Chapter 48
FORTY-EIGHT
Blackwood Winery
Walter’s Office
Walter Grady’s office sat at the back of the administration building, with a view over the rear vineyard and the rolling hills beyond Blackwood.
Sara Parker had already called ahead.
Walter was expecting him.
Chloe met Burke near the front desk with a polite smile and a set of keys in her hand.
"Sheriff Scott, good to see you again."
“You too."
“Walter said to bring you straight back.”
She led him down the narrow hall, past framed harvest photographs and old newspaper clippings about Blackwood’s charity dinners, founders’ events, and summer festivals.
Chloe unlocked the door at the end of the hall and pushed it open.
“Walter’s office.”
Burke stepped inside.
Walter wasn’t there.
The room was warm, lived-in, and orderly in the way of a man who had spent most of his adult life inside it. A scarred oak desk sat near the window. Two filing cabinets lined one wall. A braided rug covered part of the plank floor beside the desk.
And near the door, tucked neatly against the baseboard, sat a pair of brown leather loafers.
Burke noticed them at once.
Soft leather. Worn soles.
Chloe followed his glance.
“Ohhh,” she said, almost laughing at herself. “Walter ran out to the production warehouse. He always changes into his boots if he’s going across the yard. Too much mud this time of year.”
Burke turned back to her.
“He should be right back,” she added. “He said to make yourself comfortable.”
“Thanks.”
Chloe smiled and stepped back into the hall.
She pulled the door partway closed behind her.
Burke waited, listening until her footsteps faded toward the front of the building.
Only then did he look again at the loafers.
He could still see the print in the mud outside Mabel’s house.
That partial impression near the side path.
Not a work boot.
Not a sneaker.
Something with a flatter sole. A narrow edge. A worn, shallow pattern that had seemed wrong for the wet ground around Blackwood.
One loafer lay slightly on its side, exposing part of the sole. The tread was worn nearly smooth at the ball of the foot, but not completely. Along the outer edge, a thin ridge remained. At the heel, the rubber had a shallow crosshatch.
He pulled out his phone and angled it toward the exposed sole.
There it was.
Not exact.
But close enough to make the hair rise on the back of his neck.
Close enough that he couldn't dismiss it.
A lot like the print in the mud.
Burke studied the sole for a moment longer.
Then the floorboards creaked in the hall.
He straightened.
The door opened.
Walter Grady stepped in with Moose beside him.
The Great Pyrenees entered first, enormous and white, his paws damp from outside, his tail moving in an easy sweep. Walter followed in a pair of muddy work boots.
He stopped when he saw Burke standing near the door.
“Sheriff.”
“Walter.”
Walter’s gaze flicked toward the loafers.
Then back to Burke.
“I didn’t realize Chloe had already brought you in.”
“She said you ran over to the production warehouse.”
Walter took off the boots and slipped back into his loafers.
“Had to check on a delivery.”
Moose lifted his head, taking them both in, unconcerned. Then he padded across the office and settled beside Walter’s desk.
Burke watched him.
“Well…”
Walter’s expression loosened into something like a smile.
“Guess you found my office dog.”
Moose blinked once, then rose again slowly to his feet.
Walter reached down and scratched behind Moose's ear.
“There he is.”
Moose leaned into Walter’s hand with the easy affection of an old friend.
“You always did like attention.”
Burke watched.
“You and Moose know each other pretty well.”
Walter chuckled.
“Known him since he was eight weeks old.”
He rubbed the dog’s neck.
“Mabel brought him home in a cardboard box. Biggest feet I’d ever seen on a puppy.”
Moose huffed happily.
Burke crouched and let Moose sniff his hand.
The dog accepted the greeting before wandering back to Walter.
Walter smiled faintly.
Burke watched Moose settle beside Walter.
Then his gaze moved to the muddy boots by the door.
After a long moment, he opened his notebook.
"I talked to Patsy Jordan this morning."
Something flickered across Walter’s face.
“Patsy’s good people.”
Burke watched him carefully.
“She told me Mabel discovered some money missing.”
Walter didn’t answer.
“Seventy-five thousand dollars.”
Walter slowly leaned back in his chair.
“I wondered when that would come out.”
“You aren’t denying it?”
“No.”
Burke hadn’t expected the answer to come so quickly.
Walter folded his hands together.
“I took it.”
“You realize that’s felony theft.”
“I do.”
“Why?”
Walter's gaze fell to the floor for a long moment.
“My younger brother was dying.”
Burke waited.
“Liver cancer.”
Walter swallowed.
“He lost everything before he lost his life.”
Silence filled the room.
“He was going to lose the house too.”
Walter turned toward the window.
“I couldn’t watch that happen.”
“So you stole seventy-five thousand dollars?”
Walter nodded once.
“I told myself it’d only be for a few weeks.”
His voice carried no excuse.
Only regret.
“The Tennessee property was under contract. Family land. My brother and I both had our names on it.”
He rubbed a hand over his mouth.
“My share would’ve covered every penny.”
“But you never asked Mabel.”
Walter closed his eyes briefly.
“No.”
“Why?”
A bitter smile crossed his face.
“Because pride’s an ugly thing.”
Burke thought about Patsy’s words.
He was ashamed to ask.
“They found the shortage during a routine reconciliation?”
Walter nodded.
“Mabel did.”
“What happened?”
He swallowed.
“Her eyes filled.”
Burke frowned.
“Mabel cried?”
Walter shook his head.
“No.”
A sad, almost broken smile touched his mouth.
“That would’ve been easier.”
Burke waited.
“She held it in.”
The office fell silent.
Walter’s voice lowered.
“She said, ‘Walter… after all these years… why didn’t you just ask me?’”
Burke said nothing.
“I’ve never been more ashamed in my life.”
Burke watched him carefully.
“You paid it back?”
“Every penny.”
“Mabel forgave you?”
Walter nodded.
“I think she did.”
“But things changed.”
Walter didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
Burke could see it.
Forgiveness wasn't the same thing as trust.
Burke closed the notebook.
As he turned to leave, his gaze dropped once more to the muddy boots by the door.
Moose followed him to the door.
Burke patted the dog’s head and closed the door behind him.
Once outside, Burke slipped his cell phone from his pocket and dialed.
"Sara."
"Sheriff."
"I need you to do me a favor."
"Sure."
"I want Walter Grady's whereabouts verified."
"The night Mabel was killed?"
"That night...and the night somebody was prowling around Blackwood."
There was a brief pause.
"He already gave us an alibi."
"I know what he told us."
Burke climbed into his truck but didn't start the engine.
"I don't want what Walter says happened."
"I want what actually happened."
"Check traffic cameras. Cell phone records if we can get them. Talk to neighbors. Anybody who might've seen him."
"Build me a timeline."
"For both nights?"
"For both nights."
"You think he's our guy?"
Burke rested both hands on the steering wheel.
"I think he's a man with opportunity."
"And right now..."
"...that's enough."
"I'll get started."
"Sara..."
"Yeah?"
"Keep this between us until I know what we're looking at."
"You got it, Sheriff."
Burke ended the call.
He rested both hands on the steering wheel for a long moment before starting the engine.
Toward Blackwood Cattle.
Toward Red Stephens.
Toward another piece of a story that had started long before Mabel Blackwood died.