Chapter 52
FIFTY-TWO
Jackson County Sheriff's Office
Burke sat alone in his office.
He'd spent most of yesterday replaying every interview and every loose end since leaving Harold Blackwood's study.
Walter.
Red Stephens.
Mercer.
Bennett.
One by one, he'd gone back through every suspect, every statement, every motive, searching for the piece that refused to fit.
He still couldn't shake the feeling he'd had the moment he'd opened it.
If his hunch was right...
He'd been asking the wrong questions from the very beginning.
A knock sounded at his door.
"Come in."
Sara stepped inside carrying a manila folder.
"I've got everything you asked for."
She crossed the room and laid several photographs across his desk.
Traffic camera stills.
License plate reader captures.
Burke studied them one at a time.
Sara watched him.
"Every one of the other alibis checked out."
He gave a slow nod.
"I don't get it."
"What gave it away?"
Burke rested his hand on the folder.
"Something I found yesterday."
"Everything else just confirmed it."
Before she could ask another question, there was another knock.
The dispatcher stepped into the doorway.
"Sheriff..."
"Mr. Grady's waiting."
"Ms. Langford just checked in."
Anne Langford swept into the sheriff’s department just after three o’clock.
A pale blue dress skimmed her figure without a wrinkle. Pearls rested at her throat. She carried a cream handbag over one arm.
She looked remarkably youthful for sixty-eight.
Deputy Sara Parker looked up from the front desk.
“Mrs. Langford.”
Anne smiled.
“Deputy Parker. Sheriff Scott wanted to see me.”
“Yes, ma’am. He’s expecting you.”
Anne’s gaze moved past Sara.
Then stopped.
Walter Grady sat in one of the waiting room chairs, hat resting between his hands. He looked up at the sound of her voice.
For one brief second, neither of them spoke.
Then Anne’s expression softened.
“Walter.”
He stood.
“Anne.”
“What are you doing here?”
Walter glanced toward the hallway that led back to Burke’s office.
“I have a meeting with the sheriff.”
“So do I.”
A faint smile touched Anne’s mouth.
“Well,” she said lightly, smoothing one hand over the strap of her handbag, “apparently Sheriff Scott has business with half of Blackwood today.”
Walter did not smile back.
Before the silence could stretch too thin, Sheriff Burke Scott appeared at the end of the hallway.
“Anne.”
She turned toward him.
“Sheriff.”
“Thank you for coming in.”
“You made it sound important.”
“I just want to clear some things up with you.”
Anne’s brows lifted slightly.
“With me?”
“You go all the way back with Blackwood. You know the estate history better than most folks still living.”
Her gaze flicked briefly toward Walter.
Then back to Burke.
“I suppose I do.”
Burke stepped aside and gestured down the hall.
“Why don’t we continue this in the conference room?”
Anne gave him a small, amused look.
“Not an interrogation room?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Should I be relieved?”
Burke’s expression stayed mild.
“I’m hoping this is just a conversation.”
She nodded.
“Of course.”
She followed him down the hallway, her heels clicking softly against the tile.
The conference room was plain but not uncomfortable. A long table. Six chairs. A coffee machine in the corner. A window overlooking the back parking lot.
Anne took all of that in before she sat.
Burke pulled out a chair for her.
“Thank you,” she said.
She sat with practiced grace, smoothing her dress over her knees.
Burke sat across from her and placed the folder on the table.
Anne looked at it.
A rolling whiteboard stood against the far wall. Across the top, someone had written in thick black marker:
BLACKWOOD INVESTIGATION
Below it, under PERSONS OF INTEREST, were several names.
Walter Grady.
Red Stephens.
Mercer Development.
Anne Langford.
A neat green check had been drawn beside Anne’s name.
Underneath, another heading read:
POSSIBLE MOTIVES
Money.
Land.
Family feud.
Harold Blackwood.
Anne’s eyes lingered on Walter’s name.
Then drifted to her own.
Then back to Walter’s.
“You really are looking at Walter.”
Burke rested his hands on the folder but made no move to open it.
“I’m looking at everyone.”
A faint smile touched her lips.
“You can’t honestly believe Walter Grady murdered my sister.”
“I believe it’s my job to eliminate everyone.”
“Fair enough.”
"Everyone says Walter loved Blackwood."
“He does.”
"I've also been told he and Harold fought."
Anne’s smile faded by a fraction.
