“Even here in Mayberry?”
“I am afraid we’re about to find out. Somebody put that body in Luther Beise’s barn. I’m going to find out who—and why.” She stopped walking for a moment and looked back toward the town. “Murders don’t happen in Masterson County.”
“Don’t be naive, Dr. Talley. Murders happen everywhere. Even in Mayberry.”
4
Jim was sweating, and he knew it. But he didn’t let anyone see how what he’d just overheard was getting to him.
That damned Clint Gunderson had called in the FBI about the ranch case. About Helen. The FBI.
They had a lot more ways of finding the truth than Joel Masterson.
Jim hadn’t really thought out what would happen next. He’d just figured Clint would try to find the rest of Luther’s family and then just give up and move on. Like his old man had. Jim had explained to Clive that Helen had kicked them out before she’d moved in with a lover three counties over. Clive had bought it. Never bothered to follow up with that lover, either.
He’d trusted Jim’s word. Just like Jim had known he would.
But Clint wasn’t a thing like his old man. Far from it. That had been one thing Clint had made clear from the beginning. First time he’d met Clint had been in the academy. He’d put it together quick who Clint was. Tried to make a connection, using the other man’s father.
Clint had shot him down hard. Stated that no friend of Clive’s would ever be a friend of his.
Pretty soon, Clint had risen to the top of the class. Too easily. Jim had struggled with the classroom portion of things.
He’d always resented Clint for how easy he’d had it.
Clive hadn’t done anything to grease the wheels for Clint, though. Jim would give Clint that much. Jim had always wondered about that. He supposed there had been bad blood between them or something. That had made sense when Clive had been arrested for what he’d done.
No doubt, the other man had just had a rough patch. His younger son had died, Jim had heard. Around the same time. Everyone had been talking about how things had happened.
Grief could make men do some stupid things. Jim had gotten involved in drugs when he’d lost his own father.
His cousin Luther had stepped into that role for him, though.
Guilt had him almost sick to his stomach when he thought about what he’d done to repay Luther for his kindness.
Jim liked to think he’d grown into a better man than that.
He’d stopped the drugs. Become a cop. He’d helped people. Surely, that had to count for something with the man upstairs.
Weatherby, his direct supervisor with the WSP, nodded at him as they passed in the hall. “You ok, Hollace? You look sick or something.”
That was Rex Weatherby to a T. Caring and considerate.
Jim bit back a snort. Yeah, right. Weatherby was a real asshole.
They’d been in the same class at the academy, too. Now, here he was, lording it over everyone that he was chief of their post. Like he’d accomplished something.
No, he’d just been a Weatherby. Weatherbys had been cops for more than a million years around these parts.
That’s the way it was in Masterson County. And the counties surrounding it. You couldn’t make anything of yourself unless you had the family to back up the walk.
Jim hadn’t. All he had had around here had been Luther and the kids.
Everything he had, he had earned on his own.
He’d left Weatherby hanging. He’d better answer. Like it or not, the jerk was his boss. “Just a migraine or something.”
“Take some Advil and get out there. We’re short staffed as it is.”
Aye, aye, asshole.
“Will do.”
5
There were secrets in Masterson County. Miranda remembered the Beise family. She’d been a close friend to the eldest daughter, Monica.
One day, they’d been making plans for a sleepover—Monica had always wanted to hang out at Miranda’s—and then the next, Monica and her entire family had been gone. Just gone. No one had ever figured out why—or where they had gone.
Knight was at Miranda’s side, big and looming. His hair was the color of rich mahogany. He wore it cropped close to his head in the back and shaggy on top. The suit was sedate charcoal, but it made the shoulders look wider than they could really be. He was fun to look at it in that perfect, sculpted-male way some men had. Nice and chiseled, just the way she’d always liked.
Pity he was such a cranky ass.
She’d get through this case, shake Knight loose, and then relax with her family for a day or two before returning to St. Louis.
Case first. There was a reason Clint had asked for her. He needed help. Miranda was going to do her best to see he got that.
She led her new buddy into her grandmother’s home, through the front doors that had been open twenty-four hours a day for as long as she could remember.
The only time they had ever closed had been for her grandfather’s funeral when she’d been twelve. That and the loss of her mother when she’d been a month shy of her eleventh birthday had been the darkest times of her life.
They were both buried in the Masterson Community Church Cemetery just a few blocks away.
Miranda would make a point of putting flowers on their graves before she left town. She did every time she came home. And always would.
“Seriously?” Knight asked. “There’s no one in here.”
“I know. I’ve been lecturing since high school. But Grandma trusts her neighbors. And her guests. My sisters and cousins have continued the tradition.” Never had they had anyone cause a bit of trouble in her grandmother’s neighborhood. “Nothing has ever happened here, at least, and the private family hall is locked. If there’s no one here now, I’ll check you in and get us settled. We’ll head over to the diner and let my family know we’re here. I didn’t call ahead this time.”
“Great,” Knight grumbled.
Miranda resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She was home; she wasn’t going to let Knight suck the joy away from her.
That’s what he was. A joy-suck vampire.
Well, she didn’t have to be his victim. Let him hate everything, then.
“Hello?” she called as soon as she stepped into the foyer. It smelled like Grandma and women and home.
There was no other feeling like this in the world.
A woof was her only greeting. The sound of dog nails on the hardwood echoed through the entryway. Miranda laughed quietly. It was one of the most welcoming sounds in the world.
A fluffy, tri-colored border collie limped into the foyer from the private kitchen off the back of the lobby. Her tail was down now from the arthritis, but it was going ninety miles an hour. Miranda’s heart melted, seeing the love in the clouded eyes.
The man beside her tensed. “A dog in a hotel?”
“It’s an inn. Relax,” Miranda said, kneeling down. “She’s actually not supposed to be in here, but she knows how to unlatch the door when she wants. Chloe doesn’t bite. Hey, baby. I have missed you. Chloe is my dog. Well, mine and my cousin Dusty’s. It was best for her to stay here when I went to school, and then Quantico and St. Louis. Masterson is all she’s ever known. I couldn’t take her to St. Louis and lock her away all day. She’s used to being free, here at the inn.”