Finishing with the living room and not finding anything else missing there, she and Tom followed Logan down the hall to their left. All the while, the realization that a second person could have been present during the shooting hung thick in the air.

  Whose shoe print was it? Had someone else been there? Had the drifter known someone local or met with someone on the outskirts of town? Denton had said she’d borrowed Colt’s pickup, but no one saw her in town or knew where she went. Was someone else involved in Colt’s death—or did the woman really have a size-ten foot?

  Logan paused outside a door, his gloved hand on the knob.

  “Colt’s room?” she asked, tears pricking at her eyes at the anguish on Logan’s face.

  He nodded. After another moment’s pause, he pushed the door open. It creaked on its hinges, and a shiver slithered down Em’s spine. The entire room was asunder.

  Logan took a stiff inhale.

  Two dressers stood on opposite walls—one long horizontally with six drawers, the other tall with five drawers. Each one was pulled out and dumped on the floor, clothes and other personal items discarded everywhere. Dark-hued material streaked across the cream carpet. Watches lay about them, glistening in the ceiling fan light. Coins and old photographs—the square black-and-white ones with white borders—had been tossed across the dresser top and onto the floor.

  Logan bent, retrieving one. Clasping it in his hands, tears beaded in his eyes as red flushed his face.

  Em yearned to pull him in her arms and would have had they been alone.

  “We figure she was looking for a few high-value items that would be easy to pawn,” Tom said from the doorway. “We’re guessing she didn’t consider the watches valuable enough.”

  Logan turned to face his friend; the photograph still clutched in his hand. “Okay to take this?” he asked.

  Tom nodded as he entered the room, and Logan slipped it in his shirt pocket before Em could see it.

  She wondered who the subject of it was, and why that one photograph out of so many tossed about meant more to him.

  Logan bent, examining the watches. “His Breitling is missing—unless he was wearing it, but I didn’t notice it in the crime scene photos.”

  “No watch on him when he was found,” Tom said, leaning against the wall. “Although, she could have taken it off of him.”

  Nausea rumbled in Emmy’s stomach, and she swallowed the queasiness at the thought. How could someone murder an elderly man and then possibly possess the depth of cruelty needed to steal something off of him while he lay dying? If that had been the case, the killer would have had to step close to Colt—mortally wounded and in agonizing suffering—and snatch the watch right off his wrist.

  “I’ve got to ask…” Tom said. “What kind of watch is a Breitling?”

  “It’s a pilot’s watch. It’s got the bidirectional, rotating bezel to control the iconic aviation slide rule.”

  “I didn’t know your grandpa was a pilot,” Em said.

  “Yep. He owns…owned a biplane kept over at the local runway.”

  “He’s not the only pilot in the family,” Tom said, inclining his head toward Logan.

  “You fly?” Em asked. Here she thought she knew everything about Logan.

  He nodded.

  Now wasn’t the time for a deeper conversation, but later she wanted to hear all about his flying.

  “How much is a watch like that worth?” Tom asked.

  “About nine grand,” Logan said.

  Tom’s jaw slackened. “Seriously?”

  “It was a Christmas gift.”

  It didn’t surprise her that he’d spent so much. Logan was a trust fund kid since his mom passed when he was young, so money was rarely an issue for him, and she knew he liked to treat the people he cared about. If there was one thing Logan was, it was generous.

  “From you?” Tom’s eyes remained wide.

  Logan nodded. “For Christmas.” Sadness drenched his tone. “I guess it was the last gift I gave him.”

  “Oh, honey,” Em said, forgetting Tom was even present—her full attention rapt on the man she loved. A man wading deep in sorrow’s clutches.

  “I should have come sooner,” he said, his gaze fixed on the ground.

  “You couldn’t have known,” she whispered.

  His hands balled into fists. “Now it’s too late.”

  “I wonder how the drifter knew to take the watch,” Tom said, clearly trying to pull Logan’s attention off his evident regret and onto the case. The investigation gave him purpose and it would keep him from falling headlong into grief. He’d still grieve but he had an outlet to funnel it through. A killer to put behind bars.

