Murder And Mistletoe

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LEANNE WOULD’VE HANDCUFFED the good-looking cowboy for taking a picture of the hangman’s rope herself if the sheriff was cooperating. Since he wasn’t and she figured the two were in the same boat with Sawmill, she’d let it slide and figure out a way to find out what he was so interested in.

The cowboy was hard to miss at six-four and he was using her as a distraction, which had her mind spinning with even more questions. Did the man, who was professional-athlete tall with a muscular build and grace to back it up, know Clara? His hair was a light brown with blond mixed in and his eyes were a serious blue. Under different circumstances, she’d have enjoyed the view. But her niece had been taken down from that tree...

Leanne’s heart nearly burst thinking about it. As difficult as it was, she had to keep her emotions in check and focused. Keeping a tight grip on her sentiments was proving more difficult than expected, and she’d put the sheriff on the defensive already because she wasn’t restraining those very feelings.

For the sake of finding Clara’s killer, she would do almost anything and that included swallowing her pride. The last thing she wanted to do was cut off her best source of information.

She softened her approach. “I apologize for getting off on the wrong foot, Sheriff.”

The sheriff nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, this case needs my full attention.”

Sheriff Clarence Sawmill was much older than Leanne and he had more experience. She was a solid detective, but her emotions were getting in the way and she was blowing it big-time. The sheriff was already on high alert and, from the looks of him, had been since his town had gone crazy following the news of Maverick Mike Butler’s death. Leanne had read about the famous murder that was still an open investigation and she worried that her niece’s case would get swept under the rug.

“In the spirit of cooperation, I’d like to offer my assistance,” Leanne said, hoping the softer tact would sway him. She didn’t care how she managed to get the sheriff’s agreement. Only that she got it.

“Again, with all due respect, we have this covered.” His tone was final as he walked her toward the temporary barricade that had been set up to cordon off the scene. He seemed to realize the cowboy wasn’t following when he stopped and turned. “Dalton.”

The cowboy seemed to be taking full advantage of the sheriff’s split attention. She needed to figure out his interest in the case.

“I’m coming, Sheriff,” he said, jogging to catch up.

Since Leanne never seemed to learn her lesson about fighting a losing battle—and face it, this battle was lost—she spun around to try yet another approach. It was the equivalent of trying to grasp a slippery rope while tumbling down a mountain, but she’d do anything to find out what had really happened. “I can call my SO and have more resources here than you’ll know what to do with. Surely, you wouldn’t want to—”

“I doubt the city of Dallas will throw personnel at a teen suicide investigation in my small town.” The sheriff’s brow creased.

“Is that how you’re classifying it?” Leanne balked. “What makes you so sure it’s not murder?”

“For one. There were no other footprints leading up to the ladder against the tree.” The sheriff took in a sharp breath as though to stem his words. No doubt, he hadn’t meant to share this much. “I’ll include all the details in my report.”

“How soon will that be available?” she asked, figuring she was already overstepping her bounds. Might as well go all in at this point.

“You’ll be one of the first to know.” The sheriff signaled for one of his deputies to escort her and the cowboy, Dalton, the last few steps to the barricade.

A cruiser parked and the passenger side door opened. Leanne started to make a beeline toward the vehicle because she had a sinking feeling her sister would be the one stepping out. She wasn’t ready to reveal her relationship with the victim but that was about to be done for her.

“Excuse me.” The sheriff grabbed her arm to stop her.

Leanne muttered a curse, wishing she could shield Bethany.

“I’m afraid you’re done here,” the sheriff warned.

“Not anymore.”

“This is my county and my business.” The sheriff’s voice fired a warning shot.

“That may be true, Sheriff. But that’s my sister, and I have every intention of staying by her side through this,” Leanne ground out. Technically, Bethany was Leanne’s half sister. “So I’m not going anywhere until I know she’s all right.”

Bethany had been fragile before and Leanne was worried the situation was about to get a whole lot worse.

“The victim was your niece?” It was the sheriff’s turn to balk.

