As always, this is a work in progress and there could be (will be) typos, plot holes, and other errors but those will be fixed before the book is published a couple of months from now.
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Chapter 10
The drive to Laddsburg was scenic, relaxing and definitely breathtaking. The road curved up and down and then around several wooded areas before opening out into a valley featuring wide open fields where old-fashioned farm tractors sat by large bales of hay and cows wandered. On the hill above the Valley was a white church building against a brilliantly blue, cloudless sky.
Gladwynn was so distracted by the church she almost missed the turn off Templeton Road that her grandmother had told her about. She hadn’t even gone half a mile when an old-fashioned stone wall covered in vines and beautiful white and light purple flowers caught her attention.
Her breath caught as a cobblestone cottage surrounded by wildflowers came into view beyond the wall. A dirt driveway passed between stone wall, leading to a more modern looking garage separate from the cottage.
Her grandmother was right. The cottage was beautiful. Like something out of a Thomas Kinkade painting. She turned into the driveway slowly, taking in the beautifully finished wooden front porch, a slight departure from the more vintage feel of the rest of the cottage. Morning glory stretched up outside the red front door, the hedgerow had been shaped into the most pleasing square shape, and lavender sprouted up in the flower beds under the front windows.
She shut the car off and simply sat for a few moments, admiring the dark green hillside behind the cottage, watching a herd of Jersey cows grazing in the meadow at the lower end of it, and smelling freshly cut hay. Her gaze dropped to a small barn or stable behind the garage. It and a pasture were surrounded by a white fence. Luke was walking from the open door, his appearance startling her.
Gone were the neat khakis and white dress shirt she was used to seeing him in. He was wearing a stained gray t-shirt, faded blue jeans, and brown heavy work boots. Dark brown dirt was smeared on one cheek and light blond whiskers dotted his jawline. He hadn’t seen her yet, he was looking at the ground as he walked, his hand on the back of his neck, a frown creasing his brow.
She knew she couldn’t back out without him seeing her. Would he be bothered that she was seeing him unpolished, so to speak? She reached for the casserole dish as he reached the end of the gravel area near the garage and started to turn toward the house.
He must have caught the movement of her opening the car door out of the corner of his eye because he looked up quickly, a surprised expression on his face that quickly morphed into a smile.
“Oh hallo,” he said as she stepped out of the car. “I didn’t know I had a visitor.”
She stepped forward and held the casserole dish out toward him as he turned to face her more directly. “Grandma asked me to drop this off to you.”
Sweat glistened on his forehead as he walked toward her and she briefly wondered how smelly he might be after clearly working in his barn. When he came closer, though, she caught a whiff of fresh hay, vanilla and orange and nothing else.
He reached for the dish. “Ah, there’s my dish that your kleptomaniac grandmother stole.” He winked. “She didn’t need to rush getting it back. I told her that she could bring it to church Sunday instead.”
Instead she made me drive it out here so we would be forced to talk to each other, Gladwynn thought as he took the dish. She probably took the dish on purpose in the first place.
“Well, you know Grandma. When she wants something done, she wants it done now.”
Luke laughed, small lines crinkling the skin at the corners of his eyes. “Aye, that’s true, but she also gets a lot done that needs to be done. Without her, the church and community as a whole would surely be lost.”
Gladwynn tipped her head in agreement. “Our family would be as well.” She gestured to the cottage and barn. “Your home is gorgeous.”
“Thank you. It’s a bit of Northern Ireland for me in Pennsylvania. This area already feels like home but this cottage and the land around it makes it feel even more like home.”
A chicken clucked and she looked down to see the light brown bird pecking at her shoes. Luke waved at the chicken. “Hey, Helen, get lost. Those are shoes, not food.”
An amused smile tugged at her mouth. “Helen? You named your chicken Helen?”
He grinned. “Sure did. Her feathers are the same color of my sixth-grade teacher’s hair and her name was Helen. So, therefore, this chicken is Helen.”
“Do you name all of your chickens?”
“Of course, I do. It’s the polite thing to do. I can’t very well say, hey chick number ten, move over, I need to get your eggs. Instead I can say, ‘Beatrice, move aside, love. I’d like to take your eggs for my breakfast.’”
She let out a laugh at the same moment a pig snorted from somewhere to the left. “You have pigs too?”
“I certainly do.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the house. “Let me go put this dish inside and I’ll introduce you to Herbert.”
