A thumbnail worked under the flap.Paper tore louder than it should have.Inside was a single folded sheet.
Warren pulled it out and opened it.
Confusion then came.
Blank.
He stared at the page, then turned it over.
Both sides were empty.
At first, irritation cut through the dread.A stupid joke.A mind game.He had been made to drive all the way out here just to sit at an old table and sweat over nothing.He sighed with relief.Maybe the blackmailer had nothing on him after all.
Then footsteps rushed behind him.
Fast.
Close.
Warren began to turn.
The gunshot cracked through the lodge, and the blank paper in his hand splashed red.
He fell forward onto the table, the blood oozing out onto its wooden surface.
Not another thought went through Warren Holt’s mind.
CHAPTER ONE
Morning came to the woods with a hard white sun and no kindness in it.
Connor Chase guided the Sheriff's SUV along a rutted track north of Elmsview, the tires dropping into grooves left by logging trucks and hunters who never believed in slowing down.Branches leaned close on both sides.The wheels gripped the uneven dirt track as the vehicle climbed toward the ridge.
This was supposed to have been his day off.
A day without court dates and the trappings of daily rural disputes.No deputy needing help with a domestic call that had already gone sour.He had planned to finish that Stephen King novel, mow the stretch of yard behind his house he’d ignored for too long, then maybe eat lunch without a radio clipped to his belt and enjoy a beer on his porch.
Then death had come to Harlan County, and with one quick swipe of his scythe, shown Connor that life was never simple.Or planned.Worse, this was someone he knew.
A bend in the track forced him down to fifteen miles an hour.He glanced at the passenger seat.
A cherry pie sat there in a foil tin, covered in plastic wrap, a yellow sticky note fixed to the top.
FOR YOUR MOM.
AND ONE SLICE FOR YOU, SHERIFF.
Cheryl’s handwriting, neat and rounded followed by a cute little smiley face and an “x” for a kiss.She had handed it to him through the car window before he set off from the station.
Another pie.Another little gesture placed right where his mother could see it and ask the question she had been circling for months.
Connor could hear her already.
Cheryl’s lovely, Connor.If you know what’s good for you, you’ll snatch her up before someone else does.The type of woman who’ll help you find the answers.
Well, that depended on who was asking the questions.
His mother said that kind of thing as if decent women were produce at market, and he was standing there too long with an empty basket.
