Day of Reckoning Read online

  Timber Falls Courier

  MORE MYSTERY SHROUDS TIMBER FALLS!

  FAMOUS PHOTOGRAPHER GOES HEAD-TO-HEAD WITH HOAX BUSTER

  by Charity Jenkins

  Something is afoot in Timber Falls—and it isn't Bigfoot. The world thought her father was a crackpot, but famous outdoor photographer Rozalyn Sawyer has come back to town to prove them wrong.

  Back for the first time since her mother's tragic death ten years ago, Rozalyn has no idea what she's up against.

  This reporter has learned that Ford Lancaster, the infamous scientist and Bigfoot hoax buster, was seen at Betty's Café. What could have brought this tall, dark and intense hunk to town? Is it possible Ford Lancaster is on the trail of Bigfoot? Or is he on a collision course with Rozalyn Sawyer? Never fear, this reporter, Charity Jenkins, will get to the bottom of it.

  DAY OF RECKONING

  B.J. DANIELS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A former award-winning journalist, B.J. Daniels had thirty-six short stories published before her first romantic suspense, Odd Man Out, came out in 1995. In 2002 her books Premeditated Marriage and Rodeo Daddy were nominated for a Career Acheivement Award. B.J. lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, two springer spaniels, Zoey and Scout, and a temperamental tomcat named Jeff. She is a member of Kiss of Death, the Bozeman Writers Group and Romance Writers of America. When she isn’t writing, she snowboards in the winters and camps and boats in the summers. All year she plays her favorite sport, tennis. To contact her, write P.O. Box 183, Bozeman, MT 59771 or visit her Web site at www.bjdaniels.com.

  Books by B.J. Daniels

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  312—ODD MAN OUT

  353—OUTLAWED!

  417—HOTSHOT P.I.

  446—UNDERCOVER CHRISTMAS

  493—A FATHER FOR HER BABY

  533—STOLEN MOMENTS

  555—LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT

  566—INTIMATE SECRETS

  585—THE AGENT’S SECRET CHILD

  604—MYSTERY BRIDE

  617—SECRET BODYGUARD

  643—A WOMAN WITH A MYSTERY

  654—HOWLING IN THE DARKNESS

  687—PREMEDITATED MARRIAGE

  716—THE MASKED MAN

  744—MOUNTAIN SHERIFF*

  761—DAY OF RECKONING*

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Rozalyn Sawyer—She thinks all she has to fear in Timber Falls are the ghosts of her past. She can’t be more wrong.

  Ford Lancaster—All he cares about is money and fame—until he meets Rozalyn Sawyer.

  Anna Sawyer—Her daughter Rozalyn is still haunted by her mother’s suicide from the attic widow’s walk ten years ago.

  Liam Sawyer—Rozalyn’s father is missing—and so soon after his quickie marriage to a younger woman. Is he really out hunting for Bigfoot? Or has he met with foul play?

  Emily Lane Sawyer—She seems to be the perfect wife. Maybe too perfect?

  Drew Lane—He’s the only one of Rozalyn’s new stepsiblings who seems to like her. But is it only to irritate his mother?

  Suzanne Lane—Why does she feel the need to numb her senses with alcohol?

  Dr. James Morrow—He was the last person to see Rozalyn’s mother alive. And now no one has seen him for the past ten years.

  Lynette Hargrove—The nurse bears a remarkable resemblance to Liam’s new wife. But how is that possible? Lynette died in a fiery car wreck years ago.

  This one is for Uncle Norb and Aunt Ginny. I love being part of your family. Thanks for all the support and encouragement and my best to you both always.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  The blur of red taillights on the highway ahead suddenly disappeared in the pouring rain and blackness.

  Rozalyn Sawyer hit her brakes, shocked to realize she didn’t know where she was. The road didn’t look familiar. But it was hard to tell in this part of Oregon with an impenetrable jungle of green just off the pavement.

  She’d been following the vehicle ahead of her for the past twenty miles. She’d picked it up outside of Oakridge, happy to see another car on this lonely stretch of highway tonight, especially at this time of year.

  In her headlights she’d seen the solitary driver silhouetted behind the wheel of the pickup and felt an odd kinship. Between the rain, the darkness and the isolation, she’d been a little uneasy. But then she’d been feeling that way ever since she’d heard her father hadn’t returned from his recent camping trip.

  She vaguely remembered seeing a detour sign in the middle of the highway just before the pickup had turned. She’d followed the truck in front of her as the driver turned on to the narrower road to the left, and didn’t remember any other roads off of this one.

  But now she saw that the pavement ended. With a shock she realized where she was. Lost Creek Falls. She felt shaken, confused. How had she ended up on the dead-end road to the waterfall?

  She’d been following the red taillights in front of her and not paying attention, that’s how. The driver must have taken a wrong turn back at the detour sign and she’d blindly followed him. She’d been distracted, worrying about her father. As far as she could tell, no one had seen or heard from him in more than two weeks—and that included Emily, his bride of six months.

