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  Duke’s cop radar gave him an uneasy feeling about that scenario. What if the Brice family rejected her, too? She talked a tough game, but she had a vulnerable side she tried hard to mask.

  He could speed up the entire process by requesting DNA from the Brices as part of this investigation. They wouldn’t even have to know about Beth and her suspicions. Once Beth knew the truth—one way or the other—she could stop sleuthing around Timberline.

  He pulled up to the sheriff’s station and entered the building with a few file folders tucked under his arm. He hadn’t met the new sheriff yet, who was probably just getting up to speed.

  Deputy Unger greeted him at the desk.

  “I’m here to see Sheriff Musgrove.”

  “The sheriff’s expecting you. Go on back, first office on the right.”

  Duke thanked him and made his way to the sheriff’s office. He tapped on the open door and a big man rose from the desk dominating the office.

  “Agent Harper? I’m Sheriff Musgrove.”

  Duke leaned over the desk and shook the sheriff’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Sheriff. What do you think of the hit-and-run accident that killed Gary Binder?”

  “That’s what I like about you fibbies.” He smacked his hand against his desk. “Get right to the point. I think Gary Binder was a junkie who was probably riding his bike recklessly on the road, maybe even riding under the influence, if you know what I mean.”

  Duke studied the man’s red face with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Clearly he had a sheriff on his hands who didn’t have the ability to think out of the box. Too bad Sheriff Sloane wasn’t still in the position. He’d heard nothing but high praise of Sloane from Agent Maxfield, who’d worked the Wyatt Carson case.

  Duke took a deep breath. “You don’t find it coincidental that Binder had just given us some information about the Timberline drug trade during the initial kidnappings?”

  “The world is filled with coincidences, Harper. I don’t find a junkie getting hit by a car all that coincidental.”

  Duke shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders. “By all accounts, Binder was in recovery, hadn’t touched drugs in over a year.”

  “Once a junkie, always a junkie.” Musgrove sliced his big hands through the air. “Is that the course you’re going to follow on this case, Harper? Are you going to dig up Timberline’s sordid past?”

  “No town, big or small, is exempt from drugs, Sheriff.” Duke narrowed his eyes. “Are you one of the contingents that would rather not have the spotlight on Timberline?”

  “Is it a contingent? I’ll be damned. I know the town has worked hard to come back from its failures, and we’re on the cusp of something great. I plan to work with the mayor and the town fathers to get it there.”

  Duke’s gaze tracked over the sheriff’s head to the awards and commendations on the wall, illustrating a career bouncing from agency to agency. He knew law-enforcement types like this guy, scrambling to secure the highest pension with the least amount of work, kissing ass along the way.

  He’d have to report back to Mick that Sheriff Musgrove would be more of a hindrance than a help for this cold case.

  His eyes dropped to the sheriff’s face. “You weren’t here during the Carson copycat kidnappings, were you?”

  “No, I was over in Spokane. I read about it, though. Crazy SOB. I was hired in after Sheriff Sloane left for Phoenix—took off with that sister of one of the Timberline Trio. Talk about getting wrapped up in the job.” He shook his head.

  Musgrove would never be one to get too wrapped up in the work. Put in the hours and go home. Duke never understood guys like that.

  For him, the work was a calling, a duty. It had been like that for his partner, Tony DeLuca, too. Guys on the other side never got it.

  “I understand Sheriff Sloane’s daughter was the final kidnap victim.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Tough break. I guess he couldn’t handle it.” Musgrove puffed out his chest as if he could handle anything. “Deputy Unger was here for the copycat kidnappings and sat in on the interview with Binder. He’s out front if you want to talk to him. Otherwise, you have free rein here, Agent Harper. Our files are your files, and we’ll get you that accident report on Binder if you’re interested.”

  “I am. Thanks, Sheriff Musgrove.”

