Chapter 14
Pastor Neil’s words about a new heart echoed in Harley’s mind as she stood in Pete Barrow’s kitchen, the man’s body sprawled over a puddle of rusty blood.
Jericho would be so proud of her. She hadn’t charged in alone, hadn’t let her need for answers override common sense. She’d been downright calm.
Not at all impulsive.
Fact was, she hadn’t even planned on showing up at Pete Barrow’s house. Not when she had coloring to do with Daniel, and maybe even some catch-up with Gabe.
And then she made the mistake of mentioning the conversation with Barry Kingston about Pete running fuel shipments to Gabe who had insisted on coming with her to Pete’s place. Just to talk, he’d said.
Suddenly she ended up in her rental Jeep with her brother, an eerie version of a future she’d hoped to have with her dad.
Fighting crime together.
Except Pete wouldn’t be talking to anyone, not anymore.
A brisk wind keened through the eaves of Pete’s cabin, which sat about seven miles from town, on a service road to the ski hill. The kitchen was a 1970s time capsule—avocado green appliances, faded contact paper on the cabinets.
The afternoon sun slanted through unwashed windows, painting Pete’s body in amber. He was sprawled on the scuffed linoleum, face-up, blood pooled beneath his head, neck opened in a precise crimson line. The scent of stale coffee burned against something that caught in the back of her throat.
“I called Deke,” she said, her voice coming from down the hall to Gabe. “We have about ten minutes.”
“Give me a second here, would you?” His voice came from the back bedroom.
Maybe she should try Jericho again. She’d called three times, texted once.
She’d bet he and Hudson were elbow-deep in some greasy project at the Eagle’s Nest. Bonding.
Next to her, Orlando sat, whined. She put a hand on his head. “It’s okay, bud. We’re safe.”
But oh, the urge in her to see if Orlando could pick up some sort of scent, maybe hunt down the killer, nearly made her do dangerous things.
Yeah, good way to get Jericho to murder her—unauthorized use of his scent dog.
Gabe came out of the room holding a laptop in his gloved hands. “Why’d you have to call it in?”
“Because I’m a licensed investigator who follows proper procedure and calls law enforcement immediately upon discovering a crime scene.” She pointed to the computer. “You just going to swipe that?”
“Yep.” He put the computer on the table. Then he started to open kitchen drawers.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for anything connecting Pete to whoever killed him.”
“That’s tampering with a crime scene.”
“Since when do you care about procedure?” Gabe yanked open the fridge, grimaced at ancient takeout containers and a carton of milk gone solid.
“Since I got my PI license.” Harley moved to the laptop. “We’re not snatching the computer. But let me see what I can find.”
Gabe looked over at her, waggled his eyebrows, like this might be a game.
Yeah, weird.
She opened the computer. The cursor blinked. What would Pete use as a password? She tried his address. Nope.
Her gaze fell on a picture on the fridge. She retrieved it.
“What’s that?”
“Pete and his hunting dog. Nice-looking black lab.” She flashed it at him. “Look at the name.”
“Charlie?”
She typed it in and the screen unlocked. “Got it.” On the main screen, folders. “Bank statements, fuel receipts—”
“Found something.” Gabe had moved to another bedroom. “There’s an office back here.”
She sent the folders to her online storage via the internet. Then she headed down the hallway. Some office—a row machine, a file cabinet, and a gaming chair with a flat-screen.
Gabe held up a leatherbound logbook, its edges worn smooth. “Dates, tail numbers, gallons delivered.”
A siren wailed in the distance, the sound bouncing off the mountain face behind Pete’s cabin.
“Perfect,” Gabe said. “Now we get to explain why we’re here.”
“We’re here because we got a tip about a witness in Dad and Mom’s deaths.
” She reached for the logbook and set it on the desk.
Opened it and pulled out her phone. “These have flights from over seven years ago.” She found the dates around the time of the crash.
Took pictures, then shoved the logbook back into the filing cabinet, the metal shrieking in protest.
Only then did she see the missed calls from Jericho. She’d forgotten to take her phone off Do Not Disturb after church. Oops.
She nearly pressed dial to call him back when red and blue lights strobed through the kitchen windows. Car doors slammed. Heavy boots crunched across the frozen yard and up the weathered porch steps that groaned under the weight.
Deke came through the open door.
She caught the exact moment the smell hit him—that copper-penny tang that had already coated the back of her throat.
“Harley.” Deke’s gaze swept from her to Gabe, then landed on Pete. “Want to tell me what brings you to Pete Barrow’s house on a Sunday afternoon?”
She explained about church, about Barry Kingston’s revelation, about coming to question Pete about the fuel shipments.
