“We haven’t had any high winds,” Brenda said. “And I watched the city crew hang that banner—it was tied down tight to the utility poles on either side of the street. It would take a hurricane to blow it away.”

“Do you think this has anything to do with those nasty letters you received?” Lacy asked.

“What letters?” Travis was all business now.

“Let’s take this into your office,” Dwight said. “I’ll fill you in.”

They all filed down the hall to Travis’s office. He hung his Stetson on the hat rack by the door and settled behind his desk. Lacy and Brenda took the two visitors’ chairs in front of the desk, while Dwight leaned against the wall beside the door. “Tell me,” Travis said.

So Brenda—with Dwight providing details—told the sheriff about the two threatening letters she had received: the cheerful yellow stationery, the black marker, the photocopy of the horrible crime scene photo and all about the book the letter writer wanted her to destroy. Travis listened, then leaned back, his chair creaking, as he considered the situation. “What’s your take on this, Dwight?” he asked.

Dwight straightened. “I think this guy has a real mean streak, but he isn’t too smart.”

Brenda turned in her chair to look at him. “Why do you think he isn’t smart?” she asked.

“Because if he really wanted to get rid of the book, why not try to steal it? Get rid of it himself?”

“Maybe he knew I’d keep something so valuable locked up,” Brenda said.

“Maybe. I still would have expected him to try to get to it before resorting to these threats. There’s a lot of risk in writing a note like that—the risk of being seen delivering the notes or of someone recognizing that stationery.”

“He—or she—I’m not going to rule out a woman,” Travis said, “must think there’s a good chance he won’t be noticed. Maybe he thinks people wouldn’t be surprised to see him around the museum or your house, or he’s good at making himself inconspicuous.”

“So someone who looks harmless,” Lacy said. “That could be almost anyone.”

“Where is this book now?” Travis asked.

“It’s in my purse.” Brenda opened her handbag and took out the small cloth-bound volume and handed it across the desk. “After we found that second letter, we never made it inside to put it in my safe.”

Travis opened the book and flipped through it. “I think you’re right that this guy isn’t very smart,” he said. “By demanding you destroy this book, he’s focused all our attention on it.”

“Or maybe he’s really smart and he’s trying to divert our attention from what’s really important,” Dwight said.

Travis closed the book. “I think it would be a good idea to keep this here at the sheriff’s department until the auction,” he said.

“Fine,” Brenda said. “I’ll sleep better knowing it isn’t in my house.”

“You can’t go back to your house,” Dwight said.

He was giving an order, not making a request, and that didn’t sit well with her. “I won’t let some nut run me out of my home,” she said.

“Someone who would threaten you with that crime scene photo might be serious about hurting you,” Travis said. “We can run extra patrols, but we can’t protect you twenty-four hours a day. We don’t have the manpower. You need to go somewhere that will make it harder for this guy to get to you.”

“And where is that?” she asked. “A hotel isn’t going to be any safer than my home.”

“We can try to find a safe house,” Travis said.

“Sheriff, I have a job that I need to do. I can’t just leave town and hide out—if I do, then this jerk wins. I won’t let that happen.”

The two men exchanged a look that Brenda read as Why do women have to be so difficult? She turned to face Dwight. “If someone were threatening you like this, would you run away?” she demanded.

He shook his head. “No.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But what about a compromise—somewhere near town where you would be safer, but still be able to work at the museum?”

“Do you know of a place?” Lacy asked.

“I do.”

“Not with you,” Brenda said. “No offense, but if you want to really start wild rumors, just let people find out I’ve moved in with you.”

Something flashed in his eyes—was he amused? But he quickly masked the expression. “I don’t want to start any rumors,” he said. “And I’m not talking about moving in with me. But my parents have plenty of room at the ranch, and I know they’d love to have you stay with them. There are fences and a locked gate, plus plenty of people around day and night. It would be a lot more difficult for anyone to get to you there.” He let a hint of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “And my cabin isn’t that far from the main house, so I can keep an eye on you, too.”

Brenda recalled Bud and Sharon Prentice as a genial couple who had cheered on their son at every basketball game and helped out with fund-raisers and other school functions. They were the kind of people who worked hard in the background and didn’t demand the spotlight.

