“Well, that would explain what he was doing here,” Georgia agreed. “Bad blood between him and the family, you think?”

  “Looks that way since someone killed him and who else did he know around here?”

  “Good question. I was looking on a map. The closest town of any size is Eureka.”

  “We went there last night. I highly recommend the Trappers Saloon, anything with huckleberries.”

  There was a twinkle in Georgia’s eye. “You and the sheriff?”

  “It wasn’t like that.” She felt a flush start at her throat and rise to her cheeks.

  “Right. He’s drop-dead gorgeous, or are you going to tell me you didn’t notice?”

  She’d noticed a lot about him. She’d felt his strength as he’d gripped her arm yesterday, seen his kindness and generosity when he’d shared his meal and ordered another and witnessed his fear for her when she’d defied him and gotten out of the patrol SUV at the Crandell Ranch.

  She quickly changed the subject. “You’re welcome to take the rental car if you want to go into Eureka. The sheriff and I are going back out to the ranch to see if anyone will admit to my father being a relative. Oh, and Clay was dying. He didn’t have long at all to live.”

  Georgia was shaking her head. “I never would have guessed he had secrets. He seemed...sad.”

  Sad. Molly tried not to think about that, still angry with him for abandoning her without any explanation. “The sheriff mentioned that maybe someone my father knew had told him to ask for room 401 because it is right by the fire escape stairs. He could have even left the door propped open for his killer.”

  “As if he knew one of them would be coming for him.”

  “It’s made me realize how little I know about my father,” she said truthfully. “He left when I was nine. Not even my mother seemed to know much about his early years. I wish I could ask her, but she passed almost ten years ago now. There’s no one to ask. Except the Crandells. And they might not be inclined to tell me anything.”

  “I’m sorry. All of this must come as a shock.” Georgia seemed lost in thought for a moment. “It occurs to me that if you’re right and Clay was from around here, a lot of people other than his family must have known him. You said he went into the military under his real name, right?”

  “Enlisted at seventeen.”

  “So, his parents had to sign for him,” Georgia said. “That’s telling. But if he lived here seventeen years, then he must have gone to school, right? He must have had friends.”

  Molly nodded. “The answer does seem to be here. I’m staying around for a while to see what I can find out.”

  “I’m not leaving until I find Rowdy,” Georgia said with a groan. “I might have to spend the rest of my life in Fortune Creek.”

  “Once the sheriff finds the killer...” Not even Molly held out much hope.

  “I’m just worried that the killer could have already tried to sell Rowdy,” Georgia was saying. “I’ve been watching for him online. I was thinking about offering a reward.”

  Molly hadn’t thought that the killer had taken the dummy thinking it was worth money on the open market. For some reason, she’d thought it was more personal, like her own desire to get her hands on Rowdy. “Seems foolish to try to sell it if you were the murderer.”

  “Murder is pretty foolish when you think about it.”

  She couldn’t argue that as she dug into her breakfast. Georgia was right. The pancakes were delish and so was the bacon. She couldn’t help thinking that if the murderer was that clueless, then why not offer a reward and catch him?

  “I think a reward is a good idea.” They decided on a thousand dollars, Georgia saying she’d pay most of it since she had the most to lose but Molly insisted that they split it. “Okay, I’ll get right on it.”

  Molly ate as if famished. She blamed all this fresh air up here in the wilds of Montana. When Alice came back to refill her coffee, Molly asked if Clay Wheaton had eaten his meals here.

  “The man with the doll?” The woman belly laughed. “That was a first. Saw him talking to it like it was alive. I just figured he wasn’t in his right mind. He seemed harmless enough.”

  Molly felt a wave of sadness for her father, realizing how lonely his life must have been. Had he come back here to die? To mend fences? Surely not to be murdered. But apparently, he’d known that it could happen—and it did. She thought of Rowdy and all those years he and her father were inseparable. Of course, the dummy didn’t sing after her father was killed.

