Landry's Law. Kelsey Roberts

Cal was basically without supervision. Too bad, too, since the kid was as smart as all hell. During his minor brushes with Seth, Cal had impressed him with his intelligence. Too bad he had a chip the size of Glacier National Park on his shoulder. Intelligence and bad attitude could be a deadly combination.

      “Hi, there,” Ruthie said, leaning half across the counter so that Seth could—had he wanted to—look directly down the front of her tight blue waitress’s uniform. He smiled and passed on the opportunity yet again. Their relationship had ended more than two years ago. And he knew her flirtations were harmless, kind of her way of thanking him for keeping watch over Cal. Unfortunately, her actions fed the speculation of the town. Nearly everyone thought he was still involved with Ruthie. They wouldn’t even listen to his explanation that they were just good friends.

      “I need a thermos to go.”

      Ruthie’s green eyes grew wide. “Is it true? Did the Black Widow strike again?”

      “Haven’t seen any black widows in these parts this time of year.”

      Ruthie pouted. “You know who I mean. That snooty woman who won’t tell no one where she’s from ’cept ‘back East.’”

      “If you’re talking about Miss Wyatt, then I have no comment.”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?” Ruthie demanded as she passed him a full thermos.

      “It means I can’t discuss an open investigation.”

      Ruthie smirked. “Then it’s true! She killed old Billy Grayson for them jewels he was always bringing to Angelica. She’s another snooty one, by the way.”

      “Thanks for the coffee,” Seth said, tossing a few dollars on the counter. Ruthie made sure she had his attention as she slipped the bills not into the register, but into her lacy brassiere.

      As he drove northwest in the blackness, Seth was perplexed. He always flirted with Ruthie. It was like a ritual. So why tonight had he found her so…so…brazen? Because Savannah wouldn’t bare her bosom for a dollar tip. How in the hell had Savannah gotten under his skin like this? Cripe! She was a suspect, not a potential bride.

      “Damn!” Seth spilled hot coffee on his hand at the mere thought of the word bride. Until just then, he didn’t think the word was in his vocabulary. He loved women, all women. But never just one woman. Especially not the only woman currently sitting in one of his jail cells.

      IT WAS NEARLY three in the morning when Seth arrived at Savannah’s cabin. Using the keys from the evidence bag collected at the Mountainview Inn, he let himself inside.

      Almost instantly he was assaulted with all kinds of feminine scents. He could make out jasmine, gardenia and lilac. He realized the odors were from the scented candles that she had everywhere. But there was a subtler scent under all the florals. It was the faint shadow of her perfume.

      I’m here to search, not get aroused, he warned himself.

      By the light of the half-moon, Seth went over to a floor lamp and pulled on the fringed tassel to turn it on. It was truly an eclectic room.

      The red sofa was at an angle, a corner cabinet placed behind it. The coffee table sat on some faux fur rug and he found a footstool covered in the same faux fur. There was a white-and-green chair by the mason fireplace. There must have been fifty pillows of assorted sizes and shapes on the furniture and tossed around the room. She also had an odd collection of old hatboxes mixed with some large wooden boxes off in one corner. He decided to start there.

      As he reached for the first hatbox, he noticed the walls. They were painted a muted green, and someone—Savannah was his guess—had taken the time to stencil a border of red-and-white flowers with green vines all around the room. Above the floor lamp illuminating the room, he discovered that she had stenciled a birdcage, complete with bird. It was so real, he half expected it to break into song at any moment.

      Though Seth had managed to keep it out of the papers, the killer had taken trophies from each victim. According to Fowler’s family, he always wore a silver pendant around his neck. Because of his work with his church, he had a Saint Barnabas medal on his person at all times. Except when his body had been fished from the freezing waters of Brock Creek behind the Mountainview Inn.