The Last Sister (Columbia River)(35)

Kyle’s shoulders twitched. “Kinda hard to brush people off once you’re out. They have expectations.”

“They wanted you to deal for them?” asked Greer in a tone that sounded like Zander’s father when he was in trouble.

“No one tells me what to do.” Defiance flashed.

“Billy have the same tattoo?” Zander watched him. Kyle was struggling to hold still. His hands went into his back pockets and out again, and then he tried to resume his earlier casual, slouchy stance against the frame and failed, looking like a board leaning against a wall.

“Nope.”

Zander glanced at the sheriff and lifted a brow. Done?

Greer scrutinized Kyle, making him twitch again. “Let me know if you hear from Billy. Immediately. Tell him we have questions.”

“I already told him that,” Kyle muttered. He stepped inside and closed the door.

Greer and Zander exchanged a look and headed toward their vehicles.

“You do a pretty good fear of God,” Zander commented. “He was starting to look like a tweaker.”

“I had kids.”

Zander’s lips curved slightly. “No calls or emails on the Copeland scene?”

The sheriff checked his phone and tapped the screen, perusing his email as they stopped at his vehicle. “Nothing.” He shoved his phone in a pocket and looked back at the Osburne house. “I can’t get Nate Copeland’s face out of my mind.”

He wasn’t the only one.

“I’m struggling with the idea that it might be murder,” Greer said slowly. “Who lets someone shoot them in the mouth? Nate didn’t have any defensive wounds. No signs of a struggle at all.”

“No forced entry,” Zander added.

“That doesn’t bother me much. Few people lock their doors here. He could have gone outside for something that morning and left it unlocked.”

“Perhaps the autopsy will reveal he’d been incapacitated in some way. A blow to the head that hid under his hair or had been disguised by the exit wound. Maybe he was drugged.”

Greer gave him a side-eye. “Like the Fitch couple.”

Zander grimaced. “Depending on what the autopsy turns up, we should request testing of the food and beverages in his house.”

“Shit.” The sheriff threw up his hands and stalked away several steps. “What is going on?”

“We’re jumping ahead,” Zander pointed out, taken aback by Greer’s visible frustration. He’d begun to believe the quiet man was part android. “Let’s get that autopsy report first.”

“I know.” The sheriff pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled heavily. “How in the fuck did I suddenly get three dead people in my county?”

Zander said nothing. Greer didn’t need his encouragement. He was venting, something Zander understood too well.

“I think I should stop by that meeting at the church,” the sheriff said. “My truck-duty deputy can ask at the auto parts store for employee names and find out about a possible girlfriend—or whoever—and get us the information.”

“We’ll both go to that meeting.”



Madison drove Alice to the Methodist church and silently argued with herself about whether or not to attend the meeting. She didn’t want to hear details of Lindsay’s death and face nosy questions from busybodies. But she did want to know how the investigation was proceeding. Her need for answers overpowered everything else, so she parked, resigned to attend and avoid as many people as possible.

Alice thanked her for the ride and darted out of the car before Madison had turned off the engine. Surprised by her speed, Madison watched until Alice disappeared inside the church.

The parking lot was nearly full. Fear had brought people out of the woodwork. She slammed her car door and strode toward the building, wondering how her community would calmly discuss two murders. She wore the Goonies cap pulled low on her face and kept her coat collar high, preferring to not be noticed.

“Hey, Madison.”

Knowing that voice, she turned and faced the tall man. So much for staying under the radar. “Uncle Rod. I’m a little surprised to see you here.”

“A double murder in the city limits? You bet I’m curious.” Her mother’s brother had been the only male relative in Madison’s life since her father’s death. Even though he lived on the outskirts of Bartonville, he rarely mixed with the townspeople. Madison appreciated him. He was one of the few people who didn’t eye her with sympathy, wondering why she kept to herself. He simply accepted her for who she was.

He followed her up the church stairs and then placed a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to find worry filling his face. “Here I’ve been concerned about you and your sister losing a close employee, but Lindsay was more to you than that, wasn’t she?” His eyes studied hers.

Madison swallowed, tempted to brush off the personal question. But this was her uncle; she could talk to him. “Yes. Lindsay was my closest friend.” Not that she had a lot of friends.

“I’m sorry, hon.” He pulled her into a big hug, and she rested her head against his shoulder. He smelled of rain and coffee. Comforting scents. For a long second, she believed everything was going to be all right.

Nothing will ever be right again.