  They shook hands again and Musgrove sank heavily behind his desk and returned to his computer. Duke didn’t have a clue what the man was looking at, but he could guarantee it wasn’t work related.

  Duke sauntered up front and stopped at Unger’s desk. “Can I ask you a few questions about Gary Binder and the whole Wyatt Carson case?”

  “Sure.” Unger glanced over his shoulder. “Maybe we can do this over coffee.”

  Duke got the hint.

  “Sheriff Musgrove, Agent Harper and I are going out for coffee to discuss the Binder interview.”

  The sheriff called from his office. “Did you get those reports done yet?”

  “Been on your desk for two hours, sir.” Unger rolled his eyes at Duke.

  The sound of shuffling papers came from the office. “Got ’em. Keep me posted, Deputy.”

  “I’ll do that, sir.”

  When they stepped out of the station, Unger tilted his head from side to side, as if cracking his neck.

  “The guy’s a pain, huh?”

  “I’m not gonna bad-mouth my superior, but he’s no Coop Sloane.”

  “I heard good things about Sloane from Agent Maxfield.”

  “That just proves how good he was, since he and Maxfield didn’t always see eye to eye.”

  “That happens a lot between the FBI and local law enforcement. It’s a testament to both of them that they were able to work together and nail Carson.”

  They’d walked half a block and Unger pointed ahead. “Buy you a coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  A couple of people on laptops huddled at tables and an older gentleman looked up from his paperback when they walked in.

  Duke and Unger ordered their coffee and sat across from each other at a table by the window.

  Duke stretched out his legs and popped the lid off his cup. “What do you think about Binder’s death?”

  “I think it’s damned strange.” Unger took a sip from his cup. “I overheard Musgrove and he’s just wrong about Binder. Whatever the guy was into in his past life, he was clean and sober in this one.”

  “Do you think someone targeted him for his revelations about the Timberline drug trade twenty-five years ago?”

  “Seems pointless, doesn’t it? We already interviewed him and he told us everything he knew. No point in killing him now.”

  “Unless he didn’t tell you everything. Maybe there was more to come and someone wanted to make sure he kept his mouth shut.”

  “The thought did cross my mind.” Unger tugged on his earlobe. “It’s funny that it happened after you showed up and after that TV host came to town.”

  Duke’s pulse jumped. “What do you know about reaction to Cold Case Chronicles delving into the Timberline Trio case?”

  “It’s divided. You have one faction who wants their fifteen minutes of fame and another that’s worried about the town’s rep and doesn’t want this case being rehashed every five years. Most folks want to move on. The families aren’t even here anymore.”

  “Do you think Beth St. Regis is in any danger?”

  “Honestly, if she wants my advice, it’s not worth it. I don’t think the current residents of Timberline are going to be able to give her any juicy new info about the case. She should find herself another one. I’ve watched that show before, and she can do a lot better than this.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been telling her to move on to something else, but the woman is stubborn.”

 
Especially since she thought Timberline was the key to her past. Duke was still considering ordering DNA from the Brices just to settle this thing for Beth one way or the other.

  In fact, that idea was sounding better and better.

  Because as much as he wanted Beth right here in Timberline by his side, he had a cold dread that something bad was on the horizon.

  Chapter Eight

  Beth positioned her video camera on the tripod and smiled at Gail and Nancy. “Could you just start by saying your names?”

  Gail jabbed a finger toward the camera. “Does this mean we’re going to be on TV?”

  Beth gritted her teeth behind her smile. “We shoot a lot of footage, Gail. If we can use it for the story, we’ll put it on the show.”

  She patted her gray perm and smiled. “I’m Gail Fitzsimmons.”

  Leaning into Gail’s space, Nancy said, “And I’m Nancy Heck.”

  “You don’t need to lean over, Nancy. The camera is capturing both of you.” Beth cleared her throat. “Did you both know the victims’ families?”

  Gail answered first. “My daughter used to babysit the twins sometimes.”

