Murder At Granite Falls

“So, do you think that prowler was the one who damaged your raft?”

“Nope.” He ran a hand over the damaged surface. “We would’ve noticed yesterday when we tried to put it on the river. But it was fine.”

“What if he was just scoping things out, and came back last night?”

“Maybe.”

She pulled a cell phone from the pocket of her khaki slacks and offered it to him. “You should call the sheriff’s department.”

He sighed, thinking of the other suspicious events on the rafting company property and his cabin over the past twelve months. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not? You’ll need a police report to file an insurance claim, right?”

He laughed at that. “I took photos, but my insurance company has become a little testy when I call.”

“But that’s their job. Answering your calls. Taking care of your claims.”

“Within reason.”

“Well, if I were you—” Her eyes widened with sudden understanding. “This isn’t the first time you’ve had trouble.”

“No, ma’am.”

“But…why?” Her gaze swept the dense forest of pines crowding in on three sides of the clearing. “And why doesn’t the sheriff’s department help?”

He thought about all the ways they’d failed to properly investigate. The morning after someone shot out a window in his cabin. Or the day he’d found his tires slashed. Or the other, more subtle events that illustrated exactly what local opinion was regarding his character.

Given the offhand attitude and smirk on the face of the deputy who’d responded to his calls, any amount of trouble at Wolf River Rafting Company was what Logan deserved, and more.

“I’m sure they’re busy enough as it is,” he said finally. “And what are they going to do? A little vandalism won’t warrant some big investigation.”

“I think there’s more to all of this than just that.” She regarded him for a long moment. “Since I moved to town, two deputies and a teacher have hinted that I should be worried about living here. I ignored them, because I think you and your sister seem like nice people. But now Robbie and Danny’s mom acted like she didn’t want them to ever come out here, no matter what. So what’s going on?”

No wonder she hadn’t packed her bags and fled to town after her first day here. She didn’t know.

“Well?”

He felt the old, familiar weight of sadness and regrets crush his heart. “Probably because everyone in the county, barring a few jurors, still believes I murdered Sheryl Colwell.”

FOUR

“W-who was Sheryl Colwell?” Carrie stared at Logan, still not believing what he’d just said. Murder?

That he’d been tried in a court of law meant there had been evidence. Good evidence. And that the sheriff’s department and district attorney had been convinced of his guilt. From the oblique warnings she’d received, at least two deputies still believed he was a dangerous man. Had she been living this close to a cold-blooded killer? Chatting casually with a man capable of violence?

And he knew exactly how alone she was out here, on these long, cold Montana nights.

Logan’s expression turned stoic, as if he knew she was judging him and had already found him guilty. “Sheryl was a nice lady, far as I know. Thirty-two, with a husband and son.”

She drew in a sharp breath. “Is her son Noah Colwell?”

“That’s right.”

“I’ve had him in class a whole week and didn’t know anything about it. Poor boy—I have yet to hear him say a word in class. I just thought he was shy.” She felt her heart squeeze at the thought of all Noah had been through. “No wonder he’s so withdrawn.”

“His father has been intensely protective of the kid ever since. His sister came to live with them, since he has to travel quite a bit. He’s sometimes gone for weeks at a time.”

“That’s awful.”

Logan stared off at some distant point on the horizon, his voice flat and emotionless. “It was all part of the prosecution’s summation—how an innocent young child lost his mother due to one heinous act of violence, and has an even more disrupted family life because of his dad’s absences as a long-haul trucker. The attorney made it clear just how traumatized the boy was—to the point that he had barely spoken after his mom’s death. And maybe that was all true. But someone else killed her.”

She searched his face, trying to find the truth in his words. Wondering what she should believe. “If you were acquitted, why would those deputies still think you’re guilty?”

“Frankly, I don’t know why they ever thought so in the first place.”

The logical, practical side of her urged her to grab her keys and flee to the safety of Granite Falls. A growing feeling in her heart told her that this man couldn’t possibly be guilty of such a terrible crime. “But it’s over now, right?”

“Not at all.” He wearily shook his head. “I think the sheriff figured it was an easy, high-profile case, and expected it to wrap up with a nice, tidy conviction just before reelection time. Instead, my lawyer proved reasonable doubt and made him and his department appear inept. Which was true.”

“And the locals…”

“Some still figure this was just one more case where a crooked lawyer managed to set a killer free. Small-town gossip just doesn’t die.”

“I know. I grew up near a small town like this one, and memories run deep. As in, ‘Jane Doe? Oh, yeah—she’s the one whose mother had the affair with that doctor over in Evansville back in 1982.’” Carrie faltered to a stop as heat started creeping up the back of her neck. Way to go…now you’re babbling. “Uh, well…some things just brand you for life in a small town.”

As if he didn’t already know that from recent, bitter experience—a fact that he’d made perfectly clear. Even more embarrassed, she clamped her mouth shut.

He met her gaze squarely, as if he’d just read her thoughts, a muscle ticking along the side of his jaw. “If you want to tear up your lease contract, I’ll refund the deposit. But if you have any questions that could help set your mind at ease, fire away.”

“How well did you know Sheryl?”

“We ran into each other on Main Street now and then, and she came out for a couple of float trips. Once with her boy, then she came again alone. That’s it. End of story. We were just casual acquaintances. And on both raft trips there was a full load of passengers—tourists from all over the country, so neither trip included the intimate interlude that the prosecutor implied.”

“You were the guide?”

“Just by chance, both times. Tina hadn’t finished her training and safety certification yet.”

“So…what was Sheryl like?”

“As I said, she was a nice lady. Quiet. I don’t think she asked a single question during either trip. In fact, she seemed a little scared of the water. And when we beached the raft at our midway point for a riverside lunch, the other passengers took a hike up to Badger Peak rather than take time to eat. She was the only one who stayed behind, and she read a book the whole time. Said she didn’t like heights.”

“I suppose the other passengers were questioned, and said you two had…plenty of time alone together.”

“Right. The prosecutor tried to prove it was the start of an ongoing affair, if that’s what you’re getting at it.” Logan snorted. “So given the supposed affair, she later committed suicide? Or I killed her in a jealous rage because she wouldn’t leave her husband? None of that makes sense.”

“And if there was no proof—”

“Oh, there was ‘proof’ all right. An imprint of a Chaco sandal near where she fell off the cliff. In my size…as if most outdoors enthusiasts around here don’t wear that kind of sandal.”