“Grace,” Holden said, hunched over her while the EMTs raised the gurney from the ground to waist height, locking the legs. He clasped her cold hand as paramedics wheeled her to the ambulance. “Grace.”
Please open your eyes.
As though she could hear his thoughts, her head rocked from side to side and she opened her eyes. It took her a few seconds to focus on him. “Holden? What happened?”
That was what he wanted to know. “You were knocked unconscious. Who did this to you?”
“A man on a motorcycle hit me with his bike,” she said weakly, and he’d heard one racing away as he pulled up. “He was fighting with the woman.”
“Did you see his license plate? Did you get a good look at him?”
“No, uh, I didn’t.” She glanced around. “Where are they taking me?”
“An ambulance is here. The paramedics are going to take you to the hospital and make sure you’re okay.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
Grace didn’t look it. Her eyes, usually bright and sparkling, were weary. Her golden, tawny-brown skin was pale, and every inch of her was shaking. “You’re not fine. You’re going to the hospital.”
“But I need to check on her. The woman I told you about.” Concern tightened her delicate features. “I think she’s hurt.”
The woman was beyond anyone’s help now. After Holden had made sure Grace was alive and radioed for an ambulance, he’d noticed the body and had checked on the woman. No pulse. But he didn’t want to burden Grace with that news just yet.
“Don’t worry about anything. I’ve got it under control. You need to go to the hospital. Make sure you don’t have a concussion or internal bleeding, or something. We need to be sure you’re all right.”
Sheriff Daniel Clark had tasked him with two priorities while he was on vacation. Make sure that all hell didn’t break loose in town and keep an eye on his little sister.
And by “keep an eye on” he meant “don’t let her get into trouble.” Apparently, it was too late for that.
Her brother—his boss—would never forgive him if she wasn’t going to be okay. Holden wouldn’t forgive himself, either.
The EMTs needed to get the gurney in the ambulance, so he let go of her hand.
Her soft brown eyes met his and he clenched his jaw against the sudden tug inside him. That happened with her. A lot. Sometimes when their eyes met, like now. Sometimes her smile triggered it. Sometimes it was for no reason at all other than he was near her.
Don’t go there. Torturing himself by wanting a woman that he couldn’t have would be a huge mistake. Gargantuan.
Holden forced himself to detach, putting space between them on more than one level as he took a step back. “Have a nurse let me know when they have her test results,” he said to one of the EMTs. Someone from the hospital would call the sheriff’s office and dispatch would relay the message to him.
“Sure thing,” the EMT said with a nod before closing the doors.
Shortly thereafter, the ambulance pulled off.
On his way to the crime scene, Holden reached the spot where he’d found Grace unconscious in the street. Anger burned through him. Also fear. Grace could’ve been killed tonight, on his watch. Whoever did this was going to pay.
He picked up a baseball bat. The letters DBG had been burned into the wood. It was the bat they kept under the bar at Delgado’s.
One plus one equaled Grace had been impatient and had acted hastily. Probably driven by a need to be a Good Samaritan albeit an impulsive one.
He hoped she was going to be okay. If he had known she had planned to take matters into her own hands, he would’ve insisted that she sit tight and wait for him.
Turning, he glanced at the silver truck she’d been lying next to. The right side was scratched like it had been grazed by another vehicle. Perhaps the motorcycle that had hit Grace. He took out his flashlight and looked closer at the front corner. Flecks of black paint were in the grooves.
On the chance that the damage had occurred tonight, he got an evidence bag and scraped the paint flakes inside. Then he sealed it.
A few feet away, the area around the body and the staircase was cordoned off thanks to Deputy Ashley Russo.
“We need to track down the owner of that vehicle.” Holden pointed to the truck. “The motorcycle that hit Grace might’ve scraped it.”
“Got it,” Ashley said, writing down the plate number.
Glancing up at the second floor of the B and B, Holden swept his flashlight over the landing where the wood railing had been broken as the woman fell to her death.
Or had been pushed.
They wouldn’t know for certain until the medical examiner issued a report.
