Читать книгу Rugged Defender - B.J. Daniels - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Justin drove out to the Rogers Ranch. Dawson was a couple years younger. They’d grown up just down the road from each other. Of all the people he’d known, Justin trusted Dawson the most since they’d been friends since they were kids.

As he drove up into his old friend’s yard, Dawson came out of the barn wiping his hands on a rag. Past him, Justin could see an old tractor with some of its parts lying on a bench nearby.

“You still trying to get that thing running?” he said as he got out of his truck and approached the rancher.

Dawson wiped his right hand on his canvas pants and extended it. They shook hands both smiling at each other. “I swear that tractor is going to be the end of me,” he said, glancing toward the barn. “I know I should get rid of it but we’re like old friends.” His gaze came back to Justin. “Speaking of old friends...”

Justin took a breath and let it out before he said. “I needed to come back and take care of a few things.”

Dawson nodded. “You need a place to stay?”

“I’d appreciate it. I could stay at the hotel in town but—”

“No reason to. You know you’re welcome here. I have a guest room in the house.”

“I’d prefer the bunkhouse if you don’t mind.”

Dawson seemed to study him for a moment. “I was just headed up to the main house. If my mother heard you were staying here and she didn’t get to see you, she’d skin me alive.”

Justin laughed and shook his head. “Worse, she’d skin me alive.”

“Why don’t we hop into my pickup?” his friend suggested. “I want to hear all about where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing.”

“Wish it was worth telling. Let’s just say I’ve been on the run, but I’m back.”

“To stay?” Dawson asked.

“Hard to say.”

Dawson slapped him on the shoulder as they neared his truck. “Well, I hope you’re home for good. How long have you been in town?”

“Just got in earlier.”

“Well, then you haven’t heard. Annabelle Clementine and I are engaged.”

“No kidding,” Justin said. “Congratulations. I’m glad to hear that. I always thought you and Annabelle belonged together. I heard her sister Chloe’s here for the holidays.”

* * *

SHERIFF MCCALL CRAWFORD motioned Chloe into her office. “You look so serious, maybe you’d better close the door.”

She smiled as she closed the door and took the chair the sheriff offered her. “I’m here about the Drew Calhoun shooting.”

McCall nodded. “What about it?”

“I’d like to see the file.” The sheriff raised a brow. “It happened five years ago and was ruled an accident. I wouldn’t think you’d have a problem with my seeing it.”

“I have to ask why you’re interested,” McCall said. “As a reporter?”

“I’m currently not a reporter for a newspaper,” she said, but feeling like whatever had pushed her into that career would always be with her. Curiosity. The kind that killed cats. “I’m taking some time off to consider my options.”

“What exactly are you looking for then with Drew Calhoun’s death?” the sheriff asked.

“Answers.”

McCall said nothing for a few moments. “Is there anyone who might want to get you involved in his death?”

She thought of Justin. “Not that I know of.”

“So why get involved?”

“It’s what I do. I’m an investigative reporter. Maybe it is the years of doing this for a living, but I feel there might be more to the story.”

“There isn’t. I investigated Drew Calhoun’s death. It was an accident.”

Chloe studied her for a moment. She’d heard good things about McCall. “Then there shouldn’t be a problem with looking into the case.”

“I would be happy to tell you anything you’d like to know.” McCall leaned back in her chair. “Ask away.”

“I understand Bert Calhoun believes his son Justin fired the fatal shot. Was there gunshot residue on Justin’s hands and clothing?”

“Some.”

Chloe blinked. She hadn’t been expecting that.

The sheriff continued. “Why don’t I tell you exactly what’s in the report? Drew was found by his brother, Justin, in a cabin on the property. The gun belonged to Drew. Justin said he heard two gunshots and went to investigate.”

“Two shots?”

“One bullet caught Drew in the heart, the other lodged in the wall by the door, which he was facing. Both were from the same gun, the one Justin said he found his brother holding in his lap.”

“So how did Justin—”

“Drew was still alive, according to his brother, and trying to fire the gun a third time. Justin rushed to him and took the gun away from him and called for help. But before the ambulance and EMTs could get there, Drew died.”

Chloe sat back. “So why did I hear Bert Calhoun thinks Justin killed his brother?”

The sheriff shook her head. “I’ve found grieving parents especially have trouble accepting their child’s death. They don’t want to face it. They tell me that their son knew guns, had since he was a boy. That he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to shoot himself.” She shrugged. “The truth is accidents happen all the time. People get careless.”

“Was there any sign of a struggle?” Chloe asked.

McCall glanced away and Chloe knew she’d hit on something. “Apparently Drew had a run-in with someone earlier that night. He’d been drinking, according to the blood alcohol level hours later. He had a split lip, a cut over one eye. The eye was nearly swollen shut, which could also explain why he was careless with the gun. He had lacerations on his arms and jaw.”

“Lacerations?”

The sheriff met her gaze. “Scratches.”

“Like from fingernails?”

“The coroner said that was definitely an option,” she said noncommittally.

“Do you have any idea who he tangled with that night?” Chloe asked.

