“I didn’t say that,” Wyatt retorted. “I meant that there’s no immediate medical reason for your brother to have died.”
“Axl was found on your property, right? You can take me there now and show me where you found him, at least. Maybe we can find his camera. It wasn’t in his room, which means it’s still out there, somewhere. There’s got to be a link or a clue.”
Wyatt refused to admit that she was right. He also refused to admit that he’d already looked for the camera but found nothing. He turned to the floor-to-ceiling windows and saw nothing but the whiteness of the swirling snow. “There’s no real road out to the old schoolhouse, just a rutted track. With weather like this, it’d be easy to get disoriented or stranded. So, I’m not going out there until the weather clears, and neither are you.” He exhaled, realizing that he was about to make the worst decision of his entire life. “I’ll give you a ride back to town while the roads are clear, though. You shouldn’t be driving with a head injury and in a storm, no less.” He held up a hand to stop her protest. “And, I’ll agree to review all the facts and evidence that we have so far. If there’s something that doesn’t seem right about your brother, I’ll talk to Sheriff Haak personally.”
Back in Pleasant Pines, Everly stood on the sidewalk in front of a restaurant. The wind was turning the snow into projectiles that left the skin on her face raw. The lump at the back of her head thumped with each beat of her heart. “Pie?” she said, echoing Wyatt’s last word.
“Yeah, pie. Flaky crust. Filling of choice.”
A lock of hair blew across her face and she pulled it away. “Why pie?”
Wyatt lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “I like pie,” he said. “It’s like a ritual. Helps me think.” Pulling open the glass door, he gestured for her to enter. “Come on. Let’s get out of the cold.”
Everly stepped into Sally’s on Main. Half a dozen booths lined the wall by the door. Opposite was a counter with stools and in between sat several small tables. Aside from another couple in the back booth and a woman behind the counter, the restaurant was empty.
Wyatt slid into a booth halfway back and Everly took the opposite seat. The woman from behind the counter approached with a pen and order pad in hand.
“Hey, sugar,” the older woman said to Wyatt. “What can I get for you?”
“Got some apple pie, Sally?”
“Sure do,” she said. “You want that warmed and served with ice cream?”
“Is there any other way?” asked Wyatt. “And a cup of coffee.”
Sally turned to Everly. “What about you, hon?”
“I’d love some apple pie, thanks.”
The couple from the back of the restaurant stood and walked forward. The man, tall with a shaved head, nodded a greeting at Everly, then glanced at Wyatt and stopped abruptly. “Wyatt? Wyatt Thornton? I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“Marcus?” Wyatt got to his feet and shook the other man’s hand. “Marcus Jones, it’s great to see you. What’re you doing in Pleasant Pines?”
“I’m grabbing a late lunch with my friend Chloe Ryder. She’s the local district attorney.” He whistled through his teeth. “I honestly never thought I’d see you again. You disappeared after leaving the Bureau. What are you doing with yourself these days?”
“I live in Pleasant Pines.”
“Well, it’s great to see you. Wyatt, this is Chloe. Chloe, Wyatt.”
Chloe, a tall brunette with a fringe of bangs, took Wyatt’s hand. “It’s a pleasure,” she said with a smile.
“Nice to meet you, Chloe,” Wyatt said. “Ah, this is Everly Baker.” He paused, and she wondered how he was going to explain her to the duo. “She’s from Chicago.”
Pleasantries were exchanged and then Wyatt asked, “How’s work? Are you still the special agent in charge in the Denver office?”
“I left the Bureau, if you can believe that.”
“Been there, done that, have the T-shirt.”
Marcus laughed. “Anyway, I joined a private security group out of Denver and we’ve opened an office in Wyoming. What about you? Where are you working now?”
“Me?” Wyatt shook his head. “I quit altogether after what happened in Las Vegas. A quiet life suits me just fine.”
“Maybe you should stop by. You could be a great asset to the team.”
“I’m not much into being a team player anymore,” said Wyatt.
“You never know. Private security might suit you better than a quiet life.”
“Private security,” Wyatt repeated. “What does that mean? Are you a private investigator? Do you find cheating spouses?”
“We are so much more than that.” He took a pad of paper and a pen from his coat pocket and scribbled for a moment. “That’s my cell number. Call and I’ll give you the tour—tell you a few war stories. Hell, some of them might even be true.”
“I’m not interested in work, but thanks.” Wyatt waved away the offered paper.
“Take it,” said Marcus. “You never know when you might need a friend.”
Wyatt folded the sheet of paper placing it in his back pocket.
“Anyway,” said Marcus, “Chloe has to get back to work, and I’ll let you two get back to your date.”
Date. The one word hung in the air, like smoke. It reminded Everly of how handsome Wyatt Thornton was and how very long it had been since she’d actually gone out on a date. “He seems nice,” said Everly once they were alone.
“Marcus Jones is as good as they come.”
Sally returned with their pie and coffee. The conversation stalled as she set everything on the table. Everly took a bite, chewing slowly. The crust was light and buttery, the apples inside sweet, with just a touch of spice. She sighed. “You’re right,” she said. “Best pie ever.”
Wyatt smiled. “I’m glad you like it, but let’s get back to why we’re here to begin with. First, do you know what your brother was supposed to photograph?”
“A wolf-pack migration, I think,” she said. She bit her lip. “I can’t recall the magazine he was on assignment for, but I can find out.”
“Do you think he was targeted because of his work?”
She took a sip of coffee, which was surprisingly good for a diner in Nowheresville, USA. “No way. My brother was a good person and could charm the hell out of anyone. And he was good at what he did, the best photographer I’ve seen. Everyone loved Axl.”
Wyatt scooped a bite of pie into his mouth. “What else?”
Everly’s mind had been so full of possibilities, but now it was empty. Then she remembered. “The sheriff gave me a list of all Axl’s possessions.” She dug through her purse and found the folded note.
Flattening the sheet on the table, she read aloud. “Shirt, shoes, socks, wallet, three credit cards in the name of Axl James Baker. One hundred and twenty dollars in twenty-dollar bills and half of a two-dollar bill.”
“Wait,” said Wyatt. “Go back. Read the last line again, the one about the money.”
“One hundred and twenty dollars in twenty-dollar bills and half of a two-dollar bill.”
“The last case I worked.” He paused.
“The