Through the years, the distillery had been more or less a hobby handed down to whichever relative was interested, but my brother saw an opportunity and ran with it. Now he takes home sixty percent of the profits and divides the remainder with twenty to Ma, and ten between Adam and me.

  It was a manageable career until two years ago when a reviewer claimed our Stone Cold original single barrel was the best small-batch bourbon since Blanton’s. After that, money hasn’t been much of an issue for any of us.

  I still serve as sheriff twenty-four seven, seven days a week, because I actually like doing the job. I care about Eureka, and it helps me feel close to my dad’s memory. Alex never gets a day off, and while he never complains, I can’t tell if the family hobby hasn’t turned into a burden for him.

  “A mother’s intuition is stronger than any force of nature.” Mom puts her arm around my waist, and her head comes right to my chest.

  She’s small, but she’s a force of nature herself, keeping three boys in line after my dad died.

  “Dad doesn’t believe in The Force, Gram.” Owen skips up behind us, putting his small hand in hers as we walk to my truck. “He doesn’t believe in anything.”

  “What the hell, Owen?” I snap.

  “Don’t swear at my grandson!” Mom pinches my waist hard enough to make me flinch.

  “Hell isn’t a swear word.”

  “It is, and it’s not like you to speak to Owen that way.” Her forehead wrinkles, and the guilt trip is real.

  “Sorry, Froot Loop.”

  “Dad!” Owen cries, then stomps away. “I’m getting in the truck.”

  He hugs his grandmother’s waist and climbs in the cab, slamming the door.

  I exhale a growl, and my mom crosses her arms. Hesitating, I look down at her.

  “What’s that all about?” Concern lines her eyes.

  “He doesn’t want to be called Froot Loop anymore.”

  “I’m surprised he ever did.”

  That hurts. “It used to make him laugh. It was something we had after Annemarie…” I can’t even go there.

  Compassion fills my mother’s blue eyes. “Aiden.” She reaches up and puts her palm against my chest. “You can’t raise a son and hold onto bitterness. You have to learn to forgive what happened and let go of the past. It’s what I had to do after your father died.”

  Taking her hand in mine, I lower it. “I know, Ma. But I’m not the same guy I was then. I never will be.”

  “Even so, Owen needs to believe in magic and dreams. It’s what young people live for.”

  “He can have his dreams. I’m just not going to tell him things that aren’t true and that will ultimately break his heart. The only magic is what we make ourselves.”

  Her lips press into a disapproving line.

  Shaking my head, I start for the truck. “I’ve got an early morning, and now I’ve got Britt Bailey to deal with. Like I didn’t have enough on my plate with this spike in vandalism.”

  “Don’t go away angry.” She catches my arm.

  Turning back, I give her a brief hug. “I’m not angry, Ma. I’m just tired. Been dealing with the Baileys all day.”

  “You know, Andrew used to spar with Edna, but at the end of the day, they respected each other. They both loved this town, and they wanted the best for it. In their own ways.”

  “Edna’s a kook, and Gwen’s worse. I only hope Britt hasn’t turned out as flaky as them.”

  “I remember Britt from your brother’s group of friends. She always seemed like a bright young woman. Adam spoke highly of her.”

  “I’m sure he did.” I lean down and kiss the top of her head. “Night, Ma.”

  “Take care of yourself, Aiden. I want you to be happy.”

  On the short drive back to our place, I apologize for snapping. I also apologize for forgetting about the nickname. Owen says it’s no big deal, and by the time we pull into our driveway, he’s asleep.

  I carry him inside, helping him brush his teeth before leading him to his bed, giving him a hug, and tucking his blanket all around him like a cannoli. Hesitating, I study his sleeping profile highlighted by the moon shining through his window. The echoes of childhood still flicker around his eyes, and he’s so peaceful, just like I always want him to be. It tugs at my chest.

  In my own room, I shower and change into sleep pants and a tank. Standing in front of my large, empty bed, I think about my mom’s words. I want you to be happy.