Leanne nodded.

“Why didn’t you say something before?”

“Would you have allowed me to stay? To have access to your investigation?” she shot back.

The sheriff hung his head in response, and she was certain Dalton made a shocked noise. Everyone knew the answer to that question, and she’d been forced to tip her hand before she was ready.

Dalton turned and then made a move toward the barricade. She couldn’t let him disappear without finding out what he’d captured on his phone.

She touched his arm and fireworks scorched her fingers.

Ignoring the heat pulsing between them, she said, “Please, stay.”

“What happened to my baby?” Bethany’s legs folded and a deputy caught her as she slumped against the cruiser. Leanne bolted toward her sister as her stomach braided.

Even with the best of intentions, Bethany would only hurt Clara’s case.

Chapter Two (#u01a94f79-530d-52fa-9732-ae0cb5779ad9)

“Please, sit down,” Sheriff Sawmill instructed, pointing to one of two small-scale leather chairs opposite his mahogany desk. He glanced toward Dalton, who was helping Bethany walk. “I thought I made my position clear at the scene, Dalton.”

“My presence was requested, Sheriff,” he responded. When she’d almost fainted a second time, he’d been there to scoop her head up before it pounded gravel.

“I asked him here, sir,” the detective interjected. “I’ll be sticking around the area for a few days and my sister is in no condition to offer assistance. I needed someone local to the area to give advice on the best place to eat and stay.”

“My office would be more than happy to make recommendations.” Sawmill stared at Dalton a few seconds too long before blowing out a breath and focusing on the victim’s mother.

To Dalton’s thinking, Bethany Schmidt didn’t look anything like her sister. Her shoulder-length hair was stringy and mousy-brown. Her red-rimmed eyes were a darker shade, a contrast to the honey-colored hue of the detective’s. Bethany’s sallow cheeks and willowy frame made her look fragile. She carried herself with her shoulders slumped forward and the bags under her eyes outlined the fact that she’d been worried long before today. Grief shrouded her, which he understood given the circumstances, and this much grief could change a person’s physical appearance. He’d seen that almost instantly with Alexandria’s parents.

His heart went out to her, knowing full well how difficult it was to lose someone and yet how much worse it must be when it was her child. Bethany had seemed too distraught to say a whole lot on the ride over, so he’d offered her a sympathetic shoulder.

The detective from Dallas hadn’t said much on the ride over, either, and Dalton figured she didn’t want to upset her sister by talking about the case. Besides, he could almost see the pins firing in her brain, as she must’ve been cycling through every possible scenario. He’d watched from his back seat view.

Alexandria’s mother had pushed him away and it felt right to be able to offer comfort to someone who was living out what had to be their worst version of hell.

“First of all, I’m deeply sorry for your loss, ma’am,” Sheriff Sawmill began. He sat down and clasped his hands, placing them on top of his massive desk, which was covered in files. An executive chair was tucked into the opposite side. The sheriff’s office was large, simple. There were two flags on poles standing sentinel, flanking the governor’s picture. In the adjacent space, a sofa and table upon which stood a statue of a bull rider atop a bronze bull that had been commissioned by Dalton’s father. Maverick Mike had been a generous man and had given Sawmill the gift after he’d gone above and beyond the call of duty in order to stop a gang of poachers. The heroics had cost Sawmill a bullet in the shoulder.

There was a half-empty packet of Zantac next to a stack of files. Dalton had been inside this room too often for his taste in the past few months. Activity down the hall had slowed since the last time he had been here. The temporary room set up for volunteers to take calls about leads in the Mav’s case was still in the conference room at the mouth of the hallway, but there were fewer phone calls now and leads had all but dried up.

Bethany sniffled, clutching a bundle of tissues in a white-knuckle grip.

Dalton kept to the back of the room, near the door.

“I apologize again for asking you to give a statement so soon. Anything you can tell us might help close the investigation.” Dalton noticed that Sawmill didn’t mention the word murder.Was he being careful not to set false expectations that he would treat this as anything other than a suicide?