“And you found him like this?” Deke crouched beside the body.
“Yes. Door was unlocked. We called out, no answer. Found him dead.”
“You see anyone?”
“No. He’s been dead for a while. Maybe since yesterday.”
“I see that.”
Crew had come in, carrying a forensic kit. He walked over and handed it to Deke. “I called Liora, and she said to get started with pictures. She’ll be over as soon as she can.”
“Has Pete been in any trouble?” Harley asked. “Why would someone want to kill him?”
“I don’t know,” Deke said, getting out of the way of Crew, who started to take photos. “He did an overnight with us a few months ago—got drunk at the Midnight Sun, started to tear up the place. Vic subdued him, but he was crying about something. Someone.”
“Charlie?”
Deke snapped his finger, pointed at her. “That sounds right.”
Gabe picked up the picture.
“Pete did live alone, so . . .” Deke glanced down at Orlando. “Always nice to have a friend around. Speaking of, you babysitting?”
She laughed, looking at Orlando, who was at her side like always. “I think he’s babysitting me. Jericho is out with Hud at the Eagle’s Nest.”
“No, he’s not,” Gabe said from the family room.
She glanced past him, out the window as, yep, Jericho’s Silverado pulled up. Or rather careened up. Stopped in a puff of greasy smoke.
Hudson piled out of the driver’s seat.
Jericho burst from the passenger side.
Interesting.
“I think I’ll just leave you two alone,” Deke said and he opened up the forensic kit, pulled on gloves.
Orlando had gotten up, tail wagging, and headed toward the door.
It banged open.
Jericho filled the doorway like a man on fire. He wore coveralls, his hair a little mussed, his eyes dark as they landed on her.
She had the sense of being found in the dead of night, after a long search.
Then his expression transformed from what she guessed might be panic to fury as his gaze took in the scene of her standing there alive, beside a dead man.
“Have you lost your mind?”
She blinked at him, then stiffened, her jaw tightening. Glanced at Deke. Back to Jericho. Heat crawled up her neck. Stay calm. “No, I haven’t—”
See, so calm.
“What are you doing here?” He advanced, two big steps into the room, grabbed her arms, looked her over. Then glanced at Gabe.
Who raised an eyebrow. “Step back, bro. She wasn’t in danger—”
Clearly, Gabe’s words went in one ear and out the other.
“What if you’d been here when the killer was here?” Jericho let her go, his gaze falling on Pete’s body, back to her. “What if Mars—”
“We don’t even know it was—”
“Whoever it was could have killed you!”
Ho-kay. She took a breath. “I’m not inept, Jericho. I do know what I’m doing.” Her phone buzzed. Really? Her boss, right now, on a Sunday afternoon? But maybe Jericho needed a second to cool off. She answered it as his eyes widened. “Hey, Lydia.”
“Hey, just checking in. Wondering if I’m ever going to see my best investigator again.” She laughed on the other end.
Oh boy. Harley turned away from Jericho’s thunderous expression, from the body on the floor. “Um . . .”
“Okay, I sound like I’m kidding, but you need to come back.”
Harley imagined her in her office in Juneau, overlooking a breathtaking view of the Gastineau Channel, a silvery body of water between the mainland and Douglas Island.
Probably it would be cluttered with water taxis and small fishing boats, maybe a seaplane skimming over the water before it ascended into the white-capped mountains.
Shoot, yes, suddenly Harley very much wanted to be back in her apartment, drinking a macchiato from Heritage Coffee, or fat biking on Perseverance Trail. Away from Mr. Bossy, crowding into her life, making her feel like she’d committed a crime.
Like she might be helpless.
“You’ve been gone a week,” Lydia said. “How much longer is this going to take?”
She stepped outside, the afternoon shadows reaching through the snowy yard from the forest surrounding the cabin. She noticed Hudson, who was ending a call and heading into Pete’s house. “You’re the one who told me to go after Mars.”
“I know. But Mars’s small potatoes. We need to get the bigger ring.” Lydia sighed. “I thought you’d nab him, turn around, come back. We could squeeze out information—”
“Did something happen?”
“The police made an arrest of a local dealer. I brokered a deal, he named people. This isn’t just about illegal activities on a small scale.
It seems there’s a network operating through Juneau, possibly with international connections.
It’s much larger than we anticipated, and the Sorroses are just a piece of the puzzle. ” She sighed again. “Come home.”
A car pulled up and a woman got out, middle-aged, brown hair. Harley didn’t know her, but she wore a Copper Mountain Sheriff’s Department jacket. Maybe the Liora that Crew had mentioned.
“I’ll be in touch.” Harley ended the call just as Jericho stalked past her, through the door, into the yard.