The deceased woman’s torso was on the pavement, a stream of blood flowing from her head down the sidewalk into the gutter. The lower half of her body was in the grass. He crouched down next to her, balancing on the balls of his feet. Ten years as a deputy sheriff had toughened him, given him a cold, cynical perspective of death and its many causes. Scenes such as this one no longer shocked, but it continued to sicken him. He looked over the woman. Long brown hair. Brown eyes wide and still with that eerie expression death left behind. Slim build. Early to midtwenties.
The girl had barely lived before her life had ended.
“Do you recognize her?” Ashley asked.
She looked familiar, but her name didn’t come to mind. “No.” He took in her lightweight jacket and canvas shoes that were worthless in the snow. All odd for this time of year. No purse.
“Did you check her pockets for an ID?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. No such luck. No wallet. No money. Only a set of keys to the B and B.” Wearing latex gloves, Ashley handed him the keys.
He donned a set himself before taking them. One key was marked for the exterior door. The other was to room number three. “I’ll go take a look around her room. Hang on to that,” he said, handing her the baseball bat.
She took it and offered him a couple of evidence bags in return.
“I’ve got some,” he said.
“I already notified the medical examiner. He’s on his way. I can start processing the scene if you’d like.”
Holden was grateful to have a young deputy who took initiative and didn’t have to be told what to do every step of the way. “That would be good. Go ahead.”
The ME was on the brink of retiring and was a bit slow responding to calls after dinner. With Ashley handling this end, it freed him up to focus on other things.
He ducked under the yellow crime scene tape. Along the way up the staircase, he swept his flashlight over the steps, keeping his eyes peeled for any evidence. At such times, which thankfully weren’t often, he wished that his department had a proper crime scene unit. But they didn’t have the manpower or resources. They would have to process the scene themselves and the rain would only complicate the situation.
He checked the exterior door. It was locked. Using the key, he opened the door and stepped into the hall. Two wall sconces were on, providing soft amber light. He shook off a bit of the rain and the cold.
Two doors down he found room number three. Inside the tiny space was a full-size bed that was meticulously made, a nightstand, small armoire and an attached three-piece bathroom. The room was tidy, nothing out of place.
Both the armoire and nightstand were empty, except for a Bible—the inside of the front flap was labeled as the property of the B and B. No clothes were hanging up. No luggage or an overnight bag. Nothing was stowed under the bed or hidden beneath the mattress. A single towel hung from the back of the bathroom door. On the countertop, beside a cheap toothbrush and little dish of what appeared to be homemade toothpaste was a photograph.
Of a little girl.
Maybe three or four years old. The child was smiling and hugging a doll that looked as if it had been made by hand. Yarn for hair. Pieces of felt for eyes. Lips and a rosy hue to the cheeks painted on.
The Polaroid picture was propped up on the mirror. It was in excellent condition. Looked as if it had been taken recently. The photo of the child was the sole personal possession in the room.
Disappointed there wasn’t more to go on, Holden bagged the picture.
By the time he went back outside, the rain had stopped, and the medical examiner had arrived and gotten to work. He exchanged a few perfunctory words with the ME, preferring to have an in-depth conversation once he had determined the official cause of death.
“Did you find anything?” Ashley asked.
Holden held up the evidence bag. “That’s it. Nothing else.”
“I’ll take it in and log it. Now what?”
“Time to wake up Mr. and Mrs. Quenby.” He could have gone through the house down to the first floor. The owners were used to guests disturbing them at all hours for a variety of reasons, but he didn’t want to track rain and mud throughout the place.
At the front of the B and B, he rapped a fist against the door. It was almost eleven forty-five. The owners were surely in bed and would need a minute or two to gather themselves.
He turned on his heel and scanned the area. The back of Delgado’s was lit up. Holden could see the rear door, the dumpster and Grace’s car parked near Mitch Cody’s. He was another deputy, who lived right above the restaurant. When Holden had been waiting for the ambulance, he had called him to see if was still awake. Deputy Livingston was manning the office and there was no one else on duty tonight to assist. Fortunately, Mitch hadn’t been asleep and volunteered to come over before Holden could ask despite the fact he was working the early shift. Holden wanted someone in the office he trusted to handle anything that popped up when he was getting shut-eye.
