled into her, assessing, judging. She’d always gotten the impression that he hadn’t approved of her, hadn’t thought she was good enough for Beau. Holding the pot, she glanced at him. “More coffee?”

  “No, thanks.” He shoved away from the table. He stood almost as tall as her husband, but there had always been something more imposing about this man. The hardships he’d suffered early in his life had turned his dense ebony hair completely silver by the time he reached thirty. Now, at forty-seven, he wore it in a crew cut. His green eyes were shades paler than Beau’s, but just as mesmerizing, as intense.

  She felt pinned by them now.

  He placed his empty mug in the sink. “For Beau’s sake, I’m glad you’ve turned up alive and relatively well. But you ought to be tarred and feathered for what you put him and the rest of us through—thinkin’ God-knows-what might’ve befallen you. Scourin’ the country for you. Havin’ to accept that you might not be alive. How’d you expect Beau to take that comin’ on the heels of losin’ his sweet baby girl?”

  “I…I…” Heat flooded her cheeks. Beau hadn’t told her they’d scoured the country for her. But of course he would have. He’d probably rousted Freddie about her whereabouts, too. But obviously her old friend hadn’t seen fit to set his mind at ease. Damn it all. “I’m sorry for causing such distress.”

  “You oughta be.” Sean was no stranger to distress. Or loss. His first wife died weeks after their wedding, of an aneurysm. He met and married Jenny five years later. That marriage lasted a whole year and a half. According to Sean, Jenny had a worse malady than his first wife: wanderlust.

  She’d hated ranch life. Had wanted him to give it up. As if it weren’t in his blood. His soul. She’d run off with one of his ranch hands. He’d never gotten over these two blows to his heart. His ego. Some females, he now claimed, as though it were God’s own truth, were not meant to be Shanahan women. He could see it in their eyes.

  Every time she heard him say this, she knew he meant her eyes.

  “I was desperate, Sean,” she explained, not expecting him to understand, but needing to be heard. “I didn’t have time to think about anything or anyone else. Just escape. Or die.”

  His glare hardened. “Most people in those shoes would’ve turned to family for help.”

  She bit down her growing anger. Furious with herself that his words could sting so deeply. How easy it was for him. How black-and-white. He had something she’d never had. Roots. Family ties that bound his very soul. He didn’t do anything without considering how his actions might affect the unit as a whole.

  He could never comprehend the desperation she’d grown up with, could never know what it was to live in her world where preservation hinged on self.

  It struck her now that she had never let go of that belief. Never allowed herself to feel totally a part of this family. She hadn’t known how. Still didn’t. Could such a thing be learned? Could someone who’d disconnected before she’d reached her teens ever plug in again? “All I can do is apologize, Sean, but not for running. Left with the same choices, I’d do it again.”

  “Let’s see that you don’t have reason to do it again.” But the look in his eyes said he expected her to do exactly that at the first opportunity.

  She wanted nothing more than to disabuse him of the notion. “I’m not planning on going anywhere. I’m here to stand and fight.”

  “It’s about time you started acting like a Shanahan.”

  So, that was what this was all about: she’d embarrassed him. Smudged the Shanahan name. She would be the hot topic at Granny Jo’s diner for weeks to come. She suspected if Sean had his way, she wouldn’t be a Shanahan. Well, he might just get that wish. And soon. Beau being so quick to believe she might have written that vile message on the bathroom mirror had shown her that she was jumping the gun thinking they could bridge the gap between them by making love. Physical passion burned bright but not necessarily long. Great sex was not binding. It did not glue marriages together over the long haul.

  But she had more important things to worry about first: like who could slip onto the ranch and into the house without anyone paying them the least attention?

  Chapter Nine

  “Why didn’t she just kill me this morning, Beau?” Deedra had been able to think of nothing but the killer’s threat since leaving the house and heading out into open territory. Beau was driving her to her doctor’s appointment. Buffalo Falls loomed on the horizon.

  He scanned the road ahead and behind. Distracted, too. “What do you mean?”

  “Why write a threat on the bathroom mirror? Why did she want me to know she could get to me? What’s the point of playing games at this juncture?”

  Beau grew thoughtful, then sighed. “Damned if I can figure it.”

  “After her blatant attacks yesterday, it really doesn’t make sense, does it?”

  “Hell, I don’t know.” His jet-black eyebrows scrunched together beneath the brim of his Stetson. “Maybe it’s too much to ask that it make sense. I mean, considering she’s nuttier than Pilar’s black-walnut cookies.”

