Murder in Montana?

Cowboy Justin Calhoun is certain that Chloe Clementine is the one who got away. Now she’s back in Whitehorse, Montana, for the holidays—and Justin’s ready to make his move. But Chloe has a secret Santa who’s been sending her not-so-nice presents, each more threatening than the last. Now they must find Chloe’s stalker Santa...before their fairy-tale Christmas turns into a nightmare.

Whitehorse, Montana: The Clementine Sisters

B.J. DANIELS is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author. She wrote her first book after a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist and author of thirty-seven published short stories. She lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, and three springer spaniels. When not writing, she quilts, boats and plays tennis. Contact her at bjdaniels.com, on Facebook or on Twitter, @bjdanielsauthor.

Also by B.J. Daniels

Hard Rustler

Rogue Gunslinger

Rugged Defender

Cowboy’s Redemption

Dark Horse

Dead Ringer

Rough Rider

Renegade’s Pride

Outlaw’s Honor

Hero’s Return

Rancher’s Dream

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Rugged Defender

B.J. Daniels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07944-0

RUGGED DEFENDER

© 2018 Barbara Heinlein

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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This book is for Lu Besel, one of the most gracious

women I know. I want to be you when I grow up.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

It all began with a kiss. At least that’s the way Chloe Clementine remembered it. A winter kiss, which is nothing like a summer one. The cold, icy air around you. Puffs of white breaths intermingling. Warm lips touching, tingling as they meet for the very first time.

Chloe thought that kiss would be the last thing she remembered before she died of old age. It was the kiss—and the cowboy who’d kissed her—that she’d been dreaming about when her phone rang. Being in Whitehorse had brought it all back after all these years.

She groaned, wanting to keep sleeping so she could stay in that cherished memory longer. Her phone rang again. She swore that if it was one of her sisters calling this early...

“What?” she demanded into the phone without bothering to see who was calling. She’d been so sure that it would be her youngest sister, Annabelle, the morning person.

“Hello?” The voice was male and familiar. For just a moment she thought she’d conjured up the cowboy from the kiss. “It’s Justin.”

Justin? She sat straight up in bed. Thoughts zipped past at a hundred miles an hour. How had he gotten her cell phone number? Why was he calling? Was he in Whitehorse?

“Justin,” she said, her voice sounding croaky from sleep. She cleared her throat. “I thought it was Annabelle calling. What’s up?” She glanced at the clock. What’s up at seven forty-five in the morning?

“I know it’s early but I got your message.”

Now she really was confused. “My message?” She had danced with his best friend at the Christmas Dance recently, but she hadn’t sent Justin a message.

“That you needed to see me? That it was urgent?”

She had no idea what he was talking about. Had her sister Annabelle done this? She couldn’t imagine her sister Tessa Jane “TJ” doing such a thing. But since her sisters had fallen in love they hadn’t been themselves.

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t send you a message. You’re sure it was from me?”

“The person calling just told me that you were in trouble and needed my help. There was loud music in the background as if whoever it was might have called me from a bar.”

He didn’t think she’d drunk-dialed him, did he? “Sorry, but it wasn’t me.” She was more sorry than he knew. “And I can’t imagine who would have called you on my behalf.” Like the devil, she couldn’t. It had to be her sister Annabelle.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that you aren’t in trouble and urgently need my help,” he said, not sounding like that at all.

She closed her eyes, now wishing she’d made something up. What was she thinking? She didn’t need to improvise. She was in trouble, though nothing urgent exactly. At least for the moment. And since she hadn’t told anyone about what was going on with her...

“Are you in Whitehorse?” she asked.

“No. I haven’t been back for years.” There was regret in his voice that made her think he hadn’t left because he wanted to. Odd.

“Me either. I came home to be with my sisters for the holidays. I appreciate you calling though. It’s nice to know that if I was in trouble, you’d...” He hadn’t exactly said that he’d come running. “Call. It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yours too. It’s been a long time.”

Too long. She wondered if he ever thought of her—and their kiss. Her sisters referred to Justin T. Calhoun as her high school boyfriend. But in truth, they’d barely gotten together before she’d had to leave for college. There’d just been that snowy-day kiss. He’d gone on to reportedly get engaged to Nicole “Nici” Kent, break up, and then get married to and divorced from Margie Taylor while Chloe had been busy getting her journalism degree and working her way up from one newspaper to another larger one.

While she’d dated some, none of the men she’d met stood up to what she called The Kiss Test. None of them had come close to Justin’s winter kiss.

“So how long are you staying in Whitehorse?” he asked, dragging her from her thoughts.

“Until the first.” The truth was, her plans after that were rather up in the air. Not even her sisters knew the real story. “Maybe longer.”

“So you’ll be there for the New Year’s Eve Masquerade Dance.”

It was only days away. Annabelle had been trying to talk her into going but Chloe had been adamant that she wasn’t. Her sisters had dragged her to the Christmas Dance and that was bad enough. Nothing could change her mind... Except Justin.

She hedged. “I haven’t made up my mind yet about going. Are you thinking about it?” she asked hopefully.

He laughed. “You and I never got a chance to dance.”

They’d never gotten a chance to do a lot of things. “No,” she said. “You dance?”

He chuckled. “You’d have to be the judge of that. Maybe I’ll see you there. It’s been nice talking with you, Chloe. You take care.” And he was gone.

“Maybe I’ll see you there”? Not, “I’ll see you there”? Not, “let’s make it a date and I’ll come back to Whitehorse”? But still her heart was a hammer in her chest. Just the thought of seeing Justin again...

She told herself that it had been years. He might have changed. The chemistry might not even be there anymore. How could she even be sure it had been there to start with? It had been just one kiss.

The doorbell rang, followed by the front door opening and excited voices. Moments later, she heard noisy chatter on the stairs. Chloe wanted to put her head back under the covers.

“I bet she’s not even up yet,” she heard TJ say.

“Well, we’d better wake her up otherwise we’re going to be late.”

Chloe didn’t like the sound of this. Before she could move, her sisters burst into her bedroom.

“Get up, sleepyhead,” Annabelle said. “We have a surprise for you.”

She didn’t like surprises and said as much. Also she suspected she’d already gotten one of her sisters’ surprises this morning.

“Annabelle volunteered us to work at the local soup kitchen today just like we did as kids,” TJ told her. It had been one of their grandmother’s pet projects. When their parents were killed in a car wreck, the three of them had moved to Whitehorse, Montana, to live with the grandmother they’d never met. Grandma Frannie was gone now, but she’d left Annabelle her house a few months ago, which their sister had readied for them for the holidays.