Normally Holden worked from nine a.m. to seven p.m., four days a week unless he was needed. The rest of the time he spent helping out at his family’s ranch.
While he was in charge, he had been putting in thirteen-hour days, from eleven in the morning until midnight. Not coincidentally the same hours Grace worked at the bar and grill. On the evenings she closed, he had taken to driving by Delgado’s about fifteen minutes to twelve to put his mind at ease that she’d locked up safely.
It wasn’t some sixth sense that had compelled him to check on her, only paranoia.
After the disaster that had ruined his life and nearly ended his career last year, Paranoid had become his middle name.
A shuffling sound drawing closer on the other side of the door had Holden turning around. The chain slid off and the dead bolt flipped.
All right, Jane Doe, let’s find out who you are.
A lanky man with glasses and a receding gray hairline opened the door wearing a robe tied closed over his pajamas. “Holden?” Arthur Quenby looked him over from head to toe. “You’re still with the sheriff’s department? I thought you were fired.”
Unease slithered through Holden. “No, Mr. Quenby. I’m still chief deputy. Because I didn’t break the law.”
But he had been a naive sucker who had been duped by his former boss and ex-fiancée. The two criminals had conspired and colluded and conned Holden into believing everything was peachy when in fact things had been rotten to the core.
Shame was the gift that kept on giving.
“Huh. I’m surprised they kept you on after everything that happened,” Mr. Quenby said, and Holden was sick of folks giving him the “guilt by association” treatment. “I suppose it’s because you’re a Powell.”
Gritting his teeth, Holden ignored the comment. “Mr. Quenby, I need to ask you a few questions about one of your guests.”
“Would you like to step inside?”
“No, thank you.” He didn’t see the need to get the Quenbys’ foyer wet. “Did you have a guest staying in room number three?”
“Not did, I do. Why? Did she get into some kind of trouble?”
“What was her name?”
“Skye. Why do you keep using the past tense?”
This part was never easy. Always harder when you had to notify the family, but telling someone that there was a dead body on their premises wasn’t pleasant, either. “We found her body on your property. At the foot of the exterior staircase that leads to the second-floor rooms.”
“Body? She’s dead?”
Giving a slight nod, Holden asked, “Do you happen to have a surname for Skye?”
“Starlight. Skye Starlight.”
Holden groaned. That wasn’t her real last name. But he knew where to go to find out. The same place where all the other Starlights lived.
“She was from that compound,” Mr. Quenby said, quirking an eyebrow.
It was as though the words had been plucked from Holden’s mind.
Once again, Holden nodded, dreading that he would have to step inside the infamous compound of the Shining Light cult. Led by Marshall McCoy, who now went by Empyrean, but he hadn’t made the name a legal change.
“Figured as much,” Holden said.
“I wonder what goes on in there, what it’s like.”
Holden didn’t. “How long was she here?”
“This was her third day. She had to go back tomorrow.”
“Did she say why she had to leave? Was someone forcing her to go?”
“I don’t know.” Arthur lifted his shoulder. “Something about the phases of the moon.”
“Of course,” Holden grumbled and restrained a sigh. Everything regarding those cultists revolved around the lunar cycles. “How did she pay for the room? Did she use a credit card? Cash?”
“Credit card?” Arthur scoffed. “She barely had adequate clothes and didn’t have any money. Claimed her ‘secular family,’” he said, using air quotes, “wouldn’t let her stay with them this time, but she was willing to work to cover the cost of the room. Mildred and I took pity on her. We had her clean the bathrooms, do laundry, as well as change the linen in the other room being occupied.”
“Who else is staying with you?”
“A fellow from out of town, a Mr. Hughes, visiting family in the area for the holidays. Quiet. Keeps to himself.”
“Did Skye happen to mention her birth family’s surname or where they live?”
Arthur shook his head. “Nope.”
Great. “Was this her first time staying with you?” Holden asked.
“Yup, it sure was.”
