Her Montana Man

Chelsea grimaced. “The perp paid another man to take the test for him, so the results didn’t do any good.”

“Not until the man’s conscience finally got the better of him and he confessed. The perp was then tested and found to be guilty,” Holt reminded her.

Pierce dismissed the idea. “The court would have to agree it was necessary, too, else it’s an invasion of privacy. I don’t think a judge in the county would condone widespread testing.”

The men were silent as they sought another avenue to pinpoint the murderer.

“Chelsea, can you help out?” Pierce asked.

“Of course. What do you have in mind?”

“Holt, do you mind if Chelsea looks over all the evidence? I can vouch for her discretion,” he added when the lawman shot her a troubled glance. “You can take her out to Harriet’s house and let her poke around. Maybe she’ll find an angle we’ve overlooked.” He smiled grimly. “Harriet was murdered on Saturday night, during the last weekend of the festival. Six days ago. We need this case wrapped up.”

Holt stood. “Are you available now? I’m free this morning, but I have to present evidence at a hearing this afternoon.”

“Yes,” she said.

Pierce rose when she did. He glanced at his watch. “I have a council meeting shortly. Chelsea, can you join me for lunch at twelve sharp?”

Confused by the invitation, which sounded more like a command, she agreed to meet him. “Here?”

“At my place. I want to discuss your findings in private.” He turned to the deputy. “Have you turned in Chelsea’s report to the sheriff?”

“Not yet. I’ll be seeing him at five.”

“Tell him I’ll be at home this evening if he wants to come out and discuss it. I’d rather not say anything on the phone, especially a cell phone.”

The hair crept up on Chelsea’s neck at Pierce’s ominous tone. Noting his deep frown as she and Holt left his office, she realized he was worried about the town and its citizens. As mayor, he had to be. There was a killer loose in their midst, and right now, only the three of them knew it, plus one other….

Ten minutes later, the lawman muttered an expletive when he turned into a narrow drive on a quiet side street. Another vehicle was parked next to the white cottage with its dark green shutters and colorful flower boxes and yellow crime-scene tape stretched across the front porch.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“The nephew. Colby Holmes. I’ll wring his neck if he’s touched anything.”

The door was unlocked, eliciting another curse. Chelsea followed Holt inside. “Colby,” he yelled.

“In here,” a male voice called out.

Chelsea entered a room that was more an alcove than a full-size room, Holt on her heels. Bay windows let in the morning sunlight. Bookshelves lined every available wall, and a desk occupied the rest of the space.

A young man in his mid-to late-twenties sat on the floor in front of a bookcase. With brown eyes and hair and a restlessness that spoke of contained energy, the former rodeo star was attractive and determined as he returned the deputy’s glare.

“What the hell are you doing, crossing a police line and messing around in here?” Holt demanded.

“Looking,” came the reply.

“For what?”

“Proof that Aunt Harriet didn’t commit suicide.”

“Who said she did?”

The nephew narrowed his eyes at the deputy. “That’s the rumor flying around town. It’s a lie. My aunt may have been a recluse, but she wasn’t a wimp who couldn’t face life.”

“So what’s your theory?” the deputy challenged.

“She was murdered.” The younger man finished flipping through the book, put it on the shelf and stood. His eyes cut to Chelsea. “Who’s she?”

“Dr. Kearns. The medical examiner sent down from Billings.”

“Mom said the cops had ordered an autopsy. Have you done it yet?”

“Yes.”

“Well?” he said impatiently.

Chelsea held her temper with an effort. The men she’d met thus far in Rumor were an autocratic bunch. When she’d arrived Monday evening after working in Billings all day, the deputy had wanted her to start that night.

She’d refused. However, she’d spent all day Tuesday and most of Wednesday in the morgue. She’d checked and rechecked the evidence, which was in short supply. She’d promptly written up her report. Did that satisfy them? No way.

First the mayor, then the deputy had demanded firsthand information on the case. Now a third male was demanding to know her findings. She was tired of demands.

“Check with the sheriff,” she advised.

“No information is going out until we finish investigating the case,” Holt told the younger man. “If you’ve destroyed any evidence, I’ll have your hide in jail so fast it’ll make you dizzy. Stay out of it, Colby.”

“Then find out the truth.” He strode toward the door. “My aunt didn’t commit suicide.”

Chelsea and the lawman watched the nephew leave, then they turned back to the crime scene. “Where was her body found?” Chelsea asked.

For the next two hours they went over the cottage for any missed evidence. Chelsea noted the librarian had few personal effects in the neat little house. Other than a couple of pictures of Colby, plus one of his mother and the deceased woman, there was an absence of knickknacks.

However, there were plenty of books. Naturally. A librarian would have a passion for books. And for the man who’d killed her and the unborn child?

“Was the child his?” she murmured aloud. “Or had she gone to someone else, and that’s what made him so furious?”

“Good question.” Holt wiped the sweat from his brow. He looked tired and irritated. The temperature was in the nineties as predicted. He continued his inspection of the chair where Harriet Martel had died. It had already been combed for fibers and hairs.

On the table next to the chair was a novel. Chelsea read the title: Dangerous Liaisons. A bookmark near the end indicated the woman had been reading it prior to the murder.

An apt selection. The librarian’s liaison had proved very dangerous.

Chelsea reached for the book, then stopped. She wasn’t wearing latex gloves, so she was hesitant to touch anything. “Has everything been dusted for prints?”

Holt was now on his haunches studying the carpet. “Yeah. We didn’t find many, and what few we did find belonged to Harriet or her family. A few others were too smudged to reveal anything. The whole place was wiped down before the perp left.”

“Did you check the drains for hair? Are there any toothbrushes that are different?”