  I’m happy here with my son and my work, but I know from watching my mother, the day will come when Owen will leave to pursue his own life. What then?

  There have been times I’ve wished for someone to share my life with. A real partner to be with me, comfort me, play with me. Then I think about my own experience with trust, love, and having the shit kicked out of me.

  What I’m doing here is easy. It’s predictable and safe. I’ve got enough dangerous shit to deal with in my professional life. It’s better to keep things as they are and not let people try to get in my head and tell me what I ought to do.

  I know what I ought to do, and it’s take care of Owen and keep the town running. It’s not magic. It’s hard work, and I’m doing just fine.

  “My guess is these tracks were made with some kind of lightweight all-terrain vehicle. One with wide tires.” Britt is on her knees examining the path cut through Terra Belle’s cucumber vines. “Three-wheelers were outlawed in the eighties, but some are still out there, especially in small, rural pockets.”

  She gets close with the digital camera and takes several photos from different angles. She places small, numbered cards all over the field, and she places another one beside the tracks.

  When she’s done, she lifts a long strand of damaged fruit and carries it to where I’m standing out of her way. “See these tracks? The square treads are typical of an old-school ATV. Our getaway vehicle was a three-wheeler.”

  My eyebrows lift. “That’s a very specific clue.”

  Her cheeks flush a pretty pink, and her full lips fight against a smile. “That’s why I’m here.”

  She’s impossible to ignore, taking command of the scene, confidently organizing everything we’ve found into sections and numbers.

  Instead of Daisy Dukes and cowboy boots, today she’s wearing a long sleeved, zip-up canvas bodysuit in fatigue green. Her blonde hair is cinched up in a tight bun, and she has big, clear goggles over her eyes. Plastic gloves are on her hands as she carefully turns the vines and takes pictures.

  Since we got here, I’ve been pretty much standing aside watching as she meticulously sifts through every bit of evidence and takes pictures from all possible angles. I can’t get over how focused she is on this tedious work, and I have to admit, she’s good at it.

  She’s also fucking magnetic as shit, working the crime scene like a seasoned professional. My eyes are drawn to her every move like I’m watching one of those crime shows.

  I watch as she slowly walks to the far edge of the field, eyes fixed on the ground. Then she stops short, dropping to a knee. “Sheriff!”

  My breath hitches at her shout, and I pick my way to where she’s kneeling. “You found something?”

  “Look!” She stands, holding a beat-up brown work boot. “Does this belong to one of your men?”

  My brow arches. “Doug is my only man.” Besides you, I don’t say. “I’m pretty sure he didn’t leave a boot here over the weekend.”

  “We need to run this past Terra, make sure it’s not hers or a friend’s.” She carries it with two gloved fingers to her dog, holding it out for him to sniff. “I’m going to put a card here to mark the spot where I found it.”

  Nodding, I step aside as Edward puts his nose to the ground and follows a trail through the crime scene.

  She follows him back to the spot where she found the boot and holds up a hand, frantically waving me over again. “Come here, quick!”

  I do my best to avoid stepping on any of her cards as I pick my way to where she’s calf-deep in cucumber vines.

  “What is it?” I’m not sure why I’m whispering.

  “Lean down here, and look at this!” She’s whispering as well, but she’s excited. She drops to a squat, and I bend closer, catching the bug of her enthusiasm. “What do you think made these markings?”

  While I’m squinting at a series of linear channels pressed into the soft soil, she pulls out her camera and takes several more pictures.

  “A hoe, maybe? Or a shovel?” I can’t think of what else would make such deep, narrow indentions.

  “They begin right past where I found the boot, like he stepped out of it in the middle of walking.”

  Straightening, I study her green eyes shrouded by science-class-looking goggles. “What are you saying, Britt?”

  “I think whoever did this was wearing that boot, and when it came off, he had to keep going on his prosthetic foot.”

  My eyebrows shoot up, and I take a knee, getting closer to study the markings again. Sure enough, looking at them from this angle with that in mind, it’s got to be.

