CHAPTER FIVE
The Holt farmhouse looked too peaceful for a place tied to murder.
Selena pulled in behind Connor’s SUV and studied the property through the windshield.
White siding. Deep porch. Flower baskets hanging from hooks along the rail.
A red barn stood beyond the house, its doors shut, its roof catching the morning sun.
Past the barn, pastureland rolled toward a line of pines where heat shimmered above the grass.
Idyllic. That was the word people would use if they drove by without knowing why the Sheriff had come.
The moment Selena opened the car door, humidity wrapped around her. The kind of heat that made clothes cling and patience shorten. She stepped out, adjusting the file bag on her shoulder, and immediately sank her right shoe into mud hidden beneath the grass.
Selena looked down. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Connor had already started toward the porch. At the sound of her voice, he turned and came back.
“Need a hand?”
“No.”
Her shoe shifted deeper when she tried to pull free.
Connor stopped beside her. “Your hero to the rescue.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Stop fussing.”
“Connor.”
Before she could object again, he put his arms around her and lifted her clear of the mud with irritating ease. For one brief second, Selena’s hands caught his shoulders, and the familiar solidity of him cut through the heat and the case and the house waiting ahead.
Then her feet touched safer ground.
Selena stepped back at once and straightened her blouse. “I would’ve gotten out of that.”
“Sure.”
“I would have.”
Connor looked at the muddy shoe. “You’ve spent too much time in the city. You’ve forgotten you always need to watch where you’re walking.”
“Oh, wise country words.” Selena scraped her heel against a patch of dry grass. “Give me concrete and skyscrapers any day.”
“You used to run barefoot around half this county when we were kids.”
“I also used to think gas station nachos counted as dinner. People change.”
“Sometimes.”
The glance he gave her was too warm to be nothing, too careful to be anything she could name. Selena looked toward the farmhouse and moved before the moment stayed too long.
The front porch boards were clean and freshly painted. Someone had swept them that morning or the night before. Two rocking chairs sat near the door, angled toward the fields. A wind chime shifted lazily from one hook, tapping out a thin, uneven sound.
Connor removed his hat before knocking.
The door opened after a few seconds.
A woman in her twenties stood on the other side.
Soft brown hair pulled into a loose knot, pale face, red eyes.
She wore jeans and an oversized cardigan despite the heat.
For a moment, her gaze went straight to Connor and stayed there with the desperate relief people often showed when authority looked familiar.
“Hi, Mary,” Connor said gently. “This is Agent Raven from the FBI. We were hoping to talk with your Aunt Sandra if she feels up to it.”
Mary’s composure cracked at the sound of his voice. She stepped forward and put both arms around him.
Connor held her carefully, his hat still in one hand. “I’m so sorry about your uncle.”
Mary shook her head against his shoulder, then pulled back, wiping her face with the heel of one hand. “It makes no sense. Why would someone do that to him?”
“We’ll do everything we can to find out.”
"That's what Aunt Sandra keeps saying." Mary glanced behind her. "Aunt Sandra's in the sitting room. Mom's with her. One minute, it's like it never happened, then it hits her again, and she falls to pieces. The shock's been terrible for all of us."
Selena softened her voice. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Mary looked at her properly for the first time. Recognition moved slowly over her face.
“Hold on. Selena. I thought I remembered the name.” She glanced at Connor, then back at Selena. “I met you a long time ago. I’d have been a kid. Weren’t you two married?”
Connor’s expression tightened by a fraction. “Yes.”
Selena kept her tone calm. “We’re working together strictly professionally.”
Mary nodded as if she had not meant to pry, though grief made manners clumsy. “Right. Sorry. Come in.”
The farmhouse interior carried the same careful order as the porch. Polished wood floors. Cream walls. Expensive rugs. A staircase with a carved banister. Fresh flowers in a vase on a side table. No clutter. No coats thrown over chairs. No shoes lined near the door.
Money had lived here for a while.
Warren and Sandra Holt had not merely done well. They had displayed doing well in every polished surface.
Mary led them down a hall and into a large sitting room where three women sat close together as if proximity could hold them upright.
Sandra Holt occupied the middle of a flowery sofa.
Late fifties, carefully styled hair, face drained by crying.
A tissue lay crushed in one hand. On her left sat a broad-shouldered woman with silver-threaded dark hair and the hard stare of someone ready to fight the next person who caused more pain.
On Sandra’s right, a slimmer woman with auburn hair held her other hand, thumb moving softly across her knuckles.
Connor crossed the room first.
