Ask Me Why (15 page)

Only as she climbed into the doctor's pickup, she began to think. The shot had been real. Someone almost killed her. Maybe they'd been aiming at Rick or maybe she'd been the target.

Lizzie couldn't shake the feeling that no matter what she'd said to Rick, the bullet hadn't been a stray shot, an accident. He might feel as if he'd put her in danger because someone was after him, but she suspected the opposite. Maybe she was the one with an enemy?

She had to face facts.

Trouble wasn't hunting him; a killer was hunting her. In the past year she'd gotten two letters after she'd had accidents. At first she'd thought it only a cruel joke, but now she feared someone might really wish her dead.

One accident she'd had on a rainy road. She'd heard some folks had hinted that it might have been an attempt at suicide. The wreck had left her shaken and bruised. The note arrived two days later in the mail. It was printed in pencil and said simply,
Maybe you'll have better luck with killing yourself next time.

Lizzie thought the note mean-spirited and cruel, but she told no one about it.

Then last month when she stepped on a nail and fell off her roof, another letter came. Typed this time. This one said,
Fall on your head next time and finish the job right.

After that, Lizzie quit opening any mail that didn't have a return address. She wouldn't even return the call when her aunt Alice left a message saying that it was time they got together because, after all, they were family.

Lizzie thought the notes were pranks, a cruel joke someone had decided to play. Maybe the same someone had cut her phone line at the shop last spring, and two weeks ago that someone might have cut her screen at the shop, just enough to push the water hose in. She'd walked into a flooded shop. If the breaker hadn't been thrown, she might have been electrocuted when she turned on the lights.

Lizzie had fixed the problems without telling anyone.

What bothered her even more than the letters or the pranks was not knowing who was doing them. It could be anyone. She first thought of cousins on her mother's side, who hated her for inheriting the money Granny left. Only her aunt had left that message trying to patch things up. Then she considered it might be a Matheson who thought she had embarrassed them one time too many. That side of the family was so normal, and, if not kind, all were at least tolerant of her.

Who knows? Maybe someone hated her in school. She was always the odd one who never fit in, who always ruined the curve in grading, the one who accidentally leaked any secret she heard to the wrong person. Maybe someone in her class cracked up and wanted to start his serial-killing spree with her.

The doc pulled her back from worrying as he parked in front of the clinic. “You're awful quiet, Elizabeth. Lack of sleep finally catching up to you?”

“No, I'm fine.” She glanced over at his kind face. “Would you mind if I went with you today on your house calls, or barn calls, or whatever you call them? I could help.”

He seemed to understand. “I wouldn't mind at all. I'd be happy to have the company.”

“Thanks,” she whispered, lowering her head. It wasn't that she was afraid to be alone, she told herself. She just needed time to think. All her life she had never worried so much about doing what was proper; she just worried about not doing something wrong. When she'd finally grown up, she thought everything would be all right if she just lived alone.

Only trouble seemed to have found her anyway.

RICK TOOK HIS
time getting dressed as he slowly relived every minute of his night with Trace. She'd felt so good in his arms, in his bed. With her, he believed he just might be a great lover. Only problem was no one would ever know, because he couldn't imagine loving anyone but Trace.

They fit together so perfectly. They were wild hungry animals leaving bruises one minute, and the next, loving so tenderly he felt he breathed her into his entire body. He hadn't asked her if she'd taken another lover in the months they'd been apart. He knew she hadn't. Just like him, she was starving, demanding, on fire. She'd wanted him with every part of her being, just as he'd wanted her.

Strangely, the fact that she hadn't said good-bye gave him hope. She was still around, and he had no choice but to wait until she appeared again. If she believed someone was stalking him, planning to kill him, she'd be watching over him from somewhere in the shadows. His own private, long-legged, beautiful guardian angel.

When he climbed into his car, a text blinked on his cell phone.

One word.
Midnight.
He didn't recognize the number, but he pressed return and punched:
I dare you to come back for more.

He pressed Send and smiled. Trace wasn't gone. They'd have another night.

He didn't bother to search the corners of the parking garage or study the people in other cars. She was out there. He knew it, but he wouldn't see her until midnight. An endless day lay ahead, which offered him hours to think about the pleasure to come. He'd make love to her again, wild and free, as if for the first time, or maybe the last time.

He stopped for coffee at the diner, bought a paper in the bookstore, climbed the stairs to his office on the third floor of the courthouse, and adjusted his chair. Fifteen minutes later he was sound asleep.