  “Fuck me,” I mutter. “The perp has a prosthetic leg. How did we miss that before?”

  “You’re not required to get as close as I am, and something like this is easy to miss in a farm where equipment is used for harvesting.”

  I’m not going to lie. I’m impressed as hell. “So now we have a potential suspect with a fake leg who owns a three-wheeler. I can’t imagine too many people will fit that profile.”

  “You might be surprised how many are lurking in these older communities.” She pulls the goggles off her face and wipes a hand across her upper lip. “It’s getting hot out here.”

  “It’s the humidity, and you’re in all that.” I motion to her getup. “We could take a break and come back this afternoon.”

  “When it’s even hotter?” Her nose wrinkles as she shakes her head. “No thanks. I’m almost finished, then I think we need to talk to some of the old-timers. They’re usually the best place to start if you’re looking for an unusual character.”

  “Old-timers.” I almost laugh at her word choice. “I’m probably an old-timer to you.”

  “You definitely are not.” She squints one eye in almost a wink.

  Damn, she’s pretty, even in all that canvas with her hair on top of her head, and a red goggle-ring around her eyes. I know what she’s hiding under that getup. She’s small and smart and fucking sexy.

  “I’m seven years older than you.” I say it as much to remind myself as her.

  “Oh, I’m going way farther back than seven years.” She quickly packs up her things. “I’m going to start with my grandmother.”

  CHAPTER 6

  BRITT

  “Hello, darling.” My mother waltzes through the sitting area of her Star Parlor. “To what do I owe this visit? And what on Earth are you wearing?”

  I glance down at my green, canvas jumpsuit, a drab contrast to her red velvet pants with leopard inlays down the sides. Her curly, caramel-brown hair hangs in a cloud of spirals around her cheeks, and she’s tied a scarf over the crown of her head, with the ends hanging over her shoulder.

  Her white top is scoop-necked and sleeveless, and she has a filmy shawl around her bare arms, which end in gold bangles. Rings are on most of her fingers.

  It’s her standard tarot-reader getup, although to me, she looks like she escaped from the cast of the Broadway musical Hair.

  “We’re both in our work clothes,” I tease. “I’m actually here because Gran wasn’t in her office.”

  I walk over to the small, round table covered in a paisley-patterned, silk scarf. A gold-foil tarot deck is halved in the center, and I slide my finger over the card facing up. It’s the Knight of Swords, which means you’re highly driven and ambitious. He’s in the upright position, which means a change is coming.

  I can’t help wondering if she put him in that position for my benefit, also dang, I know way too much about this stuff.

  “That’s not a very complimentary way to frame a visit.” She’s pouting, and I look up, trying to think of what I said to hurt her feelings. “You have a ring around your face.”

  “What?” I turn to the mirror behind me, and sure enough, an unflattering red line in the shape of my work goggles is on my forehead and cheeks.

  Heat climbs up my neck when I realize I was walking around like this in the field just now with Aiden. Aiden, who looked like a Greek god in his short-sleeved khaki shirt that hugged his broad chest and biceps, and those dark uniform pants that squeezed his ass and toned thighs. I was sweaty from the sun and my long sleeves and pants, but looking at him made my insides slippery as well.

  Now, realizing I looked like Dr. Benson Honeydew with a red line around my face is a bucket of ice water dumped over my head.

  “Can’t be helped now.” I exhale heavily, walking over to where my mother stands and giving her a quick hug. “Sorry, I am glad to see you, and thanks for getting the apartment ready for me.”

  “You can always come back and stay in your room if you get too lonely.” I smile, but don’t take the bait on that one.

  When she sees I’m not going to respond, she drops with a flourish onto the gold velvet sofa near the fireplace. “How can I help my beautiful daughter?”

  “You heard about what happened to Terra Belle’s pickle patch? Sheriff Stone thinks teenagers tried to recreate those crop circles from that movie Signs, but I dug a little deeper. I think it’s something else entirely.”

  “I’m not surprised. Aiden Stone has zero intuition.” Her hazel eyes roll as she shakes her head. “This is exactly why I wanted you to come home. The crime in Eureka is out of control.”