She shook her head. “But he and his brother had been heard arguing earlier in the day. When Justin was questioned his knuckles were skinned and he had a bruise on his forehead. He admitted to having argued with his brother but swears he didn’t beat him up. As for his own injuries, he said they were self-inflicted. He alleged that he’d taken out his temper on a tree out by the pond on the ranch property. When tests were run on his hands, fragments of tree resin were found.”

“So he was telling the truth,” she said. “Did you pass all of this on to his father?”

“I did. But like I said—”

“Bert had his mind made up.” She nodded. “Isn’t it possible that someone fired the shot that would kill Drew, dropped the gun and ran? Drew picked up the gun and fired the shot that was found embedded in the wall by the door?”

“Possible. Justin said he heard the sound of a vehicle engine as he was calling 911. But we found no evidence another person had been in that room let alone shot Drew.”

“You ruled it an accident.” She met the sheriff’s gaze. “It sounds more like a suicide.”

The sheriff bristled. “That’s not what the evidence led me to. I wasn’t alone. The coroner agreed.”

“But you also don’t want this to be a suicide.”

McCall sighed. “No one wants to tell a father that his son killed himself, that’s true. But there was no suicide note. No apparent depression or talk of suicide. People who knew him didn’t believe Drew would have purposely taken his own life. Also there is no evidence that Drew was trying to kill himself,” McCall said. “Alcohol was involved. His wouldn’t be the first accident with a firearm when the user has been drinking.”

Chloe sat forward. “But what if he was trying to defend himself?”

“From whom?”

“That’s what I don’t know, but the shot in the direction of the door bothers me.” She could see that it had bothered the sheriff, as well.

“I believe he was impaired enough that he didn’t have control over the gun,” McCall said.

Drew had been in a fight and he was drunk. She supposed he could have gotten his gun out, thinking whoever had given him the beating might want to finish him off. And in his drunken state shot the wall and then himself as he fumbled with the gun.

“Did you know Drew Calhoun?” the sheriff asked.

She shook her head. “He was older so he was out of high school before I got there. I’ve heard stories about him. I know he and Justin didn’t get along.”

The sheriff nodded. “I’m not sure what you plan to do with this information, but I hope you’re sensitive to the pain a tragedy like this leaves in a community, not to mention how a father is still struggling to deal with his loss.”

Chloe had conflicting emotions when it came to the case. What she knew of Drew assured her that he had no reason to want to kill himself. He had been arrogant, wild and his father’s favorite. He’d been spoiled all his life. Suicide didn’t seem likely. Not that people who have shown no sign of suicidal tendencies previously don’t take their lives in weak moments.

“I lived with a lot of what-ifs in my life, not knowing the truth about my own father,” McCall said.

“But then you found out the truth.”

The sheriff nodded. “Which led to other truths perhaps I hadn’t wanted to know. I found out that whenever you go digging into something like this, it can be dangerous, especially if you go into it believing one thing only to find out you’re wrong. But I can see that your mind is made up.” She got to her feet. “Let me get you the information.”

As Chloe was leaving the sheriff’s office, she almost collided with a man in uniform. He caught her as she stumbled against him. As her gaze rose to his face, she felt a shock. “Kelly?”

“That’s Deputy Locke to you,” he said seriously. “Don’t look so surprised.”

Shocked was more like it. It felt like running headlong into the solid brick wall of her past. All the pain the man had caused her. She’d hated Kelly Locke. For a moment, she couldn’t speak. She’d thought he’d left town and said as much.

“I came back. Seems you did the same thing.”

She stared at him, her throat constricting. Everyone had people in their past who’d helped shape them. If anything, Kelly Locke had made her the cynical woman she’d become. It was what made her dig for stories, looking for the truth. The truth meant more to her than anything. She’d already lived with the lies because of him.

“You like the uniform?” he asked, making her realize she’d been staring.

“I never thought of you like this,” she stammered.

“You thought of me?” He grinned and brushed back a lock of blond hair from his blue eyes. When she didn’t respond, he said, “So what are you doing here?”

She opened her mouth, closed it. “Just stopped in to see the sheriff.”

“Anything I can help you with?”

“No.” She said it a little too quickly.

He raised a brow. “If you don’t want to tell me...”

The shock was starting to wear off. “I’m sure you’re busy with keeping Whitehorse safe from jaywalkers.”

“Funny,” he said as he puffed up, his hand going to the weapon on his hip. “But then again, you always did like the one-liners.”

She looked into his handsome face and thought as she had years ago how unfair it was that Kelly Locke could look so good and yet be such a jackass. But it was worse than that. She knew how cruel the man could be since she’d stupidly dated him at one point. That he was now a deputy and armed made her a little uneasy—especially given the way things had ended between them.

“So how long have you been a deputy?”

He grinned. “Almost six years.”

“That long.” It would mean that he’d been a deputy when Drew Calhoun was killed.

“I’m the strong arm of the law,” he said, his gaze meeting hers and holding it. “Which means you’d best watch yourself.” He lowered his voice and leaned closer so the dispatcher couldn’t hear. She caught a cloying waft of men’s cologne. “I’d hate to have to cuff you and take you for a ride in the back of my patrol car.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” With that, she stepped past him and headed for the exit. She could feel herself trembling, remembering what he’d done to her. She didn’t have to look back to know he was watching her. His gaze burned into her back. The man gave her more than the creeps. He scared her.