“It will make you a better person,” TJ said, sounding enough like their grandmother that Chloe had to laugh.

“Fine. Let me get dressed.” She watched her sisters start to leave. “Justin just called me.”

They both froze before turning to face her. “Seriously?” Annabelle said, clearly trying to keep her face straight. “What did he say?”

“That someone had called him from a bar telling him I was in trouble and that it was urgent. The person apparently gave him my cell phone number.” She looked from one sister to the next and back. “I know it was you, Annabelle.”

Her sister laughed. “Wrong.”

“It was Annabelle’s idea,” TJ said quickly. “But I made the call. Too much wine. I’m sorry. Guess you should have come to the bar with us the other night.”

She wanted to scold them both but could only shake her head.

“So how did the call go?” Annabelle asked, looking excited.

“He said he might see me at the Masquerade Dance.”

“Really? That’s great!” Annabelle exchanged a high five with TJ. “I told you it would work.”

“It didn’t work. It’s not like he promised to come back to Whitehorse or attend the dance. He said maybe.” She could see that this didn’t dampen either of her sisters’ spirits or their belief that their call was successful.

“Oh, I hope he comes,” Annabelle said. “It’s so sad. I’m sure his friend Cooper told you.”

“Told me what?”

“Justin’s older brother, Drew. He was killed. Justin found him.”

Drew had already been out of high school by the time Chloe was a freshman, so she’d never really known him. “That’s horrible,” Chloe said and saw from her sister’s expression that there was more. “What?”

“It happened five years ago. Drew’s death was ruled an accident but...” She looked at TJ.

“But what?” Chloe asked.

“Justin was under suspicion,” Annabelle said. Since returning home to Whitehorse, her youngest sister had gotten caught up on all the local gossip thanks to a bunch of nosy elderly neighbors. “No one who knew him thought he’d been involved, but his father...well, I guess he still blames Justin.”

Chloe couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Poor Justin. I had no idea. So much tragedy. Why would his father blame him?”

Annabelle shrugged. “Apparently Bert Calhoun idolized his oldest son. Justin and Drew were often at odds. That day Drew and Justin had an argument. That’s all I know except that Justin left town and hasn’t come back. We’d better get going or we’re going to be late.”

TJ had picked up a newspaper that Chloe had left on a table by the bedroom door, before saying, “I’m surprised you were able to get so much time off from the paper. So you’re staying until after the New Year, right?”

“I thought we were going to be late?” Chloe said. “Let me get showered and dressed.” She shooed them out, but she could tell that TJ wasn’t going to let the subject drop. At some point, Chloe knew she would have to tell them the truth.

* * *

JUSTIN T. CALHOUN leaned back, his boots resting on the large pine stump he used for a footstool, and thought about the phone call. Just hearing Chloe’s voice had brought back the few sweet memories he had of Whitehorse. After everything that had happened, was it any wonder he’d been glad to leave it all behind?

But jumping feetfirst into a marriage to Margie Taylor had been a mistake, he thought as he looked out at the flat, white landscape of North Dakota. He could admit now that he’d been trying to put everything behind him. He’d worked her family ranch during their very short marriage. It hadn’t taken Margie long to realize that his heart wasn’t in it. Not in her or ranching her family’s place. They’d parted as friends and he’d gone to work for another rancher near the Montana–North Dakota border. He hadn’t even considered going home.

And yet the moment he’d heard Chloe Clementine was in trouble, he’d been ready to jump on his trusty steed and ride off to save her. He hadn’t been that man in years and yet, instantly, he’d wanted to be. Because as much as he tried to fool himself, he had unfinished business in Whitehorse.

He stretched out his long denim-clad legs and looked around the small cabin he’d called home for months. It kept the snow out, but that was about all he could say about it. He didn’t mind living modestly. Or at least he never had.

Talking to Chloe had left him restless. It reminded him that once, a long time ago, he’d had dreams. It also made him think about what he’d given up all those years ago. Is this what it took to get him to finally face the past? He thought about their kiss on that winter night, just the two of them with ice crystals floating around them.

“You damn fool,” he said to himself and yet he couldn’t help smiling. He’d always wanted to go to the New Year’s Eve Masquerade Dance in Whitehorse. The idea of showing up and surprising Chloe... Just the thought of seeing her again...

At the sound of a truck approaching, he cursed and stood. He had someone else’s cattle to feed, someone else’s fence to mend. He shoved his worn Stetson down on his head, aware that he needed a haircut. A shave wouldn’t hurt either. But what was the point of even thinking about making a change—let alone trying to go back to what could have been? Chloe didn’t need him. So why had he said that he might show up at the party?

Worse, why was he thinking it was time to make things right?

* * *

AT THE EDGE of town, the wind whipped the new snow, swirling it around the empty cemetery. The huge old pine trees creaked and swayed. His tracks filled behind him as Bert Calhoun made his way to the granite tombstone.

He hated this trek through the cemetery each year. He knew he should come more often, but it was too painful. He felt old, forgotten, his heart as bleak as the winter landscape around him.

His footsteps faltered as he neared his oldest son’s final resting place. A large pine stood like a sentinel over the grave. He read what had been carved into the granite as if the words were carved into his own flesh.

Andrew “Drew” Calhoun

July 4, 1982–December 10, 2013

Bert Calhoun removed his Stetson and squatted down next to the grave, his bad knee aching. The wind whipped at his too-long gray hair and beard. He was glad he was alone on this cold winter day. He kept to the ranch except when forced to come in for supplies. He knew people talked about him. They stared and whispered when they saw him. He could well imagine what they said.

Other than this yearly visit, he couldn’t bring himself to even drive by the cemetery. He never knew what to say to his son. Drew had had so much promise from the time he was born. He was the one Bert had always depended on to take over the ranch and keep the Calhoun name and brand going.

That Drew had been taken from them so soon was still dynamite to his heart. There’d been days when he thought he couldn’t go on breathing at the thought of his oldest son under six feet of dirt. Had there been anyone else to take over the ranch, he would have blessedly taken his own life. Instead, the circumstances of his son’s death had him dying slowly from the pain. It had made him into a tired, bitter old man.

