Cold Case at Camden Crossing

Tawny-Lynn forced a smile, although she dreaded the backbreaking job. “Yes, I do.”

She didn’t offer more information, and thankfully another customer came up behind her and the woman tallied her items quickly. Tawny-Lynn paid with her debit card and headed outside, but as she loaded the items into her trunk, she sensed someone watching her, and anxiety tightened her shoulders.

When she turned, Cassie Truman’s father was standing behind her. Age lines fanned his face, his hair had streaks of gray, but he still carried himself as if he were superior to everyone else.

“Mr. Truman,” she said, remembering the way he’d banned her from his daughter’s funeral.

“I’m the mayor now.”

So he and Chaz’s father must be buddy-buddy, both in control of the town.

She reached to close the trunk of her SUV. “Excuse me, I need to leave.”

“Are you leaving?” he said.

Anger shot through her at his tone. The Camdens and the parents of the girls who’d died blamed her for not remembering details of that day, but she couldn’t help it.

It was like a black hole had swallowed her memory of that day. She wanted the memories back, wanted to know how she’d escaped the bus with a broken leg and where Ruth and Peyton were.

But no amount of pushing or counseling had helped. She’d even tried hypnosis, but that had failed as well.

“As soon as I put the ranch up for sale,” she said, a trace of bitterness in her tone.

“You still aren’t going to tell us what happened back then?”

Pain, sharp and raw, splintered her. “Believe me, Mayor Truman, if I ever remember, the town will know.”

Battling tears, she brushed past him, jumped in the SUV and backed away.

Her hands were shaking, her heart racing. Damn him. Damn her.

She wanted to remember and put the story to rest.

She slapped the steering wheel and brushed away tears. She had lost her sister that day, too.

Night had set in, the Friday-night diner crowd filing outside to their cars and heading home. She wondered if they still played bingo at the church and had monthly dances at the rec.

Not that she would be attending any. She meant what she’d said. She’d clean up White Forks and get the hell out before the town destroyed her again.

Her SUV hit a pothole, and she braked, then slowed as she drove the country road. Seconds later, lights appeared behind her, and she checked her rearview mirror, anxious as the car sped up and rode her bumper.

Irritated, she braked again, hoping the driver would pass her, but the jerk slowed slightly, then continued to ride her as she left town. The curve caught her off guard, and she skimmed the edge of the road, then the car passed, forcing her toward the ditch.

Sweat beaded on her hands as she clenched the steering wheel and tried to maintain control, but her tires hit another pothole, and the Jeep skidded off the road.

Her body slammed against the steering wheel as the SUV pitched forward, the front bumper ramming into the ditch.

The impact jerked her neck, her head hit the back of the seat and the world went dark.

Chapter Three

Chaz paid his bill at the diner, then checked in with his deputy, Ned Lemone, a young, restless guy who’d taken the job but made it clear he wanted to move to a big city and make detective. Not enough action around Camden Crossing.

At least he didn’t mind the night shift.

“Anything I need to know about?” Chaz asked.

Deputy Lemone shook his head. “A domestic out at the Cooter farm.”

“Wally and Inez at it again?”

His deputy nodded. “She threw a cast-iron skillet at him. Broke his big toe.”

Chaz shook his head. The couple fought like cats and dogs, but refused to separate. He’d been out there a half dozen times himself.

Chaz walked to the door. “Call me if anything comes up.”

Deputy Lemone nodded, and Chaz strode outside, went to his car and drove toward his cabin a couple of miles outside town on a creek, only three miles from White Forks.

And on the opposite side of town from his folks. Maybe he should relocate even farther away from them.

But he’d stayed, hoping being close might lead him to a clue about Ruth’s disappearance.

He wound around the curve on the deserted road, fighting thoughts of Tawny-Lynn when he noticed a battered, blue SUV had nose-dived into the ditch.

Tawny-Lynn’s SUV.

Dammit.

He swerved to the side of the road, threw the cruiser into Park and jogged over to her Jeep. His boots skidded on gravel as he rushed down the incline.

He glanced inside the driver’s side and saw Tawny-Lynn raise her head and look up at him. Blood dotted her forehead, and she seemed dazed and confused.

He pulled the door open. “Tawny-Lynn, are you all right?”

She nodded, then touched her forehead. He did a quick assessment. Her seat belt must have kept her from serious harm, but the Jeep was so old it didn’t have air bags.

“What happened?” Chaz asked as he lifted her chin to examine her for other injuries. The cut was small, and he didn’t think it needed stitches, but she could have a concussion.

“I... A car came up behind me,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I slowed to let him go past but he kept riding my bumper. And when he passed me, he was so close I ran off the road.”

“Did the driver stop?”

She shook her head. “No, he raced on by. He seemed like he was in real hurry.”

“Did you see who was driving?”

“No.”