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  “You’ll get there.” He stepped away. He was only in Mustang Run for a few days, he reminded himself. Enjoying Julie’s company was one thing, but falling for a woman he had no reason to trust was just plain crazy.

  He tagged along as Julie trudged from room to room, examining the few remaining pieces of furniture. An antique desk and what appeared to be slats from a bed in one room. An old coatrack in another. An open cedar chest pushed against the wall in a closet beneath the staircase.

  Julie stopped and examined each piece of furniture, stroking the desk almost lovingly as if she expected coaxing would seduce it into giving up some long-kept secret.

  She checked every drawer and then had Tyler go back to his car for a flashlight and a canvas tote full of plastic zip bags she’d brought with her but had forgotten to bring in.

  Once retrieved, she directed the beam into the dark corners of the chest. A giant scorpion crawled up the side and had almost reached her fingertips before either of them saw it. She jumped back and fell against him.

  “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he said, managing a humor that didn’t compute with his raging testosterone.

  They left the empty chest and moved on to search every nook and cranny of the gossamer-veiled house, even the backs of closet floors and the hard-to-reach spots at the top of closet shelves.

  When they finished with the first floor, they went to the second, a huge, open area with beams but no dividing walls. There were built-in shelves beneath a row of high windows, empty except for a half-missing set of ancient encyclopedias. Two old rockers, a battered workbench and a rolltop desk with missing drawers and doors hanging askew from broken hinges had been pushed against a back wall.

  Tyler stopped at the foot of the stairs to the attic while Julie performed a fruitless search-and-rescue mission of the desk. “Do you think the furniture in the house now belonged to Muriel Frost?” he asked

  “I’m guessing that it did, probably what was left of her furnishings after vandals took what they wanted.”

  “You’re probably right,” Tyler agreed. “Do you know who owns the house?”

  “Guy and Candice Cameron. They were also Muriel’s employer at the time she was murdered. Kara said they let her live here rent free while she worked for them.”

  “Nice benefit plan. Of course, I’ve got the same thing with the army. What kind of business are the Camerons in?”

  “They were in real estate when Muriel worked for them. Now they’re successful land developers.”

  “Nice for them. How successful?”

  “Billionaire range. They’ve built several upscale golf course neighborhoods, a resort and shopping center near Marble Falls. And that’s just what I know about.”

  “I’m surprised they’ve held onto this old house for so long.”

  “They also own the acreage surrounding it which they lease to a neighboring rancher. That information I got from public legal records.”

  Julie had done her field prep. He’d give her that. She roamed the area for another thirty minutes, basically accomplishing nothing.

  “A beautiful day is a terrible thing to waste,” Tyler said. “Are you ready to go?”

  She shook her head, sending her ponytail into a bouncy dance. “Not even close. I want to check the attic and then walk around outside.”

  “Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?”

  “No, but I’ll know if I find it.”

  Tyler grimaced, but took advantage of Julie’s rear view as he followed her and her swaying hips up the steep attic steps.

  Unfortunately, the attic proved as depressing as the rest of the house. The window facings had rotted and years of wind and rain had deteriorated the walls and floorboards until some areas had collapsed.

  But not the area along the window wall where a large metal footlocker rested next to a spindly rocker and a cracked and wavy cheval mirror.

  Julie squatted next to the footlocker and tugged on the rusted padlock.

  “Step back and let me get that for you,” Tyler offered.

  She stepped back. “You’ll need bolt cutters to…”

  He slammed the heel of his booted foot against the lock and it flew open. Julie looked duly impressed.

  “Army,” he said. “We get the job done, almost as well as investigative reporters.”

  A minute later, she was delving into the metal box as if it were a treasure chest. Unfortunately, there were enough remnants from the murdered woman’s past to enthrall Julie for hours.

  Tyler grew bored after she’d pulled the second nubby sweater from the metal box. He shuffled and then went to stare out the window.