The wind whipped snow past, rocking the metal container holding the faded plastic flowers on the grave next to Drew’s. He looked over at the headstone and felt the weight of his guilt. Pushing to his feet, he moved to his wife’s graveside.

Mary Harris Calhoun

May 11, 1954–December 21, 2002

Losing her so young had made him hold on even tighter to Drew, since Drew resembled her the most. Now he was just glad she hadn’t been around to see what had become of the family she’d loved so much. He knew how disappointed she would be in him. No more than he was in himself.

The promise was on his lips, but he couldn’t bring himself to voice it. It wasn’t the promise Mary would have wanted to hear. But it was the promise he’d made since Drew’s murder five years ago this month. He would see that their oldest son’s killer was brought to justice—one way or another.

But he hadn’t been able to do even that.

The promise Mary wanted was one he couldn’t even bring himself to utter let alone make happen even for her. Each time he came here, he could hear her as if she spoke from the grave.

Bring our son home. Make amends for what you’ve done.

Just the thought of his youngest son, Justin, doubled him over. When he closed his eyes, he saw Justin standing over his brother, the gun in his hand.

Hot tears ran down his cheeks. He felt even more guilt because his tears were for himself, and Mary knew it. From her grave, she blamed him as if he was the one who had pulled the trigger and ended Drew’s life.

He shook his head. He wanted justice like his next breath. But some days he wasn’t sure what justice would look like. Maybe he was already getting it and this was his punishment for the mistakes he’d made.

And yet he couldn’t let go of what he felt in his heart. Justin had killed his brother. It felt like the truth, one that ate at him, fueled by his grief and his guilt.

He brushed at his tears now freezing to his cheeks and rose. He didn’t need Mary to tell him the part he’d played in this tragedy. He’d always loved Drew more and everyone knew it—including Justin. And this was the price he paid.

No, not even after five years could he promise Mary that he would make things right with Justin. Not as long as he believed his youngest son was a killer.

Chapter Two

The moment they walked into the local soup kitchen, Chloe spotted Nicole Kent and groaned. “What is she doing here?” she whispered to her sisters.

“Apparently arguing with Edna,” Annabelle said. “Edna Kirkland is the kitchen supervisor. Do not argue with her.”

Chloe had no desire to argue with anyone, especially the large woman who was towering over Justin’s old girlfriend, Nici.

Nici held up what appeared to be a hairnet and said in a strident voice, “I’m not wearing this.” She was still short and cute in a rough sort of way with dyed black hair cut in a pixie that suited her.

Edna crossed her arms over her abundant chest and narrowed her eyes. “You’ll wear it or I’ll call the sheriff and have you thrown in jail.” She smiled. “Your choice. Community service or jail. Those are your only options.”

“No one mentioned I had to wear a hairnet.” Nici cursed again before going into the restroom and slamming the door.

“Community service,” TJ whispered. “I wonder what she did.”

“You three come here to chat or to work?” Edna barked from across the room.

“Work,” Annabelle said quickly and hurried forward to be handed a hairnet and a soup ladle.

“We’re about to open,” the supervisor said. “You,” she said pointing at TJ. “You’re in charge of buns and you,” she said pointing at Chloe, “you’ll be helping run dishes. When we run out of soup, we all help clean up this place. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly,” Chloe and TJ said in unison as Nici came out of the bathroom.

“And you,” Edna said. “You’re going straight to the dish room and start cleaning. And,” she said as Nici started to complain, “if you say one word, I’m calling the sheriff.”

“Jail looks good right now,” the young woman said under her breath as she walked past Chloe and then did a double take. Edna had gone to open the doors. “What are you doing here?” Nici demanded of Chloe.

“We always helped at the soup kitchen with our grandmother.”

“No, what are you doing in Whitehorse?”

“Spending time with my sisters over the holidays.” Chloe wondered why she was answering Nici’s rude questions. It was just such a surprise seeing her here.

“So you aren’t staying,” Nici said.

“Nicole Kent, you’ve got two seconds to get into the dish room,” Edna called and Nici scooted off after an eye roll and a curse.

“Charming,” TJ said as she pulled on her hairnet and the plastic gloves she would be wearing while handing out buns.

“I never understood what Justin saw in her,” Annabelle said.

Chloe watched her go into the dish room. “They were a lot alike. Both on the outside looking in.”

“Alike? Nici from one of the poorest families and Justin from one of the wealthiest? He comes from one of the largest ranches around here,” Annabelle said. “His family was rich compared to most and his father still is.”

“I doubt Bert Calhoun would feel that way,” TJ said. “He lost his wife at a young age and apparently now he’s lost both sons.”

“You know what I mean,” Annabelle said. “Wealth-wise.”

“But Justin always felt as if he didn’t matter,” Chloe said. “I would imagine Nici felt the same way.”

Edna began barking orders so they went to work, but Chloe couldn’t help thinking about Justin and what she’d learned had happened to him and his family after she’d left. She knew that he and his older brother hadn’t gotten along, but she refused to believe Justin had anything to do with Drew’s death.

* * *

IT DIDN’T TAKE Justin long to pack. Quitting his job hadn’t been that hard either. Saddle tramps like him were a dime a dozen. The rancher would be able to pick up help easily before calving season when he really would need it.

After throwing everything into his pickup, he slid behind the wheel wondering why he hadn’t done this sooner. The reason was staring him in the face. He hadn’t wanted to know the truth about his brother’s death. It had been easier to run away.

He sighed as he started the truck and pointed it west. Why now? It was the question that had been nagging at him all morning. Tell me this isn’t about some kiss that was so long ago it was like another world.

Justin laughed to himself as he left the dirt road and hit the two-lane blacktop. Hearing Chloe’s voice had brought it all back. Those few weeks of happiness before his life had gone to hell in a handbasket. Maybe he was trying to relive those moments—as crazy as it sounded. He was too much of a realist to think he could.

But he’d been hiding out from the past for too long. He was going home—to all that entailed. Just the thought of seeing his father set his teeth on edge. But he was no longer afraid of the past. It was the truth that woke him in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. What had happened the day his brother was killed?

* * *

“GRANDMOTHER WOULD BE so proud,” Annabelle said as they tossed their hairnets in the trash, pulled on their coats and left the now-clean soup kitchen.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” TJ said as Chloe climbed into the back seat of Annabelle’s SUV and TJ took shotgun. She turned in her seat to look back at her. “Are you angry with me for calling Justin?”

“No. It was nice talking to him. But that ship sailed a long time ago.”

