Cold and heartless.
She supposed there were worse things to be called, but when tallied on top of a stressful weekend and a bleak future, Darby was close to shattering.
She wasn’t cold. And she was far from heartless. If she were, she’d already have lined up Penny’s next breeding session. Or worse, she’d have put the house and the business up for sale, effectively breaking Bo’s father’s heart.
Gathering up her cleaning supplies, she marched back down the hall, her arms overflowing with scrub brushes, chemicals and the now nearly empty container of bleach dangling from her index finger. It was only when she got to the living room that she realized her tactical mistake. The chief had returned and was even now pacing the living room, his large German shepherd blocking a path to the door.
“You’re still here.”
“I wanted to make sure Miss Patton was on her way. Now that she is, I can discuss why I’m here.”
“That’s not why you came?”
“No.”
Short and succinct. Was the man a robot? Every time she saw him he was straitlaced and to the point.
And, of course, he wasn’t here about Hayley Patton. How would he have even known the woman would come over today of all days? But it still didn’t explain why Finn Colton had returned to her home.
“Do you have a lead on Bo and that poor Michael Hayden?”
Although she’d kept close to home that weekend, a few friends had called her in continued concern. Her true friends—the ones who hadn’t been seeking a gossip session—had called each week since Bo’s death, wanting to make sure she was doing well. But even without any intended gossip, the strange connection between Bo’s murder and Michael’s the Friday past had churned up conversation.
Finn’s gaze dipped to her supplies, his eyes narrowing on her hands before working their way back up to her face. It was strange, the way his gaze went cold and flat. Cop’s eyes, she thought to herself, and finally understood what that term meant. A chill ran up her spine like someone walked over her grave.
Why did the man always look at her in a way that made her feel like she’d done something wrong?
She appreciated his position and his dedication to his job. She’d always been someone who valued determination and hard work. Yet the fact that he kept looking in her direction for a crime not only that she hadn’t committed but that wouldn’t have even crossed her mind on her worst day, didn’t sit well.
“If you have something to say to me, please just say it. I’d like to get back to my day and avoid thinking about the fact that I’ve somehow become the money-grubbing town whore.” She turned away from the chief, determined to keep the lingering threat of tears out of his line of sight. “You’d think I’d be having a bit more fun if that was my angle.”
She continued on to the kitchen, reordering her cleaning supplies in the plastic container she kept under the sink. She’d nearly finished lining up each item when heavy footsteps sounded behind her.
Would the man never leave? What did he want, anyway? A front-row seat to her public humiliation and shame?
“Can I see that bleach?”
She’d nearly shut the cabinet door when the chief’s question registered. “I’m sorry?”
“The bleach. May I see it?”
Confused about the ask, but more than willing to hand over a two-dollar container of cleaning supply, she pulled the bleach out from the cabinet. “Here.”
He took the bottle, seeming to weigh the heft before lifting it in the air to look at the sides of the container. “How long have you had this?”
“The bleach?”
“Yes.”
She wanted to laugh at the odd request but sensed there was something deeper underneath his questions. “A few days, I guess. I was out and needed it as part of my cleaning of the house.”
“You’ve used a lot of it.”
“Have you seen this house? It’s shabby now but at least it’s clean. When I moved in, it was shabby and filthy.”
Since he seemed unconvinced, she pressed on. “What’s this about, Chief Colton?”
“Nothing.”
“Right. Because everyone’s fascinated with cleaning products. I’ve got a really great glass cleaner I can share. And my steel wool is top-of-the-line. You want those, too?”
His expression never changed. If anything, it grew darker at her attempts at lightheartedness.
“Why are you asking me this?”
“It’s police business. I would like to take this container.”
“But why?” Darby pressed once more.
“I’ll give you a receipt for it.”
Something slick and oily settled like a large ball in the pit of her stomach. Hayley’s visit had been unpleasant, but Darby had held her own. Yet something about the chief’s visit—a person who should put her at ease instead of spiking her fight-or-flight response—had her in knots.
“Why are you really here? It obviously wasn’t to intercept Hayley Patton. And I’m quite sure it’s not to talk cleaning supplies.”
“I wanted to see if you remember anything from Friday night.”
“I told you the other day. I stayed in that night. Penny and I are still acclimating to each other and I had hopes a quiet night in would help cement our new relationship.”
And, she added silently to herself, I have no money to go out so it was easy to pick a dog over my social life.
“Can anyone prove that?”
“I spoke with my friend Karen around eight. You’re welcome to call her and confirm.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“And she said the two of you spoke. But you could have called her from anywhere.”
Darby fought the urge to roll her eyes and pointed in the direction of the living room toward the couch instead. “I was sitting right there all evening.”
“Which can’t be proven.”
“It was about fifteen degrees on Friday night. I was bundled up in flannel pajamas, thick wool socks and that blanket right there.”
Finn turned, his gaze settling on the area she’d pointed out. His deep voice grew husky, the tones low, as if he were talking to himself. “You could have snuck out. It would be easy enough to bundle up, drive across town, shoot Michael Hayden in the chest, then drive back here and fall right back into that cozy spot on the couch. It wasn’t a big secret that he smoked. As a waitress in town, you’d know all about those secret habits Red Ridge’s citizen’s engage in. It would be easy enough to wait him out. Wait for his next nicotine hit.”
The image that he painted so casually—like he saw it all in his mind’s eye—had that ball of fear rising from her stomach to crawl up her throat. “What are you talking about?”
“Michael Hayden. Your ex-husband, Bo. Bo, I understand. Killing him gave you all this.” He stuck out a hand to gesture toward the room at large before whirling around to stare her down. “But what about Hayden? Did you enjoy your first kill so much you had to go back for more?”
* * *
Demi Colton reached for the small tube of travel toothpaste off the bathroom sink and coated her toothbrush, then added a second swipe for good measure. She scrubbed at the layer of fuzz on her teeth, desperate to remove the sour, sick taste that had been