P.I. Daddy's Personal Mission

Scoffing, Peter shook his head. “Well, forgive me if I don’t take you on your word, Sheriff Colton. I haven’t seen any progress on the case in weeks, and now Craig Warner’s been poisoned, too.”

“And you think the two incidents are connected.” A statement, not a question.

“Damn straight. And I’d hardly call my father’s murder and the attempted murder of a family friend ‘incidents.’ They’re felonies. Need I remind you that someone ran Mary off the road a couple months ago? How do we know that whoever is responsible won’t come after someone else in my family?”

“We don’t.”

The sheriff’s flat, frank response punched Peter in the gut. When he recovered the wherewithal to speak, he scowled darkly at Wes. “And that doesn’t bother you, Sheriff? You may not like me or my family, but I have a ten-year-old son at home. How are you going to feel if he gets hurt because you didn’t do your job and find the scumbag who killed my father?”

Wes hooked his thumbs in his pockets and rolled his shoulders. “Believe it or not, I’d feel terrible—and not because I didn’t do my job, because I am doing everything humanly possible to catch the bastard. No, because I’m not the inept, hard-hearted fool you seem to think I am. I don’t want to see anyone else hurt. But I have to work within the law. A proper investigation takes time. There are forces at work behind the scenes that you may not see, but which are busy 24/7 looking at this case from every angle.”

Peter gritted his teeth, completely unsatisfied with the runaround and placating assurances he was getting from the sheriff. “Here’s an angle you may have missed. Not only do I think Craig Warner’s poisoning is related to my father’s murder, I think your family is involved. I’d bet my life a Colton is behind everything.”

Wes’s glare was glacial. “Do you have any proof to back up that accusation?”

“Not yet. But I can get it.”

The sheriff’s eyes narrowed even further. “I’m warning you, Walsh. Don’t interfere with my investigation. If you so much as stick a toe over the line, I’ll throw the book at you.”

Peter pulled his gloves from his pocket, signaling an end to the conversation. “I would expect as much.”

Chapter 3

Thanks to a new missing-person case on Friday and his promise to take Patrick to the game on Saturday, Sunday afternoon was the first chance Peter had to follow up on his suspicions regarding the Colton family’s connection to Craig’s poisoning and his father’s murder. The best place to start, Peter always figured, was the beginning—in this case, the circumstances and events surrounding the Coltons at the time of Mark Walsh’s first “death” in 1995.

He left Patrick in the capable hands of his mother, Jolene, and headed to the library to begin his research. In 1995, when his father went missing and was presumed dead, Peter had been a typically self-absorbed teenager. He hadn’t cared what political causes or social events his family or the rival Coltons were involved in. But in hindsight, he thought maybe he could glean some helpful information to focus his investigation.

As he headed into the library from the parking lot, he noticed a number of large limbs and debris still cluttered the lawn. He frowned at the reminders of the tornado that had struck Honey Creek recently. Most of the brick and stone buildings in town had survived with minimal or no damage, but many homes, including his own, had sustained varying degrees of damage. He scanned the library’s brick exterior searching for signs of damage before mounting the steps to enter the front door.

He spotted his younger sister, Mary, near the front desk and made a beeline toward her. “Well, if it isn’t the future Mrs. Jake Pierson.”

Mary’s head snapped up, and a broad smile filled her face. “Peter! How are you?”

Love—and Mary’s recent, significant weight loss—looked good on his sister. She positively glowed with her newfound happiness.

“Clearly not as well as you. Look at that radiant flush in your face.” He tweaked his sister’s cheek playfully, and she swatted his hand away. “So what are you doing here? I thought your days as librarian were over now that you and Jake are opening the security biz.”

She leaned a hip against the front desk and grinned. “I may not work here, but I have friends who do. And I volunteer to lead the story time in the children’s area on Sunday afternoons. What brings you in today, and why didn’t you bring my favorite nephew with you?”

“Mom’s watching Patrick so I can get some research done.” Peter unbuttoned his coat and glanced around at the tables where people were scattered, reading and studying. An attractive dark-haired woman at one of the corner tables snagged his attention.

Lisa Navarre.

Patrick’s teacher was hunched over thick books, scribbling in a notebook and looking for all the world like a college co-ed the night before exams. Her rich chocolate hair was pinned up haphazardly, wisps falling around her face. A pencil rested above her ear, and a pair of frameless reading glasses slid down her nose. Chewing the cap of her pen, she looked adorably geeky and maddeningly sexy at the same time.