  “Why don’t you take a coffee break in the fresh air?” Julie suggested, obviously noting his restlessness.

  “I think I will.”

  “Take your time. I’ll be awhile.”

  For once he totally believed her.

  WITH TYLER GONE, JULIE settled in front of the locker, more positive than ever that she was doing the right thing. She’d doubted herself and her decision when she’d first walked into the house this morning. Even the walls had seemed like sinister eyes, watching and waiting for her to run like the menacing rat and threatened spider had.

  But the attic seemed safer, more confined and now filled with secrets from so long ago. All she had to do was find the right combination of puzzle pieces to solve the crime.

  Reaching into the stack of clothing, she pulled out a denim jacket studded with rhinestones and with the words Lone Star embroidered across the back. She held it up to her chest. The arms were too long and the stretch over her breasts would be tight, but she could wear it.

  Not that she would.

  She’d neared the bottom of the locker before her fingers sank into the soft body of a baby doll. Julie pulled it out and studied it. Worn. Frayed. The buttons missing from its dress.

  Tears burned at the back of Julie’s eyelids as she slipped the small doll into one of the plastic bags and placed it in the tote. From its appearance, Julie judged the doll to be much older than she was. No doubt a beloved relic from Muriel’s childhood.

  Next, she pulled out a floor-length red broomstick skirt with exquisite detail. The fabric appeared to be a nubby silk and linen. Tiny bluebonnets were embroidered into the waistband.

  Even at prices eighteen years ago, the skirt must have cost a fortune. Julie refolded it carefully and set it next to the doll.

  Diving back into what had become a treasure chest, she discovered two framed pictures. She lifted them carefully.

  They were both of Muriel Frost as a teenager—one in a cheerleading outfit, one in a cap and gown and holding a high-school diploma. Slid in between them was an unframed snapshot, also of Muriel Frost but when she was years older, perhaps close to the time she’d been murdered.

  Julie held it up and shifted so that she could capture all the light offered by the dingy window.

  Muriel was wearing the red broomstick skirt and a white peasant blouse. Her dusty blond hair was piled on top of her head and curly wisps danced about her blushed cheeks. A smile parted full lips as red as the skirt. She looked absolutely stunning.

  A man had been in the picture originally. His arm resting around Muriel’s shoulder offered proof of his presence, even though the rest of him had been ripped away.

  Julie’s pulse skyrocketed. There was nothing that screamed a breakup like a man being torn from the picture, especially when Kara had said that Muriel hadn’t been serious about anyone since she’d started working with her. That had been two years before the murder.

  This could be her first real clue, but she needed the other half of the picture. Her fingers ripped through the remaining clothes until her nails scratched across the metal bottom of the locker.

  “Julie.”

  Tyler’s call startled her.

  “What is it?” she yelled, her voice echoing around her.

  “Come down here for a minute, will you? I think I may have found some
thing useful.”

  “I’ll be right there.” She started to leave things as they were, but hesitated. Moving quickly, she sealed the torn picture and the red skirt in separate plastic bags and shoved them into the tote. The bag bounced comfortingly against her hip as she raced down the staircase.

  Tyler was standing behind the rolltop desk on the second floor, holding what looked like a page torn from a checkbook register. “The checks are dated from February 17 through April 14, exactly eighteen years ago.”

  Excitement gurgled inside Julie like a fast-flowing brook. Muriel had been killed on April 16. “Let me see.”

  He handed it to her. “You should probably turn this over to the local sheriff once you’ve taken a look at it.”

  “The sheriff had eighteen years to find evidence. This is staying with me.”

  The hum of an engine and the crackle of tires on gravel interrupted the conversation. “Sounds like we have company,” Tyler said, walking over to the window. “In a squad car.”

  Cripes! Julie took the wrinkled page from the check ledger and buried it in her bra. She took the picture with the missing man from the tote, unzipped her shorts and stuffed it inside her panties. She was all too aware of Tyler’s eyes on her while she did, but it was the only guaranteed safe hiding place she could think of.

