Chapter 4
Because cell service was spotty at best out on the Enchanted Highway, Cal drove straight to the Red Grove police station to drop in on his brother Wyatt.
He found Wyatt at his desk, his chair kicked back and his feet up while he laughed with someone on the phone.
When Wyatt spotted Cal at his door, he put his feet down and said, “Hey, let me call you back later. The sheriff is here, and I have to look busy now.”
“Detective Colton.” Cal laughed as he shook his head and took a seat across from Wyatt. “Working hard or hardly working?”
“Would you believe me if I said that was work?”
Cal lifted both palms toward Wyatt. “You don’t have to justify yourself to me.”
Wyatt scrubbed a hand over his unkempt mop of brown hair, his Colton-blue eyes twinkling when he teased, “I don’t? I can remember you appointing yourself boss over all of us kids a long time ago.”
Cal grinned smugly. “Eldest’s prerogative.” Then he sobered and said, “Have you heard about the body found out at the sculpture at the zero mile marker on the Enchanted Highway this morning?”
Wyatt nodded pointed to his desk phone. “That’s what the call was about.
Because of the needle tracks on the victim’s arms, the coroner believes drugs were involved.
The case has been assigned to my task force.
I’ll be heading up the investigation.” Wyatt paused and shot his brother a mock dubious frown.
“That is, if you approve, Mr. Prerogative.”
Cal took a pen from the cup on the edge of the desk and threw it at his brother. Wyatt deftly caught the pen and chuckled. “I’ll take that as a go-ahead.”
Leaning forward, his legs splayed, Cal braced his forearms on his knees. He turned his hat in his hands idly. “I hate this trend of increased drug traffic. This town was quiet and safe for so many years, and now people are dying at the foot of landmarks.”
“So your gut says the victim this morning was an overdose?” Wyatt asked. “We don’t have anything official yet from the coroner on cause of death.”
“No, nothing official. Although…”
When he didn’t finish the thought, Wyatt prompted, “Although…? Spill, Callum. If you have an instinct on this case, I want to hear it. You’re usually pretty spot on.”
“Well, I don’t think foul play should be ruled out.
The team working the call and I noticed evidence of a physical altercation on the victim—bruising and a wound on his head that indicates he fell or was hit pretty hard.
Plus, I talked with somebody who can place a second man with the victim last night. ”
“Interesting. Go on,” Wyatt said.
Cal waved a dismissive hand. “It will all be in my report.” Pushing to his feet, he added, “Which I should get back to the office and write up now.” He started for the door, then turned to face his brother. “I know you’re officially in charge of the case, but—”
“I will keep you apprised, Sheriff.”
Cal chuckled. “You read my mind.”
Wyatt gave a shudder and winced. “Scary place to be, your mind. It’s so dark and empty.”
Barking a laugh, Cal slapped his hat onto his head and wagged a finger at his brother as he strolled out of the office. “Good one, Wy.”
After calling the shop owner to tell him about the ordered closure, Jules put another can of tuna outside for the stray cat and received another hiss for her efforts.
“Well, aren’t you just a joy?” she said, shaking her head.
She backed up from the tuna, and the kitten rushed over to gobble her offering.
She watched from the doorway, her heart breaking.
The little thing was just scared, she knew.
Alone. Hungry. Just trying to protect itself with its angry noises.
When the kitten stood and cast a wary glance toward the parking lot, where teams of law enforcement personnel were working the crime scene, she got a better look at the cat’s back end.
A girl, if she was right. “So Joy might be a good name for you, eh? If only for the irony?”
Finishing her meal, Joy licked her whiskers and scampered back to the safety of her hiding place in the scrub brush.
As Jules went back into the gift shop and added the cost of the tuna to a tab of what she owed the shop till, her gaze landed on a collapsed box from her last shipment of stock.
She could fashion a cathouse from it. Put a blanket inside, maybe.