“To your knowledge, did she have any visitors? Receive any phone calls?”
Arthur mused the question a moment and then shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of. She was quite friendly, but not too talkative. A nice girl. Hard worker. Such a shame.” The older man rubbed at his salt-and-pepper beard. “How did she die?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss details of an ongoing investigation,” Holden said.
“Oh, all right.” Arthur’s tone rose in surprise as he tightened his robe’s belt. “I was just curious.”
“That’s all the questions I have for now.” Holden’s cell phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. The number was to the hospital. “Deputy Russo will come in, get a statement from the other guest and secure the entrance. Mr. Hughes will have to use the front door for a few days. Excuse me, I have to take this. Try to get some sleep, Mr. Quenby.” Walking away, he answered. “Chief Deputy Powell.”
“Hi, this is Terri Tipton over at Laramie General.”
He knew her. They had gone to high school together, though Terri had been two grades ahead of him. “How is Grace?”
“We ran a CT scan. It looks good and the doctor said no concussion. She’s going to be fine,” Terri said, and Holden exhaled a small breath of relief. “We’re not going to admit her, but she’ll need a ride home.”
“Okay. Thanks. Let her know that someone will be there shortly,” he said, hoping that person would be him, but he needed to check on the crime scene first. Putting away his phone, he made a beeline to Ashley. “Hey, do you think you can handle this for about an hour? Get a statement from the other guest once Mitch gets here?”
“Yeah, sure.” She put her hands on her hips. “Where are you taking off to?”
“The hospital just called about Grace.”
“Is she going to be all right?”
“She got a clean bill of health.”
“That’s fortunate. You dodged a bullet,” Ashley said. “I would’ve hated to be in your shoes if something happened to her.”
His situation at the sheriff’s department was already tenuous. He was lucky to have a job and the whole town knew it. Gossip about the scandal still hadn’t died down. Likely never would. “I’m going to pick her up and give her a ride home.”
“Did we get a name on Jane Doe?”
“Skye. Starlight.”
Ashley winced, understanding what it meant. “Are you going to go to the compound?”
Looked as though he had no other choice. “Sometime tomorrow.” After he spoke with Special Agent Becca Hammond. She was one of two FBI agents working on a local task force. The other was his best friend, Nash Garner. His buddy was also on vacation, in Colorado for the holidays with the love of his life, Lynn Delgado.
According to Nash, Becca was the expert on the Shining Light.
“Can I tag along?” Ashley asked. “I’ve always wanted to see inside that place.”
Most folks had that same burning curiosity. Holden was not most folks. He would be happy to never set foot inside the compound.
“Yeah, you can come. Why not?” Besides, he owed her one. “Did you happen to see beneath her jacket, what she was wearing?”
“A knit sweater.”
“What color?”
“Green. Why?”
At the moment it wasn’t important. Tomorrow, during the visit at the compound, it might matter. The cult had a color system. Each hue meant something different. “Wanted to know for my report. Come to think of it, I didn’t notice her wearing one of the Shining Light necklaces.” Every member wore one. A pendant of a half-moon and sun. “Did you see one?”
Ashley bent down and took a look. “No necklace. I’ll search in the grass and on the landing for it.” She stood up. “Do you want me to play chauffeur and save you the hassle of driving Grace home?”
It was no hassle. After finding her unconscious, he needed to see for himself that she was indeed okay. There was also the fact that he enjoyed the moments he got to spend with her, as few and far between as they might be.
“No, I’ll do it.” He headed for his vehicle, one of the department’s SUVs, and spotted Mitch making his way over. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Sure you don’t want to head home after you drop her off? You need to get some sleep,” she called out after him.
He’d love nothing more than that. Long days and long hours were nothing new to him—working a ranch required it—but something told him he was going to need all his strength for this investigation.
“I’ve got a crime scene to process, a report to file and a job to do,” he said. “Sleep will have to wait.”
Never in his life had he been a slacker or cut corners, and now more than ever he had a lot to prove. To everyone. Because they were all watching him.
Waiting for him to slip up and fail.