The fund-raiser. She’d almost forgotten. They’d scheduled a mini-carnival for that night to raise a quick influx of cash to pay the mortgage. If they failed, Birdie would be out of business in short order. Plus, Emily had invested all of her savings in the business, so if it went under, she and her aunt would be homeless and penniless.
Emily checked her watch. She had to get out of there and quickly. She searched the area for Detective Carothers, who was deep in conversation with Archer and his team leader, Jake Marsh. The detective, a pencil-thin man wearing a baggy suit, clutched a folder to his chest and locked Jake in a stare down. Jake appeared to be asking for something.
Carothers suddenly shoved his hand into his hair and gave a firm nod. He spun, then started toward her. Jake gave Archer a thumbs-up. Archer grinned.
“Ms. Graves.” A sour look claimed Detective Carothers’s face as he dropped into one of the metal folding chairs across the table. “Deputies Marsh and Reed will be sitting in with us, but I’ll be taking lead on this investigation.”
“I don’t mean to sound impertinent, but could you wait to take my statement?” she asked, and explained about the fund-raiser and how important it was to their business. “If I don’t get going now, we won’t be ready on time.”
“I need to take your statement while the incident is fresh in your mind.”
Archer took a step toward Carothers. “Why not cut Ms. Graves some slack? She could jot down her thoughts right now, and you could question her later at home. Withrow is off the streets and won’t hurt anyone, so this isn’t time sensitive.”
Carothers pressed his lips together. “That is against protocol.”
“I get that,” Archer said. “But sometimes we need to be flexible.”
“She could talk to others. Change her story.”
“Look,” Archer added, “I’ll be glad to accompany her home and keep an eye on her all night. If someone is helping Withrow get back at her, I can keep her safe and ensure she doesn’t talk to anyone about the incident. Then if you have questions, I’ll personally escort her to the station in the morning or you can come to the B and B if you’d rather do it that way.”
Carothers took a long breath, let it out, then shoved a legal pad and pen across the table to her.
“Write down your version of the incident, leaving nothing out, and you can go.” He stood, gestured for Deputy Marsh to follow him and stepped away from the table.
She looked up at Archer. “Thank you. Normally, I wouldn’t put you out like this, but the fund-raiser is basically our last chance to keep Birdie’s B and B afloat.”
“I don’t mind.” He sounded sincere and his eyes were warm and friendly. “Besides, it seems like you could use some help getting ready for the fund-raiser, and I’m nothing if not helpful.”
He turned on a megawatt smile, and she had to look away before she found herself smiling up into eyes that were at times icy blue and like now, a warm, soothing baby blue. The last thing she needed was for him to think she was one of the many dopey-eyed women who must fall at his feet all the time.
She didn’t want to date anyone or even engage in a flirtation. Her mind needed to be squarely on helping Birdie. That, and if Delmar’s threat was true, watching her own back so she stayed alive to take care of her aunt.
* * *
Archer trailed Emily Graves’s classic pickup truck around another bend and onto a gravel road lined with tall pine trees. The temperature had dropped and the once-vibrant sunshine disappeared, replaced with heavy shadows moving in the breeze.
As they approached the B and B, an uneasy feeling settled in his gut. His agency patrolled the large county with both urban and rural areas, but he’d never worked the rural beat. Coming from cosmopolitan New York City, where he’d lived his entire life, he was far more comfortable in a city setting than a rural one.
He followed Emily another three miles over hills, around bends, and she finally clicked on her blinker near a large house set back from the road. She turned the rusty truck under a blistered white sign with Birdie’s Bed-and-Breakfast etched in black lettering hanging from large log poles over a dirt-packed driveway. They wound around a few curves until he spotted a guest-parking sign near a small paved lot, but Emily gestured out her window to follow her toward the house.
Two stories, the place was painted a cheerful yellow with white trim, but as he drove closer, he could see the building needed a fresh coat of paint. A wide wraparound porch held white wooden rocking chairs and large planters filled with red and purple flowers. Off to the side of the house, he spotted a small cottage painted in matching colors with window boxes overflowing with the same flowers.
Emily suddenly stopped, and Archer had to slam on his brakes not to rear-end her truck. She jumped out and rounded the front of her car before bending down and disappearing from sight.
A spear of adrenaline sliced into his body, and he charged across the space to check on her. He was aware of Birdie getting out of the car and mumbling, but his focus remained on Emily. He reached the front of her vehicle, and she stood, her back to him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, trying to keep the concern from his voice.
She turned and was holding a coffee-colored chicken with white tail feathers. “Birdie left the chicken coop open again.”
“Did not,” Birdie said, but Archer suspected she wouldn’t remember if she had.
“Here.” Emily shoved the chicken into his hands and let go.
“What...” Archer complained, but Emily was already chasing after another chicken running toward the road.
Archer gaped after her. What in the world was he supposed to do with a chicken? His only experience with chickens was in a dining room, and he hadn’t a clue what to do with a living bird.
It squirmed and squawked in his hands, and he held it out as he searched for a place to get rid of it. Instead, he found five more chickens pecking the ground and scurrying around. He searched for Birdie, but she’d ignored the fiasco and was climbing the wide steps to the house.
So he stood like a dolt, hands outstretched until Emily returned with her fingers around the wayward chicken’s feet, the body clutched against her side and the head tucked under her arm.
“Follow me and hold that chicken this way.” She lifted her arm. “Or she’s going to squirm out of your hands.”
He tried maneuvering the plump bird, but she clucked loudly so he held her as close as he could and trailed Emily. She zigzagged around the yard, corralling the other birds. Together, they all clipped across the clearing and down a hill toward a small weatherworn building. It sat on raised stilts with a side room made of wooden uprights and covered in chicken wire. Emily scooted the chickens through a door into the open area, then slipped the one she was holding into the space.
Good. Archer could get rid of this animal, too. He rushed forward, maybe too fast for the bird, and made it nervous as it deposited a big splotch of white-and-brown gunk on his shirt.
“Ack,” he shouted and held out the chicken.
Emily watched him for a moment, then started laughing.
“It’s not funny,” he warned sternly. “This is my uniform, and I don’t want it ruined even more than it already is from the mall.”
“You’re right. The shirt isn’t funny, and I’m sorry this happened.” Her grin widened. “But you stared down a guy with a bomb not more than an hour ago with hardly a hint of what you were feeling, and now? Now the horror on your face is from a chicken. That’s priceless.”
“I’m not a country guy, all right?” He shoved the bird at her.
“That goes without