On Her Father's Grave (Rogue River #1)(30)

“I don’t know.” Her forehead wrinkled. “I can’t think of him ever talking about family. Maybe my mother knows something.”

Zane glanced over his shoulder. He could see Patsy through the kitchen window, sitting at the table, flipping through Bill’s journals with a smile on her face. He hated to interrupt her. She’d clearly forgotten about the iced tea. Or thought they needed a few more quiet moments together.

“Thank you for finding the journals,” Stevie said. “They’ll make her feel close to him.”

Zane shifted in his chair. “I kept the one for the month of May. I want you to take a look at it when you’re off the painkillers. Something was going on that your dad mentions a few times, but I’m not sure what he’s talking about. I thought you might have some insight.”

Stevie’s brown eyes widened. “Did you ask James? What kind of stuff?”

James is acting odd lately.

“No, I haven’t shown it to James,” he said slowly. “There were two things in the last journal that jumped out at me. The first was that Roy was taking a lot of time off, and your dad was puzzled that he wouldn’t give a good reason.” He held Stevie’s brown gaze. “The second was that your dad was worried about James not being himself and acting strangely.”



Stevie’s skin prickled on the back of her neck, and she knew it wasn’t the Vicodin. “What does that mean, not being himself? What exactly did he say?”

“Twice he brings it up, and he mentions James and Debra’s marriage. I’ll give it to you. Maybe you and Carly can make sense out of it.” He glanced back at her mother in the house and continued. “I heard from the medical examiner this morning. About the drug in Hunter’s system.”

Stevie sat up straighter. “And?”

“It’s a new formula.”

“New? How is that possible?” She was stunned.

“It’s extremely close to another potent recreational drug, but slightly different. Someone’s created a new compound. And the exact same thing was in the system of the teen who died at the coast.”

“Holy cow. Someone’s making and selling something new to our kids.” Her mind grabbed the fact and ran. What did this mean to her community?

Zane nodded, twisting his mouth. “I think so too. Looks like Ted was our local distributor, so I’m surprised that there haven’t been more overdose cases around here.”

“What did you find at Ted’s?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Zane said grimly. “I thought for certain his barn would be a lab of some sort, but the investigation by the fire department turned up nothing illegal.”

“You weren’t the only one who thought that. I was convinced Ted was making something in the barn. And I hadn’t stepped a foot inside.” Stevie ran a hand over her ponytail. “I knew my past was influencing my logic. Either way, somebody is filtering something deadly into our town. If Ted wasn’t making it, then somebody else is. They just need to find a new salesman.”

Zane’s face grew grim. “We need to find the source.”

“How is Russ? Is he okay?” she asked.

“The boy isn’t saying much. He seems traumatized over his father’s death. At least he didn’t witness my shot that killed his father.”

Stevie put a hand on his arm as her heart sank. Maybe she should ask Carly to check on Russ. As a social worker, Carly dealt with troubled teens every day and could tell if Russ’s emotional needs were being met. “Poor kid. Is his mother being supportive?”

“If you call drinking every night with her girlfriends supportive. I don’t think she misses Ted one bit.”

“If he treated me how he treated her, I wouldn’t either.”

“How long are you staying with your mother?” he asked, changing the subject.

Stevie sighed. She wanted to go back to her little apartment. It was lovely having the time with her mother and also having Carly and her daughter Brianna close by. She’d talked more to Carly in the last twenty-four hours than she had in five years, and had her ear bent about Carly’s frustrations with her estranged husband.

But Stevie was tired of being babied. So what if she couldn’t button her jeans? She had plenty of simple shorts she could wear. And surely she could make something to eat one-handed. Although she might eventually get tired of peanut butter and jelly. She frowned. Assuming she could get the lid off the peanut butter.

“I don’t know. I want to go home. It’s surprising how often you need two hands to do anything.” She lifted her bandaged hand. It felt like it weighed twenty pounds.

His gaze held hers. “About the other night . . . behind the band.”

Her face flushed as she remembered the feel of his skin at his waist under her fingertips. Need two hands.

“I want to pick up from there. And move forward.” He took her hand from his arm and gripped it, his knuckles white. “I know you just got here and probably don’t want to get involved right away, but I want you to know I’m interested. And I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

“You’re my boss,” she whispered. “We can’t.”

“Says who?”

“Uhh . . . everyone? It just isn’t done. Too much can go wrong.”