Lacy leaned over and squeezed Brenda’s arm. “You don’t really want to go back to your house alone, do you?” she asked.

“Where are you going to be?” Brenda asked.

Lacy flushed. “I think I’ll be staying with Travis until this is settled. I’m no hero.”

Brenda didn’t want to be a hero, either—especially a foolhardy one. “All right,” she said. “I’ll take you up on your offer. But only for a few days.”

“Let’s hope that’s all it takes to find this guy,” Dwight said.

* * *

DWIGHT RODE WITH Brenda to his family’s ranch west of town. He wasn’t going to risk her wrath by coming right out and saying he didn’t want her alone on the road, so he made an excuse about having to get his personal pickup truck and bring it into town for an oil change. He wasn’t sure if she bought the explanation, but she didn’t object when he left his SUV parked in front of her house and slid into the passenger seat of her Subaru. She had packed up her laptop and a small suitcase of clothes—enough for a few days at the ranch. “Do you remember visiting the ranch when we were in high school?” he asked as she headed out of town and into the more open country at the foot of the mountains.

“I remember,” she said. “Your parents threw a party for the senior class. I remember being in awe of the place—it seemed so big compared to my parents’ little house in town.”

“As ranches go, it’s not that big,” Dwight said. “To me, it’s just home.” The ranch had been the place for him and his brothers and sister to ride horses, swim in the pond, fish in the creek and work hard alongside their parents. For a kid who liked the outdoors and didn’t enjoy sitting still for long, it was the perfect place to grow up. He had acres of territory to roam, and there was always something to do or see.

Brenda turned onto the gravel road that wound past his parents’ property, the fields full of freshly mown hay drying in the sun. Other pastures were dotted with fat round bales, wrapped in plastic to protect them from the elements and looking like giant marshmallows scattered across the landscape. She turned in at the open gate, a wrought iron arch overhead identifying this as the Boot Heel Ranch.

“The house looks the same as I remember it,” Brenda said. “I love that porch.” The porch stretched all across the front of the two-story log home, honeysuckle vines twining up the posts, pots of red geraniums flanking the steps. Dwight’s parents, Sharon and Bud, were waiting at the top of the steps to greet them. Smiling, his mother held out both hands to Brenda. “Dwight didn’t give any details, just said you needed to stay with us a few days while he investigates someone who’s been harassing you,” Sharon said. “I’m sorry you’re having to go through that, dear.”

“Thank you for taking me in,” Brenda said.

“I’m sure your mother would have done the same for Dwight, if the shoe had been on the other foot,” Sharon said. “I remember her as the kind of woman who would go out of her way to help everyone.”

Dwight remembered now that Brenda’s mother had died of cancer while Brenda was in college. Her father had moved away—to Florida or Arizona or someplace like that.

“Thank you,” Brenda said again. “Your place is so beautiful.”

“I give Sharon all the credit for the house.” Bud stepped forward and offered a hand. “I see to the cows and horses—though she has her say with them, too. Frankly, we’d probably all be lost without her.”

Sharon beamed at this praise, though Dwight knew she had heard it before—not that it wasn’t true. His mother was the epitome of the iron fist in the velvet glove—gently guiding them all, but not afraid to give them a kick in the rear if they needed it.

“Let me show you to your room,” Sharon said.

“I can do that, Mom,” Dwight said. He had retrieved Brenda’s laptop bag and suitcase from the car and now led the way into the house and up the stairs to the guest suite on the north side of the house. The door to the room was open, and he saw that someone—probably his mother—had put fresh flowers in a cut-glass vase on the bureau opposite the bed. The bright pink and yellow and white blossoms reflected in the mirror over the bureau, and echoed the colors in the quilt on the cherry sleigh bed that had belonged to Dwight’s great-grandmother.

“This is beautiful.” Brenda did a full turn in the middle of the room, taking it all in.

“You should be comfortable up here.” He set both her bags on the rug by the bed. “And you’ll have plenty of privacy. My parents added a master suite downstairs after us kids moved out.”

“Where do you live?” she asked.

“My cabin is on another part of the property. You can see it from the window over here.” He motioned, and she went to the window. He moved in behind her and pointed to the modest cedar cabin he had taken as his bachelor quarters. “Years ago, we had a ranch foreman who lived there, but he moved to a bigger place on another part of the ranch, so I claimed it.”

