Ramona Richards - House of Secrets

“Hi, Ray.”

“You had to get hurt, didn’t you?”

“I guess it does sort of put a damper on the possibility of me as suspect.” She opened her eyes and peered at him through the pain.

“More or less.” He stepped closer to the bed. “How do you feel?”

“Like a major-league baseball after the World Series.”

“Mets or Yankees?”

She grinned, which made her wince. “Red Sox. Don’t make me laugh.”

Ray returned the smile, then reached for her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh? You put the sniper on that hill?”

“I dropped my guard. Our cruisers don’t just suddenly have flats.”

She glowered at him. “Sniper. Lying in wait. Nothing you could have done.”

“I could have called—”

June clutched his hand. “Stop it, Ray. You start getting all overprotective on me and we’ll never solve David’s murder.”

Ray’s eyes narrowed. “We.”

“I’ve been thinking about something—”

“You’ve been smacked in the head.”

“Doesn’t stop me from thinking.”

He pointed at the badge on his chest, then at her. “Me, sheriff. You, witness. Solving this is my job, not yours.”

“Don’t worry, Tarzan, I’ll let you be the hero.” June tugged on his hand to pull him closer. “But there are some things you don’t know.”

Ray listened silently as June spoke. He knew that her mind never stopped, that she always had some project, some plan in the works, whether it was remodeling a Victorian parsonage or a craft session for the kindergarteners at the church. Apparently, her brain had been spinning about David’s murder from the moment she’d found the body. Her ideas were astute and in many ways mirrored his own thinking about the murder.

She felt it wasn’t random, but local, intentional and related to David’s newfound political ambition. As far as she knew, nothing else had changed in his life. And she also felt that she had not interrupted the murder itself—but possibly the reason for it.

“If you had interrupted the murder,” Ray said, “there would have been less blood and probably no footprints. Whoever bolted out that door did it without caring that he’d stepped in the blood.”

“I barged in because I saw the footprints on the porch. And someone was still there.”

“Ransacking the study.”

She nodded, then pressed her palm to her forehead. Ray could see that pain still raged inside her. She took a deep breath, wiped her face with one hand and sat straighter in the bed. She won’t give up. Or give in.

“I must have interrupted the search in David’s study.”

Ray pulled a chair next to the bed and sat. “The way they left, as well as the evidence, definitely points to a division in the team. Whoever went out the back ran first or you would have run into him. Probably the mastermind was more afraid of getting caught. The person who left out the back may have been the killer since there was blood evidence in the tunnel. He left last, more determined to finish the job.”

“He was just the muscle.”

Ray’s mouth twitched at June’s use of the term, and he shifted in the chair. “And not as concerned about you catching him. He may have planned on killing you, then heard us in the driveway.”

June’s eyes watered again, and she looked down, plucking at the blanket across her lap. “David once told me he could hear the Corvette turn into the driveway. Teased me that it gave him plenty of time to escape out the back.”

Ray gave her a moment of memory. “Is that why you went to the back door?”

Her gentle smile revealed her deep affection for David Gallagher. “Yes. After he said that, I always went to the back. It made him laugh.”

“Didn’t most people go to the back?”

June’s hands stilled and her brow furrowed. “No.” She looked up at Ray, a light of realization in her eyes. “No, they didn’t. When JR and I first remodeled, people got in the habit of coming to the back, but JR didn’t like it. He wanted to be accessible to everyone but not encourage folks to think they could just walk in any time. At that time, the driveway came around behind the house, so he solved the issue by putting in the patio there at the side of the house and improving the sidewalk in the front. Even though the driveway still went around it to our garage, people started coming up the front walk.”

“So instead of building a physical barrier or offending people by asking them not to come to the back, he built a psychological barrier.”

“And most people got the message.” June pushed herself up in the bed. “And David carried that tradition forward after JR died. The only people who came to the back were people he knew extremely well. He’d never have opened the back door to a stranger. And he was austere enough in the pulpit that casual acquaintances never even thought about it. Except for his political cronies, you’ll have to look at his friends.”

“Our friends.”

They both fell silent, well aware of how small the Bell County community was. The population of the three small towns of the county—White Hills, Caralinda and the county seat of Bell Springs—remained tiny enough that most people knew everyone in the area. That was one reason that June remained a respected voice in Bell County.

Ray cleared his throat. “You were David’s psychological barrier.”

June scowled. “What?”

“The reason he wanted you on Hunter’s side. Like it or not, people still listen to you in Bell County. If you come out in a vocal way against Hunter, he’ll have a hard time advancing politically.”

“Ray, I think you’re giving me too much credit.”

Ray shook his head. “No, I’m not. Do you still blog every day?”

June hesitated a moment, then nodded. June’s online diary had begun almost as self-therapy after JR’s death. Titled “June’s Bell County Wanderings,” she had started it in an effort to connect with other pastors’ widows. Granted, at thirty, she was younger than most of them. But sharing her grief, however, had soon turned into sharing her life in Bell County, and the popularity of the blog had soared. She entertained people with tales of life in a small Southern town, and she now had more than one thousand followers, most of them in the county.

“I’m fairly sure David wouldn’t want you talking about Hunter’s exploits online.”

“Ray Taylor, I do not gossip, thank you very much. I do not—”

Ray took her hand. “I know that. But if you had supported Hunter openly…”

She hesitated, looking down at their intertwined fingers. “People might listen. Might.”

“Right.”

“Which explains David’s actions toward me, but—” She paused and her eyes widened. “You think Hunter will ask me to support him?”

Ray squeezed her hand. “Hard to say. But if he does approach you, you may be able to expand on any information we get from him.”

June took a deep breath. “How? Do you think Hunter would tell me if he knew what the killer was after?”

Ray watched June’s face closely. “What do you think he was after?”

“You’re asking what a pastor keeps in his study?” She shrugged. “Depends a lot on the pastor. And the church. Gospel Immanuel is small enough that JR did most of his work at home.”

“So he kept anything valuable in his study?”

“And anything private.”

“What kind of private information did JR have?”

“Counseling. He helped a lot of people, and he was a fanatic about people’s privacy. Any notes he kept from counseling sessions were locked away in a fireproof box and stored in one of the dozens of hiding places in the house. He didn’t even tell me where they were.”

Ray shifted, then stood, reluctantly letting go of June’s hand. Counseling records could provide a motivation for murder. David, what in the world did you get into? What got you killed? “Did JR tell David?”