“Don’t say that,” Annabelle cut in as she slid behind the wheel and started the motor. “Look at me and Dawson. I left him even when he worked so hard to buy me an engagement ring and roses to ask me to marry him. I thought he’d never forgive me. He said I broke his heart.” Her voice cracked with emotion and tears flooded her blue eyes. “But we found our way back to each other.”

“I wonder why Justin didn’t marry Nici,” Chloe said.

“Who knows if they were even really engaged,” Annabelle said and scoffed. “That’s just what Nici said after they broke up. As far as I know that’s as close as she’s gotten to marriage.”

“Maybe she spends too much time in jail,” TJ joked.

“You two have certainly gotten caught up on local gossip,” Chloe said. Thinking of Nici made her uncomfortable. The woman was her own worst enemy. But weren’t they all that way sometimes?

“So are you going to tell us what is going on with you?” TJ asked as she buckled her seat belt and looked at Chloe in her side mirror.

“Why?” Annabelle said. “What’s going on with Chloe?” She shot a questioning look in the rearview mirror at her oldest sister.

“I lost my job,” Chloe said, glad to have the secret out.

“What do you mean you ‘lost it’?” TJ said.

“I was laid off with a bunch of others.” She looked out the window as Annabelle drove through the small western town of Whitehorse. It wasn’t that long ago that she was here for her grandmother’s funeral. Before that, she’d seldom returned except for quick visits. Like her sisters she’d wanted to conquer the world—far from Whitehorse, Montana.

Annabelle had become a supermodel with her face on the covers of magazines—until recently giving it up to be with her old high school boyfriend, rancher Dawson Rogers. The two were perfect for each other. Chloe wondered why it had taken her sister so long to realize it.

As for TJ, she’d become a New York Times bestselling author who also only recently left the big city life after falling in love. She now lived in a tiny cabin in the woods until she and her fiancé could get a larger place built up in the Little Rockies.

Chloe had become an investigative journalist and had worked her way up through bigger papers until she’d found herself working for one of the largest in Southern California. But with the way print newspapers were going recently, she’d been laid off with a dozen others and the thought of looking for another newspaper job... She said as much to her sisters.

“I’m so sorry,” Annabelle said. “What are you going to do?”

Chloe let out a bark of a laugh. “I have no idea. I have enough money saved that I don’t have to worry about it for a while.”

“You can stay in grandmother’s house as long as you want,” Annabelle said.

Grandmother’s house. She had to smile at that. Their grandmother Frannie had left the house to only Annabelle, which had caused friction between them but ultimately brought them together.

“It’s funny how things work out,” she said as her sister pulled up in front of the house in question. Annabelle, with help from friends, had refurbished the house. It did have a feeling of home, Chloe had to admit, since the three of them were raised in this house. It was a large two-story with four bedrooms, two up and two down. It sat among large old cottonwoods and backed to the Milk River in an area affectionately called “Millionaire’s Row.”

Not that any houses in Whitehorse were even close to a million. The homes were conservative like the rural people who lived in the area. And right now, Chloe had to admit, the town looked almost charming with its mantle of fresh snow and holiday lights.

“Would you mind if I borrowed your SUV?” Chloe asked as her sister pulled up into the driveway of their grandmother’s house. “There’s somewhere I need to go.”

* * *

JUSTIN DROVE ACROSS eastern Montana trying to imagine the rolling prairie landscape when thousands of buffalo roamed the area. Unfortunately, they’d all been killed off. He’d seen photos of their bones stacked in huge piles next to the railroad at Whitehorse.

His great-great-grandfather had been on one of the original cattle drives that brought longhorns to the area from Texas. He’d heard about how lush the grass was back then. His father’s family had settled the land, giving birth to the Calhoun Cattle Company. He still got a lump in this throat when he thought about his legacy.

It hadn’t been easy to give it up and simply walk away. Kind of like ripping out his heart. He loved the land, the ranch history, the feeling of being a part of something bigger than himself. He’d always felt more of a kinship with the ranch than his brother had—not that their father noticed.

So he’d left, since his heart had already been decimated over his brother’s death—and his father’s accusations. Now all that grief and regret had settled in his chest like a weight he couldn’t throw off. Five years had done little to lessen the pain. But he had grown up in that time. He was his own man now, something he could have never been with his older brother constantly reminding him that he was the little brother, the one his father didn’t put his faith or his love into.

By early afternoon he looked up to see Whitehorse, the tall grain bins next to the railroad silhouetted against the winter sky. He slowed his pickup, wanting to take it all in. Memories, both good and bad, assailed him. Home.

He took a deep breath, telling himself he was going to settle things once and for all, starting with the people he’d hurt.

* * *

THE MILK RIVER COURIER, the town’s only newspaper, was lodged in a small brick building along the main road. Chloe felt a rush of excitement as she pushed open the door. Being an investigative reporter was in her blood. She loved digging for information and couldn’t wait to get into the newspaper’s archives.

The smell of ink and paper filled her nostrils, the sound of clicking keyboards like music to her ears. It was early in the week so the small staff was busy trying to put together the weekly edition. She was led to the archives where she settled in, determined to find out what she could.

Chloe reread the first story about Andrew “Drew” Calhoun’s death. It was short and clearly had little more information in it than what she’d found on the sheriff’s blog that had also run in the paper.

Drew was found dead at 11:22 p.m. on that Saturday night. He’d been shot. It was unclear by whom. He was pronounced dead by the coroner at the scene. The investigation was continuing.

She read through what few stories followed, realizing that no one from the paper had gotten anywhere if they’d even tried to investigate the death. This was a small town and Bert Calhoun was a wealthy rancher. The paper had let the story die. It didn’t take long to realize little information had become public. The small weekly printed what was called the cop reports, but didn’t dig any deeper so skimmed only the surface of the news.

Chloe didn’t blame the staff. She understood, because even with larger newspapers there were some situations that were touchy. She’d always had trouble treading lightly. Like now. She wanted answers and she realized there was only one place to go. She couldn’t bear the idea that Justin had been blamed for his brother’s death—even if he’d never been arrested for it. She had to know the truth. It was inherent in her DNA. And this was Justin. The cowboy she’d shared that one amazing winter kiss with all those years ago. A girl didn’t forget things like that.

* * *

JUSTIN FOUND THE Kent house without any trouble. It was a large old three-story wooden structure that needed paint and the porch fixed. It looked exactly as he remembered it.