He returned a few moments later and held his hand out toward the barn. “Right this way.”
She fell in step with him and they walked toward the barn, taking a stone sidewalk that looked hand built around the garage to get there.
She twirled her keys on her finger as she walked. “I hope this question doesn’t come off as nosey or rude, but you built all this on a pastor’s salary?”
He laughed as he opened the front gate leading to the small barn, which now that she was closer could see had recently been freshly painted red and featured an American flag hanging on the side.
“No, actually. I built it on the inheritance by uncle left me in his will. It was small but enough to help me truly make Marson County my home.”
A loud snort turned her attention to a large brown and white pig waddling toward her across a mud-covered pasture. Or was it a hog? She wasn’t sure.
“There he is,” Luke declared. “Herbert The Pig himself.”
The beast smelled awful but something about his face was endearing and she couldn’t help stooping down, reaching her hand in through the fence, and scratching his rough head.
From her stooped position she could see a small chicken coup on the other side of the pasture. “You’re running a real farm here, it looks like.” She stood and couldn’t miss the amused smile on his face. “Thinking of stepping out of the pulpit and into the manure full time?”
He laughed loudly and once again she was struck with what a pleasant, masculine sound it was. “Not at all. The animals are simply my friends, my hobby, and sometimes my lunch.”
Her eyes narrowed and then she glanced back at the pig. “But not Herbert, right?”
He reached over the fence and patted Herbert’s large rump. “Definitely Herbert. Sad to say, he’ll be on my breakfast plate soon too. Parts of him anyhow.”
A small gasp came from her. “You’re going to butcher him?”
“I am.”
“You’re not.”
“I am indeed.” His blues eyes twinkled, matching the smile he was wearing as he leaned one arm on top of the fence post. “My mouth waters just thinking about it.”
Now she was even more horrified. “Luke Callahan! That’s just awful. You treat this little pig like your friend today and tomorrow you’re just going to slaughter him?”
“No, not tomorrow. He’s not fat enough yet. Probably next spring.” He paused and studied her briefly before asking. “What are you some kind of vegetarian?” Then he laughed. “You don’t have to answer that, I know you’re not a vegetarian. I saw you put away at least three hamburgers at the church picnic a couple of weeks ago.
Her cheeks blazed hot. It sounded like he was suggesting she was as much of a pig as Herbert at this point. “No, I’m not a vegetarian but it’s different when you actually see what you’re eating while it’s still alive.” She rubbed the hog’s head as it grunted.
He sighed. “You’re a weird one, Gladwynn Grant.”
She cleared her throat and stopped petting Herbert. “And with that, I have to get to work.”
She turned and began to walk toward her car, stopping when she felt a hand on her elbow. She glanced up and Luke’s expression was serious. “Now. Now. Don’t be offended. I didn’t mean that you were a pig or anything. Just that you definitely eat meat.”
She nodded. “I definitely do, but I hope you don’t offer any of Herbert to me in the future because I would be horrified.”
He laid a hand on his chest. “On my honor, I will not feed you a bit of Herbert at any time – not even his tasty, melt-in-your mouth shanks I plan to cook one lovely Sunday afternoon in the spring.”
She made a face. The entire conversation, coupled with the sight of him looking so rugged, was shattering her perception of Pastor Luke Callahan and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
In turns out that Luke wasn’t always perfectly dressed or wearing a dazzling, clean-shaven smile. He didn’t only wear dress shirts and khakis after all. And he also possessed a slightly dark and very edgy sense of humor. The realization that he was different than what she’d pegged him to be made her feel a little woozy.
He fell in step with her on the way back to her car.
Her next question fell out before she’d really had time to think it through. “I was just wondering — how well did you know Samantha Mors?”
He stopped walking and looked at her with wide eyes. “That’s an out of the blue question. I guess it’s an occupational hazard, eh?”
She tipped her head down slightly and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth briefly, her cheeks warm again. “Yeah, I guess it is. Sorry.”
He laughed softly. “It’s okay.” He rubbed his chin. “I didn’t know her super well, to be honest. She attended church a few times and we talked a few times. She mentioned once that she had lived in Chicago at one time and I attended seminary near there so we talked about that.”
“Did she ever mention anyone who might want to hurt her?”
He shook his head. “Not directly no, but I don’t feel it would be right to share anything specific from our private conversations. It would feel to like a breach of her privacy.”
“The privacy of a dead woman?”