  Beth’s heart banged against her rib cage. “Did she babysit Heather Brice, too?”

  “Heather was too young. My daughter was seventeen at the time and wasn’t interested in sitting toddlers or babies. Kayla and Kendall were older—five-year-olds—potty trained, talking.”

  “She wasn’t babysitting them the night Kayla was kidnapped, though.”

  “Thank God, no. The parents had left the girls with their aunt. I don’t know why. Cass was always a little scatterbrained. Don’t you think so, Nancy?”

  “Oh, yes, scatterbrained.” Nancy seemed transfixed by the camera.

  “Is Wendy Simons’s family still here?” Beth scribbled on the pad of paper in front of her.

  “The girl who was babysitting Heather Brice?” Gail cocked her head at Nancy. “I don’t think so. Any of the Simons family around, Nancy?”

  “They had a lot of children in that family. That’s why Wendy would babysit the little ones. She was the second oldest in her family and helped her mother with her younger siblings.”

  “I know that, but are any of them still around? That’s what Beth’s asking.”

  Nancy reddened to the roots of her silver hair. “I...I don’t know about that. I don’t think so.”

  “What was the speculation at the time of the kidnappings?” Beth directed her question to Gail because she was clearly the ringleader and had probably just frightened Nancy into permanent silence.

  “With the first one, Kayla, the police actually thought it was the father for a while.” Gail affected a stage whisper. “The parents were having troubles.”

  “But once Stevie Carson was kidnapped, they realized it was something more...more sinister.” Nancy placed both hands over her heart.

  Gail rolled her eyes at the camera. “I don’t know about you, but a father kidnapping or killing his own child is pretty sinister.”

  “Gail Fitzsimmons, I didn’t say it wasn’t. Why do you have to twist my words?”

  “I understood what she meant, Gail.” Beth waved her hands. “Were there any troubles in Stevie’s family...or Heather’s?”

  Nancy had regained her composure and some confidence. “There were always problems in Stevie’s family. Maybe that’s why Wyatt turned out like he did. But Heather’s family? Perfect.”

  Beth’s gaze darted to Gail, waiting for her to disagree with her friend.

  But she nodded with a smile on her face. “The Brices were a perfect family, weren’t they? The parents adored each other and their children. It was lovely to see and so sad...after.”

  Beth’s nose stung. A perfect family who adored their kids—just the kind of family she’d always dreamed of.

  “Yoo-hoo, Beth?”

  She snapped out of her daydream. “Yes, go on.”

  “Do you have any more questions? Because we have a lot more where that came from.”

  The ladies hadn’t told her much she didn’t already know, but she could sit and listen to stories about the perfect Brice family all day.

  She continued with Gail and Nancy for another forty-five minutes. She’d gotten some colorful quotations from them she might be able to use in the story, but their answers hadn’t done much to clear up the mystery—or to solidify her belief that she was Heather Brice.

  Beth ended the interview and Nancy sent her away with a tin of cookies and an implied promise of more if their faces wound up on TV. She sent Duke a quick text to let him know where she was, since he’d seemed so concerned when she’d left.

  She didn’t mind one bit.

  Munching on a snickerdoodle, Beth drove to her next appointment at Chloe Rayman’s apartment in a new development near the Evergreen Software headquarters. She brought the cookies with her to Chloe’s door.

  Chloe opened at her knock in full makeup, the ruffle at her low neckline fluttering. “Hello. I’m ready for my close-up, as they say.”

  “Well, then, let’s get set up.” She stuck out the tin. “Cookie? They’re from Nancy Heck.”

  “Nancy’s famous for her snickerdoodles, but I’ll pass. I just brushed my teeth.”

  Probably flossed and whitened while she was at it.

  Beth set up the camera on the tripod and sat in a chair across from Chloe on the sofa. “State your name, please.”