“Sandra.”
The widow rose enough to meet him. He hugged her, brief but sincere.
Selena wondered just how close Connor was to the family and the victim. She hoped it wouldn’t complicate things.
“I’m so sorry,” Connor said.
Sandra nodded against him, then lowered herself back to the sofa. “It’s okay. Thank you for coming.”
“It isn’t okay,” Connor said. “But we’re going to do what we can.”
Selena stepped forward. “Mrs. Holt, I’m Agent Selena Raven. I know this is a difficult time.”
Sandra stared at her for a second, eyes narrowing through tears. “Don’t you remember me?”
Selena paused. “I’m not sure. I’m sorry.”
"Your mom and dad bought their house through our company. Years ago." Sandra dabbed at her eyes. "Robert still says hello when I see him in town. He and Warren were friends for a time before they drifted."
The mention of her father made Selena’s shoulders tense before she could stop it. Another thread. Another local connection she had not expected to tug.
“I didn’t realize,” Selena said.
“No reason you would. You were young. Always busy leaving, if I remember right.”
The words were not cruel, but they were not gentle either.
Connor glanced at Selena.
Selena accepted the hit without showing it. She smiled at the two women on either side of Sandra. “Hello.”
Sandra looked at the women beside her. “Janet is my sister, Mary’s mom.” She squeezed the hand of the silver haired woman. “And Renee is my friend, but might as well be a sister.”
Janet’s stare remained fixed on Selena. “We’re here to make sure she doesn’t have to go through this alone.”
Renee nodded, eyes wet. “It’s just awful that this happened.”
Janet tightened her grip on Sandra’s hand. “I hope you catch whatever sick person did this.”
“So you’ve been made aware we’re treating this as a homicide?” Selena said.
“Yes.”
“Okay, well, I think to proceed, could we have a little time alone with you, Sandra.”
“Alone? Why?” She looked crestfallen.
“It’s standard procedure to conduct an interview without others around,” she explained.
“Absolutely not,” she said, wiping away the tears. “I need them here.”
“I understand that but…”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Selena,” Connor said. “Let’s keep this preliminary. If Sandra needs support right now, we can do a formal one-on-one later.”
“Connor, we need…”
“What we need is to tread carefully,” he said. “This isn’t Washington. If Sandra says she needs the support, I see no reason for isolating her right now.”
Selena drew him a look. She could see him closing ranks. She sighed and decided to proceed rather than start an argument. If more in-depth interviews were required later, she’d make Connor stick to procedure.
Connor took a chair near the sofa. Selena sat opposite Sandra, close enough to speak quietly but not so close that the woman would feel crowded. Her file bag stayed at her feet unopened. Sometimes notebooks made people feel interrogated before the questions began.
“Sandra,” Selena said, “I need to ask you some questions about Warren’s recent life. Anything unusual. Changes in behavior. Arguments. Business problems. People he was worried about.”
Sandra looked down at the tissue in her hand.
“He had business problems all the time. Men like Warren always do. Land deals, leases, buyers changing their minds, people claiming they were cheated when they didn’t read what they signed.”
“Any recent disagreement that stood out?”
“No.”
Janet said, “Warren could be difficult, but he wasn’t the kind of man people murdered.”
Selena kept her focus on Sandra. “Anything personal?”
The tissue stopped moving.
Renee leaned closer to Sandra. “You should tell them the truth.”
Janet’s expression tightened. “It’s for the best.”
Sandra closed her eyes.
Mary, who had remained near the doorway, wrapped both arms around herself.
Selena waited. Silence often did more work than pressure.
After several seconds, Sandra opened her eyes. “I thought Warren was having an affair.”
Mary made a small, broken sound.
Sandra turned toward her. “Honey.”
“I can’t do this.” Mary pushed away from the doorframe, tears spilling now. “I can’t listen to this!”
She hurried from the room.
Connor rose halfway, looking to Selena.
Selena gave a small nod.
He followed Mary out, his boots quiet on the polished floor.
Sandra began crying again, but this time there was anger beneath it. She wiped hard at her cheeks.
Selena let her take a moment. “Why did you think Warren was having an affair?”
“He’d been disappearing.” Sandra stared at the rug instead of Selena. “For months. Maybe longer. He’d say he was hunting or meeting one of the men from the club, but things didn’t add up. He stopped answering his phone. Came home late. Changed shirts before he thought I’d notice.”
“Did you know who the other person might be?”
“No.”
“Did you ask?”
“I asked him where he’d been. That was all it took.”