Saved by the Sheriff Read online

  Travis hadn’t wanted to believe Lacy was a killer. She had always been the pretty, quiet girl in high school. After she had graduated high school and had gone to work for Andy, Travis had occasionally seen her downtown and they would say hello. He had even thought about asking her out, but had never gotten around to it.

  But then Andy had died and the only evidence Travis could find pointed to Lacy. She hadn’t been able to produce anyone who could confirm her alibi—that she had been almost two hours away at her cousin’s basketball game. The cousin hadn’t seen her there, and no one else could remember her being there. And then the prosecutor had discovered funds missing from the law firm’s account, and a deposit in almost the same amount in Lacy’s account.

  The jury had deliberated only a few hours before handing down a conviction. Travis had felt sick as he watched the bailiff lead Lacy from court, but he had been convinced he had done his job. He had found a murderer.

  And then, only two months ago, he had been whiling away the time online and had come across a video someone had posted of a college basketball game—a game in which a promising young player—now a major NBA star—had made a series of free throws that hinted at his future greatness. Watching the video, Travis had recognized a familiar face on the sidelines. Lacy Milligan—a smiling, carefree Lacy—had stared out at him from the screen. A time stamp on the video corroborated her story of being at her cousin’s game. Further research backed this up. Here was her alibi. When Andy Stenson was stabbed in the heart, Lacy Milligan was two hours away.

  From there, the rest of the evidence began to fall apart. Travis hired a former detective to review the case and the detective—who had retired to Eagle Mountain after a storied career with the Los Angeles Police Department—determined that what had looked like missing funds was merely a bookkeeping error, and the deposit in Lacy’s account was, as she had said, the proceeds from the sale of some jewelry she had inherited.

  Travis had felt sick over the error. He hadn’t been able to eat or sleep as he worked feverishly to see that the decision in the case was vacated. He also did what he could to publicize his efforts to clear the name of the woman he had wronged. He wanted everyone to know that Lacy was innocent.

  Now she was home. He didn’t blame her for hating him, though it hurt to see the scorn in her eyes. All he knew to do now was to work even harder to find the real killer.

  The phone rang and he heard Adelaide answer. A moment later, his extension buzzed. “Sheriff, it’s for you,” Adelaide said. “It’s George Milligan.”

  Lacy’s dad. Travis snatched up the receiver. “Mr. Milligan, how can I help you?”

  “I think you need to come over here, Sheriff.” George Milligan’s voice held the strain of someone who had taken almost more than he could bear. “We’ve had a, well, I’m not sure how to describe it. An incident.”

  Travis sat up straighter, his stomach knotting. “What’s happened? Is someone hurt? Is Lacy hurt?”

  “Someone threw a rock through our front window.” George’s voice broke. “It had a...a note tied to it. Just one word on the note—murderer.”

  “I’ll be right over,” Travis said. Hadn’t these people suffered enough? Hadn’t they all suffered enough?

  Chapter Two

  Lacy stared at the grapefruit-sized chunk of red granite that sat in the middle of the library table beneath the front window of her family home, shards of glass like fractured ice scattered about it. Strands of thin wire held the note in place, a single word scrawled crookedly in red marker, like an accusation made in blood.

  Murderer! She had worn the label for three years, but she would never get used to it. Seeing it here, in the place she had thought of as a refuge, when she had believed her ordeal over, hurt more than she had imagined. Worse, the word hurt her parents, who had put their own lives on hold, and even mortgaged their home, to save her.

  A black-and-white SUV pulled into the driveway and Lacy watched out the window as Travis Walker slid out of the vehicle and strode up the walkway to the door. Everything about him radiated competence and authority, from his muscular frame filling out the crisp lines of his brown sheriff’s uniform to the determined expression on his handsome face. When he said something was right, it must be right. So when he had said she had murdered Andy Stenson, everyone had believed him. Men like Travis didn’t make mistakes.

  Except he had.

  The doorbell rang and her father opened it and ushered Travis inside. Lacy steeled herself to face him. Travis hadn’t thrown the rock through her parents’ window, but as far as she was concerned, he was to blame.

  “Hello, Lacy.” Ever the gentleman, Travis touched the brim of his hat and nodded to her.

  She nodded and took a step back, away from the rock—and away from him. He walked over and looked down at the projectile, his gaze taking in the broken window, the shattered glass and the note. He leaned closer to study the note. “Has anything like this happened before?” he asked.

  It took her a moment to realize he had addressed the question to her. She shrugged. “Not really. There were a few letters to the editor in the paper during my trial, and a few times when I would walk into a place and everyone would stop talking and stare at me.”

  “But no direct threats or name calling?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “I can’t understand why anyone would do this now.” Her father joined them. Her mother was upstairs, lying down with a headache. “Lacy has been cleared. Everyone knows that.”

  “Maybe not everyone.” Travis straightened. “I’ll get an evidence kit from my car. Maybe we’ll get some fingerprints off the note.”

  Lacy doubted whoever threw that rock would be stupid enough to leave fingerprints, but she didn’t bother arguing. Travis went outside and stopped on the sidewalk to survey the flower bed. Maybe he was looking for footprints? Or maybe he liked flowers.

