“I’ll cover you with the tea cozy if you do.” I leaned on him, sighing. “I wish you didn’t have to go back to the station.”
“You and me both.” He wrapped his arms around me.
“You should just stay home with me. The people of Rainy Dale don’t deserve you,” I grumbled. “Ingrates.”
“When you say ‘the people of Rainy Dale,’ you have to remember that includes people like Girdy, Todd, and Mrs. Numi. There are a lot of good people in this town, and they need to be protected.” He sighed. “And when that fails, people like Lincoln need justice.”
I straightened and grudgingly said, “I know.” Since I didn’t want Royce feeling guilty, I added, “Go get ’em, tiger.”
He smiled down at me. “That’s better.”
“Construction should begin in a few days on my clinic, so I’ll have plenty to keep me busy. Before I know it, I’ll once more be inundated with loony patients.” I sniffed. “Hopefully, I’ll barely notice you’re gone.”
“Well, I want you tonotice.”
I slumped. “I will. I’ll miss you horribly.”
Smiling indulgently, he ruffled my hair. “How about I make a point of having lunch with you each day? How’s that sound?”
“It sounds great.”
His smile faded. “Well, I should get going.” He moved toward the front door, and I followed. He opened the door. “Be sure to lock this behind me. I suspect Lincoln knew whoever it was who killed him. The perp didn’t break in—Lincoln must have let them in.”
I shivered. “God.”
“Yeah, so we all need to be extra diligent.” He gave me a quick peck and stepped out onto the porch. “I’ll call you later, Max.”
“Be safe,” I responded.
Once he’d driven away, I closed the door and locked it. It was terrifying to think that Lincoln had probably known whoever had killed him. What kindof monster murdered a person as kind as Lincoln? And if a man like Lincoln was fair game, who the hell wasn’t?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Royce
I needed to identify the driver of the red truck parked on Lincoln’s street the night of the murder. Only having the last three digits of the license plate wasn’t great, but at least we knew the color of the vehicle too. Perhaps that would help narrow it down. My deputies were interviewing the neighbors on the street, so the mystery of who the person was might be solved that way.
In the meantime, I needed to delve into Lincoln’s life. Steve, my digital forensic expert, had Lincoln’s phone and laptop in his lab at the station. He was looking through everything to see if maybe someone had made threats to Lincoln. Maybe Lincoln had led a double life of some kind. While Lincoln had seemed squeaky clean, it was possible he hadn’t been. Perhaps he’d secretly gambled or done drugs. There could be a plethora of things we didn’t know about Lincoln.
I was up to my elbows in reports when there was a knock on my door. “Come in,” I called out, trying to control my irritation. You could have pushed me over with a Kleenex when the door opened and Angela Raiden stood there. I set my pen down and stood. “Uh, hello, Angela. What can I do for you?”
She looked less fancy than usual in a plain white blouse and black slacks. The last time she’d come to the station, she’d been wearing a big hat andsunglasses and had been three sheets to the wind. She appeared stone-cold sober today.
“Sheriff, I need a word,” she said, entering the room. She seemed jumpy as she closed the door, giving me a contrite look. “I hope you don’t mind me closing the door. What I need to talk to you about is rather… personal.”
“That’s fine.” I sat down again, gesturing to the chairs in front of my desk. “Sit.”
“Thanks.” She lowered herself into one of the chairs, first giving it a distasteful look. She probably thought she’d get leprosy sitting in the same chairs regular folks sat in.
“What can I do for you?” I clasped my hands on my desk, trying to hide my resentment. It sure as heck wasn’t easy. It was extremely awkward seeing her like this. Things had been strained between us ever since the murder investigation of her son-in-law. They’d only gotten worse since she and her husband had pushed for the recall election. I couldn’t imagine what she wanted from me.
“I… I want to make a missing persons report.” Her voice wobbled.
“Who’s missing?”
“Liam James.”
Shocked, I leaned forward. “Liam is missing?”
