Barb Han - Murder And Mistletoe

There was a half-empty packet of Zantac next to a stack of files. Dalton had been inside this room too often for his taste in the past few months. Activity down the hall had slowed since the last time he had been here. The temporary room set up for volunteers to take calls about leads in the Mav’s case was still in the conference room at the mouth of the hallway, but there were fewer phone calls now and leads had all but dried up.

Bethany sniffled, clutching a bundle of tissues in a white-knuckle grip.

Dalton kept to the back of the room, near the door.

“I apologize again for asking you to give a statement so soon. Anything you can tell us might help close the investigation.” Dalton noticed that Sawmill didn’t mention the word murder . Was he being careful not to set false expectations that he would treat this as anything other than a suicide?

The detective noticed it, too. She sat up a little straighter and her shoulders tensed. Her gaze was locked on Sawmill like she was a student studying for final exams.

“I’ll help in any way I can.” Bethany’s weak voice barely carried through the room in between sobs. Helping her walk into the coroner’s office to verify what they’d already known at the scene had been right up there with attending Alexandria’s funeral. Too many memories crashed down on Dalton. Memories he’d suppressed for fourteen years. Memories he had every intention of stuffing down deep before they brought him to his knees. His anger wouldn’t help find answers. Finding the truth was all that mattered now.

“Can you confirm the deceased’s name is Clara Robinson?” His voice remained steady.

“Yes.” It seemed to take great effort to get the word out.

“I identified the body at the scene, Sheriff,” Leanne interjected and the tension in Sawmill’s face heightened. It was just a flash before he recovered, but Dalton knew it meant he’d never cooperate willingly with the Dallas detective. That also made her of no use to Dalton.

“And your full name is?” Sawmill continued.

“Bethany Ann Schmidt,” she supplied before looking up.

“Okay. Mrs. Schmidt, can you describe your relationship with your daughter?” the sheriff continued.

“It was all right. I guess. I mean, she’s... was... a teenager. We talked as much as any mother and her seventeen-year-old can.” Bethany shrugged as if anything other than a complicated relationship would require skills no one could possibly have.

Dalton couldn’t speak on authority but he picked up on the tension between the detective and her sister.

“How were the two of you getting along lately?” Sawmill leaned forward.

“Okay, I guess,” she responded with another shrug.

“Had you been in any disagreements recently?” he asked. Dalton couldn’t help but remember a very different line of questioning when he was in the interview room with the sheriff. Another shot of anger burst through his chest, and he had to take a slow deep breath to try to counter the damage. The sheriff had spent too much time focused on the wrong person back then and because of it, Alexandria’s killer still walked the streets. He’d wondered if the man had ended up in jail for another crime or died, considering how quiet life had become until recently in Cattle Barge. If he’d been in jail, the timing of another similar murder could be explained by a release.

“No. Not us. Nothing lately. I mean, we argued over her helping out more around the house yesterday. Her little brother is a handful and she barely lifts a finger,” Bethany said on an exacerbated sigh.

Again, Leanne stiffened but this time it happened when her sister mentioned the boy.

“How old is her brother?” Sawmill continued.

“Hampton will be four years old in two weeks,” Bethany supplied before taking a few gulps of air and then picking back up on the conversation thread. “And we didn’t have a knock-down-drag-out or anything. It was more like me reminding her to help pick up toys and her rolling her eyes for the hundredth time. I swear that girl communicated more with her eyes than her mouth.”

The sheriff nodded like he understood and then waited for her to go on, hands clasped on his desk.

“We got along okay other than that,” Bethany said through sniffles.

Based on Leanne’s reaction so far, she didn’t agree. Questions rolled around in Dalton’s mind. Was Bethany telling the truth about her relationship with her daughter? Why was Leanne so tense? Was she expecting her sister to drop a bomb at any minute? Or was it fear? Was she afraid that her sister would say something wrong?

Leanne had secrets. Dalton intended to find out what they were, because if he could uncover any connection between this and Alexandria’s murder he might be able to bring peace to her family. Only this time, he wouldn’t involve the sheriff. Sawmill had let Dalton down all those years ago, still was with his father’s murder investigation, and he didn’t trust the man to do his job.

“How did the two siblings respond to each other?” Sawmill asked.

“About the same as any, I guess.” Bethany shrugged again. There was a note of hopelessness in her voice. “Hampton gets into her stuff and she goes crazy. My Clara is—” she shot a glance toward the sheriff “— was particular about all her belongings being right where she left them. She didn’t like anyone getting into her stuff and that caused a lot of friction in the house.”

“Between you and her?” the sheriff asked.

“No. I expected it to some degree. She was used to being the only child for most of her life and then suddenly she was not. She had all my attention before I met Gary.” She flashed her eyes at the sheriff. “My husband. She had a hard time with me being in a relationship and then Hampton came along quicker than we expected.” Bethany blew her nose and then took in a deep breath. “So, we decided to get married. Clara and me weren’t as close after that. I chalked it up to hormones. She was a normal teenager and she was thirteen when Gary and me tied the knot.”

Leanne shifted in her seat as though she couldn’t get comfortable. Her movements were subtle. If Dalton hadn’t been watching, he might’ve missed them. What was she holding back? Something was making her uncomfortable and she seemed a skilled-enough investigator to know to cover her physical reaction as best she could.

“How did your husband get along with your daughter?” Sawmill picked up a packet of Zantac.

“Clara didn’t like him much.” Bethany shrank a little more into her seat, a helpless look wrinkling her forehead. “Like I said, I spoiled her with my attention before we met.”

Leanne’s fingernails might leave marks in that chair if she gripped it any tighter.

“Those two were fire and gasoline from the get-go,” Bethany added.

“Which wasn’t Clara’s fault,” Leanne interjected hotly. “Gary yelled at Clara all the time and for no good reason.”

* * *

LEANNE FUMED. SHE shouldn’t have confirmed that Gary and Clara didn’t get along. Watching her half sister, whom she loved but would never understand, defend Gary over her own daughter lit the wick that caused an explosion she couldn’t contain.

The sheriff’s brow arched. He was looking for evidence that this was a suicide and Leanne might’ve just handed it to him with her outburst. She bit back a curse, wishing she’d inherited more of her mother’s ability to stay calm in a crisis. In times like these, she missed her even more than usual.

Leanne could feel the cowboy’s eyes on her, and there came a flitter of attraction that was out of line. Leanne had no plans to let him out of her sight until she knew what he’d captured with his phone, magnetism or not.