  But if Rowdy could have, she realized he would have—just as the couple said, and that gave her a chill.

  Chapter Nine

  When Molly returned to the hotel, she spotted Georgia in what appeared to be serious conversation with Jessica, the younger woman she’d met that morning. She had a sudden strange uncharitable thought. What if the two were making some kind of deal? If one of them found Rowdy first—

  “Molly.” Georgia motioned her over to the corner where the two had been so intensely engaged. “Jessica wants in.”

  Still caught up in her thought of a behind-her-back deal, she said, “Wants in on what?”

  “The reward,” Jessica said. “I’ll match whatever the two of you suggest.”

  “You will?” She couldn’t help her surprise. Why had she gotten the feeling that Jessica might have to borrow money for gas to leave Fortune Creek? Because she hadn’t had breakfast or even a cup of coffee at the café earlier? Or because she was staying in her camper down by the river? “Sure.”

  They decided to keep the reward at a thousand and not go any higher for the time being. Jessica took her dog and started to leave, stopping to talk to Ash for a moment. From what Molly could tell, the two were at odds. Ash was shaking his head and not looking the least bit happy as she left.

  “You’re sure about this?” she asked Georgia, who shrugged.

  “I thought we should at least ask her if she was interested. She wants Rowdy as much as we do. I already told Cora Green at that little store about the reward.” Georgia grinned. “As talkative as she is, I figure she’ll let people around here know. I’m also putting it in the Eureka both print and online newspaper, Tobacco Valley News, and the local shopper.”

  “Sounds good,” Molly said distractedly. She couldn’t get Jessica off her mind. “What’s with her and Ash?”

  “She wants to investigate the hotel for paranormal activity while she’s waiting for Rowdy to be found. Apparently, Ash isn’t wild about the idea. She plans to get a room and do the investigating on her own. She seems very determined.”

  As the front door opened, Molly caught a glint in Georgia’s eye as Deputy Jaden Montgomery strode in. He stopped in the middle of the lobby, pushing back his Stetson as he called out a hello to Ash.

  “I’m going to do some investigating of my own with a little help from that handsome deputy,” Georgia said with a grin. “Wish me luck.” And with that, she was off, calling, “Deputy, a moment of your time.”

  As Molly started for the elevator, her cell phone rang. It was the sheriff.

  * * *

  BRANDT REALIZED THERE was no way he would have been able to keep a lid on the murder—even if the story about the singing ventriloquist’s dummy hadn’t gone viral. It wasn’t every day that a ventriloquist was killed in Fortune Creek, Montana—let alone his dummy missing.

  He was just getting ready to leave after his call to Molly when Helen came in with her “more-bad-news face.” He groaned. “Now what?”

  “A thousand-dollar reward is being offered for the dummy.”

  “Molly?” Helen nodded and waited. “Georgia?” Another nod and still she stood, hip cocked, in his office doorway. “If you tell me Jessica Woods—” She nodded and left, closing the door behind her so he could swear in peace.

  “Jessica Woods?” he repeated to himself. She had a stake in finding Rowdy, but she didn’t appear to be someone who had money to throw away.

  He wished that they had asked him about offering a reward for Rowdy. Now the killer knew the dummy was worth something. Maybe worse, the killer might also realize that the dummy could be worth even more. He shook his head, reminded of who he was dealing with—three very determined young women.

  As Molly came through the front door of the sheriff’s department, he tamped down his anger and frustration. He could understand Georgia’s desperation in finding Rowdy. He could even see Jessica wanting to get her hands on the dummy, but Molly? Was she really willing to pay good money to get Rowdy back so she could destroy it? Also, if found, she was out a million dollars.

  That thought made him uneasy. Maybe she had her reasons for playing along pretending to look for Rowdy, offering a reward, saying she just wanted to put an end to the doll. Or maybe she and her father were in on this from the beginning, and she knew Rowdy was never going to turn up.