  “I told you. He took his truck and camper and his camera, just like he always does,” Emily had said when Roz called her yesterday. “He said he’d be back when he came back and not to concern myself. He was very clear about that.”

  Yes, for a few days. Not for two weeks. Liam Sawyer was in great shape for his age. He would be sixty on Thanksgiving Day, but Roz worried he might be trying to act even younger after marrying a woman fifteen years his junior.

  Since no one had heard from him, Roz was sick with worry that something had happened. And now this “detour” would only make her arrival in Timber Falls all that much later.

  The other driver had turned around in the gravel parking lot and stopped, his headlights blinding her as she pulled past and started to turn around.

  The moonless rainy darkness and the dense forest closed in around her car as she began her turn. Remote areas like this had always unnerved her, especially since from the time she was a child she’d known what was really out there.

  Suddenly someone ran through her headlights. All she caught was a flash of yellow raincoat. She hit her brakes and stared ahead of her as the person wearing the bright yellow hooded raincoat climbed over the safety barrier at the top of the falls and disappeared in the trees that grew out over the water.

  The driver of the pickup? Why would he venture out to the falls on a night like this, she wondered, watching to see if he reappeared.

  Suddenly, she spotted the yellow raincoat through the trees at the edge of the falls. The figure seemed to be teetering on the precipice above the roaring water as if—

  “Oh, God, no.” Roz threw open her door and ran coatless through the icy cold rain toward the waterfall, fear crushing her chest making it nearly impossible to breathe. Not again. Dear God, not again.

  “Don’t!” she cried, still a dozen yards away.

  The person didn’t look her way, didn’t even acknowledge hearing her. Through the rain and darkness, Roz ran, watching in horror as the bright yellow raincoat seeme
d to waver before it fell forward, dropping over the edge, and being instantly swallowed up in the spray of the falls.

  Roz raced to the railing but couldn’t see anything past the trees. Panicked, she ran around the barrier and pushed her way through the tree limbs, praying she’d find the person clinging to the edge.

  The roar of the waterfall was deafening. She could feel the spray, warmer than the rain falling around her as she worked her way out onto the moss-slick boulders. She’d had a horrible fear of heights for the past ten years.

  But her fear for the jumper was stronger than for herself as she grasped the slim branch of a pine tree leaning out over the waterfall.

  Holding on fiercely, she stepped to the edge, her heart dropping as she glimpsed something bright yellow churning in the dark waters below.

  She let out a cry and tried to step back. The limb in her hand broke and suddenly she was trying to find purchase on the wet, slick moss at her feet.

  With the roar of the waterfall in her ears, she didn’t hear him. Nor did she realize he’d come out onto the rocks above the dizzying dark water until he grabbed her from behind.

  Chapter One

  November 14

  It was late when Charity Jenkins heard someone come in to the Timber Falls Courier newspaper office, and realized she’d forgotten to lock the front door.

  Her hand dropped to the desk drawer and the Derringer she now kept there. She’d put it in the desk after almost being killed a few weeks before. Unfortunately, as the days had gone by, she’d become lax again about security. Probably because for almost thirty years, she’d been safe in Timber Falls.

  “Dammit, Charity, if you’re going to work late, you’ve got to lock the door,” Sheriff Mitch Tanner barked as he came through the dark doorway.

  She let out the breath she’d been holding and gently lowered the gun back into the drawer. “Forgot.” She smiled up at him as he moved in to the pool of light at her desk. Her heart did a little dippy-do-da dance, as it always did at the sight of him.

  He was tall and dark with two perfect deep-set dimples, a Tanner trait. Gorgeous and impossible and the only man for her.

  She watched him glance around the small newspaper office. As owner, publisher, editor and reporter, she often worked late. Her only help was a high school student who came in some evenings. This wasn’t one of those evenings.

  So it was just the two of them. Which was nice since it had been a few days since she’d seen the good sheriff.

  For years she’d been trying to get him to realize he couldn’t live without her. True, there’d been moments when he’d weakened and kissed her. But he’d always taken off like a shot, holding fast to his conviction that he wasn’t good marriage material and that the two of them together would be murder.

  That is, until recently. A few weeks ago, after she’d almost been killed, Mitch had asked her out. On a real date. It had been nothing short of miraculous. Same with the date. And there’d been more kissing. He’d even given her a silver bracelet she’d once admired. The entire episode had bowled her over completely. Maybe there was hope after all.

  Unfortunately, she could tell that he was still fighting the inevitable as if he thought there was some doubt that they’d be getting married. Obviously, he didn’t believe, like Charity did, that love conquered all.

  “You’re working late,” he said, coming around to pull up a chair next to her desk. His gaze went to the open drawer and her gun. With a groan, he reached over to close the drawer. “Tell me it isn’t loaded.”

  “What would be the point of an unloaded gun?” she asked, wondering why he’d stopped by.

  “Try not to shoot yourself, okay?”

  She grinned at him. Just the sight of him made her day. Maybe he was here to ask her to that dance at the community center this coming weekend. Or maybe he’d just come by for a kiss. Her lips tingled expectantly at the thought.