“They disagreed.”
“Often.”
“Men who work together that long are bound to have disagreements.”
“They weren’t ordinary disagreements, were they?”
Anne said nothing.
Burke leaned back.
“So what were they fighting about?”
“The winery?”
“No.”
“The cattle operation?”
“No.”
Burke held her eyes.
“Then what?”
Anne hesitated only a heartbeat.
Then she smiled.
“You know how men are. Pride. Stubbornness. Two strong personalities under one roof.”
“I’ve been told it was more personal than that.”
“I’m sure you’ve been told lots of things.”
“I have.”
Burke opened the folder but did not remove anything from it.
“Some folks say Walter resented Harold. Some say Harold trusted Walter more than he trusted family. Some say Walter knew every secret on that property.”
Anne’s expression cooled.
“Walter was loyal to Blackwood.”
“To Harold?”
“To the place.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No,” Anne said quietly.
Burke let the silence settle between them.
Then, almost conversationally, he said,
"You loved Harold first."
The smile disappeared.
"Who told you that?"
Burke didn't answer.
Anne closed her eyes.
“Everyone knew, eventually. That was the trouble with Harold.”
“What trouble?”
Anne opened her eyes, but she did not look at Burke.
She looked past him.
As if the room had fallen away and left her somewhere else entirely.
“Men wanted to be him. Women wanted to be chosen by him."
Burke watched her carefully.
“That sounds personal.”
Anne turned back to him.
“Most history is.”
Burke let the answer sit.
Then he shifted.
“I’ve also heard all kinds of stories about you and Mabel.”
Anne’s smile thinned.
“I imagine you have.”
“I’d rather hear it from you.”
“Why me?”
Burke looked at her for a long moment.
“Because everyone else has been telling me who Mabel Blackwood was.”
Anne said nothing.
“I’m more interested in the woman she was before Blackwood.”
A flicker crossed Anne’s face.
“What do you want to hear?”
Burke rested his hands on the table.
“You and Mabel. What happened between you?”
For several seconds, she was silent.
Then she gave a small laugh.
“Mabel and I were close once.”
Burke waited.
“People forget that part. Or maybe they never knew it.”
Her mouth trembled faintly.
"According to this town, Mabel was the good sister."
"And that made you what?”
Anne looked up.
"The difficult one, of course."
“Were you?”
“That depends on who you ask.”
“I’m asking you.”
Anne looked away again.
“I was young. Proud. Vain enough to believe wanting something badly meant I deserved to have it.”
“Harold?”
The name changed the room.
Anne’s eyes closed.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Harold.”
Burke said nothing.
“I loved him first.”
Still, Burke did not speak.
Anne opened her eyes.
“That’s the part everyone forgets.”
Outside, the front door of the sheriff’s department opened.
Bennett McCrae stepped inside with Aubrey Langford beside him.
Sara looked up.
“Bennett. Aubrey.”
“We’re here to see Burke,” Bennett said.
“He’s in the conference room.”
“With someone?”
Sara’s eyes moved toward the waiting area.
Bennett followed her glance.
Walter Grady sat there, hat still in his hands.
Bennett slowed.
Walter stood.
“Bennett.”
“Walter.”
Bennett’s gaze moved from Walter to the hallway, then back again.
“What are you doing here?”
Walter’s expression remained carefully blank.
“Sheriff asked me to come in.”
“For what?”
Walter shook his head.
“Didn’t say much.”
Aubrey looked between them.
“What’s going on?”
“No idea,” Bennett said, but his voice had changed.
He looked at Sara.
“Who’s Burke with?”
Sara hesitated again.
This time, Aubrey saw it.
“Anne Langford,” Sara said.
Aubrey stilled.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
Bennett looked toward the hallway.
“Come on. Let’s see what’s going on.”
Sara started to say something.
Then stopped.
Bennett led Aubrey down the hallway.
At the conference room door, he knocked once.
No answer.
He reached for the handle.
Then Anne’s voice stopped him.
Not polished. Not the voice Aubrey knew.
This voice was lower. Frayed.
Broken around the edges.
Inside, Burke's voice remained calm.
"Tell me what happened after that."
Inside, Anne gave a quiet, broken sob.
Bennett froze.
His hand hovered inches from the knob.
Aubrey stopped beside him.
When Anne finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
"I got pregnant."
"Harold Blackwood was Aubrey's father."