  He shook his head, recalling the fact that Molly had a solid alibi. She’d been clear across the country when Clay had died and Rowdy had disappeared. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t had an accomplice here in Fortune Creek. But would that make the partner the killer?

  Brandt swore, hating his suspicious nature, hating worse that he had no idea yet who’d killed the ventriloquist or who had Rowdy the Rodeo Cowboy.

  Rising from his desk, he plucked his Stetson off the rack and walked out his door, mentally berating himself. Why did he want to suspect Molly? To keep her at arm’s length? Quite possibly, since he’d had his heart broken not all that long ago by a big-city woman. His poor battered heart was still recovering and couldn’t be trusted if he got too close to Molly Lockhart.

  Attractive or not, Molly was off-limits because her life was in New York City. His life was in Fortune Creek. Not to mention, a very small-town sheriff would be the last man she’d be interested in. Except maybe for a fling with a cowboy. That he’d even consider a short-term romp with the woman had him shaking his head in exasperation. He needed to find Clay’s killer and that damned dummy before he did something he would regret.

  Molly was visiting with Helen as he came out of his office. Helen was usually a pretty good judge of character, and she seemed to like Molly. He reminded himself that she’d also liked that fluffy bit of fur Ghost too.

  “Ready?” he asked at a break in the conversation. He saw both of their startled looks at the abruptness of his tone. He was determined to keep this all business. “Helen, you know where to reach me.”

  She nodded, her recently permed gray curls bobbing as she turned back to her own desk.

  “Helen said you had a burr under your saddle,” Molly said after a few miles of silence. “You’ll have to translate that for me.”

  “Wish you’d talked to me about the reward before you offered it,” he said without looking at her.

  “I thought the idea was to find the murderer.”

  He looked over at her. “Is it?”

  * * *

  THEY RODE IN silence for a few more miles. Clearly, the sheriff was angry. Just about the reward? Or was there something else bothering him? She thought it might be the latter.

  Molly let him stew in his own juices for a while longer before she said, “It was Georgia’s idea. She would have offered the reward even if I hadn’t offered to pitch in. She has the most to lose if Rowdy isn’t found.”

  “What about you?” he asked, flicking a glance at her before quickly turning back to his driving down the narrow two-lane road. “You seem to have everything to gain by Rowdy not being found.”

  “Is that what’s bothering you?” she asked with a laugh as she leaned back against the seat to stare out at the pine trees and mountains that blurred past outside the patrol SUV. Overhead white whisps of clouds skated across the big blue sky. “It’s beautiful here.” Maybe it was the surprise she too heard in her voice that made him slow down and look at her again.

  “You just now noticed that?”

  In the hours since his call about her father’s death, she’d felt nothing but angry and inconvenienced, her emotions at war. Look how long it had taken for her to even notice how handsome the sheriff was. No surprise that she hadn’t really appreciated the scenery. Or the lawman next to her.

  Those blue eyes seemed to search her face as if he could find answers to his suspicions hidden there. Broad-shouldered, slim-hipped with long legs, everything about him sculpted in muscle, how could she not appreciate the view? Like his suntanned hands gripping the wheel. Hands of a working man. She wondered what he’d done before he’d climbed behind the desk as sheriff.

  He was nothing like the men she’d dated in New York. Everything about him was strong and capable in this part of the country where such attributes could save your life. Not to mention determined, this man of the law. All of it made him more attractive than any man she’d ever known.

  “What?” he asked still sounding irritated. She shook her head. He dragged his gaze away, slowing further to make the turn onto the country road into the Crandell Ranch.

  She took a breath, let it out slowly, the cab of the patrol SUV seeming a little too cozy, a little too intimate. What was it about this cowboy that drew her, that made her want to know him and his secrets?

  He hit a bump in the road and she wrestled her thoughts away from the sheriff as she prepared for her father’s apparent family. Definitely not welcoming last time. She hated to think how much worse it could be this time.

