Sitting up in the small bed of the workshop loft, Warner rubbed his eyes to clear them of sleep, while Bella emitted a soft growl. He groped for his watch on the nearby table and tilted it in the dim starlight filtering through the small window—4 a.m. He pulled the thick blankets closer and peered out the window beside the bed.
The bright Milky Way cast pale shadows over the surrounding clearing, and a pair of headlights approached on Wa-Wilkin Road. Now who’s out here this early in the morning? Will it ever just be a hunter or the sheriff?
His breathing picked up as he slumped back and waited to see what the vehicle would do when it reached the choice between taking the brushy tracks to the river bottom or driving into his property. Bella began to growl.
“It’s okay, girl,” he whispered, rubbing the dog’s back. The dark truck reached the drive and stopped. Turn around.
When the truck continued into the property, Warner was thrust wide-awake. With his heart pounding, he grabbed his knife and flashlight off the side table and leaned closer to the window. His breath fogged the lower half of the glass as the truck drew near and stopped with its headlights illuminating the workshop. The outside flooded with light as a spotlight swept over the building; Bella released a single nervous chuff.
“Crap,” Warner said, “not the bastard with the spotlight again.” Bella turned her eye to him as if in understanding.
Outside, the driver’s side door opened and a man stepped onto the frozen ground. He was dressed in dark hat and clothes, held a flashlight, and a polished black gun-belt hung on his hip. When he closed the door, the light’s ray briefly passed over the dark panel. Recognizing the emblem, Warner drew back in confusion mixed with relief. What the hell is the sheriff doing here?
Throwing off the blankets, Warner set the knife back on the table and flipped on his flashlight. Hustling on his pants, he shoved his bare feet into the house shoes normally used for nighttime nature-calls. When a cautious rap came from the door below, Bella leapt off the bed and charged to the edge of stairs. Stooping in the loft’s low headspace, Warner hurried to the stairwell to stand beside the dog.
“Stay,” he said, even though she gave no indication she planned to do otherwise.
Another knock sounded from below.
“Coming,” Warner called with a jolt of adrenaline as he headed downstairs.
Reaching the door, he eased it open, careful not to make any sudden moves—not when there’s a man with a gun outside. With the threshold lit by the glare of the spotlight, Warner stepped forward while the officer took two steps back.
“You Mr. Renshaw?”
Warner frowned before answering, “Yes, sir.”
The officer’s face tightened as he spoke with a tremor, “I’m Deputy Braun. Your folks been trying to get a hold of you for hours.”
Staring at the deputy, Warner felt snared by a waking-dream as he struggled to slow his heartbeat and sort out the officer’s message. How would he know my family? Did Kendra send him? But she’s not supposed to be home ‘til tomorrow.
The officer’s brow furrowed and his expression filled with pain.
Finding it difficult to breath, Warner gripped the threshold of the door as his senses narrowed on the young officer. When the deputy removed his cap, everything except the man’s face and faltering voice faded from Warner’s view.
“Sir, I’m sorry to be the one to report this, but your mama says to say your daddy passed away at midnight.”