Montana Creeds 2 - Dylan by Linda Lael Miller

Author:Linda Lael Miller
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2009-09-10T04:00:00+00:00

The phone rang, startling her, and Kristy reached for the receiver automatically. Who could be calling her at this time of night, besides Dylan? Speculation ran wild: maybe Bonnie was sick. Maybe he wanted to come back.

But the voice on the other end of the line belonged to Floyd Book. “I was driving by on patrol,” he said, “and I saw your lights go on. Everything okay?”

Kristy’s stomach curdled. “F-Fine,” she lied. “Everything is fine.” She forced a cheerful, I-don’t-really-think-you’re-a-murderer note into her voice. “Since when do you, the big honcho, have to work the night shift? Don’t your deputies take turns keeping the mean streets of Stillwater Springs safe for democracy between sunset and dawn?”

Floyd chuckled, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Right now, one of them is on vacation. The other is on sick leave—he says it’s flu, but I think he doesn’t have the stomach for exhuming bodies. Passed out cold when he saw the girl.”

A shudder went through Kristy, and she closed her eyes against images of crumbling flesh, disintegrating hair and old bones. It didn’t help.

She thought of reporting Freida’s break-in, but since she didn’t plan to press charges and didn’t want to give Floyd an excuse to stop by, she stuck with her original decision. “Has the girl’s family been notified?”

“Yes,” Floyd said, and there was a ring of sorrow in his voice. “There was no point in their viewing the body, but they identified the ring she was wearing. As soon as the forensics report is in, the remains will be released for a proper burial. I guess that’ll bring the Clarkstons some closure, but the bottom line is, they’ve still lost their daughter for good, and nothing is going to change that.” He sighed heavily. “That damn election can’t come too soon to suit me—but there was a time when I sweated out the vote-counting myself. Thought I’d die of disappointment, back when I ran against old Warren Holter fresh out of the army, if I didn’t win.”

Kristy wanted, suddenly and fiercely, to blurt out the question pounding in the back of her mind.

Did you kill that girl?

She bit down hard on her lower lip to forestall the urge. Since there was still a chance that Floyd Book hadn’t figured out what she suspected, it was safer to keep her mouth shut.

“I won’t keep you,” he said, when she was silent. “Just wanted to make sure there wasn’t any trouble at your place.”

“Thanks,” Kristy said. Her palm was moist, where she gripped the telephone receiver, and her fingers ached because she was holding it so tightly. “But I’m okay, really.”

“If the reporters get after you too much, you call me,” Floyd told her.

They said their goodbyes, and rang off.

Dylan had been right earlier, Kristy thought, once she’d replaced the receiver. She was letting her thriller-stoked imagination run away from her. Sheriff Floyd Book hadn’t killed Ellie Clarkston. It was crazy to think he was capable of a heinous crime like that—he’d devoted his entire career to upholding the law.

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