Finding Answers (Sam Mason K-9 Dog Mystery #9)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

The farmhouse door was ajar, a jagged slice of blackness cutting through the snow-bright day.

Jo Harris froze behind the wheel of her truck, her breath fogging the glass. Garvin McDaniels was a stickler for order. Doors shut, paths shoveled, lights on when the sun went down. But now, the front steps were buried under a fresh layer of snow, untouched, the house eerily dark.

Something wasn’t right.

She climbed out, her boots crunching on the driveway as the cold bit through her coat. The air was unnervingly still, thick with the kind of silence that makes you question every sound you didn’t hear.

Garvin wasn’t just Jo’s landlord. Lately, she and her sister had been softening him up with casseroles, hoping he’d sell them the cottage.

But it wasn’t only that—Jo liked him. He was lonely, and their talks had become something she looked forward to.

Which made the open door and eerie silence all the more unsettling.

Jo’s hand hovered near the holstered weapon on her hip as she grabbed the casserole dish from the passenger seat.

Her pulse kicked up as she climbed the snow-covered steps, her eyes fixed on that gaping door.

“Garvin?” she called, her voice cutting the stillness like a blade.

No answer.

Jo’s grip tightened on the dish as she nudged the door open wider and stepped into the shadows.

The smell slammed into her—sharp, metallic, and unmistakable.

Blood.

Inside, the farmhouse was a wreck. Chairs overturned, glass scattered across the floor like glittering shards. Jo’s pulse quickened as her eyes tracked the dark stain smeared across the hardwood. A path of destruction led to the living room. To the body.

Garvin McDaniels lay in the middle of it, sprawled across the floor, eyes wide open. Cold. Lifeless.

Jo’s stomach dropped. “Garvin!” Her voice cracked in the silence as she rushed forward. She didn’t even realize she’d tossed the casserole onto the table.

She dropped to her knees next to him, pressing her fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse. His skin was like ice. The faint metallic scent in the air confirmed what her mind was trying to deny.

No pulse. No life.

Jo pulled back, trying to steady her breath, her hand trembling. It wasn’t the first body she’d seen in her career. But Garvin... Garvin was supposed to be alive. He didn’t deserve this kind of death.

She fumbled for her phone, hands still shaking. “Reese,” she managed when the receptionist picked up. “Garvin’s dead. I found him here, at his house. Send the team. Fast.”

Reese’s voice crackled with shock. “Jo? Are you okay? What happened?”

Jo swallowed hard, her gaze flicking to the bloodstain spreading beneath Garvin. “It’s bad. It looks like... murder.”

“I’m sending everyone. Ambulance and the team are on their way. Stay put.”

“Okay.” Jo hung up and exhaled, the air thick and tainted with blood. Her fingers curled into fists as she fought for control. She should be handling this better. She was trained for this. But this... This was different.

Her mind raced, trying to piece together the scene, to make sense of the chaos. Garvin had been reluctant to sell the cottage at first. But after months of coaxing, he’d seemed to come around. Just last week, he’d told her he was almost ready to sign.

Now, he was dead. Why?

A knot tightened in her chest. Did his death have something to do with the property? Jo glanced at the open door, the wind blowing in snow that melted on the blood-streaked floor.

She needed answers.

The distant wail of sirens cut through the silence, snapping Jo back to the present. Her pulse steadied. Time to get to work.

She scanned the room again, this time with the sharp focus of a cop at a crime scene. The overturned chair near the table. A broken lamp. Glass scattered like stars across the hardwood. Every object out of place told part of a story, and Jo was determined to piece it together.

Her gaze landed on Garvin’s body, the pool of blood that had already begun to congeal.

She crouched again, eyes narrowing as she took in the angle of his limbs, the way his head rested against the leg of the overturned coffee table.

He’d been hit with something heavy, but there was no sign of a weapon.

The door was forced, so the killer had broken in, and it must have been sometime before the last snowfall earlier that morning.

She took out her phone and snapped photos. Kevin, one of the deputies, would do this later for the police photos, but Jo knew that every broken item, every smudge on the floor, every piece of disturbed furniture—they all mattered. She’d need them later.

The sirens stopped abruptly as the first responders arrived, a flurry of voices and boots heading toward the porch. Jo rose, stepping back as the crew began spilling into the house. But her eyes never left the room. The details were still sharp in her mind, each one locked away.

She took a deep breath, the icy air burning her lungs. Garvin deserved answers. And she’d make sure he got them.

The White Rock police Tahoe and the old Crown Victoria pulled up, tires crunching on the snow. Sam, Wyatt, Kevin, and Lucy piled out, urgency etched on their faces.

Lucy bounded up the steps, her nose twitching, already working the scene. Jo crouched, scratching the German Shepherd behind the ears for a quick second, grounding herself.

“What’s the situation?” Chief Sam Mason asked, stepping into the doorway.

“Busted lock. Struggle inside,” Jo said, her voice clipped, professional, though the sight of Garvin still twisted her gut.

Inside, the team moved fast. Wyatt snapped photos, his face grim. Kevin, already gloved up, began collecting evidence, his hands moving with the precision of a surgeon.