  Deedra’s palms dampened and her scalp prickled. Street life had taught her that it was best to deal head-on with most things that came at her. Except the crazies. She shivered, recalling. One night, another runaway she’d befriended attempted to help a bag lady. The bag lady had thought the girl intended to steal something from the precious store of treasures she toted around in a grocery cart. She flashed a switchblade and plunged it into the runaway’s belly faster than Deedra could yell, “Look out!”

  She could still smell the dying girl’s blood. She shed the awful memory but couldn’t shirk the message in that lesson. If the woman who wanted her dead actually was insane, heaven help her. “How can we keep ahead of someone who doesn’t think like a normal person?”

  His sexy mouth firmed. “We have to think like a crazy person.”

  “How do we do that?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “Great.” She shivered, wanting to scream, wanting to shred something with her bare hands.

  “I’m sorry, Dee. I didn’t mean to make you feel worse. We’ll figure something out. Don’t be scared.”

  “How do I manage that after yesterday? I’m afraid to show my face on the street for fear of getting shot.”

  “She won’t pull anything in town.” He stroked her wrist, his fingers warm, tender. His touch felt good. Too good. Reassuring her that she wasn’t alone. She ached to embrace the feeling but she couldn’t. She didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust herself. Didn’t trust that Beau wouldn’t abandon her again when she most needed him.

  She pulled away, out of his reach. “If she’s as unhinged as we suspect, Beau, she’ll try anything anywhere.”

  “I don’t think she’s that kind of unhinged.”

  She pushed her hands through her short hair, wishing he’d stop staring at her mouth as though he wanted to devour it, wishing she didn’t share that feeling. “You mean, ‘crazy like a fox’?”

  “Yeah. Think about it, Dee. She needs to function normally somewhere. I’d wager my brand-new silver-studded saddle that Buffalo Falls is her home turf. If it weren’t, she couldn’t move around without standing out like an Angus in a field of longhorns.”

  They passed Wally’s Hamburger Shack, and Deedra glanced askance at it, not thinking of double-caramel milkshakes today, but of this disarming town. On the surface, it seemed innocent, but she knew now that she’d judged this book by its pastoral cover. She hadn’t even suspected the same kind of twisted nastiness that existed everywhere else in the world thrived just beneath the clapboard storefronts in this most benign of places.

  Beau drove onto Cody Street. The facade of Dr. Haynes’s offices resembled an Old-West saloon, right down to the double swinging doors. The single-story building took up the entire block. An attorney rented the office dir
ectly across the street. Few cars and fewer pedestrians moved about this afternoon, but she and Beau might have been a common sight for all the attention they drew.

  The doctor’s waiting room was another story. Deedra braced herself for a slew of curious glances and bold questions, but she might have been invisible. The six women patients seated in the doctor’s stiff plastic chairs, along with the nurse and the receptionist, had eyes only for Beau.

  He tipped his hat, and his mouth lifted at one corner, the beginning of a self-conscious grin. The women sighed in concert. Deedra shook her head. He could charm the mane from a Palomino if he set his mind to it. She suspected now he was using that charm to take the spotlight from her, and she had to admit, she owed him one for doing so.

  “Ladies.” He leaned on his cane like a man who’d fall down without it, like a man who might need some assistance from any one or all of these ladies.

  “Afternoon, Sheriff,” several voices sang together.

  “We hear you had some excitement out at your hunting lodge yesterday.” Zora Cross pushed her eyeglasses up the bridge of her ninety-year-old nose, as though the closer the lens, the better the view.

  “A real shoot-out.” McKenna Broom, all of thirteen and starry-eyed with infatuation, sighed.

  The others joined the discussion, asking questions, offering opinions.

  No one mentioned the return of his missing wife, she noted. A fact Deedra found odd considering the smoothly oiled gossip machine operating in this town. She gazed from woman to woman. No doubt about it, Beau was a regular babe magnet. She swallowed over a knot of frustration. The sniper wanted Beau to herself. So, it seemed, did every woman in this room. Damn. If this small sampling was any indication, their suspect list would contain the entire female population of Buffalo Falls.

  A bone-deep exhaustion swept her. The task of unmasking the stalker seemed suddenly more than daunting. Impossible. Too much to deal with, given her present physical and mental challenges. It would be so easy to just cry Uncle! And what? Let the she-devil win?