Finally, the sound of someone pounding on his door woke him. Rick stood, trying to shake off sleep before he made it to the lock. The sunshine that had been sparkling across his floor was gone, so he guessed he'd been asleep for hours. It had to be near noon.

His cousin's wife, Alex, the sheriff of Harmony, stood waiting, none too patiently as he unlocked the door. She didn't say a word, just walked in, turned, and glared at him.

“What?” he snapped. Alex tended to frown when she was unhappy with him, which was most of the time. The sheriff was only kin by marriage, but she'd been big-sistering him since he'd hung up a shingle and started practicing law.

“Why didn't you let me know Marshal Trace Adams was in town? She charged into my office three hours ago and the dust hasn't settled since.”

“What do I look like? Instagram? Maybe she just came in to see me.”

Alex rolled her eyes. “She thinks your life is in danger. That's why she's back.”

He guessed the fact that he'd slept with Trace couldn't look more obvious. “You've talked to Trace this morning then.” It really wasn't a question. Of course she'd been filled in on the shot that hit Lizzie. If she hadn't, Trace wouldn't be in town, and Alex wouldn't be in his office.

Sheriff Matheson grinned. “I saw her. She looked just like you, exhausted with a permanent smile stuck on her face. Let me give you some advice, Rick. When you sleep with a woman, take some time out and sleep.”

Great,
Rick thought, now the whole family would know his business. He hated small towns. And relatives. And coffee that hadn't kept him awake. Coughing, he muttered, “I think I'm coming down with a cold. Maybe you should go.”

She walked past him and sat in the chair in front of his desk. “I'm not going back to the office. Trace is there going through files and hinting that I'm not doing my duty. Half the deputies are afraid of her, and the other half are following her around like lost puppies.”

“What duty are you supposed to be doing?” Rick wasn't interested, but Alex didn't appear to be leaving.

“The one of taking care of you. She thinks someone's out to kill you, and she's mad at me for not already solving the case. Which is hard to do, counselor, when no one reports being shot at.”

He circled the desk and dropped into his napping chair. “It was just one shot. Probably a stray bullet. Lizzie said it just scratched her. You can ask her.”

Alex leaned forward. Her long catlike movements reminded him a little of Trace. They were both tall and slim and beautiful enough to have been models, if they hadn't picked fighting bad guys for a living.

“I would ask Lizzie, but she's not at home or at her workplace. Don't you think it's a little strange that she's disappeared when she doesn't even have a car?” Alex frowned as she confessed. “I even broke into her house to make sure she wasn't in there dead.”

“I've done that,” Rick admitted. “Did you check with the vet who lives in front of her place? Maybe he'd know where she's gone.”

“I didn't know they were friends.” Alex looked surprised. “I did see a note on his door saying anyone with an emergency should call his cell. He jotted down something about visiting a few ranches and being at the rodeo arena around five when the rough stock came in.”

“Rough stock?” Rick couldn't remember much about the rodeo. He'd played football all the way through high school and college. Jocks and cowboys usually only met in the emergency room.

Alex, with a brother who'd been a real rodeo star, knew all about it. “Rough stock is the bulls and horses that are provided for the guys to ride. They're raised to be in the game. If the doc's checking out the stock, he's in for a hard afternoon.”

Rick really didn't want a lecture on rodeo problems. In truth, he'd like to get back to his dream, but Alex wasn't here to gripe about Trace or look for Lizzie. She had something else on her mind—he'd bet on it. “Say what you came to say, Alex. I know you didn't walk over here just to wake me up so you could give out advice on my love life.”

She leaned back in her chair again and steepled her fingers. “Did it ever cross that thick Matheson skull of yours, Rick, that maybe, just maybe, you weren't the target last night? Maybe whoever was shooting hit what he aimed at?”

Rick came wide awake. “Why would anyone want to hurt Lizzie? She does dress like she's trying out for a part in
Sweeney Todd
and her hair changes color regularly, but she's a kind person. Word is she doesn't charge near enough for the grooming and does all the pound dogs free to help them get adopted. Who would want to hurt her?”

“I know. It didn't make sense to me at first. I agree that she's kind. The family might not have said much to her, but we all admired her for taking care of her grandmother. She gave up two years of her life to stay home and be a nurse. That's why I want to get to the bottom of this fast, before someone tries again.”

Rick leaned closer. The sheriff had his full attention.

Alex pulled out three letters from a folder she carried. “Six days ago, Davidson called me over to the post office and said Lizzie had opened a P.O. box and asked if he would cancel all delivery to her house.”

“Lots of folks do that.” Rick picked up a pen and began jotting down notes. If this was going anywhere, he wanted to have the facts right.

