Dead in Her Tracks (Rogue Winter #2)(8)

“But did he kill her and put her back in the motel?” asked Hank. “You guys didn’t lock him up until Christmas Eve, so I think he had time to do it.”

Zane eyed the photo of the trucker who was the sex offender. “You know as well as I do that I need proof Bob killed her. I can’t stop looking until I have some facts. If someone else is responsible, I don’t want to let them walk away.”

“I’m about to get started on Bob’s autopsy. Even if he did kill Vanessa, there’s no way he killed himself. You definitely have another killer walking around in Solitude.”





CHAPTER FOUR





“If the doctor says no crutches yet then no crutches!” Standing in her mother’s living room, Stevie was ready to strangle Bruce. “You broke your leg. Do you want it to mend straight or do you want to be the guy that always walks in a circle because one leg is shorter than the other?” Beside her, Patsy gave silent support and lent her own disapproving glare.

“All right. Sheesh. Don’t gang up on me,” muttered Bruce.

Her younger brother looked like he’d gone a dozen rounds with a professional fighter, but clearly he was feeling better. When he’d heard Patsy ask Stevie to pick up his medications at the pharmacy, he’d requested that she rent him some crutches.

Patsy had recited the doctor’s orders about keeping weight off the leg, but Bruce had asked Stevie again once their mother had stepped out of earshot. Or so he’d thought.

“I’ll get your pain meds,” Stevie told him. “Nothing else.” She kissed her mother and flicked Bruce on the forehead with two fingers, darting out of the way as he took a brotherly swing at her.

Her mother walked her to the door. “He looks and sounds a hundred percent better than he did yesterday,” said Stevie.

“He’s young,” said Patsy. “And he can’t sit still. Pick up some crossword puzzle books or magazines or anything to occupy his brain. He’s about to drive me crazy.”

“Has he played the guitar?” Stevie asked quietly, glancing over her shoulder. Her brother was out of sight.

“He keeps picking it up. He’ll play for a second and then sets it aside. He’s really missing Amber Lynn. I don’t think it’s sunk in yet that she won’t breeze in the front door at any moment.” Patsy wiped an eye. “She was good for him, you know. I always knew it wouldn’t last, but I didn’t dream it would end because of her death.”

Stevie studied her mother, paying close attention as she always did when her mother casually talked about “knowing” future facts. Her mother had also said that her sister Carly and Seth were meant to be together, but they’d split up a year ago. It’d been the first time Stevie had doubted her mother’s gift.

Carly and Seth were back together and stronger than ever, and Stevie’s faith had been restored.



Stevie set three magazines, a sudoku book, two crossword puzzle books, and a kit to assemble a tiny Death Star model on the pharmacy counter. She’d added a fashion and gossip magazine to the sports ones simply to harass her brother.

What else were sisters for?

“Patsy said you were coming in to get Bruce’s prescriptions,” Donald said as he rang up the items. His eyes appeared slightly distorted through his thick lenses. “I’m sorry I don’t have enough tablets of one of his medications. I have a shipment coming soon, and I’ll call as soon as it’s ready. This is enough to last him a few days. How’s he doin’?”

“Driving Mom crazy.”

“Ah, good.” Donald beamed at her. She’d always thought of him as an odd duck. Donald Duck. “I’m glad to hear he’s feeling better. I was sorry to hear about his girlfriend,” he added with appropriate sympathy.

“Yes, that was horrible,” agreed Stevie.

“Horrible news about Bob Fletcher too.” Donald shook his head. “He wasn’t the best citizen, but no one deserves to be murdered in that way.” He paused. “I always wondered about him.”

Stevie heard the sound of town gossip slide into Donald’s tone and knew he wanted her to ask a question about it. He’d never married and had lived with his mother until she’d died two years ago, and after her death Patsy had done her best to make a match for him, feeling sorry for the lonely, owlish-looking man.

Some of the people in town regarded gossip as a profession. She hadn’t noticed Donald partaking in the chatter before, but it made sense. As the only pharmacist in town, he knew secrets about everyone. No doubt it was like gold in his pocket.

Stevie purposefully took the gossipy bait Donald had offered.

“What did they say about Bob?” she asked, counting out her bills, her gaze on her hands.

“Well, it’s all secondhand, you know. Might not be true.”

“Where there’s smoke, there’s usually fire.” She gave Donald a smile. “Although since he’s gone now, no harm can come out of it.” Spill it, Donald.

“Well,” said Donald. “I heard he’d beat up young Travis. Some of the other guys around here also had black eyes after run-ins with him. And he couldn’t keep staff on at his bar. They say he was a mean son of a bitch to work for.” The pharmacist raised a brow at her. “Pardon my French.”