No such luck. It was the only person he would have liked to avoid more than his brothers. Caleb dropped his tools on the wraparound porch and groaned.
“Well, howdy-do there, Mr. Nash!”
Jasmine “Jazz” Santiago came out of the car smiling for all she was worth. As a transplant from Portland, she had done a fine job of fitting into Overlook, the department and even the ranch on the occasions she’d stopped by over the last five years. Tall, thin and with a complexion she once had called smooth mocha, she was one half of their mismatched detective pair. While Caleb erred on the side of contemplation and quiet, Jazz was blunt and always ready to be heard. Even now she cut the engine and bounded toward him, laughing.
“I’d always wondered what you really did on your off days,” she continued, motioning to his bare chest and shorts, and then pointing toward the tool box. “I never would have guessed you were working on an audition for one of the Village People.”
Caleb groaned again.
“First of all, that’s a throwback,” he said, leaning into the teasing. “If I was auditioning for anything it’d clearly be something Magic Mike-related.” Jazz laughed as Caleb searched out his shirt. He tugged it over his head while Jazz inspected his freshly washed truck. She seemed to approve. “Now, other than coming out here to roast me, what’s up?”
Jazz switched moods in a flash. Work mode crinkled her brow together. She met his stare with severity.
“I tried calling but the sheriff told me just to go ahead and come out here. I was already out test-driving Brando’s new car so it worked out easier.” Brando was Jazz’s husband and the fact that she hadn’t brought him along felt even more foreboding. Caleb felt himself go on alert. Not only that but Declan was a stickler about privacy. Even more so about privacy when his staff was off the clock. That he’d sent Jazz out wasn’t a good sign. She pulled her phone out and swiped until she got to the picture she wanted. “When’s the last time you went out to the Overlook Pass behind Nancy Calder’s house?”
Nancy Calder had been a staple in the community for longer than Caleb had been alive. Her father opened the local grocery store thirty years ago. Now, her son ran it. She had a farm with some acreage out near the Overlook town limits, but after turning ninety she’d moved out of state to be with her daughter. Part of her land was rented out to cattle farmers but no one lived in the house. Overlook Pass was a bridge just outside of her property line that had been given historic status. No one used it for transportation but tourists liked taking pictures of it and fishing the water beneath it. The last time Caleb had visited either place had been with his ex, well over a year ago. He said as much to Jazz.
She handed her phone over.
“Apparently no one has been out there for a while.”
The picture was all wrong. Where there should have been an aged but beautiful bridge there was now bits of charred wood and nothing else.
“What the—” he started, anger threatening to become hotter than the weather. “Did...did someone burn it?”
Jazz nodded.
“The fire chief is heading that way now to investigate but, so far, there’s no way to know if this happened recently or a while back. Which may or may not be related to this.” She took back her phone and swiped to another picture. “Last night there was a house fire out on Brookewood Drive. They’re still investigating if it was arson or not. It might not be connected but Declan’s telling everyone in the department to keep their eyes open, just in case.”
Caleb didn’t blame his brother for the department-wide warning. Or the urgency with which he’d deployed the caution. Overlook had a fair amount of forest stretching around it. Arson was always a threat everyone took seriously. One match could make a devastating difference. Plus, Brookewood Drive was a five or so minute drive from the burned bridge. He would have done the same thing in Declan’s place.
Once Jazz had said her piece she hopped back into her car and raised a cloud of dust as she left on the dirt road. Caleb returned to his toolbox but he didn’t feel the same ambition to attend to the broken swing as he had before.
The burning of an unused bridge was something he’d take over a home or business burning down any day. Yet he couldn’t stop the stab of loss in his chest. His father had loved that bridge. He’d taken Caleb and his siblings there at least once a month to fish when it was the season. It had become a routine that Caleb had hoped at a young age they’d keep as he got older. Although that plan had changed due to circumstances no one had seen coming, Caleb still thought fondly about their time there.
Now it was just another part of his father that had been chipped away by a senseless act.
Caleb abandoned the toolbox and showered off. He returned his missed calls—Declan and his mother, the only people who ever seemed to call him nowadays—and decided to live dangerously and crack open a beer with his lunch. He was about to go out to the porch to enjoy it when another car crept up and stopped just behind his truck. This time he was ready for possible company. His short shorts had officially been retired. Now he was in his favorite pair of blue jeans and sporting a beige Stetson cowboy hat he’d bought himself for Christmas.
The driver’s side door swung open just as he placed his full beer down on the porch railing. For the smallest of moments Caleb didn’t recognize the woman barreling toward him. Then, as her petite frame got closer, he fully remembered seeing that very same scowl only hours beforehand.
Nina Drake most certainly looked like she had a bone to pick.
“Well, how do you—” he started, hoping to keep whatever fuse she had unlit by making a better second impression than he had the first. However, Nina wasn’t having it. Her cheeks were flushed red and her chest was rising and falling much faster than was normal. She crossed her arms and interrupted him with fire in her eyes.
“And here I thought you were a nice guy,” she said, voice high. “There I was feeling bad for our little misunderstanding earlier, but now? Now I should report you to the authorities!”
Caleb raised his hands in defense, of what he wasn’t sure. His eyebrow slid up in question.
“Excuse me?”
Nina was close enough now that he could see the freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose—barely there in the shadows of the trees but undeniable in the full force of the sun. Her nostrils were flared, her fists were balled. Caleb almost took a step back, worried she was readying for an attack.
“Not only were you watching me at the water, you took my picture,” she said, voice dipping into nothing but ice. “And I came here to make sure you delete that picture or I will go straight to the sheriff and your mother.”
Caleb lowered his hands. Any amusement he’d felt was long gone.
“I told you, I wasn’t spying on you. I’ve been going to that spot on my runs since I was fifteen. I was just as surprised to see someone there as you were. And I sure as hell didn’t take any pictures.”
A small look of relief passed across Nina’s expression. It was quickly replaced by one he’d seen in the eyes of countless people during his career in law enforcement.
Fear.
“Nina, what happened?” Caleb pressed. “What pictures are you talking about?”
She hesitated for a moment. Then met his eyes with concern crowding every bit of dark brown she had in them.
“Someone took a picture of me at the stream today. And they sent it to the Retreat’s email.”
Caleb’s reaction was immediate. He felt every muscle in him go taut.
“What?”