That was small-town living, something she was still trying to adapt to, after all the time she’d been away, taking it one day at a time.
Kay had been up since dawn, although her shift didn’t start until later. It wasn’t the traditional shift per se; Mount Chester Sheriff’s Office was barely large enough to qualify for two detectives on the payroll, and she still wondered why Sheriff Logan had chosen to extend her the job offer only a week ago. One of the benefits of the small team size was she had a bit more flexibility in her start time, given she’d put in long hours whenever she worked a case. Same rule applied to her partner, largely the man whose blue eyes and handsome looks had persuaded her to stay, Detective Elliot Young from Austin, Texas. She’d assisted him with a serial killer case in an unofficial/somewhat official capacity as a consultant. Then, she was surprised to be offered the permanent position with the local sheriff’s office. Finally, she surprised herself by accepting it, and one particular detective carried some of the blame, albeit unknowingly.
Because life was like that; weird, convoluted, more loaded with twists than a bestselling novel. She’d lived in the San Francisco Bay Area for years, a city of over seven million people, and never met anyone even remotely interesting. Yet she came back for one visit to Mount Chester, the place she’d sworn she’d never return to, and there he was, cowboy hat and Texas drawl and all, smiling when he saw her, ever so briefly, before lowering his head and covering his eyes underneath the wide felt brim.
And she’d stayed. She still wasn’t sure she hadn’t made a mistake, being how much she missed her old job as profiler for the San Francisco regional FBI office, but she just couldn’t bring herself to leave Mount Chester again.
The coffeemaker beeped twice with its urgent, high-pitched sound, and she flared her nostrils, welcoming the bitter aroma with hints of hazelnut. Grabbing a mug from the cabinet above her head, she stepped sideways and poured herself a hefty helping.
“Fix me up, sis,” Jacob said, then yawned heartily, scratching the back of his head. He was still in pajamas, although it was almost nine.
She took another mug and filled it, then handed it to him with a smile. “You working today?”
“Uh-huh,” he replied as he took a sip of the hot liquid. “We’re replacing a roof over by the hotel.”
“So late?”
“That’s what the customer wanted. I’ll be happy if we finish before sundown.” He set the mug on the table and opened the fridge, then took a cold croissant and bit half of it, chewing it hastily.
“I can warm that up for you,” she offered.
“You’re not Mom,” he pushed back. “I lived on my own and managed to survive, you know.”
Frustrated, she raised her arm in the air. “I don’t want to go there, Jacob. The house was—”
“Thank you for the new vacuum, and the new washer and dryer, and for everything, but I was fine.”
No, he wasn’t fine. He hadn’t been fine in years, but he refused to acknowledge it, no matter how hard she tried. “I’ll, um, find somewhere I can move.”
He took two steps and stopped squarely in front of her, then grasped her shoulders. “You don’t have to leave, sis. I know why you’d want to,” he said, while his gaze veered off to the side, turning dark for a brief moment. “But you’re welcome here just as much as I am. It’s your home too.”
She smiled, warmed by her brother’s love. It was pointless to try to make him understand. “What if you want to have a girl over?”
“Ha, ha, I haven’t had a girl over since forever. But now that the house is clean and all, I can try to get hooked up. Maybe I’ll get lucky.” He tucked a rebel strand of her blond hair behind her ear. “Don’t worry about me, Kay. If it comes to that, we’ll do it like we used to when we were in school. Hang something from the door, like a sock or whatever.”
She laughed, her reaction surprising him. “We’re adults, Jake, for crying out loud. Adult people get their own homes and—”
A chime interrupted her train of thought. Picking up her phone, she read the message.
She had a case.
3Scene
When Kay reached the crime scene, Dr. Whitmore had already started working, and Elliot’s car was pulling over next to hers. The drive up to Blackwater River Falls had been challenging. She’d hiked there many times, but never thought it could be reached by SUV or, in Dr. Whitmore’s case, by county coroner’s van. She’d made it after a long, nerve-racking journey going 10 miles an hour and scaling boulders, afraid her car would fall apart.
Climbing out of the white Ford Explorer, she took in the scene. The small clearing was swarming with people, some wearing the sheriff’s colors, others the medical examiner’s insignia. A few were wearing tall rubber boots and were working in the
