Noah grimaced. “I hope whoever was selling it went bankrupt. I’d hate to think it might have a comeback as some retro chic style.”
She snorted. “Not every house can be wood floors, wood walls, and a wooden beam ceiling,” she said, referring to the cabin he’d built next to a lake a few miles north of Larkin.
“Why not?”
She pointed toward the edge of the bed. “Sit down.”
There were no chairs in the room, and she didn’t want him towering over her when she explained why she’d stayed in Pike rather than return home.
It wasn’t his fault. She was just short, and the room was excessively cramped.
“Yes, ma’am.” He perched on the edge of the mattress with a curious expression. “Now what?”
She hurried to grab the manila envelope that she’d dropped on the counter next to the sink in the bathroom around three in the morning. It was the only way to stop staring at it so she could try to get some sleep.
Returning to stand in front of Noah, she shoved the envelope in his hand. “Here.”
His gaze remained locked on her face. Could he see the tension that made her face feel tight with strain? Probably.
“What is this?” he asked.
She licked her lips. They felt dry and chapped. “Before I left the cemetery, I decided to find Sheriff Jansen’s grave.”
Noah frowned, as if searching through his memory for the name. “He’s the man who investigated the murder?”
Warmth flared through her. Noah had a long list of special qualities. He was smart, loyal, dedicated to his job as conservation officer and as a member of the community.
Oh, and gorgeous.
He was also the first person she’d ever had in her life who actually listened to what she said. The fact that he recalled Sheriff Jansen proved just how closely he paid attention.
“Yeah. He died a couple months ago,” she said. “While I was there I met his son, Kir.”
“That’s not why you stayed.” His voice was oddly flat.
She shook her head. “No. He told me that his father had an envelope with my mother’s name on the front. He asked me if I wanted it.”
“Obviously you did.”
“I wasn’t sure. Even after I stopped by his house to pick it up, I sat in my truck for hours debating whether or not I wanted to see what was inside.” She’d been parked in the driveway, stiff with cold and with darkness creeping through the quiet neighborhood before she’d finally opened the envelope and pulled out what was inside.
“Curiosity won out?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Why do you say that?”
“See for yourself.”
Slowly, Noah opened the flap and tilted the envelope. He gave it a shake to empty the 8x10 picture that had been tucked inside. She stepped to the side so she could catch a glimpse of the grainy black-and-white photo that had haunted her dreams.
It was a fuzzy image of a slender woman standing next to a white SUV with the driver’s door open. She was wearing a knee-length designer coat and leather boots that had three-inch heels. Her long, glorious blond hair framed her pale face that even at a distance, and blurred by the poor quality of the photo, was stunningly beautiful. On the other side of her was the outline of a gas pump and overhead was a canopy where the fluorescent lights battled against the darkness that surrounded the filling station.
Noah lifted his head to meet her troubled gaze. “Is this from the night your mother was attacked?”
“Yes. It’s a still shot from the surveillance tape.”
“Christ.”
* * *
The Stranger had lingered outside the motel all night. Waiting. Watching.
There was a puzzling change in the annual pilgrimage. In the past, Wynter would travel to Pike to sit beside her mother’s grave. Sometimes she would linger for an hour or two. If the weather was mild she would spend the entire afternoon.
The Stranger would watch from the fringe of the cedar trees, savoring the opportunity to remember. And perhaps to gloat. No, not gloat. That was the wrong word. To . . . feel. Yes. After endless days of gray, dull nothingness, this was a rare chance to recall the buzzing excitement that had once brought vibrant life.
No one knew the truth of what happened that fateful night. No one but the Stranger. It was a secret so big it had to remain buried deep.
Six feet deep.
This year was different. Wynter had paid her respects with the new urn filled with fresh flowers. Then she’d cleaned the marble headstone before she walked across the cemetery. Was she randomly strolling to stretch her legs? No. She halted at a grave to speak with a man.
The Stranger continued to watch. And follow. And wait.
The curiosity was tainted with an unease as Wynter entered a small, shabby house just a few blocks from the cemetery and then quickly returned to her car with a manila envelope clutched tightly in her hand.
The Stranger didn’t know what was inside, but it had altered Wynter’s tradition, which altered the Stranger’s tradition.
Change was never good.
Never.
Chapter 3
Noah didn’t know exactly what he’d expected when he climbed into his Jeep to make the drive to Pike.
He’d been concerned last evening when he’d gone to Wynter’s apartment and discovered everything dark and locked tight. Not just because he hated the thought of her driving so far alone and in a truck that was what she called “temperamental” and what he called “a death trap.” But she knew he would be waiting for her. It was a tradition they’d established on her sixteenth birthday. She would travel to Pike to visit her mother’s grave, and he would be waiting to offer her comfort.
His concern amped higher when she didn’t answer his calls or texts. At last he’d been forced to contact Professor Moore. The older man said that Wynter was spending the night in Pike. He didn’t know why, or even when she planned to return, but he seemed to think Wynter was fine.
Noah wasn’t as certain.
The highway between Larkin and Pike was well maintained, but there was nothing but cornfields for endless miles. What if Wynter had broken down? There was always the possibility her phone was dead. Or even that she couldn’t get service. Anyone who lived in the remote areas of Iowa and Wisconsin knew that cell phones weren’t always reliable.
He knew he had to make sure Wynter was okay.
And even after he’d gotten to Pike and discovered Wynter’s truck at the cheap motel, he hadn’t been satisfied. He had to see her.
Why? Well, that was a question he hadn’t bothered to ponder.
Now he gazed down at the blurred photo in confusion. “No wonder you were upset. Why would the sheriff keep this picture?”
“Look on the back,” she commanded.
Noah flipped the picture over and studied the words that had been scrawled with a shaky hand.
“‘He has the purse. Why kill her?’” he read out loud. He lifted his head to send Wynter a puzzled frown. “What does it mean?”
Reaching down, Wynter plucked the photo from his hands and turned it back over. Noah was instantly aware of her soft, feminine scent. He felt the familiar spark of awareness. It didn’t matter that she was missing the usual aroma of warm bread and herbs that clung to her skin after a long morning in the kitchen. She was still a tasty treat. One he had to remind himself was a friend, and nothing more, on a regular basis.