This Fallen Prey (Rockton #3)(25)

“Female’s enough for this town.”

I chuckle. “True. If the sniper was the pilot, why steal our gun? She’d have access to her own.”

“But framing us would still help. Set us chasing our tails looking for a shooter internally.”

“This is why you aren’t Watson. You come up with good ideas.”

Dalton rises. “Pretty sure Watson had some good ideas. Coffee?”

“Yet another good one.” I watch him start the fire to heat water. “Does Tyrone have military experience?”

“Ty Cypher?”

I sit up, crossing my legs. “Sorry. Mental jump there. Thinking about the pilot made me wonder who in town has military experience. That’s just Will and Sam, right?”

“Kenny was in Air Cadets.”

“Which is a youth group. I don’t think they train snipers. At least not in Canada. And Sam served in the navy.”

“That’s the one with water.”

“It is.”

“Any snipers?”

“The Canadian Navy has one destroyer, which is on its last legs. Lots of tugboats, though.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I think Sam was in peacekeeping.”

“So . . . snipers?”

“That’s one way to keep peace. But no. Not usually. I don’t think a military connection is the answer. Marksmanship doesn’t need that, though. Not by a long shot, pardon the pun. I’d like a list of our best shooters.”

“That’d be Will.”

I shake my head. “Good thing he was on the scene then. Otherwise, he’d be our key suspect, which is just awkward.”

“After him? The best shooter is you.”

“Even more awkward. Let me guess, you come after me?”

He taps his sling. “I am definitely out of the running. So that’s top three. Next is the militia.”

“Our boys like their target practice.”

“As do Jen and Nicki.”

“True enough. Are any of them good enough to make that shot, though?”

“Depends on what ‘that shot’ is,” he says. “I hate giving Phil credit, but there’s no way to say for sure that the bullet would have hit Brady.”

“Are you thinking maybe he wasn’t the target?”

“Who the fuck knows at this point? It seemed aimed at him. No one else was standing there until I got in the way. But would it have killed him if I didn’t interfere?” Dalton throws up his hand.

“If it didn’t kill him, would that have been intentional—trying to spook us rather than assassinate Brady? Or would it have missed because our shooter isn’t a crack shot? We could just be looking at a decent shooter with an overinflated sense of his—or her—skills. So . . . Ty?”

Tyrone Cypher was sheriff of Rockton before Dalton’s father. When the demotion to deputy rankled too much, he’d gone to live in the forest.

“Are you looking at Ty for this?” The wrinkle in Dalton’s nose tells me what he thinks of that. He doesn’t say it, though, just keeps making coffee in our French press.

“I’m looking at everyone for this. He was a professional assassin, though.”

Dalton snorts. “Hit man. There’s a difference.”

Which is true. “Assassin” conjures up an image that is not Tyrone Cypher.

“What’s his firearm prowess?” I ask.

“On a scale of one to ten? Negative three.”

I give him a look.

“I’m serious,” Dalton says. “The guy prides himself on not using guns. You know that.”

“So when he says he worked with his hands . . .”

“If Ty says it, it’s true. He’s serious about that, too. I’ve never actually caught the guy in a lie. Which, like you said, might not mean he never lies—just that he saves the falsehoods for the big stuff.”

“Has he ever said he can’t shoot? His comments about the military make Will think he served.”

“Tyrone doesn’t volunteer information. He’s never said he can’t shoot—he just chooses not to. The problem is motive.”

I rub my fingers together and then I realize the gesture means nothing in Dalton’s world.

“Money,” I say. “Ty killed for money before, and he doesn’t seem to have any moral qualms about doing it again.”

Dalton shakes his head. “I see where you’re going, but Tyrone doesn’t give a shit about money. Now, if they offered him a barrel of coffee creamer, maybe. But even then, it’d mean working for the council, and you know how he feels about that.”

“So you trust Ty.”

He makes a face as he passes me a filled mug. “I wouldn’t say trust . . .”

“We’ve been trading with him since last winter.”

“The man works for coffee and powdered creamer. Can’t beat the price. But trust him? He’s . . . What’s the scientific term? Loony tunes.”

I have to laugh at that. “True. He has his own special brand of crazy. But you trust him enough to trade with him, send him on scouting missions, and let him into Rockton.”

“As long as he’s escorted.”

“Only because you don’t want to freak out the locals.”