Murder Gone Cold Page 4

  “The sheriff said he didn’t find any signs of a forced entry,” James said. “According to my father’s notes, you said you locked the window before tucking Billy in at nine. Maybe you forgot that night—”

  “No, I remember locking it because I could see the storm coming. I even closed the blinds. It’s no mystery. The only way Billy would leave the house was if his father came to his window that night. Sean Sherman. Not that he’ll tell you the truth, but I know he took my boy. Have you talked to him?”

  “Not yet.” He was still working on the angle that Billy, like every red-blooded, American boy, had sneaked out a time or two. Having been a seven-year-old at one time, he asked, “Did Billy have his own cell phone?” She shook her head. “What about a walkie-talkie?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Who had the other two-way radio handset?”

  He watched her swallow before she said, “Todd. Todd Crane. But he swore he hadn’t talked to Billy that night.”

  “I’m just covering my bets,” James said quickly. He gathered that his father hadn’t asked her this. “Did the sheriff talk to Todd?”

  “I don’t know. I think your father asked me about Billy’s friends, but my son wouldn’t have left the house that night even for his best friend, Todd.”

  James rose to lay a hand over hers as she gripped the stack of framed photos of her son. “Do you mind if I see his room?” Even before she led him down the hall, he knew Billy’s room would be exactly like he’d left it even after nine years.

  It was a classic boy’s room painted a pale blue with a Spiderman bedspread and action figures lined up on the bookshelf.

  Moving to the window, James examined the lock. It was an old house, the lock on the window old as well. Maybe Billy had been abducted and the sheriff had missed something. But wouldn’t there have been footprints in the wet earth outside Billy’s window? Unless he’d been taken before the storm hit and the prints had been washed away.

  James left, promising to let Alice Sherman know if he discovered anything helpful. The look in her eyes was a stark reminder of what he’d set in motion. He’d gotten her hopes up and the truth was, he had no idea what he was doing.

  * * *

  KAREN WILKINS WASN’T HOME. Her car wasn’t parked in front of her freshly painted and landscaped split-level. Nor was it in the garage.

  Todd Crane, who would now be around sixteen, hadn’t been on his father’s list. But Del had talked to Todd’s stepmother, Shelby Crane.

  Since it was a Saturday, James figured the boy wouldn’t be in school. He swung by the house only a few blocks from Alice Sherman’s. The woman who answered the door was considerably younger-looking than Alice. Shelby Crane was a slim blonde with hard brown eyes.

  “Yes?” The way she was holding the door open only a crack told him that Alice might have already called her.

  “I’m James Colt and—”

  “I know who you are. What do you want?”

  “I’m guessing that you spoke with Alice,” he said. “I’d like to talk to your son.”

  “No.” She started to close the door, but he stopped her with his palm.

  “Your son might know why Billy Sherman was outside that night,” he said, his voice growing harder with each word.

  “Well, he doesn’t.”

  “If that’s true, then I can’t see why he can’t tell me that himself.”

  “He doesn’t know. He didn’t know nine years ago. He doesn’t know now.” Again, she started to close the door and again he put a hand on it to stop her.

  “Did he and Billy talk on walkie-talkies back then?”

  “My son had nothing to do with what happened to that boy. You need to go. Don’t make me call the sheriff.” She closed the door and this time he let her.

  As he started to turn and leave, he saw a boy’s face peering out one of the upstairs windows. Then the curtain fell back, and the boy was gone. He wondered why Shelby was so afraid of him talking to her son.

  His phone rang as he was getting into his pickup. Melody? He picked up.

  “I just got a call from the sheriff’s department,” she said without preamble. “Carl said you have to get a permit to remove the burned trailer from your land.”

  “Why would he call you?”

  Silence, then a guilty, “I might have tried to hire someone to haul it away before you got back.”

  James shook his head. Did she not realize he would have noticed anyway? The missing double-wide and the burned area around it would have been a dead giveaway. “No problem. I’ll swing by and pick up a permit. Thanks for letting me know.”

  He was still mentally shaking his head when he walked into the sheriff’s department.

  Sheriff Carl Osterman, younger brother of the former sheriff Otis Osterman, was standing outside his office with a large mug of coffee and the family sour expression on his face. A short stocky man in his late fifties, Carl believed in guilty until proven innocent. Word was that he’d arrest his own grandmother for jaywalking, which could explain why he was divorced and not speaking with his mother or grandmother, James had heard.

  “Wondered when I’d be seeing you,” the sheriff drawled. “Suppose you heard what happened out at your place.”

  “It was fairly noticeable.”

  Carl took a long moment to assess him over the rim of his mug as he slurped his coffee. “You know those meth dealers?”

  “Nope. I was on the road. I didn’t even know Melody had rented the place.”

  The sheriff nodded. “You need a permit to haul that mess off.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  “What are you planning to do out there?” Carl asked.

  James shook his head. “I don’t have any plans at the moment.”

