Chapter 27 #2
I smile so hard my cheeks ache, then make my way to the bathroom. Within five minutes, I’m showered, dressed in jeans and a white shirt, and on my way downstairs barefoot with damp hair.
The kitchen is empty and the house is quiet. I start a pot of coffee and stand at the counter while it brews, watching the empty driveway through the window.
I plug my phone into the charger on the kitchen table and pour a coffee while it powers up. Everything I have lives on this phone now. Six months of research, cloud-backed and encrypted, untouched by whoever gutted my cabin and took my laptop. They got the hardware, but they can’t touch the work.
I sit down, pull up my notes, and let the journalist take over.
But the journalist doesn’t have anywhere new to go. Same names, same dead ends.
Whitmore’s gone. Mountain West is a ghost.
Danny Cutter is in a hospital bed, and his daughter’s too scared to talk.
That’s some top-notch investigative reporting, Monroe.
I huff out a frustrated breath as I continue to stare at my phone as though it holds the answers to life’s great mysteries.
Alma will call. I truly believe she will. But until she does, I’m left sitting at a kitchen table with a cold coffee and a chain that goes nowhere I haven’t already been.
Tires on gravel pull my attention from the phone. Through the window, a silver SUV parks beside the barn, and Shelby Reynolds steps out in boots and a sundress, her sunglasses pushed up into that dark hair like a headband.
I open the front door before she knocks. “Hey, Shelby.”
“Daisy. Hi.”
Her smile is warm and genuine, and I feel the familiar, stupid twinge of jealousy that I really need to lose. The woman is just pretty. That’s not a crime.
“Is June around? I’ve been trying to call her about the Mercer wedding next week but she’s not pickin’ up.”
“She’s at Maggie’s. Been there since yesterday.”
“Ah.” Shelby pulls out her phone and frowns at it. “That explains the radio silence. I’ll try her there.”
She hesitates on the porch step, then tilts her head. “How are you doin’? I heard about the break-in.”
“I’m fine, thankfully. Nothing that can’t be replaced.”
“Still. That’s scary, being out here alone when it happened.” She leans against the porch rail, watching me with concerned eyes. “My sister Lauren works at the bank in town. She said everyone’s been talking about it. Honestly, nothin’ stays quiet in this place for more than five minutes.”
My coffee mug stops halfway to my mouth.
Her sister works at the bank. The same bank that called Wyatt about a flag on the operating loan that kept him off a truck that went off a cliff twenty minutes later.
“Lauren Reynolds?” I keep my voice easy. “I don’t think I’ve met her.”
“You wouldn’t have. She transferred from the Bozeman branch about four years ago when Mom got sick. Does all the commercial accounts now.” Shelby waves a hand. “She’s the responsible one. I got the looks, she got the brains. Don’t tell her I said that.”
I smile, but my mind is already filing.
“Anyway.” Shelby pushes off the rail. “Tell June I stopped by? And tell Wyatt I said hi, would you?”
There it is. The little lilt in her voice on his name. The same one I noticed at the inn.
“I’ll tell June,” I deadpan.
Shelby’s smile doesn’t falter, and she’s too polished to react to the omission. She waves once from the driveway and pulls out, gravel crunching under her tires as the silver SUV disappears down the ranch road.
I sit back down at the kitchen table and add Lauren Reynolds to the notes on my phone. Bank teller. Commercial accounts. Four years. Probably nothing.
But someone at that bank made the call three years ago. I don’t know who, but chasing something sure feels better than chasing nothing.
I’m still staring at the name when Marcus’s tan Suburban, dusty from backroads, pulls into the driveway.
He climbs out and raises a hand when he sees me through the kitchen window. I meet him at the door.
“Hey, Marcus.”
“Daisy, sweetheart.” He pulls me into a one-armed hug that smells like aftershave and coffee. “I’m on the way out to the Mason spread by Clearwater. Thought I’d swing by and check in on you.”
He holds me at arm’s length and studies my face the way my father used to. “How you holdin’ up after all that business with the cabin?”
“I’m okay. Really.”
“Good. That’s good.”
He follows me inside and takes a seat at the kitchen table like he’s done it a thousand times, which he probably has.
“Listen, I wanted you to know.” He leans back in the chair. “I’ve already filed a claim on the laptop through the ranch insurance. Property damage, theft from a guest dwelling. It’s covered under the umbrella policy. You should see a check within a couple weeks.”
“Marcus, you didn’t have to do that.”
“Course I did. You’re family. We take care of our own.” He says it simply, like it’s a fact that doesn’t require discussion. “Torres have any leads? Anyone they’re lookin’ at?”
“Not yet. They dusted for prints but whoever it was wore gloves.”
He shakes his head slowly, his mouth set in a grim line.
“Damn shame. World’s changin’, even out here.
Used to be you could leave your doors unlocked from one end of the valley to the other.
” He pauses, then looks at me with that gentle, direct way he has.
“You feel safe up at the house? Wyatt taking care of you?”
“He is.” I can feel my cheeks heat even as I say the words.
Marcus watches me for a beat, and his expression softens into something knowing. “Your daddy would be glad about that, you know. He always thought the world of Wyatt. Used to say that boy had more integrity in his little finger than most men have in their whole body.”
I wrap both hands around my mug because I don’t trust my voice right away.
“So.” He changes gears with the easy warmth of a man who knows when to let a moment breathe. “The article. How’s it coming? You almost wrapped up?”
“Not quite. My editor wants more material, and honestly, I’m not ready to leave yet.” I meet his eyes. “I think I’m going to extend my stay. Maybe even look into something more permanent.”
“Is that right?” His eyebrows lift, and the smile that follows is pleased and paternal. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. This place has a way of pulling people back.”
He pushes back from the table and picks up his hat. “I won’t keep you. Just wanted to make sure you’re alright.” He squeezes my shoulder on the way past. “You need anything, sweetheart, anything at all, you call me. Day or night. I mean that.”
I walk him to the door and watch his car roll down the driveway, kicking up a thin line of dust that hangs in the still morning air.
Then I go back inside, pick up my phone, and deep dive into the name I typed an hour ago.
Somewhere in this town, someone knows exactly what happened to my father.
And they have no idea I’m getting closer.