  He returned a few moments later, wearing latex gloves and carrying a cardboard box. He lifted the rock and settled it in the box. “In order to hurl the rock through the window like this, whoever threw it would have to be close—either standing on the porch or in the flower beds,” he said, as he taped up the box and labeled it. “I didn’t see any footprints in the flower beds, or disturbed plants, so I’m guessing porch. Did you see or hear anyone?”

  “We were all in the back of the house, preparing dinner in the kitchen,” her father said.

  “I’ll talk to the neighbors, see if any of them saw anything,” Travis said. “After the window shattered, did you hear anything—anyone running away, or a car driving away?”

  “No,” her father said.

  Both men looked at Lacy. “No,” she said. “I didn’t hear anything.”

  “Who would do something like this?” her father asked. His face sagged with weariness, and he looked years older. Guilt made a knot in Lacy’s stomach. Even though she hadn’t thrown the rock, she was the target. She had brought this intrusion into her parents’ peaceful life. Maybe moving back home had been a bad idea.

  “I don’t know,” Travis said. “There are mean people in the world. Obviously, someone doesn’t believe Lacy is innocent.”

  “The paper has run articles,” her father said. “It’s been on all the television stations—I don’t know what else we can do.”

  “You can help me find the real murderer.”

  He was addressing Lacy, not her dad, his gaze pinning her. She remembered him looking at her that way the day he arrested her, the intensity of his stare making it clear she wasn’t going to get away with not answering his questions.

  “Why should I help you?” she asked.

  “You worked closely with Andy,” he said. “You knew his clients. You can walk me through his records. I’m convinced he knew his murderer.”

  “What if you try to pin this on the wrong person again?”
/>   He didn’t even flinch. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “Honey, I think maybe Travis is right,” her father said. “You probably know more about Andy’s job than anyone.”

  “What about Brenda?” Lacy asked. “She was his wife. He would have told her if someone was threatening him before he told me.”

  “He never said anything like that to her,” Travis said. “And she doesn’t know anything about his law practice.”

  “I’m pretty sure all the files from the business are still in storage,” she said. “You don’t need my help going through them.”

  “I do if I’m going to figure out what any of it means. You can help me avoid wasting time on irrelevant files and focus on anything that might be important.”

  His intense gaze pinned her, making her feel trapped. She wanted to say no, to avoid having anything to do with him. But what if he was right and he needed her help to solve the case? What if, by doing nothing, she was letting the real killer get away with murder? “All right,” she said. “I’ll help you.”

  “Thank you. I’ll call you tomorrow or the next day and set up a time to get together.” He picked up the box with the rock, touched the brim of his hat again and left.

  Lacy sank into a nearby arm chair. This wasn’t how she had envisioned her homecoming. She had hoped to be able to put the past behind her once and for all. Now she was volunteering to dive right back into it.

  * * *

  TRAVIS CRUISED EAGLE MOUNTAIN’S main street, surveying the groups of tourists waiting for tables at Kate’s Kitchen or Moe’s Pub, the men filling the park benches outside the row of boutiques, chatting while they waited for their wives. He waved to Paige Riddell as he passed her bed-and-breakfast, drove past the library and post office, then turned past the Episcopal Church, the fire station and the elementary school before he turned toward his office. The rock someone had hurled through Lacy’s front window sat in the box on the passenger seat, a very ordinary chunk of iron-ore-infused granite that could have come from almost any roadside or backyard in the area.

  Who would hurl such a weapon—and its hateful message—through the window of a woman who had already endured too much because of mistakes made by Travis and others? Eagle Mountain wasn’t a perfect place, but it wasn’t known for violent dissension. Disagreements tended to play themselves out in the form of letters to the editor of the local paper or the occasional shouting match after a few too many beers at one of the local taverns.

  When Travis had arrested Lacy for the murder of Andy Stenson, he had received more than one angry phone call, and a few people had refused to speak to him ever since. When he had issued a public statement declaring Lacy’s innocence, most people had responded positively, if not jubilantly, to the news. He couldn’t recall hearing even a whisper from anyone that a single person believed Lacy was still a murderer.

  On impulse, he drove past the police station and two blocks north, to the former Eagle Mountain Hospital, now home to the county Historical Society and Museum. As he had hoped, Brenda Stenson was just locking up for the day when Travis parked and climbed out of his SUV. “Hello, Travis,” she said as she tucked the key into her purse. A slender blonde with delicate features and a smattering of freckles across her upturned nose, Brenda seemed to be regaining some of the vivacity that had all but vanished when her husband of only three years had been murdered. “What’s up?”

  “Lacy came home today,” he said. “I was just over at her folks’ place.”

  “How is she? I saw her mom yesterday and told her to tell Lacy I would stop by tomorrow—I thought maybe the family would like a little time alone before the crowds of well-wishers descend.”

  “So you don’t have any problem with her being out?” Travis asked, watching her carefully.

  She pushed a fall of long blond hair out of her eyes. “Lacy didn’t kill Andy,” she said. “I should have spoken on her behalf at the trial, but I was so torn up about Andy—it was all I could do to get out of bed in the morning. Later on...” She shrugged. “I didn’t know what to think. I’m glad she’s out.”