“Yeah. As weird as it sounds, I still feel I should respect her, even in death, and not share her secrets.”
“So, she told you secrets?”
He tipped his face away and shook his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Gladwynn, you have indeed learned the art of rewording questions to try to convince your subject to share.” The smile faded and a more serious expression crossed his face. “It won’t work on me, though. The conversations between Samantha and I were private conversation between a pastor and someone who came to him for prayer. I don’t feel comfortable sharing the details with anyone at this time.”
“What about the police?”
“What about them?”
“Would you share with them?”
“They’d have to have a very compelling reason for me to share with them.”
“A woman is dead. Isn’t that reason enough?”
“I won’t know until I know what they need to know and last I looked you weren’t the police.” The smile had slowly returned, a sight she welcomed since the last few minutes had introduced a tension between them that she wasn’t used to or fond of.
She cleared her throat and pulled her gaze from the lopsided smile that was increasing her heart rate. “All I am saying is that if you have information that could help the investigation into who killed Samantha Mors don’t you feel that you have a moral obligation to share that information?”
He folded his arms across his chest, widening his stance, the smile remaining in place. “I will share the information if I am asked to do so but at this point, I have not been asked to do so.” He rocked back on his heels for a brief moment. “Gladwynn, sometimes I think you’re just a bit too curious for your own good. I thought your job was to cover news stories, not investigate crimes.”
Defensive irritation bristled through her. “Part of the job of a reporter is to also investigate when it is needed.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you covering this story? It seems to me it would be a conflict if you were, since I understand you discovered her body.”
“I didn’t. Doris did, but I was there, yes, and, no, I am not covering the story, but—”
He held his arms out to his side and shrugged. “Then you don’t need to investigate, do you? I worry about you, Gladwynn. One day you’re going to ask the wrong person the wrong question and get yourself in trouble.”
She raised an eyebrow, her palms dampening with sweat. “Is that a threat, Luke Callahan?”
Luke threw his head back and let out a loud laugh, breaking through some of the tension. “A threat? Really? You’ve been reading too many Agatha Christie novels, little lady.” He tipped his head down and looked at her, the smile fading slightly as he took a step toward her. “No. It was not a threat. It was concern being expressed by not only your pastor but by someone who cares deeply for you and doesn’t want to see harm come to you.”
Gladwynn swallowed hard, unable to pull her gaze from his for a few seconds before her phone began ringing from the car. She took a step back toward the driver’s side of the car. “I should get this. It might be my boss asking where I am.”
He slid his hands in his jean pockets. “You better get going then. I appreciate your visit, though. No matter how brief.”
She opened the door, the phone still ringing. “Thank you again for the tour of your lovely property.”
“You’re welcome. Any time. See you in church, Sunday?”
“Of course.” She hoped the tension she felt wasn’t evident in her tone, but she was sure it was. Sliding behind the steering wheel she slid her sunglasses on and started the car, wishing the top was up so she could let her calm expression fade away as she backed out of the driveway. The phone had stopped ringing but she could see from the caller ID that it was Tanner who had called.
She smiled again at the end of the driveway and waved as she started down the dirt road, but as soon as Luke was out of view, a frown creased her eyebrow and turned her mouth downward.
Why had he been so odd about sharing what he and Samantha had talked about? He’d said that he hadn’t known her well but then said she’d shared secrets with him.
Plus there was that weirdness at the end of their conversation. How should she interpret him saying he cared deeply for her? Did he care for her as a friend or more? And if he cared deeply for her, why wouldn’t he tell her what he and Samantha had spoken about?
Chapter 11
She called Tanner once she was in better cell service, which was when she was almost back to town.
“Do you have something you’re supposed to be dropping off to me?” he asked without returning her greeting.
His voicemail had been terse, asking only for her to call him. She’d had a feeling she was in trouble then. Now she knew she was.
“Do I?”
“Your grandmother called me an hour ago and said you had a letter for me. She said you would fill me in but that it was from Samantha Mors’ apartment.”
Gladwynn rolled her eyes. She’d told Lucinda she’d handle it, but clearly Lucinda felt she needed an extra push.
He continued, his voice dripping with passive aggressiveness. “I’m guessing you were intending to stop by and give me the letter but were busy with work and simply forgot.”
“Yes, actually, I have been very busy.”
“I’d like to have the letter, please. I can either swing by your office and pick it up or you can drop it off to me.”