  “Heard you were staying in your father’s old office.”

  News traveled fast in Lonesome. “My family still owns the building.”

  Carl nodded again, still eyeballing him with suspicion. “Margaret will give you a form to fill out. Could take a few days, maybe even a week.”

  “I’m in no hurry.”

  “That mean you’re planning to stay for a while?”

  James studied the man. “Why the interest in my itinerary, Carl?”

  “There’s a rumor circulating that you’ve reopened your father’s office and that you’re working one of his cases. Last I heard you weren’t a licensed private investigator.”

  He hid his surprise, realizing that Shelby Crane had probably called. “No law against asking a few questions, but now that you mention it, I worked for my father during high school and when I was home from college and the rodeo so I have some experience.”

  “You need a year and a half’s worth before you can apply for a license under state law.”

  He pretended he always knew that. “Yep, I know. Got it covered. Application is in the mail.” It wasn’t. But damn, he just might apply now.

  The sheriff put down his coffee cup with a curse. “Why would you do that unless you planned to stay in town?”

  James smiled. He wasn’t planning to. “Just covering my options, sheriff.”

  “The state runs a criminal background check, you know.”

  He laughed. “Why would that concern me?”

  “If you have a felony on your record—”

  “I don’t,” he said with more force than he’d intended.

  “Good thing they don’t check finances or your mental health.”

  James laughed. “Not worried about either.” With a shake of his head, he turned and walked over to Margaret’s desk. Without a word, she handed him the permit application.

  “You’ll need to pay twenty-five dollars when you return that permit,” Carl called after him.

  * * *

  OTIS HAD JUST gotten through mowing the small lawn in front of his house. The summer air smelled of cut grass and sunshine. He turned on the sprinklers and, hot, sweaty and tired, went inside. He’d only just opened a can of beer and sat down when Carl called.

  “You know what that damned Colt boy has gone and done now?” his brother demanded. James Colt was far from a boy, but Carl didn’t give him a chance to reply. “He’s been going all over town asking questions about his father’s last case. He thinks he’s a private eye.”

  He didn’t have to ask what case. Otis was the first one on the scene after getting the call about the boy’s body that was found in the ditch next to a house under construction in the new subdivision near where the Shermans lived. The memory still kept him awake some nights. He’d been a month away from retiring. Carl had been his undersheriff. The two of them had worked the case.

  “Legally, James can’t—”

  “He’s applied for a state license!” Carl was breathing hard, clearly worked up. “He says his experience working with his father should be enough. It probably is. It’s so damned easy to get a PI license in this state, he’ll get it and then—”

  “And then nothing,” Otis said. “He’s a rodeo cowboy. I heard he’s hurt. Once he feels better, he’ll be back in the saddle, having put all of this behind him. Even if that isn’t the case—which it is—he’s inexperienced, the Sherman case is ice cold and we all know how hard those are to solve. And let’s face it, he’s not his father. I’ll bet you five bucks that he quits before the week is out.”

  Carl sighed. Otis could imagine him pacing the floor of his office. “You think?”

  “You know I don’t throw money around.”

  His brother laughed. “No, not Otis Osterman.” He sighed again. “I just thought this was behind us.”

  “It is,” he said even though he knew it might never be true. Billy Sherman’s death was unsolved, justice hadn’t been meted out and what happened that night remained a mystery. There were always those who couldn’t live with that.

  Unfortunately, Del Colt had been one of them. Him and his damned digging. He’d gotten into things that had been better off left alone.

  But Otis had five dollars that said James Colt was nothing like his father. For the young rodeo cowboy’s sake, he certainly hoped not.

  Chapter Six

  After leaving the sheriff’s office, James drove aimlessly around town for a while. He knew he should quit right now before he made things any worse. What had he hoped to accomplish with all this, anyway? Was he so arrogant that he thought he could pick up where his father had left off on the case and solve it just like that?

  So far all he’d done was stir up a wasp’s nest that was more than likely going to get him stung. If he hadn’t left Melody in his trailer, if she hadn’t rented it, if the renters hadn’t blown it up, if he’d gone to a motel and never gone to his father’s office...

  He reminded himself that getting involved with Melody was all on him. He thought of one of his father’s lectures he and his brothers had been forced to endure growing up.

  Life is about consequences, Del would say. Whatever you do, there will be a repercussion. It’s the law of nature. Cause and effect.

  What are you trying to say? one of his brothers would demand, usually himself most likely. ’Cause the effect I’m getting is a headache.

  His father would give him a reprimand before adding, Don’t blame someone else when things go wrong because of something stupid you did. Take responsibility and move on. It’s called growing up.

  He and his brothers had made fun of that particular lecture, but it had never seemed more appropriate than right now.

  His stomach growled. He looked at the time. Two in the afternoon. He hadn’t had breakfast or lunch. He drove downtown. There was a spot in front of the sandwich shop. He took that as a sign.