  “Chloe Rayman. Six eighty-two Treeline Boulevard, number five, Timberline, Washington.” She clapped a hand over her lipsticked mouth. “Maybe I shouldn’t put all of my personal information out there on TV.”

  “We’ll...ah...edit that out.” Beth crossed her legs and took a deep breath. This was gonna be a long interview.

  For the next half hour Beth allowed Chloe to chatter on about Wyatt Carson. She had very little insight into the man or what made him tick, and he hadn’t talked to her about his brother at all. The interview was worthless to the show and worthless to Beth’s personal quest.

  As she was trying to think of a way to cut things short, a knock on the door had Chloe gasping and jumping from the sofa.

  “That’s my boyfriend, Jason. He’s really jealous, so I don’t want him to know I’ve been talking about Wyatt.”

  “Of course.” Beth turned off the camera. “I think I got everything I needed.”

  Chloe ran to get the door as Beth collapsed the tripod and shoved her notebook into her bag. She glanced over her shoulder as a compact man swept Chloe into a big hug. She met his gaze across the room and he released his girlfriend.

  “Sorry. I didn’t know you had company.”

  Chloe waved her hand toward Beth. “This is Beth St. Regis with that Cold Case Chronicles show. When she found out I used to know Wyatt Carson, she practically begged to interview me. Beth, this is my boyfriend, Jason Foster.”

  Jason tucked his shoulder-length dark hair behind one ear. “Hey, Beth.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jason. I was just leaving.” She held out the tin. “Cookie?”

  “Thanks.” He took the tin from her and popped the lid. “You interviewed Nancy Heck.”

  “Her snickerdoodles have quite a reputation.”

  He took a bite of a cookie and brushed some crumbs from his chin. “You have a lot of people up in arms over this story.”

  “Are you one of them?”

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me, but the elders are buzzing.”

  “Elders?” She hitched her bag over one shoulder.

  “Jason’s Quileute and they’re kind of hinky about the Timberline Trio case.”

  “I met a teenage boy in the woods who told me the same thing. What is it about the case?”

  “You got me.” He pointed to the tin he’d placed on
Chloe’s coffee table. “Can I have another cookie?”

  “Sure. I suppose anyone who did know wouldn’t be willing to talk to me about it.”

  “Probably not, at least not the old folks.”

  “And the young folks, like you, probably don’t know why it’s a taboo topic.”

  “I sure as hell don’t, but my cousin might have a clue.” He brushed his hands together. “She’s a shaman for the tribe, so certain customs and beliefs have been handed down to her more than the rest of us.”

  “Does she live in Timberline?”

  “Yeah, and she happens to be in town. She travels a lot for her shows.”

  “Shows?”

  Chloe curled her arm around Jason’s waist. “Scarlett’s an artist, has art shows all over the world.”

  “That’s impressive.” Beth’s skin had begun to tingle with excitement. A shaman? Someone who knew about the case? Maybe she could help Beth with her own personal agenda.

  “Do you think your cousin...?”

  “Scarlett. Scarlett Easton.”

  “Do you think Scarlett would be willing to talk to me?”

  “Probably. Her studio’s out past the north side of town. You can tell her I sent you.”

  “Would you mind giving me her number?”

  Jason pulled a wallet from his back pocket. “I think I have one of her cards. She only has a cell phone and reception isn’t great out there, but you can give it a try.”

  He fanned out several cards between his fingers and plucked one from the bunch. “Here it is.”

  Beth scanned the black card with a reprint of a watercolor nature scene splashed on the front. “If this is her work, it’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah, that’s one of her more normal works. She does landscapes and then some freaky modern art—that’s the stuff that gets her the shows and some big money. You couldn’t pay me to hang some of that stuff in my living room.”

  “Don’t tell Scarlett that.” Chloe poked Jason’s heavily tattooed arm.

  Beth held up the card. “Thanks, Jason. In case I can’t reach her by phone, can you give me directions to her place?”