She turned the car onto the main road and sighed. “I have a staff meeting that I am late for and a couple of stories to write and then I’m heading home for dinner. I’ll swing by and drop it off on my way back from dinner, if that works for you.”
“You do understand that withholding evidence from the police during an investigation is a crime, correct?”
She chewed on the inside of her cheek for a few moments. “Yes, but I didn’t mean to withhold it. I just wanted to read it and see if it would offer any clues to who might have killed Samantha. I knew if I took it to you that you’d say Grandma and I were snooping.”
“Please tell me that you did not drag your grandmother into your amateur sleuthing activities.”
“I didn’t do anything. We were simply looking for scripts in Samantha’s apartment. Finding the letter was an accident. You’re right, though, I should have taken it to you as soon as I read it.”
“No, you should have brought it to me as soon as you found it. You shouldn’t have been reading anything you found there.”
Gladwynn’s muscles tensed at his scolding tone. “And you or the other detectives should have found it when you searched the apartment, but here we are.”
“You are interfering in an investigation and now you’re calling into question the competence of the state police. That’s just great. You’re really batting zero right now, Gladwynn. I don’t care if you have a staff meeting or dinner to go to. You’ll bring me that letter now or I’ll show up at your office in a police cruiser with all the lights on and the siren blaring and take it from you.”
As much as his tone grated on her, she knew he was right. She was interfering in a police investigation and she had been wrong not to give him the letter as soon as she found it, even if he had told her she was a snoop and scolded her in front of his co-worker. “I’ll call my boss and tell him I need to stop at the barracks and will be late to my meeting.”
“See that you do.”
She hung up quickly and called Liam as she turned on the road to head toward the barracks.
The state police barracks was located at a busy intersection outside of town. Of course, by Brookstone standards busy meant a stoplight, a McDonalds, and a mini-strip mall with a Dollar General, a chain drugstore (they seemed to rotate every few years) and a diner. Gladwynn hadn’t been inside the barracks yet since moving there and she was curious to see what it looked like inside.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t see much other than the four brick walls of the lobby and a bullet proof see-through glass window with a small opening to her right. In front of her was a thick metal door, clearly enhanced with a heavy duty, silver lock with a keypad. In the center of the door was a small window that she imagined was one of those one-sided windows so they could look out but whoever was in the lobby couldn’t look in.
“Can I help you?”
A gruff female voice startled her and she noticed that a woman had appeared at the larger window with the counter. The woman had activated a speaker with a push of a button. Gladwynn could also faintly hear voices in the background and the click of computer keys.
“Yes, I’m here to see Detective Kinney.”
She was proud she hadn’t called him by his first name or accidentally assigned him the title of officer, like she had when she’d first started her job. The state police employed troopers, not officers, and now Tanner wasn’t even a trooper. He was a detective and she had to remember this change as well.
“Can I tell him who is here?”
The woman seemed to be a civilian, dressed in a white blouse and gray skirt. She was thin with a face that might have been pleasant if it wasn’t for the bored expression she wore and the way her graying blond hair was pulled firmly back from her long face in a tight bun. Her matronly look was topped off with a pair of small, round, silver wire-rimmed glasses. Gladwynn was certain she’d seen this same woman in every movie featuring a stern school principal as the villain.
“Gladwynn Grant. He’s expecting me.”
The woman’s expression didn’t change as she touched a hand to the speaker and all went silent on Gladwynn’s end. The woman picked up a phone said something into it, hung up and touched the button on the counter again. “He’ll be here in a moment.”
The woman turned slowly and sat at a cluttered desk with a computer, a stained coffee mug and a pile of papers. Gladwynn tapped her hand against her hip as she waited, wishing they had music in the lobby instead of the sterile silence inside a sterile brick room with two black chairs and a wall covered with legal warnings, a poster of America’s Most Wanted, and flyers showing parents how to install car seats.
Several minutes passed and she finally decided to sit in one of the chairs, trying not to think of how many other people had sat there and all the germs that might be on the leather seat or the metal armrests.
After almost ten minutes, a sharp click and the groan of the metal door signaled someone was coming into the lobby. That someone was Tanner wearing a dress shirt, a pair of gray dress pants, and a scowl.
He held out his hand, which she noticed was covered in a white rubber glove. “Letter?”
The door clanked closed behind him.
Gladwynn stood and hooked her purse strap over her shoulder. “No, ‘hello Miss Grant?’ Good evening? How are you today?’”