  “Tell me you aren’t going to make a habit of this,” Lori said when he walked in, but she smiled when she said it.

  He smiled back at her. Distractedly he studied the chalkboard. The special today was a turkey club. He shifted his gaze to her. “I’ll take the special and an iced tea.”

  “Do you want that on white, wheat or rye?”

  “White.” He hadn’t been that distracted that he hadn’t noticed her. Today she was dressed in a coral blouse and black slacks. The blouse was V-necked exposing some of the freckled skin of her throat and a small silver heart-shaped locket that played peekaboo when she moved. Her hair was pulled up again, making him wonder if it would fall past her shoulders if he let it down. “With mayo.”

  “It will be just a few minutes,” she said, straightening her blouse collar self-consciously before hurrying into the back.

  He took his usual seat. His leg was better today but his ribs still hurt. He kept thinking about his father’s case, wishing he hadn’t opened up this can of worms. Now that he had, what choice did he have?

  Which meant he would have to talk to Karen Wilkins. Her stepdaughter wouldn’t like it. Of that, he was certain. He just hoped that neither was involved. He liked Lorelei. He always had. Her stepmother owned a workout studio in town. Widowed, Karen was active in the community and had been as long as James could remember. He used to think “stepmother like stepdaughter.” So why did Del have Karen on his list?

  Deep in thought, he started when Lorelei set down the plate with his sandwich in front of him. She gently placed the glass of iced tea, giving him a worried look.

  “You all right?” she asked. “You seem a little skittish.”

  He smiled at that. “I’ve been better.”

  “Is it true?”

  “That’s a wide-open question if I’ve ever heard one.”

  “Are you really applying for a private investigator’s license?”

  He chuckled. Thanks to the sheriff, he was. Probably also thanks to the sheriff everyone in town now knew. “Yep. How do you feel about that?”

  She seemed surprised by the question. “It has nothing to do with me.”

  He nodded, hoping it was true. “Still, you seemed to have an opinion yesterday.”

  Lori looked away for a moment, licked her lips with the quick dart of her tongue, and said, “I was going to apologize for that.”

  “Really?” he said as he picked up his sandwich and took a bite. He chewed and swallowed before he said, “And I thought you were going to apologize for trying to kill me with that sandwich you made me yesterday.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “You didn’t have to eat it,” she said defensively.

  He held her gaze. “Yes, I did.”

  The bell over the front door jangled. She looked almost relieved as she went to help the couple that came in.

  Chapter Seven

  After James finished his sandwich and iced tea, he wrote a note on the bill Lori had dropped by on her way past his table. The shop had gotten busy. He could see her through the small window into the kitchen. She was making sandwiches in her all-business way. It made him smile. Whatever she did, she did it with so much purpose.

  He wondered what would happen if she ever let her guard down. He wished he could be there when she did.

  As he left, he pulled out the list of names. It was time to talk to Karen Wilkins and relieve his mind. She couldn’t be involved. He had to find out why she was on the list.

  James was surprised how young Karen looked as she opened the door. A small woman with chin-length blond hair and large luminous brown eyes, the aerobics instructor was clearly in great shape. In her late forties, Karen and her stepdaughter could have almost passed for sisters rather than stepmother and stepdaughter.

  From the expression on her face though, she wasn’t glad to see him. He wondered if it had anything to do with him taking over his father’s old case. Or if it was more about his reputation. Would he ever live down his misspent youth?

  “I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time,” he said. She was dressed in leggings, a T-shirt and sneakers as if on her way to her exercise studio. “Do you have a few minutes? I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  The woman chuckled, reminding him of Lorelei for a moment. “Whatever you’re selling Jimmy D—”

  He raised his hands. “Not selling anything. I’ve taken over my father’s old private investigative business temporarily. I’m looking into the last case he was working on before he died.”

  She raised an eyebrow and he saw her expression turn both serious—and wary.

  “I’m here about Billy Sherman’s hit-and-run.”

  Her eyes widened. “Wasn’t that almost ten years ago?”

  “It was. Please, I promise not to keep you long.”

  She didn’t move. “Why would you think I would know anything about that?”

  “Because you were on my father’s list of people he wanted to interview.”

  Her face paled and he saw the fear. She quickly looked away. “I can’t imagine how I could possibly help even if I didn’t have a class in a few minutes.” Her gaze shifted back to his but only for a second. “I was just leaving. I’m sorry. This really isn’t a good time.” With that, she closed the door.

  He stood for a moment feeling shaken to his core. He knew from experience what guilt looked like. Fear too. Turning, he walked out to his pickup and had just slipped behind the wheel when Karen Wilkins’s garage door gaped open, and her car came flying out. She barely missed the front bumper of his pickup before she sped away.

  She seemed to be in an awful hurry to get to her class, he thought as he gave it a moment before he followed her.

  * * *

  “WHAT’S WRONG?” LORELEI felt panicked at the fear she heard in her stepmother’s voice the moment she’d answered her phone.