LITMIR.BIZ

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Grady scrutinized the ground for foot patterns.

      The deputy squatted, then leaned his elbows on his knees. “Find anything?”

      “Hard to tell,” Grady muttered. “Looks like someone might have moved the straw to cover a footprint or scuffle. Then again, the wind and rain last night could have readjusted the soil.” He shifted on the balls of his feet. “I want every inch combed. We’ll send the note and any other evidence to the crime lab in Nashville to be analyzed. Did you find his car?”

      “Yeah, run into the ditch over there.” Logan pointed to a thicket of trees. “Reeks of whiskey.”

      Grady nodded, then gestured toward the surrounding bushes. “Look for loose or torn bits of clothing. Footprints. Anything to indicate the man might not have been alone. And I want the car impounded and processed.” He stood. “I don’t want this confession leaked in town, either, not until I have a chance to investigate the case thoroughly.” Grady sighed. “For now, this is a suicide, but I’m leaving the case open.”

      Logan nodded, then began combing the bushes while Grady headed toward the paramedics carrying the body to the ambulance. The man’s face was bloody, his clothes smeared with dirt, his broken femur jutting through his ragged pants; it had been severed in two places. His jeans were still damp, indicating he’d probably been there since the night before, but the EMT would give them a better idea of the exact time of death. The fetid odor of lost body fluids hung in the air as Grady checked the corpse for indications of a struggle. A small contusion lacerated the back of his head. If the man had fallen face-first, how had he hit the back of his head? Unless he’d been struck before falling.

      Grady frowned, disturbed by his own train of thought. Maybe he’d fallen, then rolled over.

      The paramedics loaded the stretcher and the ambulance roared off. Grady had to call his father, tell him they’d found Darlene’s killer.

      No, he couldn’t yet. Not until he was sure. Not until he’d checked out the man’s death. Not until he’d notified the next of kin.

      He stalked to the woods to search the area. As soon as he finished, he’d visit the coroner’s office for a full report, then make that call. Even worse, he had to tell the surviving family that their loved one had taken his own life.

      And that he had confessed to a murder.

      VIOLET CHECKED HER rearview mirror. Yes, someone was following her. Was on her tail. She wound through the side streets, reminding herself that she shouldn’t lead a stranger to her house, then turned right on another side street. Nervous now, she wove through a nearby neighborhood, turned and headed back in the opposite direction. The sedan slowed, then swung into a drive. She sighed in relief. If whoever it was had been following her, he’d realized she was onto him.

      Relaxing slightly, she headed back toward her cottage, then veered onto Palm Walkway. The inside of the cottage seemed dark as she parked and exited her car. Crickets chirped in the background. A bird cawed above.

      Weary now, she climbed the small steps to the stoop, grateful to be home. When she stepped inside, the house was too quiet. “Grammy?”

      Her grandmother was sitting in the wooden chair, pale and listless, the phone clutched in one hand.

      “Grammy, what is it?”

      Her grandmother’s blank gaze showed no sign of response.

      “Mrs. Baker…” A man’s voice called over the line. “Mrs. Baker…are you still there?”

      Violet pried the receiver from her grandmother’s fingers and laid it on the counter. “Grammy.” Violet gently shook her. “What’s wrong? Please talk to me.”

      “No,” her grandmother rasped, in a voice so low Violet could barely discern it. “No, it’s not true.”

      “Mrs. Baker,” the man shouted from the phone, “are you all right?”

      Her grandmother’s face went ashen, and she was trembling. No, she wasn’t all right.

      Violet grabbed the handset. “This is Mrs. Baker’s granddaughter, Violet. Who is this and what did you say to upset her?”

      “Violet?” Shock tinged the man’s deep voice.

      “Yes, who is this?”

      “Sheriff Monroe.” He hesitated, his voice husky. “Grady.”

      “Grady?” Darlene’s brother?

      “I’m sorry…I had to give your grandmother some bad news.” His breath whistled out. “Violet, your father is dead.”

      CHAPTER FOUR

      GRADY GRITTED HIS TEETH. He’d never cared for Jed Baker. And when Violet had first left town, years ago, he’d halfway blamed her for Darlene’s death. Hell, he’d been a stupid adolescent at the time, battling his own guilt. Using her as the scapegoat had been easy. She was the reason his sister had rushed across the hollow alone. She hadn’t been able to tell them where to find Darlene.

      But she had been only eight years old.

      He stifled the sympathy he felt for her now. If her father had killed Darlene, then he deserved to die, although suicide wasn’t nearly severe enough punishment. And if Violet and her grandmother had known her father was guilty and hadn’t told…

      But what if the coroner did find evidence of foul play? What if his own dad had learned that Baker killed Darlene, and had gone back to finish their fight?

      No, that train of thought was too dangerous.

      She was so quiet he wondered if she’d fainted. And how old was the grandmother now—eighty? Ninety? “Violet?”

      “Y-yes,” she said in a choked voice. “How…how did you track us down here?”

      “Lloyd Driver, the lawyer who handled your father’s papers.”

      “How…how did my father die?”

      Her whispered words echoed all the usual queries he’d expected. The hows and whys, the unanswered questions. “He left a suicide note.”

      “What? He killed himself?”

      “I’m just telling you what I found. I’m having the note analyzed to make certain it’s his handwriting.”

      “What does the note say? Did he give a reason?”

      The part he dreaded the most. Violet might love her father, but she’d also cared for Grady’s sister. He’d never forgotten the day he, his dad and the sheriff had driven to her house to inquire about Darlene. He’d heard Violet’s childish cries through the closed door. And the next day she’d been gone. Later, rumors spread that she was a spooky kid, that she claimed to hear voices in her head, that she might be schizophrenic.

      “Tell me,” she said, her voice growing stronger. “I want to know. I have to know.”

      He hesitated. “This can wait until you come back for the funeral. I assume you’ll want to bury him here. Or…maybe not.”

      “I…I don’t know.” Uncertainty laced her voice. “Just tell me what the note said.”

      He cleared his throat. “Violet—”

      “Please, Grady.”

      Her soft plea twisted his insides. She sounded so young and vulnerable. He pictured those big sky-blue eyes, the innocent little girl who used to tag along behind him with his sister. The scrawny kid Darlene had felt sorry for, because the other kids called her white trash.

      What did she look like now? Was she still homely? Did she still think about Darlene? Did she realize today was the anniversary of Darlene’s death?

      He didn’t care. He’d wanted revenge so long he wouldn’t let himself.

      “From the looks of things,

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