  They reached the living room just as the front door opened. A burly, whiskered man with a square, ruddy face stepped inside.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?” he demanded.

  Julie glared back at him. “Who wants to know?”

  “Sheriff Caleb Grayson, that’s who. And you two are trespassing.” He rested his hand on the butt of his weapon.

  “And let me guess,” Tyler said. “You shoot trespassers around here.”

  “Just the smart asses who give me a reason. Let’s see your ID.”

  Tyler fished his from his pocket while Julie stressed out trying to decide how to smuggle her tote bag to her car without the sheriff taking it from her.

  Sheriff Grayson huffed and then smacked his lips as if he were eating chocolate. “Tyler Ledger. The murderer’s kid. Now isn’t that interesting?” He turned to Julie. “And I guess that would make you Julie Gillespie.”

  “That would be me.”

  The sheriff snorted. “You don’t listen too well, do you?”

  “I listen,” she said. “I’m just not intimidated by you. I know my rights as a citizen.”

  “They don’t extend to breaking and entering. What’s in that tote bag you’re hugging so hard?”

  “Personal items,” she lied.

  “Let’s have a look.”

  “She said it’s personal,” Tyler said. His muscles bunched and flexed.

  A fight was not what Julie needed, at least not over a doll and a long red skirt. She handed the bag to the sheriff.

  He checked it out and chuckled. “Yep. You know your stuff. Worthless clothes and toys. Ought to keep you around just for laughs. But I’m not.”

  He tossed the bag to the floor instead of giving it back to her. “Get out of my county or I’ll arrest you on general principles. Is that clear?”

  “Not to me,” Tyler said. “I kind of had the idea I’d been over in the Middle East fighting for the home of the brave and the free.”

  The sheriff’s ruddy face got redder and his hand went back to the butt of his gun.

  “Perfectly clear to me,” Julie said, grabbing Tyler’s arm and pulling him toward the door.

  “Glad you’ve come to your senses.” The sheriff dusted his hands as if he were through with her. His cell phone rang and he turned and walked away a few steps before answering.

  Julie grabbed her tote bag. “Now it’s time to go,” she urged as she exited the house and made a run for it before the sheriff decided to pat her down and discover she was leaving with more than the skirt and doll.

  Tyler jogged to the car. “I’m starting to see why you enjoy this line of work.”

  IT WAS THREE IN THE AFTERNOON when Julie pulled out of Garfield’s Garage and Car Wash, the best that Mustang Run had to offer according to Troy Ledger. Sans mud, her white Ford was recognizable again.

  Pete Garfield, evidently a friend of Troy’s, had also balanced her tires as a favor since some jerk had run her off the road and kept going. Just wanted to show her that not all Texans were so inhospitable, he’d claimed.

  He’d also suggested she let him smooth the dent in her bumper one day next week. He didn’t mention free, though, so she thanked him and assured him that she could live with a minor flaw.

  Julie started back to the Willow Creek Ranch, then changed her mind and turned toward the older section of the small town. She might as well do some exploring while she was out on her own.

  Tyler had wanted to come with her, but she’d balked. She did not want or need a bodyguard, especially since it was evident to her that Sheriff Grayson was behind the original threat. His growl was no doubt a lot worse than his bite.

  Besides, she needed time alone to think about the events of the morning. Tyler made it difficult to think. Not that it was his fault, but whenever he was near, her senses reeled with the essence of him. The sensation was unfamiliar and disturbing on every level.

  In a way it was nice to have someone actually worry about her and fret over her safety, albeit a man who clearly didn’t trust her. It seemed a lifetime ago since she’d been on anyone’s priority list.

  She loved his humor, the way he kept even serious matters from becoming unnecessarily oppressive. The way he looked at her like she was the whipped cream for his sundae was completely intoxicating.

  But she wasn’t fooled for a second. He might find her tempting, but she was his diversion, an escape from dealing with the father he’d supposedly come thousands of miles to see.