  Logan released a jagged exhale, “I suppose she saw that it stood out,” he said, finally answering his friend’s question.

  Tom’s features were composed, though a sadness hung in his brown eyes—had been there since he’d picked them up at the airport. “Anything else missing?” he asked.

  “Let me look through the jewelry box.” Logan bent, pulling a white, leather box out of one of the discarded drawers. “This is where Colt kept my grandma’s and Aunt Rae’s things after they both passed.” He opened it and pulled the inset tiers up.

  A handful of moments later, Logan assured them nothing else was missing, but then he hesitated. “Except…” he said, setting the jewelry box on top of the dresser and moving for another of the tossed drawers. “I forgot the puzzle box.”

  “Puzzle box?” Intrigue sifted through Em. She loved solving puzzles.

  “Colt had a thing for puzzles and hidden spots,” Tom said, still holding up the wall.

  “He’s right. Colt kept things in secret places, and Tom and I were always on the lookout for them. He thought it was a fun game.” Logan rummaged through the drawer, then pulled out a box with a checkerboard pattern in two different shades of wood. “A piece is out of place.” He scrambled to open it, and his face paled.

  “What’s wrong?” Em asked. “What’s missing?

  “She took Mee-Maw’s wedding ring,” he choked out.

  “Oh, Logan.” She stepped closer, wanting to be near him. What she really wanted was to pull him in her arms and heal the pain etched across his handsome face, but they needed to maintain some level of professionalism with Tom present.

  Logan looked at Tom. “We have to get it back.”

  “We will,” Tom said. “Denton sent a copy of her sketch out to local authorities as well as to all the pawn shops in our county and the surrounding ones. If she is a junkie, she’s going to want to pawn the ring and watch for cash fast. “

  Logan nodded, closed the puzzle box in three moves, then set it atop the tall dresser.

  Tom pushed off the wall. “We should check your room and the guest room.”

  Em followed the men back into the hall, curious what Logan’s childhood room would be like.

  Entering the guest room first, Logan cleared it of any missing items. “Looks like nothing’s been touched or moved.”

  “Maybe she bypassed it,” Em said.

  Logan strode for the door, then turned back, his gaze sweeping the full room. “I wonder if she cased the house ahead of time. It appears like she knew where to look and what to look for.”

  “I agree,” Tom said, then looked to Logan. “Your room?”

  Logan nodded and led the way to the door at the end of the hall. Opening it, he gestured Em and Tom inside, then followed.

  The lights were off, the shades closed. It was hard to make out much.

  Logan flipped the light switch and two lamps turned on, bathing the room in a soft glow. “I’ll get the shades too,” he said, striding for them. He pulled the string and sunlight came streaming in, beams dashing across the evergreen comforter on the king-size bed.

  Em took in the carved, wooden headboard. It was a Biblical scene of Daniel in the Lion’s den, and it was breathtaking handiwork.

  “Nothing looks out of place,” Logan said, turning to Tom. “I think your supposition that she’d cased the place is a sound one. It definitely appears like she knew where to look and what she wanted to take.”

  Em’s chest squeezed, her breath growing shallow as it all raced through her mind. Why would anyone murder someone over a few stolen items? It made no sense…and yet she’d seen it happen in her line of work multiple times. Degrading the sanctity of human life for money—often a meager amount.

  “So…she cased the place,” Tom began. “Came in to rob it. Colt interrupted her and she shot him.”

  “Or,” Logan said. “She came in shooting, but why?” His brow furrowed in that way it always did when he was in deep contemplation on a case.

  “Maybe she had a secondary motive for killing Colt?” Em said, thinking out loud.

  “Such as?”

  “A cover-up,” she offered as scenarios continued racing through her mind.

  “Cover-up for what?” Logan volleyed back.

  She loved how they worked so seamlessly together, tossing out ideas and then building off of them. “Maybe she wanted it to look like an interrupted robbery.”

