CHAPTER ELEVEN
Carl Higgins had built his house where Harlan County thinned into horse pasture, private lanes, and money that preferred not to be seen from the road.
Connor slowed the cruiser at the foot of a long stone wall and looked through the windshield at the security gate ahead.
The metal bars were black, polished, and high enough to keep out more than salesmen.
A camera watched from a brick post. Beyond the gate, the drive climbed between trimmed hedges toward a house that sprawled across the rise like it had been added to every time Carl won another deal.
“Looks like life’s been good to you, Carl,” Connor muttered.
The words did not cool him.
Victor Schmidt’s face stayed with him. So did Marlene’s voice through the speaker, small and broken, asking him to put her husband’s killer away. Selena had been right to step in. The promise had come too fast. Still, Connor did not regret making it.
Not yet.
He parked close to the call box, got out, and crossed to the gate. Heat came up from the paved apron in a shimmer. Even the cicadas sounded worn out. Connor pressed the security button and looked straight into the camera.
“This is Sheriff Chase. Open up.”
No answer came through the speaker.
Connor held up his badge.
A second later, the gate clicked. The bars began to part with a slow mechanical hum.
“Much obliged,” he said, though nobody had spoken.
Back in the cruiser, Connor drove through and watched the gate close in the mirror.
In the distance, past the wall and the rolling land, Eagleton, a town near Elmsview, slipped from view.
The town looked small from here. A church steeple.
A few rooftops. The pale line of Main Street under the sun. Then the property swallowed it whole.
The driveway curved around a pond with a stone fountain in the middle, though no water moved from it. A line of expensive vehicles sat beneath a porte cochere. Connor parked in front of the house, killed the engine, and took a moment before stepping out.
No point arriving with his temper already showing.
The front door opened before he reached the steps.
Maxine Higgins came out in a sleeveless white dress, high sandals, oversized sunglasses, and enough jewelry to signal rescue to low-flying aircraft.
She was in her forties, but dressed like she had declared war on the number and intended to win through fabric and nerve.
Her hair had been set in careful waves. Her lipstick looked fresh.
Connor noticed the martini glass in her hand first, then the way she hid it slightly behind her hip when she saw him looking.
“Sheriff Chase,” she called, drawing the words out in the faint English accent she had collected during two years abroad and kept longer than most people kept marriages. “What a delicious surprise.”
“Morning, Maxine.”
“Is it still morning? Goodness.” She descended two steps and leaned toward him, touching air near one cheek, then the other. “There. Proper greeting. We mustn’t go feral just because we live in Kentucky.”
Martini clung to her breath. Gin, vermouth, and an olive that had given up.
“I need to speak with Carl.”
“I hope you’re finally here to take that rascal of my husband away.” Maxine tilted her head toward the cruiser. “I’m all dressed up for lunch, and he’s refusing to take me anywhere, darling. Can you imagine?”
“I can try.”
Her gaze slid to his car. “There’s space in there for little old me. Would you mind dropping me at Helmdale’s? I have a hankering for their sea bass. They do a wicked mojito if you care to join me?”
Connor removed his hat and wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist. “I’m not in the mood for fun and games, Maxine. Where is he?”
A smile appeared, lazy and amused. “Out back at the pool. Where else would His Majesty be on a day like this?”
Connor moved past her toward the door.
Maxine turned and followed him inside. “Do walk through. He does love visitors. Especially ones with badges and grudges.”
The entry hall rose two stories, all polished wood, pale stone, and framed prints of places Connor suspected neither Higgins had visited together. A chandelier hung above them like a frozen explosion. The house was cool enough to raise goose-flesh along Connor’s arms.
Carl had always liked people to know he had money. Apparently, subtlety had not survived the latest contracts.
Connor crossed the hall, passed a sitting room nobody seemed to sit in, and found a corridor that opened through wide glass doors at the rear. Bright sun hit him as he stepped outside.
The pool lay beyond a tiled terrace, blue water catching hard light. Planters lined the edges. White loungers faced the view. At the center of the pool, Carl Higgins floated on a black pool float with one arm hanging in the water and the other hand wrapped around a tumbler of dark liquor.
Carl was in his fifties, deep-tanned, broad through the shoulders, and still carrying the kind of fitness men liked to display when age had begun taking other things from them. Sunglasses hid his eyes. His bare chest glistened with lotion and pool water.
“Sheriff!” Carl shouted. “Would you care for a drink?”
