She didn’t know him.
Which meant this wasn’t Garrick’s doing. Wasn’t connected to her.
Except—how could she be sure?
“I don’t recognize him,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
Sheriff Sutherland nodded and slipped his phone back into his jacket. “Thank you for looking.”
“Do you have a name?” Millie asked. “An ID?”
“No.” The sheriff’s expression remained carefully neutral. “His wallet was gone. We’re still working to identify him—checking for a vehicle he might have driven here, running his fingerprints. It’ll take some time.”
Millie’s hands tightened around the edge of the counter. A missing wallet. That suggested robbery, didn’t it? Or at least the appearance of one.
“How did he die?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Caleb and the sheriff exchanged a glance.
Sutherland hesitated then said evenly, “Blunt force trauma to the head.”
chapter
twenty-eight
The words settledover Millie like ice.
Blunt force trauma.
Someone had hit this man hard enough to kill him.
Millie’s mind filled in the rest without permission. A rock, maybe. Or a branch. Something heavy and deliberate. Not an accident. Not a fall.
Someone had stood over this man and struck him with enough force to end his life.
Her stomach rolled again, harder this time.
She pressed a hand to her mouth and looked away, focusing on the floor, on Biscuit, on anything that wasn’t the image burned into her mind.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Millie’s head snapped up.
Valentina slowly descended the steps, Pippa cradled in her arms. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and she wore yoga pants and an oversized sweater with pink hearts on it.
Her eyes were wide, her expression concerned as she took in the scene—the sheriff, Caleb’s tense posture, Millie’s pale face.
“What’s going on?” Valentina stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “I saw the police cars from my window.”
Sheriff Sutherland turned toward her, his posture shifting into professional neutrality. “Ma’am. I’m Sheriff Sutherland. I need to ask you a few questions about last night.”
“Of course.” Valentina sounded calm and cooperative. She adjusted Pippa in her arms, the small dog watching the room with alert, nervous eyes. “Whatever I can do to help.”
Millie watched her.
Watched the way Valentina’s gaze flicked briefly to Caleb, then to the sheriff, before landing on Millie herself.
There was something in that look. Not fear, exactly. Not guilt.
