“Maybe she was upset that your father had you living wherever you were, because it was too close to places where you could wander and get hurt,” Kelly offered.

  Maybe. Made sense. Didn’t click. But then, she’d been three. What had she known, really?

  “But how would Grayson Evergreen and Aimee have known each other?” Jackson said, glancing between the two of them.

  “It’s possible that they were at the same sitter’s,” Kelly said. “If Grayson had the mind of a young boy, chances are good he wouldn’t have been left alone. You said his father was a widower, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So maybe, after the accident, he took Grayson to a sitter, and Aimee was one of the kids there.”

  Aimee nodded. “That feels right,” she said. “I have no memory of a babysitter, but it seems like Grayson was only around to play with me. That’s the sense I have. He was a playmate.”

  “Maybe Adele was the sitter,” Kelly’s voice gained momentum. “There’s no record of your mom’s nursing career after you were born,” she told Aimee. “So maybe, like some moms, she took in other kids to help pay bills. And because she was a trained medical professional, the Evergreens chose her as their sitter.”

  Aimee wanted that to be the case. It made sense. “It would explain the swing incident, with my dad there.”

  “I’ll give Boyd a call.” Jackson stood, pulling out his phone. And a few seconds later, left a message asking the older man to call him as soon as he could.

  So that was it, then. Her memories...they’d been little more than normal childhood snippets. That she’d probably buried because of the trauma of losing her parents in the car accident.

  But...

  “We still don’t know why someone’s after me now,” she reminded them all.

  “You said you got money from your parents’ deaths, right?” Jackson started pointing his finger—not at them, just pointing. “I knew about it, of course, but...where did it come from? There wouldn’t have been any insurance settlement. Not with a murder-suicide. And what they owned would have been destroyed in that mobile home and the fire. Mason’s truck was a beater. He owned it free and clear, but it wouldn’t have been worth much. Adele’s car was repossessed. So where did the money come from that paid for Aimee’s college?”

  The question seemed to be almost rhetorical as he didn’t wait for an answer before he continued. “There’s something about that poker game, and it’s tied to Aimee. And maybe to wherever that money came from,” Jackson said, his phone still in hand. “It’s possible that there’s a lot more of it. That someone is living off it. And doesn’t want you to find that out.”

  “That last game you talked about, the one you found out about this morning.” Kelly was looking at Aimee now. “Mason won big and then walked out.” She looked up to Jackson. “Maybe someone felt cheated, lost way more than he could afford to lose, put the wager out there because even if he lost, the night was young and he’d have a chance to win it back. Maybe that someone was threatening Adele and Aimee unless Mason paid it back,” Kelly said. She turned again to Aimee. “You remember dirty hands, and your mom crying about them, but it could be that your parents were fighting because of the gambling, because of the jeopardy it put you all in. She could have said she was taking you and moving back to New Orleans.”

  “And that could be what drove your father to violence, and then suicide.”

  “No!” She spoke far too loudly. Stood, too. Ready to go head to head with him. Until Kelly’s gentle touch at her wrist pulled her back down to the couch.

  “I know he didn’t kill my mother, or himself,” she said directly to the psychiatrist.

  “It’s possible you do,” the woman acknowledged. “And it’s also possible that your mind refuses to accept something it can’t process. You were three. You might have seen it. As hard as this is, it’s something we need to consider...”

  She didn’t want to consider it. Didn’t want to be the daughter of a murderer. Didn’t want to know that the man her mother had left Aunt Bonnie to come back to had killed her.

  She didn’t want to. Didn’t want to.

  Didn’t want to.

  Like a three year old didn’t want to eat her peas. Or go to bed.

  Didn’t matter the reasons why she should.

  She didn’t want to.

  But when she looked back in her psyche for any memories that would disprove the theory, her mind went blank.

  If she couldn’t give Jackson an alternative truth, she couldn’t blame him for believing what the facts seemed to be telling him.

  Except she did.

  She also knew, he could be right.

  * * *

  The text to Aimee that morning had indeed come from a burner phone. The lab in Flagstaff had a fingerprint from the explosive at the back door of the sheriff’s office. Unfortunately, there were no matches in the databases Jackson had access to. Randall Burley’s prints were in the database, though. Which meant he wasn’t the one who’d touched the incendiary device.

  Calling Leon out to guard the house after Kelly left, Jackson went straight to visit Burley. Boyd Evergreen would get back to him when he could, but other than confirming the babysitter theory, or filling in some other blank as to how Gray and Aimee would have played together, he was at peace with that part of the investigation. Adele and Mason had somehow known Gray and through that had given Bonnie the Evergreen address that Aimee had found among her aunt’s things.

  Why they’d done that, why Bonnie had kept it, was anybody’s guess. And unless Boyd knew, would probably always remain a mystery.

  Aimee was getting most of the answers she’d come for. The last piece was to find out what Pandora’s box she’d opened by coming to town and finding out what she’d released. His instincts were telling him that Randall Burley was the key. He had to get the man to come clean. They’d never found the truck that had tried to run Aimee off the road. Could have been stolen for all they knew. It’d probably been pushed off a mountain someplace.