“Nice.”

The subtle floral fragrance of her perfume tickled his nostrils. It was all he could do not to lean down and inhale the scent of her—a gesture that would no doubt make her think he was a freak.

“I hope you didn’t take what I said wrong—about not wanting to move in with you,” she said. “It’s just—”

He touched her arm. “I know.” She had been the center of so much town gossip over the years, first with her husband’s murder, then with the revelations that he had been blackmailing prominent citizens, that she shied away from that sort of attention.

“I had the biggest crush on you when I was a kid,” he said. “That party here at the ranch—I wanted to ask you to dance so badly, but I could never work up the nerve.”

She searched his face. “Why were you afraid to ask?”

“You were so beautiful, and popular—you were a cheerleader—the prom queen.”

“You were popular, too.”

“I had friends, but not like you. Everyone liked you.”

She turned to look out the window once more. “All that seems so long ago,” she said.

He moved away. “I’ll let you get settled. We usually eat dinner around six.”

He was almost to the door when she called his name. “Dwight?”

“Yes?”

“You should have asked me to dance. I would have said yes.”

* * *

SEEING THE ADULT Dwight with his parents at dinner that evening gave Brenda a new perspective on the solemn, thoughtful sheriff’s deputy she thought she knew. With Bud and Sharon, Dwight was affectionate and teasing, laughing at the story Bud told about a ten-year-old Dwight getting cornered in a pasture by an ornery cow, offering a thoughtful opinion when Sharon asked if they should call in a new vet to look at a horse who was lame, and discussing plans to repair irrigation dikes before spring. Clearly, he still played an important role on the ranch despite his law enforcement duties.

Watching the interaction, Brenda missed her own parents—especially her mother. Her mother’s cancer had been diagnosed the summer before Brenda’s senior year of college. Her parents had insisted she continue her education, so Brenda saw the toll the disease took only on brief visits home.

She had met Andrew Stenson during that awful time, and he had been her strongest supporter and biggest help, a shoulder for her to cry on and someone for her to lean on in the aftermath of her mother’s death. No matter his flaws, she knew Andy had loved her, though she could see now that he had assumed the role of caretaker in their relationship. By the time they married, she had grown used to depending on him and letting him make the decisions.

But she wasn’t that grieving girl anymore. And she didn’t want a man to take care of her. She wanted someone to stand beside her—a partner, not just a protector.

After dinner, she insisted on helping Sharon with the dishes. “That’s my job, you know,” Dwight said as he stacked plates while Brenda collected silverware.

“The two of you can see to cleanup,” Sharon said. “I think I’ll sit out on the porch with your father. It’s such a nice evening.”

“You don’t have to work for your room and board,” Dwight said as he led the way into the kitchen. “I could get this myself.”

“I want to help,” she said. “Besides, we need to talk. I never got around to notifying the paper this afternoon.”

“You can do it in the morning,” he said. “The deadline for the weekly issue is the day after tomorrow.” He squirted dish soap into the sink and began filling it with hot water.

Brenda slid the silverware into the soapy water. “I’ve been racking my brain and I can’t come up with anyone who would want to harm me or the museum.”

“Maybe one of Andy’s blackmail victims has decided to take his anger out on you,” Dwight said as he began to wash dishes. “We don’t know who besides Jan he might have extorted money from, though the records we were able to obtain from his old bank accounts seemed to indicate multiple regular payments from several people.”

“Why focus on the book?” She picked up a towel and began to dry. “Part of me still thinks this is just a sick prank—that we’re getting all worked up for nothing.”

“I hope that’s all it is.” He rinsed a plate, then handed it to her. “I want to dig into Parker Riddell’s background a little more and see if I can trace his movements yesterday.”

“Why would he care about me or a rare book?” Brenda asked. “He’s a kid who made some mistakes, but I can’t see how or why he’d be involved in this.”

“I have to check him out,” Dwight said.

“I know. I just wish there were more I could do. I hate waiting around like this.” She hated being helpless.

“I know.” He handed her another plate. They did the dishes in companionable silence for the next few minutes. The domestic chore, and the easy rhythm they established, soothed her frayed nerves.