He had no idea if Nicole even still lived in Whitehorse. He’d made a point of not keeping in touch with anyone from home. As he walked up the unshoveled, snow-packed walk to the door, he saw a faded curtain twitch. The door was opened before he even reached it.

“I guess it’s a day for surprises,” Nici said as she leaned against the doorjamb. “What are you doing back here?”

“It’s good to see you too, Nici.” She hadn’t changed from her dyed black hair to her belligerent attitude. He had to smile. “Buy you a coffee?”

“Make it a beer and you’re on.”

The last place he wanted to go was a bar where he might be recognized. He pulled into the local convenience store, ran in and came back out with a six-pack.

“Maybe you haven’t heard, but Montana has an open container law,” she said as he handed her the beer.

“Then you’d better not open one until we reach the lake,” he said and started the truck.

She immediately opened a beer, just as he knew she would. They said little on the drive out to Nelson Reservoir. He and Nici used to come out here all the time at night in the summer. He would be tired from working the ranch all day under his father’s unrelenting supervision. He’d need to unwind and Nici was always up for it.

“Remember swimming naked out here late at night?” Nici asked as he parked at the edge of the boat ramp and turned off the engine. She was holding the beer can, looking out at the frozen expanse of cold white.

“Doesn’t look too appealing at the moment,” he commented and she handed him a beer. He settled back in the seat, opened the can and took a drink. It almost felt like old times.

“What are you doing here?” Nici asked, sounding worried about him.

He turned to look at her and smiled. “I’ve come home to face the music.”

“You didn’t kill Drew.”

Justin said nothing as he took another drink and turned his attention again to a more pleasant memory from the past. “Remember that one night we got caught out here by that camper?”

Nici chuckled. “Apparently the man had never been young. Either that or he didn’t like his teenage sons ogling me as I came out of the water bare-assed naked.”

He laughed. “You always liked shocking people.”

“Still do.” She glanced over at him. “Did you think I might have changed?”

Justin turned a little in his seat. His gaze softened as he looked at her. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Nici huffed. “You join AA or something? If this is about making amends—”

“I’m serious. I know you hoped that things were more serious between us...”

She took a long drink of her beer without looking at him.

“You were my best friend. Hell, my only female friend.”

“But not good enough to marry.” When she turned to look at him there were tears in her dark eyes. She made an angry swipe at them, finished her beer and pulled another can free of the plastic holder.

“I loved you. I still do.”

Nici stopped and looked over at him.

“I still think of you as my best girl friend.” He smiled. “I’ve often wondered what kind of trouble you’ve been into back here in Montana. I’ve missed you.”

She stared at him. “You make it hard to hate you.”

“Good.” He touched her shoulder. “I feel like I left you high and dry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“You married Margie.” She made it sound like an accusation.

“I know. A mistake. I ended up hurting her too.” He shook his head. “I did a lot of things I’m not proud of. That’s why I’m back.”

“To make amends.”

“To straighten out a few things,” he said. “I can’t undo anything I’ve done. All I can do is say I’m sorry. So how have you been?”

She laughed. “Not great. I spent the morning doing community service. Don’t ask.” He saw that it was hard for her to admit it. “I should have gone to college or gotten a job. I should have left Whitehorse.”

“It’s not too late.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No. So what’s keeping you here?” he asked. “A man?”

Nici shook her head. “Inertia. I guess I just needed someone to give me a swift kick to get me moving.”

“Consider this your kick.” They drank their beer for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts. “There’s something I need to ask you,” he finally said.

“About me and Drew.” She shook her head and looked way. “I knew that was coming.” Her dark eyes filled with hurt and anger. “I didn’t shoot him.”

“But you were at the ranch that night.”

She didn’t deny it. “Drew was a bastard, but I suspect you already know that.”

“What happened that night?”

Nici sighed and looked away. “Why are you just now asking me this?”

“Because I have to know. I should have asked five years ago.”

“What do you think happened?” she snapped. “I knew why Drew called me. It was nothing more than a booty call.” She turned to stare him down. “I knew he was just doing it to hurt you, but I didn’t care. You were breaking my heart. You think I didn’t know that you were never going to marry me?”

Justin felt as if she’d thrust a knife into his chest. “I’m sorry. You meant so much to me—”

“Just not enough.” She licked her lips, her throat working for a moment. “That’s the story of my life. I’ve never felt like enough.”

“I know that feeling.”

She continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “I’ve let men use me...” Her voice broke.

The pickup cab filled with a heavy silence. Outside the wind picked up and began to lift the new snow into the air.

“I hate that you feel I was one of those men.”

She looked over at him, her gaze softening. “I wanted more so I was angry, but I never felt that way about...us.”

He finally asked, “So you met him that night out at the ranch.”

She nodded solemnly. “It was just as I thought. He got what he wanted and told me to leave.”

Justin had been in the horse barn when he’d heard the shots and looked out. He’d seen her drive away. He’d run to his brother’s cabin some distance from the main house and found him. Only minutes later his father burst in to find him holding the gun. He’d always wondered if Bert Calhoun had seen Nici driving away and never said anything.

Justin had kept his mouth shut as well, covering for her. He’d never told anyone—not even the sheriff. “Did you see anyone else? Or did Drew mention anything that might have been going on with him?” For a moment, he thought she wasn’t going to answer.

“Before I left, he got a call. He stepped outside the cabin to take it. He seemed upset and even more in a hurry for me to leave.”

“You don’t know who it was from?” Justin asked.

Nici shook her head. “It was a woman—I know that. Drew didn’t say much on the phone, but the way he said it... Why did you never tell anyone about seeing me that night?”

He shrugged. “You’d already been in trouble with the law. I was afraid...” He didn’t finish the sentence.

Nici reached over and touched his arm. “I didn’t shoot him. I would have gone to the sheriff if I’d known that everyone would think you did.”

“It wouldn’t have done any good,” he said. “Even you can’t be sure I didn’t kill him.”

She studied him for a long moment. “If I’d been you, I would have killed him. Only I wouldn’t have stopped firing until the gun was empty. He deserved so much worse.”

Chapter Three

Justin drove out to the Rogers Ranch. Dawson was a couple years younger. They’d grown up just down the road from each other. Of all the people he’d known, Justin trusted Dawson the most since they’d been friends since they were kids.

As he drove up into his old friend’s yard, Dawson came out of the barn wiping his hands on a rag. Past him, Justin could see an old tractor with some of its parts lying on a bench nearby.

