FRIDAY, 10:16 P.M.
EMERALD M RANCH
Charlie spotted a quick flash of light in the darkness—moonlight bouncing off a solar panel before it disappeared behind the approaching clouds.
The cabin.
Though her feet and legs ached, she picked up her pace until she could make out the place she’d called home the last few weeks. If she didn’t know her way around these mountains, she would have been in serious trouble. She’d had to stay focused with each step so she didn’t trip over rocks or gnarled tree roots or fall into a ravine. The small log cabin never looked so good. She unlocked the door, entered, and closed it before sagging against the cedar logs.
That had been a close call.
Her phone buzzed. She read a text from Mack. He’d been trying to reach her, he said.
I’m riding out to meet you. Please answer my text.
When she’d fled the house, she’d left the stupid radio at the bottom of the closet. The sheriff, if he ventured into the house, might find that—and then what?
She quickly answered the text, hoping she could stop Mack before he made the trip. He’d have to get a signal in order to receive her text though. She could try the SAT phone. He’d probably tried her on that, considering this an emergency.
If she stood just right in the cabin, she could get one bar on her cell. When his text back to her came through, she breathed a sigh of relief.
Mack texted that they needed to talk. She replied and apologized about Amber and said that she would be at work tomorrow. They could talk then. She was exhausted after her three-hour trek back to the cabin. She’d messed up good this time. Sheriff Everett would call Mack to come retrieve Amber or would return her himself. Either way, how would Mack explain the horse being on that property?
The horse’s presence would make Sheriff Everett ask questions. She had utterly exposed herself tonight. But she wouldn’t let that be for nothing. She had to be close to finding out who killed her mom. Anxious to look through the bank statements, she would risk using the lamp tonight. Besides, she’d spent several hours walking the trails in the dark when her flashlight gave out. The light would go a long way to boost her spirits.
She set the lamp on the table and stacked the bank statements she’d held on to through the cold night. She thumbed through them and found what she was looking for.
A deposit once a month for three thousand dollars. That wasn’t the money Momma had made from her job at the nursing home. It was from the trust fund she had mentioned—Endeavor Holdings. That told Charlie something and nothing. But who was the money from? Almost forty grand a year. And why had the money stopped coming through two months before someone murdered her?
Charlie’s feet ached and her shins throbbed. Her head wasn’t much better. Exhaustion cut her to the bone. She shouldn’t let herself give in to the waves of doubt and regret, grief and sorrow rippling over her. But maybe just this once.
She pressed her head into her arms on the table and sobbed.