  “Possible,” Logan said, pacing the hardwood floor. “Three scenarios…”

  “But which is right?” Em asked.

  Tom’s gaze bounced between them. “You guys have your own language, don’t you?”

  “Em presents every angle a crime could have taken, even the less obvious ones,” Logan explained.

  “And Logan figures out which one is right,” she said, rocking back on her heels.

  “We figure out which is right,” he said.

  “Okay, so three options,” Tom said, nudging them to continue.

  Em gestured for Logan to run with it as she leaned against the side of a rough-hewn bookcase filled with westerns, mysteries, and shelves of history books.

  “One,” Logan began. “Colt interrupted the woman robbing him, and she shot him. Two, she came to rob him and shot him first to get him out of the way. Or three, she came to kill him, and the robbery was either a secondary action or a cover-up.” He looked to Em. “Have I got it right?”

  “Yep.” She nodded.

  “Now…” Logan’s jaw set, “we investigate to determine which option is true.”

  “Just remember you’re here on courtesy,” Tom said. “You keep me in the loop, and I’ll share as I’m able.”

  “Roger that.” Logan nodded. “Oh…I’ve a question. It just hit me, but there wasn’t anything in the case file about signs of a struggle. I know Colt, and he wouldn’t just stand there and let her rob him. Nor would he stand still if she pulled a gun on him. Not in his house.”

  “Agreed.” Tom gave a nod.

  “So she came in shooting?” Em said. “Not giving him time to react?”

  “The distance from the wall where he was found and the entry to the living room is thirty feet. We placed the shots as being fired from a distance of around ten to fifteen feet.”

  “Feet…” Logan said, rubbing his chin still smattered with yesterday’s five o’clock shadow.

  Em furrowed her brow. “What is it?”

  “Colt was on his feet, standing by the wall halfway between his recliner and the TV.”

  “Jeopardy.” Tom snapped his fingers.

  She looked between the two men. Now she was the lost one.

  “Colt always watched Jeopardy. Channel 13 at six p.m. and then Wheel of Fortune,” Logan explained. “With the time of death, he should have been in his recliner.”

  “So she entered. He stood, most likely moving for his gun in the display case on his bookshelves, and she shot him before he could reach it, firing twice.” The muscle in Tom’s clenched jaw twitched.

  “It makes the most sense,” Logan said, and she agreed.

  “Now the question is why?” Em said. “Was it just to rob him? Or was something more sinister at play?”

  TEN

  Running through the possibilities of the crime had flipped Logan’s stomach and sent a chill spidering up his neck. She’d invaded their home, invaded the space that had always been so safe and welcoming to him. That safety had been shattered, and the person who had made this home so welcoming was gone forever. The thought sent heat and pain coursing through his constricting limbs.

  He walked the perimeter of his room, pausing at the sketch he’d done of Em on his last visit home. He swallowed and looked over his shoulder at her.

  She stood, her eyes transfixed on it. After a moment, she blinked, her gaze flickering to him. Moisture brimmed in her beautiful green eyes.

  “I’m…” Tom cleared his throat. “I’m going to do another round in the living room.” He hightailed it out of there before either he or Em could speak.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, eyes wide.

  He nodded his thanks, wanting to keep studying her face and the surprise welling in her eyes—but he needed to finish clearing the room despite it looking untouched. “I better get back to it,” he said.

  “Of course.” She took a step back. “Actually…” She tugged at her ear.

  Her nervous tell. Was she nervous? Had his sketch made her so?

  “I’ll go help Tom,” she muttered.

  He arched a brow. “You sure?”

  “Yeah. You’ve got this.” She turned and left as fast as Tom had.

  Ten minutes later, Logan caught up with them in the living room. “There’s nothing missing in my room, either.”

  “All right,” Tom said. “So just to confirm. From the house, we have Colt’s revolver, his Breitling watch, and your Mee-Maw’s ring. Am I missing anything?”

  “That’s everything—unless she took cash,” he said. “Colt always kept a fair amount in the house,” he explained to Em.