“You still trying to get that thing running?” he said as he got out of his truck and approached the rancher.

Dawson wiped his right hand on his canvas pants and extended it. They shook hands both smiling at each other. “I swear that tractor is going to be the end of me,” he said, glancing toward the barn. “I know I should get rid of it but we’re like old friends.” His gaze came back to Justin. “Speaking of old friends...”

Justin took a breath and let it out before he said. “I needed to come back and take care of a few things.”

Dawson nodded. “You need a place to stay?”

“I’d appreciate it. I could stay at the hotel in town but—”

“No reason to. You know you’re welcome here. I have a guest room in the house.”

“I’d prefer the bunkhouse if you don’t mind.”

Dawson seemed to study him for a moment. “I was just headed up to the main house. If my mother heard you were staying here and she didn’t get to see you, she’d skin me alive.”

Justin laughed and shook his head. “Worse, she’d skin me alive.”

“Why don’t we hop into my pickup?” his friend suggested. “I want to hear all about where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing.”

“Wish it was worth telling. Let’s just say I’ve been on the run, but I’m back.”

“To stay?” Dawson asked.

“Hard to say.”

Dawson slapped him on the shoulder as they neared his truck. “Well, I hope you’re home for good. How long have you been in town?”

“Just got in earlier.”

“Well, then you haven’t heard. Annabelle Clementine and I are engaged.”

“No kidding,” Justin said. “Congratulations. I’m glad to hear that. I always thought you and Annabelle belonged together. I heard her sister Chloe’s here for the holidays.”

* * *

SHERIFF MCCALL CRAWFORD motioned Chloe into her office. “You look so serious, maybe you’d better close the door.”

She smiled as she closed the door and took the chair the sheriff offered her. “I’m here about the Drew Calhoun shooting.”

McCall nodded. “What about it?”

“I’d like to see the file.” The sheriff raised a brow. “It happened five years ago and was ruled an accident. I wouldn’t think you’d have a problem with my seeing it.”

“I have to ask why you’re interested,” McCall said. “As a reporter?”

“I’m currently not a reporter for a newspaper,” she said, but feeling like whatever had pushed her into that career would always be with her. Curiosity. The kind that killed cats. “I’m taking some time off to consider my options.”

“What exactly are you looking for then with Drew Calhoun’s death?” the sheriff asked.

“Answers.”

McCall said nothing for a few moments. “Is there anyone who might want to get you involved in his death?”

She thought of Justin. “Not that I know of.”

“So why get involved?”

“It’s what I do. I’m an investigative reporter. Maybe it is the years of doing this for a living, but I feel there might be more to the story.”

“There isn’t. I investigated Drew Calhoun’s death. It was an accident.”

Chloe studied her for a moment. She’d heard good things about McCall. “Then there shouldn’t be a problem with looking into the case.”

“I would be happy to tell you anything you’d like to know.” McCall leaned back in her chair. “Ask away.”

“I understand Bert Calhoun believes his son Justin fired the fatal shot. Was there gunshot residue on Justin’s hands and clothing?”

“Some.”

Chloe blinked. She hadn’t been expecting that.

The sheriff continued. “Why don’t I tell you exactly what’s in the report? Drew was found by his brother, Justin, in a cabin on the property. The gun belonged to Drew. Justin said he heard two gunshots and went to investigate.”

“Two shots?”

“One bullet caught Drew in the heart, the other lodged in the wall by the door, which he was facing. Both were from the same gun, the one Justin said he found his brother holding in his lap.”

“So how did Justin—”

“Drew was still alive, according to his brother, and trying to fire the gun a third time. Justin rushed to him and took the gun away from him and called for help. But before the ambulance and EMTs could get there, Drew died.”

Chloe sat back. “So why did I hear Bert Calhoun thinks Justin killed his brother?”

The sheriff shook her head. “I’ve found grieving parents especially have trouble accepting their child’s death. They don’t want to face it. They tell me that their son knew guns, had since he was a boy. That he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to shoot himself.” She shrugged. “The truth is accidents happen all the time. People get careless.”

“Was there any sign of a struggle?” Chloe asked.

McCall glanced away and Chloe knew she’d hit on something. “Apparently Drew had a run-in with someone earlier that night. He’d been drinking, according to the blood alcohol level hours later. He had a split lip, a cut over one eye. The eye was nearly swollen shut, which could also explain why he was careless with the gun. He had lacerations on his arms and jaw.”

“Lacerations?”

The sheriff met her gaze. “Scratches.”

“Like from fingernails?”

“The coroner said that was definitely an option,” she said noncommittally.

“Do you have any idea who he tangled with that night?” Chloe asked.

She shook her head. “But he and his brother had been heard arguing earlier in the day. When Justin was questioned his knuckles were skinned and he had a bruise on his forehead. He admitted to having argued with his brother but swears he didn’t beat him up. As for his own injuries, he said they were self-inflicted. He alleged that he’d taken out his temper on a tree out by the pond on the ranch property. When tests were run on his hands, fragments of tree resin were found.”

“So he was telling the truth,” she said. “Did you pass all of this on to his father?”

“I did. But like I said—”

“Bert had his mind made up.” She nodded. “Isn’t it possible that someone fired the shot that would kill Drew, dropped the gun and ran? Drew picked up the gun and fired the shot that was found embedded in the wall by the door?”

“Possible. Justin said he heard the sound of a vehicle engine as he was calling 911. But we found no evidence another person had been in that room let alone shot Drew.”

“You ruled it an accident.” She met the sheriff’s gaze. “It sounds more like a suicide.”

The sheriff bristled. “That’s not what the evidence led me to. I wasn’t alone. The coroner agreed.”

“But you also don’t want this to be a suicide.”

McCall sighed. “No one wants to tell a father that his son killed himself, that’s true. But there was no suicide note. No apparent depression or talk of suicide. People who knew him didn’t believe Drew would have purposely taken his own life. Also there is no evidence that Drew was trying to kill himself,” McCall said. “Alcohol was involved. His wouldn’t be the first accident with a firearm when the user has been drinking.”

Chloe sat forward. “But what if he was trying to defend himself?”

“From whom?”

“That’s what I don’t know, but the shot in the direction of the door bothers me.” She could see that it had bothered the sheriff, as well.

“I believe he was impaired enough that he didn’t have control over the gun,” McCall said.