  “Right.” I walk over to sit beside her, taking out my 35 mm digital camera and angling it so we can both see the images. “These pictures are of the tire tracks left by the getaway vehicle. It’s clear from the treads it was a three-wheeler.”

  “A three-wheeler?” She places her hand on the camera and leans closer. “I thought those had been illegal for a long time.”

  “They have, which narrows our search a lot. We’re looking for someone who’s had one since 1989.”

  “That’s more than thirty years ago! Would it still run?”

  “I guess if you maintain it properly.” I don’t point out I’m still driving Dad’s old truck, which is about thirty years old. “See these markings in the soil? Whoever drove off on that three-wheeler also has a prosthetic leg. So I’m guessing we’re looking for a male in his mid to late sixties, maybe a veteran…”

  My mother’s shoulders stiffen, and she stands, going to the small table and scooping up the tarot deck. She begins shuffling, her eyes fixed on the cards, and my lips twist into a frown.

  “Mom?” She doesn’t stop shuffling. “Ma, I’m not here for a reading. I want to know if you can think of any males that age living in or around Eureka with a prosthetic leg and a three-wheeler.”

  She shuffles the deck one more time, then sets it down in front of her. “I don’t understand you, Birgitte. You’re one of the most gifted tarot readers I’ve ever worked with, yet you want to walk away from your talents. You’d rather look at dead bodies than listen to what they’re trying to tell you.”

  More heat rises around my collar, but I take a beat, glancing down at my camera. “I don’t actually look at that many dead bodies. It’s mostly robberies or car accidents or vandalism, and in my opinion, reading the clues at crime scenes is better than reading cards. I’m helping people get justice.”

  “I did not raise you to be such a nonbeliever.”

  “You raised me to use my head, and right now, I’m trying to do my job.” I stand, going to the table where she’s doing her best not to look at me. “It’s a pretty straightforward question. Do you know anyone who fits that description?”

  “I’d like to consult the cards first.” Her hazel eyes cut up to mine, and for a moment, we’re locked in a silent battle of wills. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  Frustration twists in my chest. I don’t know why she has to turn every conversation into a battle. Inhaling slowly, I relax my eyebrows and exhale slowly. There’s no point fighting. I can talk to Gran about this, and it’s possible I might need to have my mom’s help down the road.

  “No problem at all.” I force a smile and lean forward to kiss her cheek. “It’s good to see you, Ma. Let me know if you learn anything.”

  “You’re not going to stay for the reading?”

  “Nah, I’ve seen enough of these things to know how it goes.” I pull my bag over my shoulder and start for the door. “You know where to find me.”

  Without another word, I’m on the street, walking back to the courthouse. I was dead serious when I decided to make a clean break from magic. It wasn’t so long ago I couldn’t make a decision without consulting my horoscope or doing a reading.

  Just now when she called me a gifted reader, the bloom of pride in my chest reminded me I still have work to do. I’m like an alcoholic who got too close to a drink, because with all my determination and knowing I’m doing the right thing, a small part of me wonders if maybe I might be wrong.

  I’m going against the way I was raised. How do I know my decisions are better than my mother’s and my grandmother’s? All I can do is trust my gut.

  Pushing through the glass door of the courthouse, I glance at the clock to see it’s almost five, quitting time. Holly is sitting at her desk wearing her dispatcher’s headset, and Doug is wandering around the front of the room like a bear looking for a donut.

  “Hey, Britt!” He drifts to where I’m placing my bag under my desk and plugging my camera into my laptop. “I heard you had a break in the case today!”

  “I don’t know if it’s a break, but we found some pretty specific evidence.” I study his lined face and realize Doug is getting pretty close to retirement age. “Hey, Doug, you don’t happen to know of anyone living in or around Eureka with a prosthetic leg, do you?”

  “Ha!” His shoulders shake with his silent laugh. “Ho, well, I guess it makes sense of you to ask me, but no. I can’t think of anyone who fits that description.”