“No. You’re holding on to evidence in a criminal investigation. Now is not the time for polite and inane banter.”
She sighed and reached into her purse, pulling out the letter, which she had made a copy of in the office earlier in the day.
He snatched it from her hand. “Anything else you’re withholding?”
She wanted to say ‘no’ but she’d also been raised to be honest so she dug into the small inner pocket of the purse and found the half of the button. She laid it in the palm of his outstretched hand.
“Where did you find this?”
“In the carpet under the edge of Samantha’s bed.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You were searching her room? After we’d already been there?”
“No, I was not. My foot kicked it out of the bristles of the rug, or whatever they are called, and I picked it up. I thought it might have broken off the clothes or uniforms of one of your team or even the EMTs.”
“The fabric of the rug you mean?”
“The fabric, the bristles. Whatever.”
Tanner slid the button in his pocket. “You realize that you have contaminated the crime scene by removing items from it, correct? You also put your fingerprints all over these items, making it almost impossible for us to pick fingerprints up off of them.”
“I believe the scene was released by your department, if I’m not mistaken. Plus, can you even pick fingerprints off of paper?”
“If you were in law enforcement you would know that most paper has a fairly porous surface and therefore, we would have been able to pick fingerprints up off of it. Now all we’ll be able to pick up is your fingerprints.”
“And maybe Samantha’s, but I doubt there would have been any others on there anyhow because it was shoved up in the top of the drawer. I don’t even think the murderer knew it was there.”
Tanner closed his eyes briefly and a muscle jumped in his smooth-shaven, square jaw, a movement that fascinated Gladwynn. A small growl came from his throat. “You’re welcome to leave now that you’ve handed over the letter. In the future don’t meddle in our investigation or take evidence. If you find something you believe would be pertinent to our investigation then please contact us and we will come to you, not the other way around.”
Gladwynn tried not to smile at his use of the word pertinent. Why didn’t he just use the word important instead? She resisted the overwhelming urge to give him a salute as he turned to go back through the metal door.
“You’re welcome,” she said instead.
He glanced at her as he punched in numbers on the keypad, the letter in his other hand. “I will not be saying ‘thank you’ but you’re welcome to have a nice evening.”
“Do you have a cause of death for Samantha yet?”
He held the door open and looked at her with an expression that said he was five seconds from blowing his top, but was trying really hard not to. “You cannot be serious right now.”
She smiled and tipped her head to one side. “Just thought I’d ask. In case you were feeling generous with information.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. “I’m not.”
The door slammed loudly behind him and she took that as her cue to leave. She wouldn’t find out any more information from Detective Tanner Kinney today.
***
After leaving the barracks, attending the staff meeting, and writing a couple of stories, Gladwynn decided she should head home for dinner with her father, even though she hadn’t planned to and didn’t really want to talk to him. It didn’t seem right, though, for him to be there alone on his first night visiting.
Her father’s BMW was parked in the driveway when Gladwynn arrived. William Grant stepped out of the driver’s side as she placed her car into park. Always dressed as if he was on his way to an important meeting, he wore a pair of square-shaped gold rimmed glasses, gray dress pants, black dress shoes, a button-up white dress shirt and a red tie. He’d at least taken his suit coat off for the four-hour drive. How he hadn’t taken his tie off or at least loosened it was beyond her.
She hadn’t seen him in person since moving to Brookstone nine months earlier. His brown hair was showing even more specks of gray along the hairline and though he’d always been tall and lanky, he seemed even thinner, especially in the face.
He was clean-shaven, as always, and wore a neutral expression as he raised a hand in greeting and then stepped to the trunk of the car and opened it.
“Did you just get here?” she asked as she stepped out of her car.
“About five minutes ago, yes.” He lifted a suitcase from the trunk. “Your grandmother told me neither of you would be here.”
“I changed my mind. I didn’t think it would be nice to expect you to eat alone on your first night here.”
He shut the trunk. “I would have been fine. I know where everything is and can handle warming up a casserole on my own.”
Always so matter of fact. It was one of a few personality traits of his that grated on her nerves. There were many times she wasn’t sure if he was simply being practical, truly didn’t have a feeling one way or another about an issue, or was preparing to scold her.
She bent her ankle back and forth as he lifted the suitcase and walked toward the house, feeling more like a young girl than an independent 28-year-old woman. That was one of the main sticking points of her relationship with her parents. Both of them seemed to forget she was a grown woman now.