Drew had been in a fight and he was drunk. She supposed he could have gotten his gun out, thinking whoever had given him the beating might want to finish him off. And in his drunken state shot the wall and then himself as he fumbled with the gun.

“Did you know Drew Calhoun?” the sheriff asked.

She shook her head. “He was older so he was out of high school before I got there. I’ve heard stories about him. I know he and Justin didn’t get along.”

The sheriff nodded. “I’m not sure what you plan to do with this information, but I hope you’re sensitive to the pain a tragedy like this leaves in a community, not to mention how a father is still struggling to deal with his loss.”

Chloe had conflicting emotions when it came to the case. What she knew of Drew assured her that he had no reason to want to kill himself. He had been arrogant, wild and his father’s favorite. He’d been spoiled all his life. Suicide didn’t seem likely. Not that people who have shown no sign of suicidal tendencies previously don’t take their lives in weak moments.

“I lived with a lot of what-ifs in my life, not knowing the truth about my own father,” McCall said.

“But then you found out the truth.”

The sheriff nodded. “Which led to other truths perhaps I hadn’t wanted to know. I found out that whenever you go digging into something like this, it can be dangerous, especially if you go into it believing one thing only to find out you’re wrong. But I can see that your mind is made up.” She got to her feet. “Let me get you the information.”

As Chloe was leaving the sheriff’s office, she almost collided with a man in uniform. He caught her as she stumbled against him. As her gaze rose to his face, she felt a shock. “Kelly?”

“That’s Deputy Locke to you,” he said seriously. “Don’t look so surprised.”

Shocked was more like it. It felt like running headlong into the solid brick wall of her past. All the pain the man had caused her. She’d hated Kelly Locke. For a moment, she couldn’t speak. She’d thought he’d left town and said as much.

“I came back. Seems you did the same thing.”

She stared at him, her throat constricting. Everyone had people in their past who’d helped shape them. If anything, Kelly Locke had made her the cynical woman she’d become. It was what made her dig for stories, looking for the truth. The truth meant more to her than anything. She’d already lived with the lies because of him.

“You like the uniform?” he asked, making her realize she’d been staring.

“I never thought of you like this,” she stammered.

“You thought of me?” He grinned and brushed back a lock of blond hair from his blue eyes. When she didn’t respond, he said, “So what are you doing here?”

She opened her mouth, closed it. “Just stopped in to see the sheriff.”

“Anything I can help you with?”

“No.” She said it a little too quickly.

He raised a brow. “If you don’t want to tell me...”

The shock was starting to wear off. “I’m sure you’re busy with keeping Whitehorse safe from jaywalkers.”

“Funny,” he said as he puffed up, his hand going to the weapon on his hip. “But then again, you always did like the one-liners.”

She looked into his handsome face and thought as she had years ago how unfair it was that Kelly Locke could look so good and yet be such a jackass. But it was worse than that. She knew how cruel the man could be since she’d stupidly dated him at one point. That he was now a deputy and armed made her a little uneasy—especially given the way things had ended between them.

“So how long have you been a deputy?”

He grinned. “Almost six years.”

“That long.” It would mean that he’d been a deputy when Drew Calhoun was killed.

“I’m the strong arm of the law,” he said, his gaze meeting hers and holding it. “Which means you’d best watch yourself.” He lowered his voice and leaned closer so the dispatcher couldn’t hear. She caught a cloying waft of men’s cologne. “I’d hate to have to cuff you and take you for a ride in the back of my patrol car.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” With that, she stepped past him and headed for the exit. She could feel herself trembling, remembering what he’d done to her. She didn’t have to look back to know he was watching her. His gaze burned into her back. The man gave her more than the creeps. He scared her.

Chapter Four

When Chloe returned to their grandmother’s house, she found Annabelle in the kitchen baking cookies and TJ editing a manuscript at the table.

“Why didn’t you tell me that Kelly Locke is a cop?” Chloe demanded when she walked in and saw her two sisters.

They looked up in surprise. “He isn’t a cop—he’s a sheriff’s deputy,” Annabelle said.

“Same thing! He carries a gun and a badge!” she cried.

“I take it that the uniform doesn’t make your old boyfriend look even better to you? Has he changed?” TJ asked. Not enough, Chloe thought. But then again she’d never told her sisters the extent of Kelly’s malice after they’d broken up.

“It’s his personality that’s the problem.” She shuddered.

“He was always so angry, so close to the edge that I was on pins and needles all the time you were dating,” TJ said. “He’d go off for no reason. He was always looking for a fight. If anyone looked at him cross-eyed—”

“Wow, he really did set you both off,” Annabelle said. “I always thought he was really cute and built too. What did he do this time? Arrest you for throwing snowballs at cars like some of us used to do?”

“You don’t know how unfunny that is. I ran into him at the sheriff’s office,” she said. “He threatened to handcuff me and get me into the back of his patrol car.”

“What were you doing at the sheriff’s office unless he did arrest you?” Annabelle asked.

Chloe saw that both sisters were studying her.

“What’s going on?” TJ asked suspiciously.

She tried to wave it off, but could see neither sister was going to let her get away with it. “I’m looking into Drew Calhoun’s death.”

“Why would you do that?” TJ and Annabelle asked in unison.

“That is so annoying when you two do that,” she said.

“Is this about Justin?” Annabelle asked.

“I’m just curious about Drew’s case,” she said as she opened the refrigerator, pulled out the orange juice and poured herself a glass. She wasn’t thirsty. She just needed something to do with her hands. It was hard to stall without keeping her hands busy.

“Just curious?” TJ said. “Are you looking for a job?”

Taking a drink, she turned slowly to meet her sister’s gaze. “I’m not sure what I want to do next.”

“Chloe? You aren’t thinking of quitting print journalism, are you?”

“Maybe you haven’t heard but newspapers are struggling right now,” Chloe began and was quickly interrupted.

“With your track record?” TJ asked in surprise. “You can get a job almost anywhere, maybe a smaller paper but—”

“I’m not sure what I want to do,” she said. “Maybe I just need a break.”

Annabelle laughed. “You’re falling in love with Whitehorse all over again, aren’t you? You don’t want to leave.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t go that far, but I am enjoying being here with the two of you.” She went over to where Annabelle was taking cookies hot from the oven off the pan and setting them out to cool. She had to smile. Her younger sister had never shown any interest in cooking or baking growing up.