  He planned to use the bomb to squeeze Burley. He knew Randall hadn’t planted it, but Burley didn’t know he knew that. And going down for attempting to blow up a sheriff department could put him away for life.

  He walked into the man’s small office at Blooming Bridges, hearing him in the residence behind the small room, and rang the bell. Chewing and wiping his hands on a napkin, Burley came out almost at once.

  “Sheriff Redmond. I told Leon, I don’t know anything about...”

  “Can it, Burley. We know that you ran an illegal poker game in the back of the bar in Halston for years.”

  He gave the guy a smidgeon of credit for not immediately denying the assertion. Instead, Burley gave one more slow wipe on the napkin, dropped it on the counter that separated him from the small space just inside the door and remained silent as he looked at Jackson.

  Jackson was fine with a moment or two to size each other up. He needed the older man to know that he’d met his match. Stood firm on that ground.

  “So I ran a game,” the man finally said, and Jackson figured he had him. “It was years ago. I got out of that racket and have no part in anything to do with gambling. Don’t even let the casino bus stop here to pick up or drop off guests.”

  Something Jackson already knew.

  Leaning an arm on the counter, Jackson said, “You know, the snake, the spider, even the sprinkler system...all that is minor stuff...pranks, really.” The man’s expression didn’t change, but Jackson wasn’t discouraged. He continued with, “and driving bad...well that could be argued in court with some success as a mere traffic violation, but when you plant an incendiary device outside the door of a sheriff’s offices and then lure someone to walk out on top of it...now we’re talking premeditated murder.” Burley’s face turned red. “With aggravators because you’ve attempted to blow up a sheriff’s office...” Jackson added.

  “Now wait just a minute!” Burley’s spit hit Jackson’s hand as the man raised his voice. “I ran a poker game. I got nothing to do with no murder and the only thing I know about that explosion at the sheriff’s office is what people are saying...that it looks like someone lured that woman, Aimee Barker, out there.”

  “Yeah, but, you see, it’s not going to look that way to a judge.” Jackson went in for the kill without a smidgeon of guilt. Or compassion, either. Not for a man who was hiding information that could very well get Aimee killed. In Jackson’s book, that was attempted murder, right there. “You’re the one who answered her request for lodging. You suddenly have a cancellation and can accommodate her. As soon as she arrives, strange things start happening at her cabin only. Oh, and here’s a clincher...her dead father played in that poker game of yours...see how it’s all coming together, now? And that explosive...we got a print off it.” He delivered the kill point as Burley’s face turned white.

  “Now wait just a minute here,” the older man came from behind the counter, his eyes wide, his head shiny with sweat in front of his receding hairline. “I ran a poker game. And maybe her dad played sometimes. But I know nothing about any harm to that girl, intended or otherwise. I have nothing to do with any of that.”

  Jackson didn’t want to believe the man. He knew Burley had to be lying to him. But if so, he was the best actor Jackson had ever come across.

  “You expect me to believe, with you being the only connection between Ms. Barker and her dad, that you’re clear here?”

  “I swear to you, Sheriff. I ran a poker game back in the day. That’s all. I didn’t even play. Seems to me someone who might have a problem would have been someone who actually lost to the guy.”

  “So you remember Mason Cooper now?” Burley had denied knowing the man when Leon had asked.

  “I’m not saying I do or I don’t. But if I did, there’s a chance he was a smart one. Counted cards, if I’m remembering correctly. My guess is, if there’s any connection to that woman and my game, it’s something to do with that.”

  Yeah, that was Jackson’s guess, too. But he didn’t believe Burley was as innocent as he claimed. Most definitely not after he’d stopped at actually admitting he knew Aimee’s dad.

  “Look, Sheriff, I’ll do anything I can to help you out. I don’t need any trouble here. I like Evergreen. Blooming Bridges is my life.” Jackson almost bought the plea. “I’ve got a list of everyone who played in the game I ran,” he said. “It’s in the back, in my safe. I’ll turn it over to you if that’ll help...”

  “You kept track of every player of every game?”

  “I kept track of everyone who got access to the room,” Burley said. “Checked the name they entered by against a valid driver’s license. No license, no play.”

  So, Burley surprised him after all. “Get me the list.”

  Chapter 20

  Aimee wanted to see Gay Gay. She remembered him. A piece of her past who was still living. She should want to be getting home, too, though she’d taken two weeks off from the shop for her sojourn out West. She’d checked in that afternoon with Beth, the woman whom she’d left in charge of Seeds for the Soul while she was gone. They’d discussed some of the shops Aimee had visited in Evergreen and details from the deal she’d managed to secure with the gourd artist. Aimee had also mentioned a potential Native American artist she’d discovered in one of the shops. And all the while she was curiously content not to rush back.

  She loved the shop. Loved her own art, even more. Definitely loved having the chance to discover and sell one-of-a-kind pieces all over the country. It was all part of who she was. But it was a solid part. Already grounded and healthy. She was discovering that she had other parts, missing pieces, and she couldn’t settle for living without them anymore.