“He said she'd come by about once a week to clear the mostly junk mail out of her box. Then last week she just came in, stopped at the trash, and tossed all the mail she'd pulled from her box. He claimed, near as he could tell, she didn't look at a single letter.”

“Maybe she pays her bills online.” Rick used reason. “I wouldn't think she'd get many letters. Everyone she cares about lives around here. She was probably just tossing junk mail.”

Alex didn't look happy. “Davidson pulled three letters she'd gotten out of the trash. It's not illegal to look at mail tossed in a public trash.” Alex placed the letters on the desk.

“None have return addresses, but the postmark came out of the Dallas area.”

“That's not much to go on,” he said. “I assume you opened them.”

Nodding, Alex pulled the single sheet of paper out of the first envelope. “It's not exactly a threat on her life, but it is close. We've already run tests on them. Only one had a fingerprint on it, and that belonged to Davidson.”

Rick took the note:
No one knows how long they have to live. Like daughter, like mother. Maybe it is your turn to go to sleep.

Silently, he glanced at the second and third.
Enjoy your last summer, Lizzie. It's time to finish what you started that night in the dorm room.
The last said simply,
There is nowhere to run. Think about how peaceful pills would be. You already have them with you.

Alex just stared at the letters. “I checked the records. Her mother committed suicide the year after Lizzie's father was killed by a land mine.”

“Someone wants her dead,” Rick said, stating the obvious. Inside he felt sorry for not spending more time with her. Lizzie was different, but no one really believed she was insane.

“Someone who knows her,” Alex added. “I called the college she went to, and after a little digging, found a dorm mother who remembered her. She said she had a serious injury her freshman year. Lizzie claimed it was an accident. She'd been trying to hang a curtain across her part of the room and slipped off a chair. One of the cords wrapped around her neck. The roommates told everyone that she'd been depressed and they'd heard her crying. That had to be soon after her grandmother died, I'm guessing. The dorm mother said a report was filed and they called a few relatives. The next thing she knew, Lizzie showed up with a tattoo of ivy running from her shoulder to her neck. It covered up any scar the cord would have left.”

“Any of the Mathesons know about the accident?”

“No, I called Aunt Fat and Aunt Pat. They would know if anyone would. They were close to her grandmother and still go visit with Lizzie. Aunt Pat said she'd never heard of such a thing, but she did know that Lizzie took pills to get to sleep. She told them once that she'd had nightmares all her life.”

“What about the other side of her family? Her mother had a sister. Maybe that was ‘the family' the dorm mother said was notified. I heard Lizzie say once that her granny had two other grandchildren who never visited.”

“It took about five minutes to trace that.” Alex folded up the letters as if she couldn't tolerate looking at them. “Lizzie's mother died shortly after Lizzie came to live in Harmony with her granny. Evidently, according to Aunt Fat, Granny and her other daughter had a falling-out over Granny taking Lizzie in. No one has heard or seen the daughter or anyone in her family for almost twenty years. Aunt Fat said she thought the daughter had two children, boys. Last name, Rogers. As far as anyone knows, they've made no effort to ever contact Lizzie.”

Rick stood and began to pace. “I've heard from a few old lawyers that Granny's other daughter tried to fight the will after Granny died, but it was solid.”

“I've heard that, too.” Worry wrinkled Alex's forehead.

“How can I help?” Rick wanted in on this hunt. “We'll turn this town upside down until we find Lizzie, but that still leaves us with no clue as to who is sending the notes.”

“That's where you come in. If we can locate Granny's will, we might find a lead.”

Rick didn't think so, but he went downstairs to the county clerk's office. Fifteen minutes later he found the clue he'd feared. According to the will, after Lizzie's death the oil rights to the land her grandparents owned would pass to Granny's other grandchildren, two men who'd be in their thirties.

He looked up at Alex. “We've found motive. Now all we have to find is the Rogers boys.”

Alex shook her head. “You find Lizzie. It's going to take me a while to find the right two men in Texas when their names are Fred and John Rogers.”

“How many do you think there are?”

“Hundreds, but the only two I'm worried about are the two that are in my town. I know nothing about them except that one is armed.” Alex looked straight at Rick. “Get your marshal over here. She'll have resources we could use that might make this go much faster.”

He pulled out his phone as Trace stepped around the open door.

Rick couldn't hide his smile. She looked great, as always. He wondered if the sight of her would ever be common enough that his heart didn't stop every time he saw her. “There's my marshal, my lady,” he said, loving that she didn't deny it as she joined the group.