When they were kids, TJ had taken up cooking because their grandmother was no cook. Chloe had been the baker. There was something so satisfying about whipping up a batch of cookies. Plus you got to eat them while they were still warm. She’d forgotten how much she’d enjoyed it since she seldom baked for herself.

“Sugar cookies for Dawson,” Annabelle said proudly.

“And for your big sister Chloe,” she said, taking a cookie. “You’re getting good at this. These are delicious.”

Her sister lit up at the praise. “I figure I’ll branch out into cooking. Willie has promised to teach me a few of Dawson’s favorite dishes.”

“You couldn’t ask for a better teacher,” Chloe said of Dawson’s mother.

TJ was studying her again. “I know you, Chloe. Unless you have a project, you will go crazy between now and the wedding. We don’t want that.”

She realized that her sister was giving her permission to dig into the Drew Calhoun case. Like she needed her permission, she thought, but wasn’t about to voice it. Annabelle and TJ would be busy and out of her hair. She was her own woman. She could do whatever she wanted.

“But are you sure there isn’t more to this quest you’re on?” TJ asked, studying her closely. “Like Justin?”

Chloe had to smile. Her sister knew her so well. “I might as well hang around for a while. Anyway, we have a wedding coming up, right?”

“That’s what we wanted to tell you,” Annabelle said excitedly. “We have a surprise.”

Chloe had already told them that she didn’t like surprises. Often it meant change. Like when their parents had been killed and they’d been shipped to Whitehorse to live with a grandmother they didn’t even know existed before then. Grandma Frannie had been wonderful, but she’d definitely been a surprise.

What was she thinking? Frannie had continued to be a surprise.

“We’re going to have a double wedding!” Annabelle announced, smiling broadly, her eyes glittering as she reached over and grasped TJ’s hand.

“Congratulations!” Chloe said, glad for the change of subject. “This is wonderful. What can I do to help?”

The conversation quickly shifted to the double wedding: who, what, where, when.

“We need to find you a dress to wear,” Annabelle was saying.

“I thought you both wanted small weddings?” she asked.

“It can be small but elegant,” Annabelle said.

Chloe looked at TJ. “You and Silas are good with this?”

Her sister laughed. “My mountain man does own a tux, you know.”

She looked at them and felt her heart swell. “I am so happy for both of you.”

“So what have you found out so far?” TJ asked as Chloe joined her at the table.

“I just did a little research on Drew Calhoun’s death,” she said. “There wasn’t much in the local paper so I talked to the sheriff. It was interesting—and disturbing.”

“In what way?” Annabelle asked as she brought over a plate of cookies and joined them.

“No real answers. I can understand why McCall ruled it an accident, but it definitely left me wondering. I’m sure that’s the problem Justin’s dad is having with it, as well. Did you know that someone beat up Drew that night before he was shot? He had cuts and bruises, a black eye and scratches on his face and arms that the coroner said appeared to be from fingernails.”

“So some woman beat him up?” Annabelle said.

“I’d say he definitely tangled with someone or maybe a mountain lion,” she said. “I’d love to know who was responsible. But it makes me think that it’s why Drew, who was drunk, was in the cabin with his gun.”

“Maybe he was going after whoever beat him up,” TJ suggested.

“Or thought they were coming after him,” Annabelle added.

Chloe sighed. “We might never know. He wasn’t dead though when Justin found him. According to Justin, he took the gun away from him—that’s how his fingerprints ended up on the gun. It also explained trace amounts of gunpowder residue on Justin’s hands.”

“I heard that one of the reasons Bert thinks Justin shot his brother was because he found him standing over Drew holding the gun,” Annabelle said.

“That would do it,” TJ agreed.

“Also Justin and Drew had a fight earlier in the day,” Chloe said.

“What convinced the sheriff that Justin didn’t do it?” TJ, the mystery/thriller writer, asked.

“Before I left her office, McCall gave me a copy of the coroner’s report. I’ve only glanced at it, but Drew was shot at close range in the chest. There was another shot fired either before or after. This one in the opposite direction. The bullet lodged in the wall next to the door.”

“That’s odd,” TJ said.

“That’s what I thought. I suggested to the sheriff that someone shot Drew with his gun, then dropped it in his lap to make it look like a suicide and was leaving, not realizing Drew was still alive. He picked up the gun and fired at his would-be killer. His shot went wild. He was still holding the gun when Justin appeared minutes later and took it away from him. Justin said he heard a vehicle motor leaving after he found Drew, but apparently no one else did since his father found him not long after, holding the gun.”

“Or Drew was drunk and angry. He fired the shot at the door before turning the gun on himself,” TJ said and shrugged. “Like you said, we’ll probably never know.”

“But what if someone got away with murder?” Chloe said.

Neither sister said anything for a moment.

“Wait, if you really think Drew was murdered, won’t this be dangerous?” Annabelle said.

“Maybe even more dangerous if Justin Calhoun decides to come to the New Year’s Eve Masquerade Dance,” TJ said. “There are apparently plenty of people in this town who believe he killed his brother. Justin might be the last person who wants you playing investigative reporter into his brother’s death.”

* * *

“WE’VE GOT TROUBLE.”

“I heard. Justin Calhoun is back in town. Someone saw him buying beer at the convenience store. Nici Kent was with him.”

“Bigger trouble than that.”

“Chloe Clementine. She’s an investigative reporter from some big California newspaper. She spent time at the local newspaper wanting to know about Drew Calhoun’s death. Then she went over to the sheriff’s office. I heard the sheriff gave her the coroner’s report on his death.”

“So what? The sheriff ruled it an accident. It’s been five years. It isn’t as if they would reopen the case because of some nosey reporter. Just keep your cool. Nothing’s going to come of this.”

“But what if this Clementine gets too close to the truth?”

“Then I’ll take care of her. You worry too much. Drew Calhoun got what was coming to him. There is no reason anyone would suspect we were involved. So chill out. She’s going to be asking a lot of questions, but we don’t know anything, right?”

“Right. It’s just that after five years—”

“I’m telling you it’s nothing. It’s over. We’re all in the clear.” But even as he mouthed the words, he could tell that they weren’t in the clear. There was a weak link and he was going to have to take care of it.

After disconnecting he considered his options. He wouldn’t do anything until he was forced to. Maybe all this would blow over. Or not. Still there was cause for concern. Something must have brought Justin Calhoun back to Whitehorse. The timing bothered him. He returns and this investigative reporter gets interested? There had to be a connection. Or someone had talked.

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