She grunted. Not like she had anything else to do with the police ordering the gift shop to remain closed until they did a sweep for evidence. She didn’t want to go back to her sad, stuffy little motel room to kill time, so…
Jules carried the box into the break room and put it on the tiny table.
She inhaled deeply as she glanced around, deciding what she could use to resecure the flaps of the box.
The air contained the faint scent of a woodsy smelling soap or aftershave.
A reminder of the sheriff and his bright blue gaze.
His engaging grin. His square jaw and handsome—
Jules caught herself and rubbed both hands over her face as if she could erase thoughts of the sexy sheriff from her brain.
She had not come to North Dakota to find romance.
Her one and only focus needed to be on doing everything she could for Abby.
That meant helping her sister feel safe and loved.
And finding a way to get Abby’s stalker off the streets.
Jules dug in the drawer where she kept the box cutter and found a roll of tape.
She arranged the box on the table and ripped off a strip of tape to hold it together before setting about finding some makeshift comfort items in the shop for the box.
Well, that used all of one minute. Now, what was she supposed to do with her day?
Not for the first time since coming to North Dakota, she yearned to be back in the laboratory, finishing her chemistry research.
She’d abandoned her PhD studies in order to follow her sister here to Red Grove when Abby was at her lowest point.
Abby mattered more than a degree, and Jules was willing to work this retail job for a while to pay her expenses until…
Until the man responsible for Abby’s hospitalization was caught and Abby was safe again. Which could take weeks…or months? She held out no hope that the law enforcement here in Red Grove would be any more helpful than the previous police or judges she’d dealt with on Abby’s behalf.
Her thoughts flickered briefly to the Stark County sheriff again. Dang it, why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? Idle hands?
Refocusing on her impromptu project, she stared at the plain brown cardboard box and shrugged. It might not be ground-breaking organic chemistry research, but it was better than going back to her dreary motel room.
After gathering a few more supplies, she set to work drawing, trimming, creating.
A window here, colored-on flower box there.
A roof? Definitely a sign over the door identifying the structure as Joy’s House and a scrap of carpet for comfort.
She’d hoped the silly craft project would keep her mind occupied, but her thoughts drifted back to the dead body outside, the drug dealers that had been in the shop… and especially to Hottie McSheriff.
Huffing her frustration, Jules carried the box-turned-cat-shelter outside and set it up near the weeds where the cat had disappeared.
Satisfied with her efforts, she returned to the shop to find some other way to push images of Callum Colton from her brain.
Perhaps time and distance were all she needed.
After all, she would likely never see the man again.
He wanted to talk to Jules Bailey again, Cal decided later the same day.
He drummed his fingers on his desk at the sheriff’s department.
Her odd comment about searching for a molecule had left him wondering about her past. She’d said she was new to town, having only arrived a few months earlier.
The fact that she’d given a local address that was nothing more than a motel room at one of the area’s lowest rent—in other words, seediest—establishments spiked his interest, as well.
So he’d gotten on his desktop and done some digging. First, he found news of her winning an award for her research in chemistry at the University of Manitoba. This news had given him pause.
Chemistry. In Canada. Near where the task force believed many of the drugs flooding the area were originating.
The award had been presented just last autumn, which meant less than a year ago she’d been in Canada.
In a graduate program. Working in chemistry.
Those key facts kept jangling in his mind.
But now, she was managing a gift shop and living out of a cheap motel? That didn’t add up.
I’m not naive, she’d said when asked about her determination that the murder victim had been part of a drug deal. Did that mean she had personal experience with illicit drugs? Could she have been a user herself? Or a producer and distributor?
That didn’t make sense either. She wouldn’t admit as much if she had something to hide, would she?
He also knew better than to be deceived by appearances. While she seemed sober and clean of drugs on first blush, she was quite thin and had signs of stress and fatigue on her face. Dark circles under her eyes. Tiny creases around her unsmiling mouth. Her pouty, tempting mouth…