William looked over his shoulder from where he was standing on the porch by the front door. “Should I get the key from under the back mat or would you like to open it for me?”
“Oh. Right. Of course.”
With the door unlocked they walked inside and he headed straight for the stairs. “I’m going to put my suitcase upstairs and wash up a bit.”
“I’ll put the casserole in the oven.”
“If you want to.”
She did want to. She was hungry. Resisting the urge to tell him this with a snarky attitude proved a challenge so she literally bit her tongue on the way to the kitchen.
Fifteen minutes later she’d set the table and poured them both a glass of water with ice and lemon. The casserole smelled amazing and Pixel was rubbing against her legs and trilling adorably. She took a moment to video chat with Abbie and ask her how she was doing since they hadn’t had a chance to catch up. By the time they were done chatting – with a few interruptions from Abbie’s youngest – the casserole was ready.
She said goodbye to Abbie, reached down and scratched the top of Pixel’s head as her father walked through the door. He made a face that let her know he did not approve of the cat.
“Mother said you’d brought a cat home. I didn’t know you’d kept it.”
Gladwynn scooped Pixel up, hoping that this time she’d accept a cuddle. Instead the cat launched into her normal reaction to someone trying to cuddle her – twisting all four legs in different directions and wiggling her all-black girth in circles while yowling. Gladwynn dropped her gently to the floor and scratched her head again. “Fine. Don’t let me cuddle you. At least you let me pet you.”
“You let it in the kitchen?”
Gladwynn checked the casserole. “We let her go wherever she wants pretty much.”
“And my mother is fine with this?”
“For the most part, yes. She wasn’t at first but they’ve grown on her.”
He shook his head as he sat at the table. “How times have changed. She didn’t like pets in the house at all when we were growing up.”
Scout peeked in the back window over the sink, her signal that she wanted to come in. Gladwynn chose to ignore her, hoping she could wait until dinner was over so her father didn’t look at her in disgust like he had Pixel. She and her siblings hadn’t been allowed pets growing up and when she’d moved to her own apartment, she’d immediately adopted an older cat from a shelter. The cat had died of old age the year before she moved to Brookstone but she’d been happy she’d been able to give him a safe place to grow old.
William sniffed. “That smells delicious. It was nice of Mother to make dinner before she went to her meeting.” He sipped his water. “She tells me that you skip dinner a lot. That doesn’t sound healthy to me.”
That was a rich comment from him, considering how often the man had worked through dinner while she was growing up, choosing to stay at the office instead of coming home. She considered saying so, but instead set the casserole dish in the center of the table and then retrieved a spoon to dip it out with.
“I do what I have to do. More often than not I am home for supper actually.” She needed to remind Lucinda to not share about her habits with her father anymore.
They each dipped out the casserole and William lifted his fork. Gladwynn coughed softly. “Grandma and I always say grace.”
William nodded curtly. Saying a prayer of blessing before dinner was something they had done as a family when she was younger as well. She wondered if he and her mom had fallen out of that habit since the children had moved away, since he had been ready to eat without saying one.
She spoke a quick prayer and they said “amen” together.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “That was nice.”
They ate in silence for several moments. She wasn’t sure what to say to him and she had a feeling he wasn’t sure what to say to her either. The silence was welcoming, really. She’d expected him to start by scolding her for leaving Carter and not waiting to see if she’d get her job back at the library or find a similar one like he had before she’d accepted the job at the paper.
“So.”
She braced herself.
“Your grandmother says you witnessed something quite difficult a few days ago.”
She took a deep breath. “I didn’t really witness anything difficult necessarily. Just the aftermath of something difficult.”
“The woman was dead, though. That must have been difficult. How are you doing?”
She shrugged her shoulder. “Okay, I guess. I’d love to know who left her in that condition.” She was not about to offer up any of her theories to her dad. He’d most likely quickly dismiss her concerns.
“That reminds me.” He wiped his mouth and laid his napkin down across his lap. “Your grandmother filled me in on the story about that attempted murder case and burglary ring you ended up covering. I thought this job was a simple small town newspaper job. Shouldn’t you be writing about school assemblies, church rummage sales, and municipal meetings?”
“I do write about those things.”
He leveled a stern gaze at her. “But I hear you confronted a murderer.”
You wouldn’t have heard anything if Grandma didn’t have a big mouth. It’s not like I would have told you.