  As she glanced over at the sheriff again, she saw his shoulders tense as he turned down the even more narrow, bumpy road to the ranch. He too was concerned about the reception they would get. She told herself that the Crandells wouldn’t shoot the sheriff. At least she hoped not as she saw the buildings ahead—and that huge tree with her father’s name carved into it.

  * * *

  BRANDT BRACED HIMSELF as he pulled into the Crandell ranch yard again. He expected this time was going to be more confrontational. It was no secret that the Crandells didn’t like visitors; they really didn’t like the law.

  But he was pretty sure the old man had lied about not knowing who Clay Wheaton was. Not that Brandt thought asking about Seth Crandell’s murder was going to get him far either. At least he might be able to find out if they knew Seth had a daughter. Maybe they wouldn’t care. He supposed it would depend on how they’d felt about their son Seth, he told himself.

  “I want you to stay in the patrol car this time.” He parked, shut off the engine and turned to her. “This could go a number of ways. If it goes completely south, lock the doors and get on the radio for help. Just push that button.”

  Her eyes widened in alarm. “Whatever you do, don’t get out.” As he opened his door, she grabbed his arm to stop him. He looked back at her, seeing her concern for him and smiling even as he told himself not to make too much of it. The drive here had been difficult enough. He’d never been so aware of a woman or his growing curiosity about her.

  “It’s okay,” he said, sorry he’d scared her. “People seldom shoot a sheriff.” She slowly released her hold on him and nodded, not looking the least convinced. He wasn’t all that certain either.

  He climbed out and closed the door before he headed toward the house. He hadn’t gone far when the front door flew open.

  The elderly rancher they’d seen the last time came out, the same shotgun in his hands, an even more irritated glowering warning on his face. “I thought I told you—”

  “Cecil Crandell?” Brandt said. “I don’t want trouble. I just need to talk to you about your son Seth.”

  “Never heard of him. Unless you have a warrant, you’d best get back in that rig and be on your way.” He shifted the shotgun, definitely looking like he meant business.

  “Put down the shotgun, Cecil. I’m investigating Seth’s murder. I just need to ask you a few questions. We can do it here or at the sheriff’s department.”

  “I don’t know anything about it,” the old man said lowering the shotgun only a hair. “Now get off my property.”

  With a silent curse, Brandt heard the door of the patrol SUV open behind him. He wanted to throttle Molly. He should have known she wouldn’t follow directions.

  “You aren’t Seth’s father?” she demanded. “Well, his DNA says otherwise,” she said as she marched toward the house. “If you don’t care that he’s dead, then you probably don’t care that I’m his daughter and a Crandell. Your granddaughter.”

  Cecil Crandell stared at Molly, eyes hard and narrowed. “I don’t care who you are. You’re not welcome here.”

  Brandt started to go after Molly but stopped when the door behind the man opened on a creaky hinge and an elderly woman stepped out drying her hands on her worn apron.

  “Who did you say you are?” the woman demanded.

  “Go back inside, Irma. I’m handling this,” Cecil said.

  She ignored him, stepping to the edge of the porch to motion to her granddaughter. Molly moved closer, even though Brandt wanted to pull her back. “You resemble him,” she said, eyes squinted, her voice breaking. “What’s your name?”

  “Molly.” She moved to the edge of the porch.

  “Irma, don’t make me—”

  “Hush, Cecil, you old fool.” Her gaze was fixed on Molly. “Come inside.” She motioned to Molly, then shot a look at the sheriff. “You stay where you are.” Turning to her husband, she said, “Cecil, you see to that tractor of yours. I want to talk to her alone.”

  For a moment, Brandt held his breath, afraid of what would happen next.

  He didn’t like the idea of Molly going into that house alone with the woman, but he also had heard clearly in the older woman’s voice that he wasn’t invited.