Dwight’s phone rang. He dried his hands and looked at the screen. “I’d better take this,” he said. He moved into the other room. She continued to dry, catching snippets of the conversation.

“When did this happen?”

“Who called it in?”

“What’s the extent of the damage?”

“I see. Yes. I’ll tell her.”

She set the plate she had been drying on the counter and turned to face him as he walked back into the room. His face confirmed her fears. “What’s happened?” she asked.

“There was a fire at your house. A neighbor called it in, but apparently there’s a lot of damage.”

She gripped the counter, trying to absorb the impact of his words. “How did it start?” she asked.

“They think it’s probably arson.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “We aren’t dealing with a prankster here. Someone is out to hurt you, and I’m not going to let that happen.”

Chapter Five

The smell of wet ashes stuck in the back of Dwight’s throat, thick and acrid, as he stood with Travis and Assistant Fire Chief Tom Reynolds in front of what was left of Brenda Stenson’s house the morning after the fire. The garage and apartment where Lacy lived were unscathed, but the main house only had two walls left upright, the siding streaked with black and the interior collapsed into a pile of blackened rubble. If Dwight let himself think about what might have happened if Brenda had been inside when the fire was lit, he broke out in a cold sweat.

So he pushed the thoughts away and focused on the job. “We found evidence of an accelerant—gasoline—at the back corner of the house,” Tom said. “Probably splashed it all over the siding, maybe piled some papers or dry leaves around it and added a match—boom—these old houses tend to catch quickly.”

“Do you think the arsonist chose that corner because it was out of view of the street and neighboring houses, or because he wanted to make sure the rooms in that part of the house were destroyed?” Dwight asked.

Tom shrugged. “Maybe both. The location was definitely out of view—someone in the garage apartment might have seen it, but he might have known Lacy wasn’t in last night.”

“Maybe they knew Brenda wasn’t here last night, either,” Travis said. He scanned the street in front of the house. “If they were watching the place.”

“We’ll canvass the neighbors,” Dwight said. “See if they have any friends or relatives who have recently moved in, or if they’ve noticed anyone hanging around or anything unusual.”

“What’s located in this corner of the house?” Travis asked.

“I think it’s where Andy’s home office used to be,” Dwight said. “I remember picking up some paperwork from him not too long after I started with the department.” Brenda hadn’t been home, which had disappointed Dwight at the time, though he had told himself it was just as well.

“That’s probably where the safe was where Brenda wanted to stash that book,” Travis said.

“Probably,” Dwight said. “But safes are usually fireproof.”

“Maybe whoever did this didn’t know about the safe,” Travis said.

“Or destroying the book wasn’t even the point,” Dwight said. “Frightening Brenda into getting rid of the book on her own would be enough for him.”

“I guess I’d be frightened right now if I were her,” Tom said.

“Brenda’s not like that,” Dwight said. “I’m not saying she’s not afraid—but she’s not going to destroy the book, either. This guy’s threats are only making her dig her heels in more.”

Travis checked his watch. “Thanks for meeting with us, Tom,” he said. “I have to get back to the office.”

“Yeah, I’d better get going, too,” Tom said. “I’ll get a copy of the report to you and to Brenda for her insurance company.”

Dwight followed Travis to the curb, where both their SUVs were parked. “I’m supposed to meet with the DEA guy the Feds sent to deal with that underground lab we found out at Henry Hake’s place,” Travis said. “He’s had an investigative team at the site and has a report for me.”

“Mind if I sit in?” Dwight asked. “I’ve got a couple of questions for him.”

“Sure. I asked Gage to be there, too.”

Travis’s brother, Deputy Gage Walker, met them at the sheriff’s department. Two years younger and two inches taller than his brother, Gage’s easygoing, aww-shucks manner concealed a sharp intellect and commitment to his job. “Adelaide told me you two were out at the Stenson place,” Gage said as the three filed into the station’s meeting room. “I drove by there on my way in this morning. The fire really did a number on the place.”

“Tom says they’re sure it was arson,” Travis said.

“How’s Brenda taking it?” Gage asked.

“She’s stoic,” Dwight said.

“She’s been through a lot the past few years,” Gage said.