  She’d discovered Jackson Redmond. A man who raised all kind of passions in her. Sexual, for sure, but others as well. Disagreeing with him, for instance. Instead of taking a step back, seeing the other side and letting go, as was generally her way, she was ready to go toe to toe with him. Just because. He didn’t have to agree with her. But she wanted it all hashed out, anyway. Wanted him to know how strongly she felt what she felt.

  Wanted to know those things herself.

  She didn’t want to step back anymore. At least not where he was concerned.

  She didn’t want to be calm and cool or keep things neat and tidy. She wanted it messy. Because real life got that way.

  Shrugging off her thoughts as she paced the bedroom upstairs, telling herself she was being fanciful and ridiculous and would probably feel differently in a day or two, she heard Jackson’s SUV pull in and her heart leaped. Grabbing her purse, and in the same black Lycra skirt and peasant tank blouse she’d had on since that morning, she headed straight for the stairs.

  He’d said he was going to try and arrange for her to see Grayson Evergreen yet that evening. It was only three in the afternoon. They could be in Phoenix by an early dinnertime. Visit with Grayson, grab a bite in the city and be back in time for a beer with Hoot before bed.

  Bed. She was going to try again not to go there alone. As soon as Jackson figured out who wanted her dead, there’d be no more reason for her to stay with him.

  She didn’t want to leave without knowing what it felt like to have him on top of her. Underneath her. Inside her.

  The thought didn’t even make her blush. She wanted him that bad.

  And pondered different ways to get him to agree to sleep with her as they drove the lonely stretch of uninhabited highway carved into the mountain. A road that took them down to the Phoenix valley. Mostly the thoughts were incomplete, interrupted with conversation a time or two as he told her about Burley. About Leon and Sandra checking out the list of gamblers.

  About the fact that her father’s name had been on that list.

  And sometimes her thoughts of sex with him were interrupted by such incredibly beautiful sights they took her breath away. The vastness, the drop-offs, the views as they rounded curves, the vistas...she could hardly absorb it all.

  Jackson seemed to take it all in stride. The conversation, the views. He’d been all business since he’d walked in the door, told her he wanted to take a minute to change, and even when he’d come out looking like a cowboy who could fit any women’s fantasy in his jeans, short-sleeved pullover, boots and his gun at his waist, he hadn’t given any indication of noticing her openmouthed stare.

  She was more relieved than she’d realized to get out of town. To be away from whatever danger lurked there. Away from whoever didn’t want her there. If fate was good to her, Leon and Sandra would find the missing piece of that particular puzzle while she and Jackson were in Phoenix. They had a fingerprint. They just had to get poker players who were willing to give their fingerprints, as well as look them up in the fingerprint database they’d already checked, and rule them out, to be able to narrow down the pool of suspects and then investigate those who were left. Jackson had explained it all to her as soon as they’d buckled themselves into the front seat of his SUV.

  Whatever her father had gotten into that was rolling over to her for some reason, should be known to them soon.

  The Phoenix traffic was intense compared to New Orleans, but then, as Jackson pointed out to her, the valley’s population was eight times as large. Highways branched off highways, circling in every which way, five and six lanes a side, and she was more nervous than she’d been on the edge of the mountain cliff on the way down. He didn’t seem the least bit fazed. Could have been riding a horse alone in the desert based on his one hand on the wheel and his relaxed posture.

  Grayson’s temporary home, a facility in the middle of Phoenix, had lovely landscaping, garage parking for visitors and a luxurious entryway. Clearly no money had been spared, but she could see why someone who loved the rugged north could be uncomfortable there.

  The heat kind of put a damper on things, too. She was sweating just walking from the car in the garage to the elevator bank that took them down to a breezeway leading inside. At one hundred and ten, there was no way Grayson could hike for long, even if the facilities had grounds to do so. Which it clearly did not.

  “Boyd said he’d meet us in the lobby,” Jackson told her, walking just behind her right elbow, as though guarding her even now that they were out of Evergreen. She didn’t feel like she needed the protection, but she was glad to have him there, just the same.

  Jackson’s body close to hers...she liked it. A lot.

  Having him at her back when she was getting ready to meet someone she remembered knowing so long ago...was pretty much priceless. She didn’t want to do it without him.

  She would if she had to. But she didn’t want to.

  “There he is.” She heard Jackson’s voice just as she noticed a distinguished-looking man in light gray pants, a dress shirt and shiny black shoes coming toward them. Boyd Evergreen was easily as tall as Jackson, and straight shouldered. And wore his wealth with class, rather than obnoxiousness. His full head of hair was heavily peppered with gray.

  Jackson made the introductions and Boyd smiled as he took her hand. “You’re nothing like I remember, of course,” he said, and then he sobered. Led them to a small private room off from what looked to be a large general visiting area with multiple seating sections set off by half walls and furnished with expensive-looking couches, chairs and even televisions.

  The room they were in was furnished identically to the multiple seating areas they’d just passed. Boyd Evergreen sat on the edge of a leather armchair, his arms resting on his thighs. Jackson saw the two of them onto the matching couch. She hadn’t known they were going to have a meeting before the meeting...but she supposed it made sense that they would. She’d need to learn how to speak to a man she remembered as a boy—a man whose mind hadn’t aged since he’d known her as a three year old.