  But that hope was quickly dashed when he pushed back his sheriff’s hat and put on his official business face.

  He cleared his throat and said, “You’re going to hear about this anyway so I thought the best thing to do—”

  “What is it?” she asked, sitting up a little straighter. He’d come to tell her something he didn’t want to tell her. This ought to be good. Almost as good as a kiss. Almost.

  “You were right,” he said, the words clearly difficult for him.

  She sat back. Oh yeah, this day just couldn’t get any better. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard you correctly?”

  “You heard me. You were right. The shot that killed Bud Farnsworth didn’t come from Daisy Dennison’s gun. It came from Wade’s.”

  Charity jerked back in her chair, the ramifications of his words nearly flooring her. “I knew it. I told you Wade Dennison was in on the kidnapping!”

  Wade Dennison was the owner of Dennison Ducks, the local decoy factory outside of town and the largest employer in Timber Falls. Wade had shocked the town by bringing home a much younger wife thirty years ago.

  They had a daughter right away, Desiree. Then two years later another one, Angela. Several weeks after Angela’s birth the baby disappeared from her crib never to be seen again. There’d been rumors that the baby wasn’t Wade’s.

  No ransom demand was ever made. No body ever found. Daisy Dennison, who’d been the talk of the town, became a recluse after her youngest daughter’s disappearance. That is until Halloween, when she’d showed up with a gun at the Dennison Ducks factory and helped save Charity’s life when the decoy foreman had tried to kill them both.

  Bud Farnsworth had abducted Charity to retrieve a letter that implicated him in Angela Dennison’s disappearance. A Dennison Ducks employee named Nina Monroe had mailed the letter to the Timber Falls Courier, Charity’s newspaper, right before she was killed. Nina had more than a few secrets, it turned out, and a flair for blackmail.

  Bud destroyed the letter before anyone could read it—including Charity much to her regret—but there was no doubt now that he was somehow involved in kidnapping the baby.

  The only question that had remained was: Did he act alone?

  Charity was sure he didn’t. In fact, she was damned sure that Wade Dennison had hired Bud to get rid of the baby because he believed Angela wasn’t his. Just before Bud died, he’d tried to talk and he’d been looking right at Wade at the time.

  Charity was convinced that Wade had shot Bud to shut him up, and now that she knew Wade had fired the fatal shot that killed Bud—and not his wife, Daisy—Charity was even more convinced of Wade’s guilt.

  “Wade was behind the kidnapping,” Charity said.

  “This is exactly why I wanted to tell you about this myself.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You told me because you knew I was going to find out.” And here she’d been hoping he’d come by just to see her.

  “Maybe I thought I could keep you from doing a story that might get you killed.”

  “You romantic, you.”

  “I’m serious, Charity. I’m worried about you and what you’re going to do next.”

  “Mitch, I saw Bud try to say something to Wade right before he died,” Charity said, feeling a chill at the memory. “He was going to incriminate Wade. That’s why Wade shot him, so the truth would never come out.”

  “We don’t know that for a fact and speculating only leads to trouble. Especially in print. I would have thought you’d have learned that by now.”

  She smiled. This was an old argument between them. “I’m a newspaper woman. It’s my job to get to the truth, and sometimes I have to rattle a few cages to do that and you wouldn’t be worried unless you thought I was right about Wade Dennison being a dangerous man.”

  Mitch took off his hat and raked his fingers through his hair. “Is there any way I can talk you out of this?”

  She cocked her head at him. “What did you have in mind?” And to think not long ago she’d thought, if she could just write a Pulitzer Prize-winning story, Mitch would final
ly realize he couldn’t live without her and ask her to marry him.

  Instead, she’d realized that Mitch would have been happier if she wasn’t a journalist at all. For some reason, he worried about her safety. Maybe because a lot of her stories got her into trouble.

  He put his hat back on—and his official face.

  She could play that game, too. “Have you talked to Wade?” she asked, knowing there was no way Wade was going to speak to her on the record or off.

  “He admits he could have fired the fatal shot but says all he could think about was saving his wife, Daisy. That’s the official statement.” Mitch reached in to his coat and brought out a folded sheet of paper. He handed it to her.

  “I figured that would be his story,” she said, unfolding the paper to see that it was an official statement from the sheriff’s office. She tossed it aside. “I’ll be careful what I print, but Mitch, what if I’m right?”

  His dark eyes settled on her. “If you’re right, then Wade Dennison is a killer. You might want to keep that in mind.”

  “But how do we prove it?” she cried. “We can’t let him get away with murder.”

  “We aren’t going to prove it,” he said getting to his feet. “I am. I have no intention of letting him get away with murder—if he’s guilty. But Charity, as hard as this is for you, you might be wrong this time.”

  She smirked at that. “You know I’m right ninety-nine percent of the time.”

  He shook his head but seemed unable not to smile down at her. “You are something.”

  A person could take that a number of ways.