“Anything missing?” Wyatt called from the living room, camera still in hand.

Jo’s eyes swept the room. Everything looked as cluttered as usual, and everything was in its place—except for one thing.

“Wait.” Her voice sharpened as she stepped toward the shelf by the window. “Garvin had a bronze sculpture here. Of an elk. His great-uncle made it. He thought it was valuable.”

Wyatt joined her, eyes narrowing as he studied the empty shelf. “Valuable enough to kill over?”

Jo’s gut tightened. “Maybe.”

Sam, standing near the door, gave a quick nod to Wyatt and Kevin. “Check the other rooms. See if anything else is out of place.”

They moved through the house in sync. Jo stood still for a moment, taking in the scene, her mind ticking. Garvin didn’t have much. A couple of antiques, some knickknacks, but nothing anyone would risk breaking in for.

Wyatt reappeared from the hallway, shaking his head. “Nothing. Bedrooms, bathroom—all untouched.”

Kevin followed, glancing around. “Doesn’t feel like a burglary. Just the one thing missing? That doesn’t track.”

“What else would the motive be?” Sam asked.

“Maybe someone didn’t like him.” Kevin nodded toward Garvin’s battered face. “I mean, sure looks that way.”

“Or something he was about to do,” Jo said, suspicion creeping into her voice. “Garvin was about to sell me the cottage I’ve been renting. Remember?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, and when he was dragging his feet, you started bribing him with pie and casseroles.” His tone was light, and for the first time that morning, Jo smiled.

She glanced at the table, where she’d stashed the latest casserole, now sitting cold and untouched. She’d started looking forward to those meals. “It worked. Last time I was here, he said he was almost ready to sell.”

Kevin, sifting through broken glass, didn’t look up. “Wasn’t someone else interested in buying it?”

Jo nodded. “Yeah, but Garvin told me he didn’t trust them. He wanted the property to go to the right person, said he thought that person was me.”

Wyatt chimed in, “Did you get anything in writing?”

Jo shook her head. “No, nothing official yet.”

Wyatt sighed, wiping a hand across his jaw. “That means the other buyer could still be in play. If it’s just your word, they’ll have a chance.”

“His heirs will be in charge of it now anyway,” Sam said, looking down at Garvin. He shook his head.

Jo frowned, unsure. “I doubt the other person wanted the property bad enough to kill him to stop him from selling to me. That would be crazy.”

But even she wasn’t convinced. Not anymore.

“Maybe the bust is more valuable than we know.” Sam said.

Wyatt frowned, scanning the room. “Could be they knew exactly what they wanted and went straight for it.”

Sam folded his arms, glancing at the broken lock. “But why not just break in and take the bust? Why kill Garvin?” His eyes shifted to Garvin’s lifeless body.

“Maybe they thought he wasn’t home and he surprised them?” Kevin suggested.

Before anyone could respond, Lucy began whining, pawing at the floor beside the body. Kevin noticed, raising an eyebrow.

“I think she wants us to roll him,” he said.

Sam nodded. “ME’s on the way, but go ahead. Carefully.”

Jo crouched as they turned Garvin onto his side. The back of his head revealed a second wound, deep, matted with blood. The floor beneath him was stained dark red. But that wasn’t what had Lucy’s attention.

Nestled beneath the body was a small, coiled piece of plastic. A hair tie.

“What’s that?” Wyatt crouched down, squinting at it.

Jo’s hand went reflexively to her own head, fingers brushing against the familiar spiral holding her hair in a tight ponytail. Her brow furrowed.

Sam, always sharp, caught the movement. “Could it be yours? Maybe it fell off when you found him?”

Jo stiffened. “No, it’s not mine. It’s still on.”

Sam’s gaze lingered on her for a second longer than she liked. “Could’ve been here from a past visit. Maybe you didn’t notice. In which case it really wouldn’t be evidence.”

Jo’s jaw clenched. Was he serious? Was he offering to look the other way? Like it wasn’t worth bagging?

Kevin glanced between them, waiting. Jo met Sam’s gaze, the weight of the moment heavy between them. Did he think she had something to do with this, or was he trying to protect her from being unjustly accused? Didn’t matter either way—the hair tie was not hers.

“No,” Jo said, her voice firm. “It’s not mine. I’m sure of it. I’d know if it fell out. Let’s bag it and run the hairs.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, a flicker of something—doubt? concern?—in his eyes. He gave a quick nod to Kevin. “Bag it.”

Kevin picked up the tie carefully, holding it up to the light. “Two curly hairs.”

Jo’s stomach twisted. “They’re not mine.”

Sam’s voice was calm, measured. “Of course not.” But the look he shot her said more than his words. He nodded at Kevin. “Bag it and tag it.”

The boards on the porch creaked as Medical Examiner John Dudley arrived, his gait slow and steady. The team shifted, giving him space. Lucy wagged her tail at the sight of him, momentarily breaking the tension.

John set to work, his face impassive as he examined the body.

Sam stepped back, glancing at his team. “All right, folks. ME’s in charge here. Let’s head back to the station, start processing. The sooner we get this evidence logged, the closer we are to figuring this out.”