Brenda had been through too much, Dwight thought. And most of it pretty much by herself. She had friends in town, but no one she could really lean on. He got the sense that Andy’s betrayal had made her reluctant to depend on anyone. He wanted to tell her she didn’t have to be so strong around him—but he didn’t want her to take the sentiment wrong.

The bell on the front door sounded, and all conversation stopped as they listened to Adelaide greet a male visitor. Their voices grew louder as they approached the meeting room. “This is Special Agent Rob Allerton.” Adelaide didn’t exactly bat her eyes at the dark-haired agent, who bore a passing resemblance to Jake Gyllenhaal, but she came close. Gage grinned, no doubt intending to give the office manager a hard time about it later.

Allerton himself seemed oblivious to her adoration—or maybe he was used to it. He shook hands with the sheriff and each of the deputies as they introduced themselves. “Is this your first visit to our part of the state?” Travis asked as they settled in chairs around the conference table.

“My first, but not my last.” Allerton settled his big frame into the metal chair. “You people are living in paradise. It’s gorgeous out here.”

“Don’t spread the word,” Gage said. “We don’t want to be overrun.”

“What can you tell us about your investigation of the underground lab?” Travis asked.

“Not much, I’m afraid,” Allerton said. “So far our analysts haven’t found any illegal drug residue, or really any signs that the lab has been used recently.”

“What about World War II?” Dwight asked. “Could it have been used then?”

Allerton frowned. “Want to tell me how you came up with that time period?”

“The local history museum is having an auction to raise money,” Travis said.

“Right, I saw the banner the first day I arrived in town,” Allerton said.

The banner that had mysteriously disappeared—Dwight had almost forgotten about it in the flurry of activity since then. “One of the items up for auction—probably the most valuable item—is a book detailing a World War II project to produce chemical and biological weapons,” Travis said. “Supposedly, the work was done in underground labs in this part of the country.”

“No kidding?” Allerton shook his head. “Well, the equipment we found wasn’t old enough for that. In fact, some of it appears to have been stolen from your local high school, judging by the high school name stenciled on the glass. There are some indications—marks on the floor and walls—that other equipment or furnishings might have been in that space previously. There’s no way of knowing when they were moved. It would be an interesting historical artifact if that were true, but I can’t see anything illegal in it.”

“Somebody is upset about the book getting out there,” Dwight said. “They made threats against the museum director, and last night someone burned down her house.”

“That’s bad, but I don’t see any connection to this lab.”

“Seen anybody up there at the site while you were there?” Travis asked. “Any signs of recent activity?”

Allerton shook his head. “Nothing. I see why this guy, Hake, wanted to build a development up there—it’s beautiful. But the ghost town he ended up with is a little creepy.”

“Where do we go from here?” Travis asked.

“Me, I go back home to Denver,” Allerton said. “If you have questions or need more help, give me a call. I’d love an excuse to get back out here.”

He stood, and the four of them walked to the front again. Adelaide smiled up at them. Had she freshened her lipstick? Dwight forced himself not to react. “That didn’t take long,” she said.

“Short and sweet,” Allerton said. “Though I know how to take my time when the job calls for it.”

Adelaide blushed pink, and Dwight bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Allerton said goodbye and let himself out. When he was gone, Adelaide sat back in her chair, both hands over her heart. “Oh my! Did you see those eyes? He looked just like that movie star—what’s his name? You know the one.”

“Jake Gyllenhaal,” Dwight said.

“That’s him!” Adelaide crowed.

Travis and Gage stared at him. “You knew that?” Gage asked.

Dwight shrugged. “I like movies.”

“He didn’t find any signs of illegal activity in that underground lab on Henry Hake’s property,” Travis said. “That’s all I care about.”

“Mind if I go up there and take another look around?” Dwight asked. “I might take Brenda with me—she’s a historian, or at least, that’s her degree. I want to know if she sees anything that might link to the World War II labs that book talks about.”

“Fine by me,” Travis said. “Technically, it’s still a crime scene, since that’s where Gage and Maya and Casey were held after they were kidnapped, though I’m going to have to release it back to the owners soon.”

“Who are the owners?” Gage asked. “Isn’t Henry Hake’s name still on the deed?”

“Apparently, the week before he went missing, he signed the whole thing over to a concern called CNG Development. I found out last week when I tried one of the numbers I had for Hake Development. I got a recording telling me the company had been absorbed by CNG, but when I tried to track down the number for them, I couldn’t find anything. Then I checked with the courts and sure enough, the change was registered the day before Hake disappeared.”