  “Except that now we don’t know who is responsible for Andy’s death,” Travis said.

  “No, we don’t. It makes it hard to move on, but sometimes these things never get solved, do they? I hate to think that, but I’m trying to be realistic.”

  “I want to find the real murderer,” Travis said. “I feel like I owe it to you and Andy—and to Lacy.”

  “You didn’t try and convict her all by yourself,” Brenda said. “And you fought harder than anyone to free her once you figured out the truth.”

  “But I started the ball rolling,” he said. “And this isn’t really going to be over for any of us until we find out what really happened that day.”

  She sighed. “So what’s the next move?”

  “I know we’ve been over this before, but humor me. Do you know of anyone who was angry or upset with Andy—about anything? An angry husband whose wife Andy represented in a divorce? A drunk driving case he lost?”

  “Andy hadn’t been practicing law long enough to make enemies,” Brenda said. “And Eagle Mountain is a small town—I know pretty much everyone who was ever a client of his. None of them seem like a murderer to me.”

  “I think the odds that the killer was a random stranger are pretty low,” Travis said. “So one of those nice local people is likely the murderer.”

  Brenda rubbed her hands up and down her arms, as if trying to warm herself. “It makes me sick to think about it,” she said.

  “If I can convince Lacy to help me, would you mind if we go through Andy’s case files?” Travis asked. “I figure she would have known his clients almost as well as he did.”

  “Of course I don’t mind. Everything is in storage. I haven’t had the heart to go through anything myself.”

  “I don’t know if it will help, but it seems like a good place to start,” he said.

  “Stop by whenever you’re ready and I’ll give you the key to my storage unit,” she said.

  They said good-night and Travis returned to his SUV. He had just started the vehicle when his cell phone buzzed. “Hello?”

  “Sheriff, Wade Tomlinson called to report a shoplifter at their store,” Adelaide said. “He said he saw you drive past a few minutes ago and wondered if you could swing by.”

  “Tell him I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.” Travis ended the call and turned the SUV back toward Main, where Wade Tomlinson and Brock Ryan operated Eagle Mountain Outfitters, a hunting, fishing and climbing store that catered to locals and tourists alike. Technically, a call like this should have been routed through the countywide dispatch center. The dispatcher would then contact the appropriate department and the officer who was closest to the scene would respond. But locals were just as likely to call the sheriff department’s direct line and ask for Travis or Gage or one of the other officers by name.

  Wade Tomlinson met Travis on the sidewalk in front of their store. “Thanks for stopping by, Sheriff,” he said. He crossed his arms over his beefy chest, the eagle tattoo on his biceps flexing. A vein pulsed in his shaved head. “Though I guess we wasted your time.”

  “Adelaide said you had a shoplifter?”

  “Yeah, but he got away, right after I called.” He led the way inside the shop, which smelled of canvas, leather and rope. Climbing rope in every color of the rainbow hung from hooks along the back wall, while everything from stainless-steel coffee mugs to ice axes and crampons filled the shelves.

  Wade’s business partner, Brock Ryan, looked up from rearranging a display of T-shirts. The one in his hand, Travis noted, bore the legend Do It In the Outdoors. “Hey, Travis,” he said. “You didn’t pass a skinny teenager in a red beanie on your way over here, did you?”

  “No,” Travis said. “Was that your shoplifter?”

  “Yeah. I caught
him red-handed shoving a hundred-dollar water filter down his pants. I sat him down up front by the register and told him we would wait until you got here before we decided whether or not to file charges.”

  Unlike Wade, who was short and stocky, Brock was tall and lean, with the squinting gaze of a man who had spent long hours in the sun and wind.

  “What happened after that?” Travis asked.

  “I turned my back to get a tray of fishing flies out of the case for a customer and the kid took off,” Brock said, his face reddening.

  “Did the kid give you a name?” Travis asked. “Did you recognize him?”

  Both men shook their heads. “He wasn’t from around here,” Wade said. “He wouldn’t say anything to us, so we figured we’d let you see if you could get anything out of him.”

  “Maybe you two scared him enough he won’t come back,” Travis said.

  “Burns me up when somebody comes in here and tries to take what we’ve worked hard for,” Brock said. He punched his hand in his fist. “If that kid ever shows his face here again, I’ll make sure he never tries to steal from me again.”

  Travis put a hand on the tall man’s shoulder. “Don’t let your temper get the best of you,” he said. “If the kid comes back, call the office and one of us will take care of it.”

  Brock hesitated, then nodded. “Right.”

  A third man emerged from a door at the back of the shop—a lean, broad-shouldered guy in a black knit beanie. He looked as if he had been carved from iron—all sharp angles and hard muscle. He scanned Travis from head to toe, lingering a moment on the badge on his chest, and Travis wouldn’t have called his expression friendly. “Do you have a new employee?” Travis asked, nodding toward the man.

  Brock glanced over his shoulder. “That’s Ian,” he said. “A friend of mine.”

  Ian nodded, but didn’t offer to shake hands. “I’ll wait in back,” he said to Brock, and exited the way he had come.