Connor stopped at the pool’s edge. “No, Carl. I’m working.”
“A shame. Working on days like this is the death of civilized life. It’s too hot.”
“You look like you’re celebrating.”
Carl raised his glass. “I am.”
“What are you celebrating?”
“Another grain deal. This time to the Middle East, would you believe? A lovely little shipment arrangement. Very profitable. Very international.” Carl grinned. “Why the long face? County budget fall short again?”
Connor looked down at him. “Victor Schmidt was found dead in the early hours of this morning.”
The smile vanished.
For a moment, Carl did not move at all. Water lapped against the side of the pool float. Somewhere behind Connor, Maxine stepped onto the terrace but kept her distance.
Carl sat up slowly. “Vic?”
“That’s right.”
Shock showed on Carl’s face, or something close to it. Then his mouth worked into a smaller, strained expression. He raised the tumbler halfway.
“Well,” Carl said, “I’ll give him this. He was a hell of a competitor.”
Connor felt heat move through him that had nothing to do with the sun. “That your tribute?”
Carl lowered the glass. “Don’t start with me, Connor.”
“Let me guess,” Carl added after a moment, forcing a brittle tone. “Heart attack. We always did tell him to lose weight.”
“You called him a pig. That’s different. And he was anything but.”
Carl stared at him through the sunglasses.
Then he paddled the pool float toward the pool steps, climbed out, and took a towel from a nearby chair.
Water ran down his legs onto the tile. He dried his face, his chest, then tossed the towel aside and pulled on a white robe.
The belt stayed loose. The robe hung open as if he were posing for a catalog nobody had requested.
“What happened?” Carl asked.
Connor did not answer right away.
Carl walked closer. “Look, if that Marlene of his is saying I pushed him into a grave, that’s just not true.”
“Victor wasn’t pushed into a grave by stress,” Connor said. “Someone murdered him in cold blood.”
Carl took off his sunglasses.
The smile had gone now. Completely.
“What?” His eyes searched Connor’s face. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I saw the body.”
Carl’s hand tightened around the sunglasses until the frame clicked.
Connor stepped nearer. “And you were the last person we know of who had a beef with him.”
“Now, please.” Carl lifted one hand. “I didn’t want the man dead.”
“Marlene says you threatened him.”
“When?”
“You appeared at his door a couple of weeks ago and told him he’d get what was coming to him.”
Carl looked toward the pool, then back at Connor. “Oh, yeah. That.”
“That?”
“I was drunk. Angry. I just meant I’d be taking over his business with any luck. That’s all.”
“It sounded like Marlene thought it was more than that.”
Carl’s eyes narrowed. “Well, if she goes around insinuating anything about my involvement in his death, I’ll be suing her. Grieving widow or not.”
Connor nodded once. “Still litigious as ever.”
“You have to protect yourself.”
“You don’t protect,” Connor said. “You go after people. Business or personal. We both know what kind of man you are.”
A clink sounded behind him.
Maxine had arrived with her martini glass full again. Either she had fetched another drink while they spoke, or the first one had never been far from empty.
“There you two are,” she said. “So, spill the gossip. What’s this all about?”
Carl turned his head. “Stay out of it, Maxine. It’s none of your business.”
Maxine pressed one hand dramatically to her chest. “Do you see the way he talks to me, Sheriff Chase? Isn’t it scandalous?”
“Maxine,” Carl warned.
Ignoring him, she crossed to Connor and stood close enough for her perfume and drink to reach him. “I’m sure a man like you would never treat me like that.”
“I suppose not,” Connor said.
Her smile sharpened. “Then tell me, how would you treat me? Give me all the gory details.”
Carl snapped, “Are you quite finished, woman?”
Connor’s patience narrowed to a point. “I’m not. Where were you last night, Carl?”
Carl swung back toward him. “Here. With Maxine.”
“All night?”
“All night.”
Maxine took a slow sip from her glass. “I don’t remember that.”
Carl turned on her. “Woman, you know fine well we were both here. Stop playing games.”
A glint moved in her eyes. She enjoyed the trouble. Maybe she enjoyed any break in the day that did not involve waiting for lunch and hating the man she had married.
Connor looked at Carl. “Doesn’t sound like your alibi’s holding water.”
“I was here,” Carl said. “Anyway, I have security cameras to prove it.”
Maxine lifted her glass. "He does that."
“What about two nights ago?” Connor asked. “When Warren Holt was killed.”
Carl blinked. “Warren?”
“You heard me.”
