Кей Хупер: Whisper of Evil

"No. I never married."

Shelby grimaced. "Me either. Matter of fact, half our graduating class seems to be single these days, even though most of us have hit thirty. Depressing, isn't it?"

"Maybe some of us are better off alone," Nell offered, keeping her tone light.

"I think there's something in the water," Shelby said darkly. "Honest, Nell, this is getting to be a weird place. Have you heard about the murders?"

Nell lifted an eyebrow. "Murders?"

"Yeah. Four so far, if you count George Caldwell — remember him, Nell? 'Course, the sheriff hasn't been eager to put this latest death on the list with the others, but —"

Max cut her off to say, "We've had killings here before, Shelby, just like any other town."

"Not like these," Shelby insisted. "People around here get themselves killed, the reason why is generally pretty obvious, just like who the killer is. No locked-room mysteries or other baffling whodunits, not in Silence. But these deaths? All fine, upstanding men of the town with reputations the next best thing to lily-white, then they're murdered and all their nasty secrets come spilling out like a dam broke wide open."

"Secrets?" Nell asked curiously.

"I'll say. Adultery, embezzlement, gambling, pornography — you name it, we've had it. It's been a regular Peyton Place around here. We haven't heard anything about poor George's secrets so far, but it's early days yet. The other three, their secrets became public knowledge within a couple of weeks of their deaths. So I'm afraid it's just a matter of time until we find out more about George than we ever wanted to know."

"Have the killers been caught?"

"Nope. Which is another weird thing, if you ask me. Four prominent citizens killed in the last eight months, and the sheriff can't solve even one of the murders? He's going to have a hell of a time getting himself reelected."

Nell glanced at Max, who was frowning slightly but didn't offer a comment, then looked back at Shelby. "It does sound a little strange, but I'm sure the sheriff knows his job, Shelby. You always did fret too much."

Shelby shook her head but laughed as well. "Yeah, I guess I did at that. Oh, hell — is that the time? I've gotta go, I'm late. Listen, Nell, I really want to catch up — can I give you a call in a day or two, after you've settled in? We can have lunch or something."

"Sure, I'd love to."

"Great. And if you get lonesome in that big old house and want somebody to talk to in the meantime, you call me, okay? I'm still a night owl, so anytime's fine."

"Gotcha. See you later, Shelby."

With a wave to Max, the redhead rushed off, and Nell murmured, "She hasn't changed much."

"No."

Nell knew her best bet would be to get in her car and just leave, but she heard herself saying slowly, "These murders do sound pretty unusual. And to go unsolved for so long… Doesn't the sheriff have at least a few suspects?"

Max uttered an odd little laugh. "Oh, yeah, he has a few. One, in particular."

"One?"

"Yeah, one. Me." With another laugh, he turned on his heel and walked away.

Nell gazed after him until he disappeared around the next corner. Then she looked at the busy little town that seemed oblivious to the storm clouds moving in and, half under her breath, murmured, "Welcome home, Nell. Welcome home."

Ethan Cole stood at the window of his office and looked down on Main Street. He had an excellent view of most of the street, especially the area around the newsstand. So he saw the visibly tense encounter between Nell Gallagher and Max Tanner, saw Shelby Theriot join them for a few moments before hurrying on in a characteristic rush. Saw Max stalk away and Nell watch him until she could no longer see him.

Well, now. How about that?

Ethan had known Nell was coming back to Silence, of course. Wade Keever wasn't as closemouthed as he should have been about the legal affairs he handled, especially with a couple of drinks in him, and Ethan usually bought him a couple or three at least twice a month, just to keep on top of things. So he knew that Nell had — somewhat reluctantly, according to Wade — agreed to come home at least long enough to clear out the old house, see what family possessions she wanted to keep, do whatever else needed doing by the last blood Gallagher left with ties to this place.

Hell, maybe she'd just have a big-ass yard sale and then set a match to the ancestral home and drive back to D.C. purged of the past.

Ethan doubted she'd want to keep much, at least if all the old stories and rumors had any truth to them. And since she hadn't returned home even for family funerals in the past twelve years, it certainly looked like at least some of those stories were true.

Ethan pursed his lips unconsciously as he watched Nell get back into her very nice Grand Cherokee and drive away. He'd run the plates later, he decided, just to make sure, but he didn't expect there'd be anything he didn't already know.

He knew a lot.

Being sheriff of a small, generally close-knit community required that, of course. Good police work in Lacombe Parish, and particularly here in Silence, so often came down to what he knew about the people here long before he had a crime to solve. So he made it his business to know what most everybody was up to, whether or not it was illegal.

"Sheriff?"

He turned from the window to find one of his CID detectives, Justin Byers, standing in front of the desk. He encouraged his people to come seek him out if they needed to talk, avoiding the outdated intercom system mostly because it was outdated but also because he hated the tinny, almost eerie sounds of voices run through the things.

"What's up, Justin?"

"I'm having a little trouble running down all the financial information on George Caldwell. Nothing really suspicious, just some pretty scattered investments and a few too many details unexplained for my taste. I thought maybe if we got a warrant for his personal records —"

Ethan smiled. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, Justin, but I doubt Judge Buchanan will issue a warrant based on our uneasiness. Find out what you can, but don't push anybody, and don't call on his widow, okay?"

"Does Sue Caldwell even consider herself his widow? I mean, they'd been separated — what? — two or three years?"

"About that." Ethan shrugged. "But they were still married, and she's his legal heir. From what I hear, she's grieving. So leave her alone."

"Okay, sure. Just so you know, it's going to take a while to gather all the info you wanted —"

"Understood." Ethan's easy smile remained until the detective left the room, then faded. He didn't entirely trust Justin Byers. Then again, he didn't entirely trust at least three of the six new people he'd had to hire on since the new highway had made this a far more busy town in the last year. Ethan liked to have people he knew around him, and three of the most recent hires — including Byers — had not been born and raised in Silence.

Not a crime, that, and all had boasted fine credentials and recommendations, to say nothing of experience to spare.

Still.

Returning to his comfortable chair behind the desk, Ethan unlocked and opened the center drawer and drew out a dull brown folder. Inside were copies of three reports his office had submitted, as required, to the district-court prosecutor.

The report of the first death was straightforward enough. Peter Lynch, fifty, had died suddenly, apparentry of a heart attack. Only at the insistence of a hysterical wife had an autopsy been performed, resulting in the unexpected finding of poison. Since the house hadn't been treated as the scene of a crime at the time, going back to search later had turned up nothing useful in proving what had happened, but the medical examiner believed someone might have slipped a few capsules of nitroglycerin into one of the vitamin bottles. Lynch had been known to take vitamins by the handful, and no other drugs, prescription or recreational, had been found, so there was certainly a possibility the ME was right.