  “The ME called while you were in your room,” Tom began. “He said when he searched Colt’s clothes for evidence, his pockets were empty.”

  A wave of unease rushed over Logan, his limbs quivering. “Is his autopsy happening now?”

  Tom nodded, then hung his head.

  Logan gripped the chairback beside him for stability.

  “Logan…” Em said, striding to him, concern evident in her eyes. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. It just hit me.” The fierce reality of it.

  Em’s face softened with deep compassion. “I’m so sorry.”

  He nodded, fighting back the tears pricking at his eyes. He sniffed, shifting his thoughts to the case. “If his money clip wasn’t in his jeans’ pocket, she must have taken that, too.” He gripped the chair harder, the carved wood biting into his flesh. She’d taken money and most likely his watch off him as he lay dying. What kind of monster were they dealing with?

  “I’ll add it to the report,” Tom said.

  He opened his eyes on an inhale. “And we should check the book. See if any cash is missing.”

  “Right,” Tom said. “I didn’t think about the empty book.”

  Em’s eyes narrowed. “Empty book?”

  Logan headed straight for the bookcases lining the side wall and pulled the faux-classic novel from the shelf. He opened the hollowed-out box and tipped it over. A wad of cash—and a thin roll of paper tucked inside the wad—tumbled out. “Apparently, she didn’t know to look here, either,” he said, bending to pick up the cash and return it to the box, but then he paused at the slip of paper. His hands still gloved, he picked it up and unrolled it. Colt was always tucking notes and reminders away in his “memory” spots. It’d begun as a way to get Logan to communicate after being dropped off on his grandpa’s porch by a father who never looked back. Entrenched in pain from what had happened—from what he’d done—Logan didn’t speak for his first weeks on the ranch. Colt’s codes and secret messages gradually brought him back, but the pain never fully subsided. He doubted it ever would.

  “What’s it say?” Tom asked, taking a step closer.

  “It’s one of his codes,” Logan said, shifting his full focus back on it. “Two rows of numbers…” He rolled the paper up and tucked it back in with the cash, returning it to the bookshelf. Now was not the time for games.

  “We’ve got the bunkhouse left to go through,” Tom said.

  Where Colt’s killer had stayed. The heat of anger flushed through him anew. Colt had let her stay and… Logan cut off the thought, reminding himself to focus. Going into the bunkhouse three shades of furious wouldn’t help him be objective. Not that he really thought he had any chance of staying objective, but Em could. He’d rely on her to help him see what he might miss.

  “After you check the bunkhouse for any missing items, I’ll call the cleaning service for you. See how fast they can come out.”

  “Thanks, Tom, but I’ll handle it.” If something needed to be done, Colt had taught him, you rolled up your sleeves and set to work.

  “Logan.” Concern hung thick in Tom’s voice. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

  Tom didn’t understand. “I owe it to him.”

  “He would have wanted you to hire a service. He wouldn’t want you to have to…you know…” Tom shrugged.

  “Maybe we can talk outside a moment,” Em said, looking at him with equal concern in her gaze.

  “We’d best go through the bunkhouse first,” he said, knowing only Em had the power to talk him out of something.

  She nodded, but the set of her jaw said this conversation wasn’t over.

  Tom led the way to the bunkhouse. The horses whinnied in the distance as they made the half-mile haul to the row of three white, clapboard bunkhouses.

  “She stayed in the first one,” Tom said. “That’s where Denton got a look at her.”

  “Denton said she was as skittish as a prairie dog when the coyotes descend at night. He engaged her, she rushed out a greeting and headed back in the bunkhouse as fast as she could.”

  “I wonder why she was so jumpy, so afraid to be seen,” Em said. “Maybe she really was running from someone like an ex.”

  “Or running from the law.” Tom opened the bunkhouse door. “We didn’t note any personal items of hers in the bunkhouse, but it would be good for you to take a second look. We might have thought something belonged to the bunkhouse when it was something she’d brought in.”