“I’d like to ask you some questions, but those can wait,” the sheriff said. “I understand, though, that her room was left as it was thirty-five years ago. I’d like to take a look in it, if you don’t mind.”
To his surprise, Flannigan shook his head. “No reason to talk about it that I can see. No reason to go snooping in her room, either. What’s done is done.” He started to turn away.
“I’m going to need your help to find her killer. If there is anything you know about what happened to her, now is the time to tell me,” the sheriff said.
“Just let me know when I can bury my daughter,” Flannigan said.
“I’m not sure how long it will take after the autopsy.”
He spun back around, his once-handsome face a mask of fury. “She hasn’t been through enough? You’re going to let them cut her up?”
“We’re looking for evidence that will—”
“Bring her killer to justice?” Flannigan spit out the words. “Her killer is dead and buried. There is no bringing him to justice.”
“We don’t know who killed her without—”
“Everyone knows who killed her and why,” the big man erupted. “You’re looking for a way to save him—and his senator son.”
“You’re wrong. If her killer is dead, it may seem like hollow justice to you. But I’m determined to find your daughter’s murderer. That’s why I need your help. You were one of the last people to see her alive. If you—”
“I already said no.” The elder McTavish shook his head and walked away. Over his shoulder, he said, “You’re on private property, Sheriff, and it’s time for you to leave. My daughter’s been through enough. Please leave before I do something I might regret.”
In the distance, Frank could see a pickup headed this way, moving fast. He recognized it as one driven by Finn McTavish, Flannigan’s younger brother. The sheriff waited a little longer, watching the staggering steps of Maggie’s father, not wanting to leave the man alone. Then he got into his patrol SUV and drove away as Finn pulled up in the yard.
Frank only got a glimpse of the man’s face. Finn already knew. Which could only mean Brody knew the victim’s identity the moment he’d seen the body.
GRACE HAMILTON WATCHED the young lovers cross the pasture arm in arm.
“That conniving bitch.”
“Grace,” JD said in that reprimanding, disappointed and impatient way of his. He put all his disgust into her name so he didn’t even have to bother to say more.
Her husband was always taking up for that woman her foolhardy son had brought into their home as his wife. Not for long, though, if Grace had anything to do with it.
“Give Sarah a chance,” JD said. “Buck loves her. Isn’t that good enough?”
“His name is Buckmaster. If I had wanted him called Buck, I would have named him Buck.”
Her husband gave her a weary look.
“You may be fooled by her because she’s pretty and nauseatingly coy, but believe me, there is nothing sweet or helpless about that woman. She knew exactly what she was doing when she married our son.”
“I don’t have the energy to argue with you about this,” JD said. “I’m going to ride up into the Crazies and fish for a while.” He stepped to her and planted a kiss on the top of her head.
She clutched his arm, desperately wanting back the man she’d married. She felt JD slipping out of her grasp as he pulled away to leave. He’d been pulling away now for what? Months? Or was it years?
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Grace, please try to make our son and his bride feel welcome here in our home. I’m begging you.” He turned and left before she could respond—no doubt why he’d left so quickly.
She turned back to the window. Buckmaster and his bride had stopped in the pasture to embrace. She watched them kiss and then draw apart. Sarah Johnson Hamilton looked back toward the house as if sensing she was being watched. Could she see Grace standing before the window?
Grace didn’t think so until she saw Sarah give her a self-satisfied smile before turning back to Buckmaster.
Her heart began to pound harder. The woman was evil. Grace had felt it the moment she’d met her. There was something dark and...broken in Sarah. Why didn’t JD believe her?
Because JD prided himself on seeing the best in everyone. Because her husband was a fool—just like her son, she thought uncharitably.
She watched her son and his wife head back toward the house. She had tried to talk to Buckmaster, but, like his father, he’d cut her off, saying she just needed time to get to know Sarah. Not wanting to alienate her son, she’d backed off.
But now as she hurried down to her room, closing the door behind her, Grace knew she had to find a way to save her son from this woman. And she would have to do it alone since she couldn’t depend on JD to help her.
In fact, she wasn’t sure she could depend on JD anymore at all. He’d promised that he would never leave her, but a part of him had already left to be a senator, she thought as she moved to the window in time to see him ride away toward the mountains.
First her son, and now she was losing her husband.
* * *
SENATOR BUCKMASTER HAMILTON got the call in the middle of a staff meeting. He’d put his phone on vibrate, pulling it out almost unconsciously since he had no plan to answer it. The primaries were coming up in June. That didn’t give him much time to secure his place in the race for president.
Listening to his advisers on what else needed to be done, he glanced at his phone to make sure it wasn’t one of his daughters calling. When he saw that it was the sheriff calling from Montana, he excused himself and took the call out in the hallway.
“Frank?” he said into the phone. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing to do with your daughters,” he told the senator quickly. They’d had a lot of calls like this lately. Buckmaster’s only concern had always been the same. Were his girls all right? “I’m sure you’ve heard about the recent...incident on your ranch from Harper.”
“Incident?” He had talked to Sarah earlier but only briefly. When he’d told her he was in a staff meeting, she’d said it was nothing and he’d promised to call her later.
“Harper didn’t tell you about the remains she and Brody McTavish found on the ranch?”
“I haven’t spoken with Harper. What’s this about remains? On my ranch?” His first thought was a homeless person traveling through on the rails.
“I wanted to give you a heads-up,” Frank was saying. “Based on what she was wearing when she disappeared and other evidence, the remains appear to be Margaret McTavish’s. We’ll know more after the autopsy.”
Buckmaster blinked a couple of times. At first the name rang no bells. Then it hit him. Maggie. Maggie McTavish. He swore silently. “I don’t understand.” But he feared he did.
“She’d been buried in a wooden box on that hillside next to the McTavish place. Buck...” Just the use of his first name by the sheriff told him the news was about to get worse. “We’re investigating this as a homicide. As a professional courtesy, I wanted to call you myself. We should have a positive ID soon. But you know me well enough that I don’t believe