On Her Father's Grave (Rogue River #1)(11)

He did a quick sidestep as a woman shoved open the door to the hardware store and moved onto the sidewalk.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Zane . . . Chief. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Faye O’Rourke smiled at him. Despite the overwhelming heat, Faye wore a cardigan over her buttoned-up blouse. Kenny joked that she’d worn one to bed every night with her husband before he died. The gray-haired, grandmotherly woman had a rainbow of colors and styles and was never seen without one.

He blinked as she called him Chief, but swiftly remembered that Faye was on the city council. She would have been part of the middle-of-the-night phone calls that had given him the job.

“Afternoon, Faye.”

She didn’t move from his path, determination on her soft face. Zane recognized that look. When Faye O’Rourke had something to tell you, she didn’t have patience for anyone else’s schedule. His stomach growled and he hoped she wouldn’t delay the rest of his lunch. “Bad goings-on last night. So sad about that boy.”

“Yes, the town is definitely in shock today.”

“What happened? Roy didn’t have much to tell last night.” She looked at him expectantly.

Fishing for gossip.

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything new.” Zane’s mind raced for a tidbit to throw her. “The medical examiner says Hunter wasn’t drunk, and we’re waiting on some reports to pinpoint the cause of death.” That should squash any fast-spreading rumors that Hunter had been drunk. When Faye stated something, it was taken as truth in Solitude.

“I hate that it happened at my lake. I know we haven’t owned that piece of property in decades, but the lake does carry my family’s name. We still think of it as ours.” Worry lined her forehead.

Zane patted her shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Kids in this town belong to all of us. All my kids’ friends were like my second family. I looked out for them and still do. Anyone who hurts one of Solitude’s kids messes with all of us!”

This was a glimpse of her tough-mother side. During council meetings, Faye was outspoken on all issues that affected her town. Her late husband’s family had been kings during the logging era and had once owned 80 percent of the land in the area. Most of it had been sold to the state, but Faye still owned a dozen acres on the west end of town. Her goal was to redevelop the old hotel on the property and create a luxurious but rugged resort to bring more tourism to the area, touting the excellent fly-fishing and boating on the Rogue River.

If anyone could single-handedly resurrect the economy in Solitude it was Faye O’Rourke.

“Do they think it was drugs? I know some kids just don’t say no.” She blotted at her nose with a Kleenex she’d pulled out of her sleeve’s cuff. His grandmother had stored Kleenex in the same spot.

“Uhh . . . they just don’t know yet, Faye. I don’t think anyone wants to make any guesses. You know how stories can fly around town.”

“We’re all just concerned. We don’t want our kids exposed to anything dangerous.”

“I know exactly how you feel, Faye.”

“I might have to bring this up at the next council meeting if it looks like there’s a drug problem in our town,” she stated with righteous zeal.

“Well, let’s wait until we have some proof.” Was she unaware of all the marijuana grown around town? Zane knew several men grew pot on their rural properties or deeper in the forests where people didn’t wander. Usually it was for their own personal use, but when word spread that someone was selling, Bill Taylor had gone in with guns blazing. He’d explained to Zane that he didn’t mind when people grew a little to smoke in their own homes. But if someone was trying to make a profit or he caught them driving with bloodshot eyes and marijuana perfume, he came down hard. That’s where he drew the line.

Zane would have to decide if his line was in the same place. It would be almost impossible to control every patch of weed with his small department.

“Please keep me updated on the boy’s case,” said Faye. “I’m going to run a casserole over to his parents this evening.”

“That’s awfully kind of you, Faye. I need to get back to the station now.”

She nodded at him and stepped out of his path. Faye was always polite, but Zane had yet to feel that she’d accepted his presence in Solitude. Her smiles for the other police officers were much warmer, as if she knew their entire histories. Which she did. Maybe once Zane put in another decade or two she’d treat him like he belonged.

Zane hurried along and dug his half-eaten piece of fried chicken back out of the bag. It was no longer hot but it was still tasty and reminded him he had dinner plans at the Taylors’. Nell might make the best fried chicken, but Patsy Taylor’s barbecued pork would always hold the place of honor in his book. And home cooking was a delight for a single guy.

He eagerly looked forward to dinner. Patsy was known to invite whomever she bumped into during the day. Does my enthusiasm have anything to do with getting to know more about Stevie?

He put a firm hold on the thought. Stevie was his subordinate. Despite how much he enjoyed watching her, anything beyond a professional relationship was impossible . . .





CHAPTER 4


Stevie loved her parents’ ranch. This was home. No matter where she was living, whether it was at school, in LA, or in her current tiny apartment, driving up to her parents’ house never failed to overwhelm her with a sense of belonging and peace.