sent her a taste of his killer smile. “So—Laurel Gillespie,” he drawled, “FBI agent.”
Despite the unwelcome return of her adolescent jitters, Laurel bristled at his patronizing tone. She’d thought she was prepared for Cade Dupree. She wasn’t.
He straightened, and rested his hand on the butt of his gun. He was chief of police—the job his dad had held for as long as she could remember. And he was taking charge of the crime scene.
Laurel took a deep breath. She wasn’t about to wait for him to order her out of the house.
“I’ll take charge of the front. Keep people out.” She turned on her heel without waiting for an answer.
Great. She’d put herself exactly where she didn’t want to be. In full view of the entire town of Dusty Springs.
She felt like a threshold guardian as a parade of curious neighbors tried to get inside. She had no trouble flashing her badge to turn away the owner of the hardware store and his wife, or a young mother with a toddler in her arms, or a couple of teenage boys, all of whom gasped in awe when she informed them that the house was a crime scene. But she dreaded running into any of her former classmates.
Her memories of high school were of not fitting in, of the nightmare of braces and glasses, unruly red hair and painful shyness.
Within a few minutes, a familiar man in his early fifties, wearing a badge and a gun, walked up to her. Behind him, a younger man in a misbuttoned police uniform shirt carried a roll of yellow crime-scene tape.
“Evening, Laurel. That is, Special Agent Gillespie. I didn’t know you were an FBI agent.”
“Officer Evans, hi.”
“Cade—Chief Dupree—called us to tape off the scene. He said you might need some help.” He punched a thumb backward through the air. “This is Officer Shelton Phillips.”
She nodded at Phillips and smiled at Officer Evans. “Thanks,” she said gratefully.
Just like Cade’s dad, Fred Evans had been a police officer since she could remember. His daughter Debra had belonged to the snootiest clique in school.
Officer Phillips quickly cordoned off the front of the house and then headed around back.
Laurel turned toward the dwindling crowd just as a tall woman with skinny legs and a haughty air walked up. Kathy Hodges.
Speaking of snooty. Kathy and Debra and a couple of other girls had named themselves the Cool Girls. The rest of the class called them the CeeGees. They’d made it their mission to target certain classmates, usually the shyest ones, to humiliate and embarrass.
Laurel’s confidence drained away as scenes from the most embarrassing night of her life swept through her head with the clarity of a high-definition movie.
Afterward, she’d kicked herself for not seeing through the cruel prank. But on the night of the Homecoming Dance her sophomore year, she’d really believed that senior football captain James Dupree, who was the Homecoming King, wanted her to dance the traditional first dance with him. Although she was smitten with James’s younger brother Cade, there was no way she would pass up the biggest honor in a sophomore girl’s year.
Remembered excitement and apprehension swirled through her as she relived that awful moment. Standing on the dance floor in a brand new gown, clutching the note from James in her hand.
Please do me the honor of dancing the first dance with me.
Her heart fluttering as James’s cocky gaze swept the room, stopping to wink at her.
Then he held out his hand and smiled. And Laurel had started climbing the stairs to the stage.
Still smiling at her, James named another girl. Everyone’s laughter still rang in her ears. By the next morning, it was all over school and Laurel was humiliated.
Now here she was, facing Kathy for the first time since she’d graduated and moved away with her parents. Despite her success, she suddenly felt like the plain, shy girl she’d been ten years ago.
Kathy’s blond hair was sleek and newly colored, her makeup was perfect, but her eyes were bloodshot, and not even expensive makeup could hide all the tiny veins visible around her nose. A lit cigarette smoldered in her perfectly manicured hand. She looked thin and pinched and miserable.
Laurel stood straighter as Kathy walked purposefully up the steps.
“Pardon me,” Kathy said, waving the hand that held the cigarette. Even with the cigarette smoke, Laurel could smell whiskey on her breath.
“Sorry, Kathy. This is a crime scene. No one’s allowed inside.”
Kathy’s perfectly shaped brows drew down as she eyed Laurel. “Nonsense. Misty’s my friend.”
Doubt it, Laurel thought.
Kathy made a shooing gesture toward Laurel. “Check with Cade—Police Chief Dupree. Now excuse me.”
Laurel’s initial flutter of apprehension at facing Kathy evaporated in a flash of anger. She held her badge in front of Kathy’s face.
“Sorry, Kathy. FBI. Please step back.”
“Who the hell are you?” Kathy nervously flicked ash off her cigarette.
“Special Agent Laurel Gillespie.” She met Kathy’s hard green gaze and was rewarded by a look of frank shock.
Just as Fred Evans walked up, Kathy recovered.
“You have got to be kidding.” She tried to sidestep Laurel.
“Hold it, Kathy,” Officer Evans said, taking her arm.
Kathy looked down at his hand. “You don’t want to do that, Fred.”
Laurel frowned. Were Kathy’s words slurred? She’d smelled the booze on her breath. But was she really drunk at just after eight in the evening?
“One word to Harrison and you—” Kathy pointed her cigarette at Fred, “will be facing assault charges.” That came out as ashault sharges.
“Right.” His brown eyes twinkled as he glanced at Laurel. “Your husband’s a real estate attorney. Come on, let’s take you home. All the excitement’s over. I’ll tell Harrison to get you into bed.” He gestured to Officer Phillips.
“Oh, please, Fred. Harrison hasn’t gotten me into bed in two years.”
“Shelton, walk Mrs. Adler home and make sure Harrison’s there. I’ll stay here in case the chief needs anything else.”
Phillips led Kathy away.
Laurel didn’t have any more trouble, although several more people she’d known in high school showed up. Obviously, word still spread as fast as it always had in Dusty Springs.
Within a couple of minutes, the EMTs rolled Misty out on a gurney. Fred and Phillips and a couple of guys they’d recruited kept the rubberneckers at bay as the EMTs loaded Misty into the ambulance.
Static erupted from Fred’s radio. He listened, said something, and then walked up the steps.
“I’ve got everything under control out here, Agent Gillespie,” Fred said. “Chief Dupree wants you inside.”
“Thanks. But please call me Laurel. It’s good to see you. So you’re working with Cade now.”
He chuckled and nodded. “Yep. Worked for his dad and now for him. Kind of a tradition in Dusty Springs I guess.”
“How is Debra?”
His chuckle faded. “She’s fine. Cade’s waiting for you.”
Laurel thanked him again and went inside. The living room’s overhead light was on. It spotlighted the scrapbooks and photo albums that were torn and tossed all over the floor amidst dozens of loose photos and piles of books.
Somebody