Peter stared openly, his pulse revving, and his conscience tickling. No time like the present to apologize for his oafish behavior on Thursday afternoon.

“Hello? Peter?” Mary waved a hand in front of him and laughed as he snapped back to attention. “I asked what kind of research you were doing. Geez, bro, where did you go just then?”

Peter shifted awkwardly, embarrassed at being caught staring. “Sorry. I saw someone I need to talk to.”

Mary glanced the direction he’d been looking. “Would that someone be an attractive single female who teaches at the elementary school?”

Peter ignored the question and his sister’s knowing grin. “Say, where do they keep the microfiche around here? I need to look through old issues of the Honey Creek Gazette.”

Mary shifted through a stack of children’s books, setting some aside and discarding others. She thumbed through the pages of a colorful picture book, then added it to her growing stack.

He tipped his head and smirked. “Just how many books are you planning on reading to the story-time kids?”

Pausing, she looked at the tall pile. “Looks like about fifteen to me. But I could always add more later.” She gave him a smug grin. “How far back do you want to go with the Gazette? Anything older than two years is filed in a room at the back. Lily will have to get it for you.”

When she nodded toward the other end of the check-out desk, Peter shifted his attention to the raven-haired woman who’d earned a bad reputation before leaving town years ago. Now Lily Masterson was back in town, repairing her reputation after being hired as the head librarian. She was also Wes Colton’s fiancée.

Tensing, Peter took Mary by the elbow and led her several steps away from the front desk. “I want everything from 1995.”

Mary stilled and cast him a suspicious look. Clearly she recognized the time frame as when their father disappeared. “What are you doing, Peter?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Looking for the answers that the sheriff either refuses to find himself or is covering up to protect his family.”

Mary’s shoulders drooped, and she lowered her voice. “You make it sound like Dad’s disappearance was part of a big conspiracy with the Coltons.”

He twitched a shoulder. “Maybe it was.”

She looked skeptical. “Look, Peter, I don’t know what you’re up to, but be careful. When Jake and I dug into Dad’s death this summer, we clearly rattled some skeletons. This research you’re here for could lead to trouble for you if word gets out. I don’t want to see you or Patrick in any danger.”

Craig had said as much, too, when he’d visited him in the hospital. Peter’s gut rolled at the suggestion his investigation could threaten Patrick’s safety.

“And considering that Damien was proven innocent of killing dad, since dad wasn’t really dead all these years,” Mary added, “I’m not sure what sort of conspiracy you think the Coltons are involved in. But Jake trusts Wes, and that’s good enough for me. What makes you think Wes isn’t doing his job?”

Peter glanced around the bustling library, his gaze stopping on Lily. “That’s a conversation for another day and another, more private place.” He shoved his hands deep in his jeans pockets. “So do you still have access to the Gazette microfiche? I really don’t want the sheriff’s new girlfriend knowing I’m digging into his family’s history.”

She frowned and flipped her red hair over her shoulder. “I can’t access the back room anymore, but I’ll ask Lily to get the microfiche you need. Meet me over by the film reader.” She jerked her head in the general direction of the microfiche machine on a far wall, then headed across the room to speak to Lily.

Peter noted the machine she indicated but headed the opposite direction. He had to eat a bit of humble pie.

Wiping his suddenly perspiring palms on the seat of his jeans, Peter headed toward the table where Lisa Navarre sat. As he approached, she paused from her work long enough to stretch the kinks from her back and roll her shoulders. When her gaze landed on him, he saw recognition tinged with surprise register on her face, along with another emotion he couldn’t identify. She seemed uneasy or flustered somehow as he stepped up to her table and flashed her an awkward grin. He couldn’t really blame her for being disconcerted by his presence. He’d been rather gruff and unpleasant last time they met.

Ms. Navarre snatched off her reading glasses and smoothed a hand over her untidy hair. “Mr. Walsh…hello.”

He rocked back on his heels and hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. “Hi, Ms. Navarre. I’m sorry to interrupt. Do you have a minute?”

She closed the massive book in front of her and waved a dismissive hand over her notepad. “Sure. I was just doing a little studying for my class.”

Peter read the title of the book. “Critical Evaluation inHigher Education. Huh, I didn’t know fourth grade was considered higher education nowadays.”

She tucked one of the stray wisps of hair behind her ear and sent him a quick grin. “It’s not for Patrick’s class. I’m working on my PhD in Higher Education. I’m thinking of moving to teaching college-level classes instead of elementary.”

“Because at the college level you won’t have to deal with jerk fathers who read you the riot act for doing your job?” He added a crooked smile and earned a half grin in return.