  Hopefully the two of them were making progress today, which was another reason he shouldn’t be here with her. Dylan had insisted Tyler take a ride around the ranch with him and Troy so that he could see all the improvements they’d made. Troy had invited her, as well, but she’d politely declined.

  Julie turned onto a two-lane street with angled parking and cafés and shops on either side. They all looked as if they’d been built decades ago and had remained untouched by time. Not a chain store in the bunch.

  The street sign read Main Street.

  The light at the end of the next block turned from yellow to red and she slowed to a stop as a young couple pushing a stroller crossed in front of her. The man said something to the woman and her laughter drifted through the open car window.

  Julie’s gaze shifted to the sidewalk where pedestrians were strolling leisurely, as if they had all the time in the world. Two teenagers with book packs, each with a cell phone attached to their ears like giant black moles, ducked into a sporting goods store.

  A mother carrying a large shopping bag walking beside a young boy licking a double dip ice cream cone stopped to talk to an attractive lady in red shorts who’d just stepped out of a flower shop.

  An elderly man in denim coveralls was holding the door of a small café for a stooped gray-haired woman pushing a walker. The woman’s lips were moving a mile a minute as she pointed to the specials listed on a sandwich board outside the door. The man noticed Julie staring at him and waved.

  Out of the blue, Julie experienced a weird sinking feeling, as if she’d dropped down the rabbit hole into a world that only existed in fiction. The sky was too blue. The air too clean. The antique street lamps too charming.

  A town with roots, history, continuity—all things she’d never known.

  The light turned green and she eased through the intersection and pulled into a parking place. She felt suddenly woozy and in need of a cup of black coffee.

  Once parked she walked back to the café. Abby’s Diner. The outside air was brisk but inside it was cozy and almost too warm. Julie shrugged out of her pink cardigan and scanned the booths, choosing one in the back.

  The man and woman she’d see
n enter both smiled and said good afternoon when she passed their booth. A cowboy who’d just delved into a slice of coconut pie piled high with meringue grinned and reached for his napkin to wipe the white froth from his mouth. Other patrons smiled and nodded. Mustang Run was a very friendly town.

  A pert young waitress with a thick Texas drawl stopped at her elbow almost as soon as she’d sat down. “Welcome to Abby’s. What can I get you today?”

  “Coffee. Black.”

  “Are you sure? Abby just took a pecan pie out of the oven.”

  “I’m certain it’s delicious, but only the coffee for me.”

  “I’m supposed to offer everyone pie, but I figured that with your great figure, you didn’t go in much for rich desserts.”

  Julie smiled. “Thank you, but I don’t always resist temptation.”

  “I’m getting better at it,” the waitress said, continuing the conversation even though the diner was crowded with people no doubt wanting their pie.

  “The first week I worked here, I gained five pounds on the chocolate custard alone. The cowboy I was dating teased that I was going to outweigh his new heifer if I kept gaining. Now I limit myself to one slice a week.”

  “What happened to the boyfriend?”

  “I dumped his sorry ass. Turned out he didn’t have a heifer or even a job. Don’t you just hate liars?”

  “Unless the person has a very good reason for stretching the truth.”

  The waitress looked up as the bell over the door tinkled and a good-looking guy in jeans and a blue shirt walked in. She flushed with pleasure when he looked her way and promptly forgot all about Julie. She hurried back to the counter, hanging over it adoringly as she took the guy’s order.

  Julie opened her purse and pulled out the check register that Tyler had found. She’d looked at it briefly. Nothing had jumped out at her then, so now it was intense scrutiny time.

  The murder had occurred in the spring, April 16, probably on a day much like this one when the Hill Country was bursting with new growth and the air was sweet with the fragrance of wildflowers.

  By the time the waitress returned with the coffee, Julie was so into the register she barely noticed. She thanked her without looking up. She didn’t want to encourage another conversation about liars.