“I was here then, too.” Carl gathered himself, anger returning now that fear had shown too much of its face. “Now, if I’m not under arrest, I have things to tend to. Let yourself out.” His glance cut toward Maxine. “Though I’m sure Maxine will look after you.”
Carl strode toward the house, robe shifting around his legs.
Maxine watched him go with a small, bitter smile. Then she leaned into Connor, pressing against him with sudden familiarity, arms sliding over his shoulders.
“Poor sheriff,” she murmured. “Always having to deal with difficult men.”
Connor caught her wrists and removed her hands gently. “Maxine.”
“Yes, honey?”
Connor noticed a camera pointed at the pull from the wall above. “Are there cameras in the house?”
“Everywhere but our bedroom and the study. He’s a paranoid freak, my man.”
“Are you sure about that?”
She gave him a look over the rim of her glass. “Darling, I know where the cameras are. A woman in this house learns where she can safely misbehave.”
Connor let go of her wrists. “Thank you.”
“Any time. And I mean that with sincerity.”
Connor went inside before she could say more.
The cool of the house closed around him again. Carl was halfway down the corridor, moving fast enough to suggest the interview had unsettled him more than he wanted anyone to know.
“Carl.”
Carl stopped and turned. “I said we’re done.”
“I want to speak with you in your study. Somewhere private.”
A muscle jumped in Carl’s cheek. “If it’ll get you out of here.”
He led Connor through the hall to a heavy door near the rear of the house. The study inside was paneled in dark wood and lined with shelves. A large desk faced the room. Ledger books, file boxes, and two computer monitors sat in neat ranks. No camera showed in the corners.
Connor closed the door behind him.
Carl folded his arms. “Make it quick.”
“Maxine says you don’t have cameras in here.”
He grinned. “I do business deals in here. Corporate espionage is horrendous.”
“Good.”
Connor crossed the room in three hard strides, grabbed Carl by the back of the head and shoulder, and shoved him down into the leather chair in front of the desk.
“Sit down.”
Carl’s face flushed. “You can’t do that!”
“Watch me.”
Carl tried to rise. Connor shoved him back, then caught the lapels of his robe and yanked him forward until they were nearly nose to nose.
Fear showed then. Pure and ugly.
Connor heard his own breathing. Too loud. Too close. Some reasonable part of him knew Selena had been right. This was why she had wanted to come. This was why he should have let her.
That knowledge did not loosen his grip. Vic’s dead body flashed before his eyes.
“If you had anything to do with Victor’s death,” Connor said, “I will find out.”
Carl swallowed. “I swear I didn’t.”
“One tiny breadcrumb leading to you, and I’ll be there. Do you understand?”
“I had nothing to do with it.”
Connor pulled him another inch closer. The urge to hit him came so strong it almost felt physical, like someone had put a tool in his hand and asked him to use it.
Carl’s face filled his vision. The expensive tan.
The frightened eyes. The mouth that had insulted Victor before the body had even cooled.
Connor held himself there, right at the edge, then let go.
Carl dropped back into the chair.
“We’ll see,” Connor said. “I’ll send a deputy around to collect your security footage. See if you really were here the night of the murder.”
“I… I’ll sue you for this!”
Connor glared. “It’s my word against yours. Besides, if you do, you won’t have to answer to me. Do you know who you will have to answer to?”
Fear glistened in Carl’s eyes. “Who?”
Connor leaned in. “Walton Morimer.”
The room went quiet except for Carl’s uneven breath. His expression froze. The outrage drained away, replaced by calculation. Connor watched him weigh one disaster against another.
It was a bluff. But one that Connor knew would work. Carl was scared.
“Okay… Okay, just get the hell out of here!”
Connor stepped away, adjusted his shirt cuffs, and looked once around the study. Books bought in sets. Framed awards. A photograph of Carl shaking hands with a governor who probably did not remember him.
“I better leave,” Connor said. “This place smells like piss.”
Carl said nothing.
At the door, Connor paused with his hand on the knob. The rage had begun to drain, leaving something colder and harder to deny beneath it.
He had overstepped. Connor wondered if he was even in control. Vic’s dead face flashed before his eyes. Connor knew he was compromised all right. Duty meant so much to him. It always had since he took his oath to the people of Harlan County.
For the first time in his career, the badge felt less important than the man who had worn it.
Selena’s voice came back to him. Right now, I don’t know what you’re going to do.
Now he knew.
Connor opened the door and left. His next step would be even further over that line.