Sal scowled, the news still not sitting well with him. “Do I need to remind you that the Henderson case isn’t our only case?”
“I don’t need to be reminded of my obligations—by you or anyone else.” A tense silence descended upon the room. “That brings up another point. How is the investigation progressing with the drug dealer’s murder? Any leads?”
Sal shrugged. “Nothing definite. Got a couple of nibbles I’m following up. I’ll let you know if I turn up anything solid.”
Liz nodded. “Have any of you been able to tie the cocaine in Henderson’s possession to any of our known local dealers?”
“Still working on it. Nothing yet.” Paul wiped the last of doughnut cream from his lip.
“What’s on your agenda today, Tom?” Not willing to continue a verbal battle with Sal, Liz tried to steer the conversation in a different direction.
“Well, I love Country Corners same as the next fella,” Tom said. “But all small towns, even ours, have secrets. Maybe Henderson stumbled across one of those secrets and it got him killed. So, I’m gonna force myself to have tea with some of the old lady gossips in this town. Ain’t no tellin’ what I might find out.”
Laughter rippled through the room.
“Good idea,” Liz said.
“Well, then the way I see it,” Tom said. “If we want this killer caught and our sheriff back in her office, then we better get off our butts and make it happen.”
* * *
He spread a line of cocaine on the kitchen counter, twisted a dollar bill and snorted it into each nostril. The instantaneous rush raced along his nerve endings, filling him with an almost inhuman energy considering he’d had very little sleep since “the incident.”
That’s how he thought of it—the unfortunate incident. He hadn’t planned it. He hadn’t wanted it to turn out that way. He had just wanted to talk to the man, but things had gotten way out of control
He bounced on the balls of his feet and paced back and forth to the rap music on his radio with a nervous, uncontrolled energy. How did people listen to this crap? But he had to admit the rhythm sounded pretty good when you were high on coke.
His thoughts skittered back to the Hendersons. He hadn’t wanted to shoot them. He rubbed his knuckles into his eyes and bounced and paced faster.
No.
It wasn’t his fault. The wife had gotten a good look at him. He’d had no choice. Self-preservation. Isn’t that a human’s strongest instinct? He’d done it quickly. She hadn’t suffered. That had to count for something, didn’t it?
The music, if that’s what you wanted to call it, ended and the sound of the newscaster’s voice caught and held his attention. He listened intently. They were reporting that the kid was going home today.
Now what was he going to do about that kid?
* * *
Liz Bradford stood beside her patrol car, lifted her face and basked in the warmth of the afternoon sun. She breathed in the floral scent of the last blooms of summer. And just as she’d thought five days ago, everything appeared normal. But there was nothing normal about a little boy returning to the house where his parents had been murdered. Sadness weighed heavily on her shoulders.
Liz adjusted her dark sunglasses and looked inside the glass doors to the hospital elevator bank. She hadn’t waited long when Adam Morgan stepped off an elevator, leading Jeremy by the hand, and headed her way.
She’d felt guilty when she’d done it, but she had looked Adam up on the internet to see what he’d been up to over the years.… She’d been surprised to discover he’d won several awards for his work with children.
But, then again, Adam Morgan had been a bundle of surprises from the moment he’d returned. Not that it mattered. Liz had no time in her life for relationships, especially ones that had already failed so spectacularly. Her work was her life and she intended to keep it that way.
When they reached the car, the boy wrenched his hand out of Adam’s, froze in place and flapped both of his hands in the air. “Stranger’s car. Jeremy can’t go. Stranger’s car. Stranger’s car.”
Adam crouched down so he could be eye level with the child.
“Look at me, Jeremy.”
“Can’t go. Stranger’s car.”
Adam waited a second or two and then grasped Jeremy’s chin. He turned the child’s face toward him, released his hold and pointed to his own face. “Look at me.”
Jeremy did as he was told.
“This is Sheriff Bradford’s car. You remember Sheriff Bradford, don’t you?”
Liz waved at the child, even though neither of them bothered to look in her direction.
“Sheriff Bradford is not a stranger. She is a friend and she is going to drive us home.”
“Home. Jeremy wants to go home.”
“Good.” Adam straightened and gestured to the backseat. “Get in and we’ll go home.”
“Jeremy can’t go. No. No. Stranger’s car.”
Adam lifted the boy and placed him in the protective child seat that Liz had already secured in the back.
Instantly, a high-decibel wail pierced the air. Jeremy flailed his arms and arched his body in a futile attempt to buck his body out of the car seat.
One of the nurses had followed them off the elevator and now handed Adam a small object that looked like a miniature Kevlar vest.
“What’s that?” Liz leaned in so she could get a closer look.
“A weighted vest.” Within seconds, he had the vest on the child and the car seat belted safely. Without a word, he walked around to the other side of the car and slid into the backseat beside the child.
“Thanks, Cindy.” Adam reached through the open door and handed her a set of keys. “Tell Charlie to give us a couple of hours before bringing Rerun and the rest of my things over to the house. I want the boy to have some time to get acclimated to being home.”
“Sure thing, Doc.” Cindy flashed him a bright smile and the cutest little wave and then walked back inside.
Liz chewed her lower lip and tried not to grin.
Even in high school, Adam had never liked flirts and she could see the years hadn’t changed him. She recognized the red flush on his neck, the sheepish look in his eyes when he looked up at Liz to see if she had realized Cindy was flirting with him. His discomfort was so genuine, so sweet, she almost laughed out loud. Almost. The child’s loud, shrill screams made it impossible to focus on much else than saving her eardrums at the moment.
She climbed into the driver’s seat and twisted her face toward the back.
“Why the vest?” She had to shout to be heard over the boy’s screaming.
“Remember our conversation about swaddling? The weight of the vest and the snug seat belt should help Adam feel a little more secure on the trip home.”
As if on cue, the boy continued to sob but the sounds no longer rent the air.
“Who’s Rerun and Charlie?”
“I’ll explain later. Just get us out of here.”
A tap on the driver’s side window drew Liz’s attention. A woman she didn’t recognize held a microphone in her hand. A photographer stood behind her with camera ready and probably rolling.
“Sheriff, is it true that you’re taking the boy back to the scene of the crime?”
“Sheriff.”