“Attempted murderer. He didn’t actually go through with it.”
Her father held his fork suspended between his plate and mouth. “He was a man who had the mental capability to consider ending another person’s life and you were alone with him on an overlook.”
“Technically, yes, but also, no. A state police trooper was also there part of the time. He was hiding in the bushes.”
“The trooper was in the bushes?”
“Well, yes, because he was listening to the man’s confession. He’s a detective now.”
“The criminal?”
“No. The trooper.”
Her father laid his fork down, rubbed his chin and pursed his lips briefly. “And now someone has actually been murdered and you were a witness?”
“Not a witness, exactly. Doris walked in and found her and I came in after Doris and called the police. We didn’t see the murder happen.”
“You’re not covering the case, are you?”
She took a long drink of water, wishing this conversation was over already. “No, my boss says it would be a conflict of interest since I may be called to testify at a future trial.”
“You’re keeping your nose out of it then, correct?”
Gladwynn sighed and tipped her head back against the chair. “Dad, what’s this conversation really about? I mean, what is really bothering you?”
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Gladwynn. What is really bothering me is what the problem really is and that problem is that you are inserting yourself into situations you have nothing to do with. The Brookstone Beacon isn’t The New York Times–”
“The New York Times isn’t even The New York Times anymore,” Gladwynn mumbled.
William cleared his throat and Gladwynn was starting to wonder if he needed an antihistamine. “What I’m saying is that there is no need for hard-hitting investigative journalism in Brookstone. Let the police handle the investigation and–”
“I cover the news. I know.” Gladwynn folded her arms over her chest, feeling like a child again. “I’m not even covering it. My co-worker is. I merely asked a couple of people a couple of questions about Samantha and if they knew why someone would hurt her. I mean, everyone seemed to adore her. She wasn’t someone that anyone should have wanted to kill and I’m curious what led to her being taken from this world at such a young age.”
“That’s why there are police. They can ask those questions and find out the answers. You, however, can go take a photo at a ribbon cutting or a spelling bee, or somewhere else that doesn’t put you at risk.”
“I’m not putting myself at—”
“Gladwynn, someone killed this woman. Someone who still may be out there. Someone who probably won’t appreciate an upstart reporter snooping around trying to find out who they are.” William folded his napkin. “I know you think your mother and I care more about career than anything else, but that is not true. We care about you very much and don’t want to see you hurt. Your job at the library was right up your alley. It was calm, safe and —”
“And I was laid off, which wasn’t my fault.”
“No, it wasn’t, but you could have waited to see if they hired you back or found a similar job at any other number of colleges.”
“I wanted to try something different with my life, Dad. Is that a crime?”
“I didn’t say it was. All I’m saying is–”
Gladwynn stood abruptly. “All you’re saying is that my job doesn’t meet your expectations of what you think a child of yours should be doing. Well, I’m sorry about that but I like my job and I like the people here and I’m tired of being made to feel like I’m not good enough every time I talk to you.”
“That is not what –”
Gladwynn stalked through the kitchen doorway on her way to the front door. “I’m going back to work.”
“Fine. If you don’t want to continue to hash this out, then run away like you always do.”
She slammed the door and stomped down the front stairs toward her car.
She would never measure up to whatever line her father had drawn for her to measure up to. No matter what she did with her life, it would never be enough for him. At least that was how it felt at this moment. Why his comments and interrogations bothered her so much she had no idea. He had some good points. He and her mother were probably worried about her. Digging into Samantha Mors past probably wasn’t a good idea while her murderer was still out there.
She didn’t know why she felt so desperate to learn why Samantha died. Maybe because they’d been close in age. Samantha’s opportunity to lead a fulfilling life was ripped from her by someone who felt they had the right to end her life and that angered Gladwynn as much as it broke her heart. The person who’d taken Samantha’s life needed to pay for what they done. While she knew that Tanner was perfectly capable of finding out who the guilty party was, she felt an odd sense of obligation to help him reach his goal.
Starting her car, she growled softly. She was deluding herself. Tanner Kinney didn’t need her help investigating this murder. It was curiosity that was driving her forward. Curiosity and her intense desire to be in control.
The idea that she was able to go through life enjoying sunny days, the laughter of her friend’s children, the smile of her grandmother, and the feel of lake water on her feet while Samantha had had all of that taken away from her broke her heart. She was determined to help however she could even if her father and Tanner didn’t think she should.