“Coincidence?” Gage asked.

“Maybe,” Travis said. “But I’d sure like to talk to someone with CNG about it. The number listed on the court documents is answered by another recording, and the address is a mailbox service in Ogden, Utah.”

“Be careful when you head up there,” Gage said. “Allerton was right—that place is downright creepy.”

* * *

TAMMY PATTERSON, the reporter for the Eagle Mountain Examiner, agreed to meet Brenda at the museum the morning after the fire. Dwight had tried to persuade Brenda to stay at the ranch and not go in to work that day, but she had refused. Dwight had gone with her the night before to see the house, when the firefighters were still putting out the blaze, but she had wanted to see it herself this morning, alone. She had driven in early and made herself stop at the house and stare at the ruins. Her first thought was that this couldn’t really be her place—not the miner’s cottage that she and Andy had worked so hard to remodel, the dream home she had lovingly decorated and planned to live in forever.

She had allowed herself to cry for five minutes or so, then dried her eyes, repaired her makeup and driven to the museum. She couldn’t do anything about the fire right now, and crying certainly wouldn’t bring her house back. Better to go to work and focus on something she could control.

“You don’t know how glad I am you called,” Tammy said when she burst into the museum, blond hair flying and a little out of breath. This was how Brenda always thought of her—a young woman who was always rushing. “Barry had me reading press releases, looking for story angles. Nobody else ever reads them, so we had this huge pile of them—most of them are about as exciting as last night’s town council meeting minutes—which, by the way, I have to turn into a news story, too. So truly, you have saved me.”

I’m hoping you can save me, Brenda thought, but she didn’t say it—it sounded entirely too dramatic, and might have the wrong effect on Tammy’s already-excitable personality. “Glad I could help,” Brenda said.

Tammy plopped onto the wrought iron barstool in front of the museum’s glass counter and pulled out a small notebook and a handheld recorder. “So what’s this story you have for me?” she asked. “You said it was related to the auction, but not exactly? Something juicy, you said. Boy, could I use juicy. I mean, it’s great that we live in such a peaceful town and all, but sometimes I worry our readers are going to die of boredom.”

Brenda could recall plenty of non-boring news that had run in the paper—surrounding her husband’s murder, the wrongful conviction of Lacy Milligan and her subsequent release from prison, revelations about Andy’s blackmailing, Henry Hake’s disappearance, etc., etc. But she supposed for a reporter like Tammy, that was all old news.

“So, did you find something scandalous in a donation someone made for the auction?” Tammy asked. “Or has some big donor come forward to shower money on you?”

“I wish!” Brenda pulled her own stool closer to the counter. “This has to do with that book we have up for auction—the rare one about the top-secret government plot to make biological and chemical weapons during World War II?”

“I remember.” Tammy flipped back a few pages in her notebook. “The Secret History of Rayford County, Colorado. Do you have a bidding war? Or you found out the whole thing’s a brilliant fake? Or has the government come after you to silence you and keep from letting the secret out of the bag?”

At Brenda’s stunned look, Tammy flushed. “Sorry. I read a lot of dystopian fiction. Sometimes I get carried away.”

“You’re not too far off,” Brenda said. “Apparently, someone is trying to silence me.”

Tammy’s mouth formed a large O. “Your house! I heard about that and I meant to say first thing how sorry I am. But I just thought it was old wiring or something.”

“No, the fire department is sure the fire was deliberately set.”

Tammy switched on the recorder, then started scribbling in her notebook. “How is that connected to the book?” she asked.

“I don’t know. But before the fire, I received two different threatening notes—one here and one at my home, telling me if I didn’t destroy that book, I could end up dead.”

“Whoa! Do the cops know about this?”

“I told the sheriff, yes.” Brenda leaned toward Tammy. “I called you because I want you to make clear in your story that I’m not going to let some coward who writes anonymous notes and sets fire to my house bully me into destroying a valuable historical artifact. If he’s so keen to destroy the book, then he can bid on it like everyone else.”

“Ooh, good quote.” Tammy made note of it. “Where is the book now? Or I guess you probably don’t want to say.”

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