She’d set up her computer last night on the small dining table, along with several folders of active clients who depended on her expertise.
She’d struggled for years as a freelance book publicist, augmenting her finances by cleaning houses and working fast food during the hours when Wendy was in school. She’d been willing to do whatever it took to keep a roof over her and her sister’s head, utilities functioning and food on the table.
It was only in the past couple of years and the birth of self-publishing authors that her business had exploded and become more successful than she’d ever dreamed possible.
As always, it didn’t take her long to lose herself in the work of making authors visible to readers and to get good books the kind of publicity they deserved.
The rumbling of her stomach finally pulled her from the work, and she was surprised to realize twilight had fallen and the room had grown dim.
She closed the curtains at the window and then turned on the lamp next to the bed and the small overhead light in the kitchenette area.
She had arrived in Bitterroot certain that Nick and Wendy had been lovers and that he was responsible for her murder. Yet when he had spoken about Wendy this morning, it had been with real affection, without any hint of any romantic love. He’d confused her. The fact that Chief Bowie had said that he found it difficult to believe that any of the men who worked the Holiday ranch was a killer confused her even more.
Was Nick just that good at hiding an evil inside him? Or was he truly as innocent as he proclaimed?
Nick was in a foul mood. He’d had trouble sleeping the night before, and when he had fallen asleep he’d suffered wild dreams. He’d awakened before dawn after a particularly disturbing dream.
He now stabled his horse, Raven. It was eight o’clock and he headed back to his bunk to clean up for the morning meeting with Adrienne.
He’d been up and out in the pasture early, chased out of bed not by nightmares of Wendy, but rather by inappropriate erotic dreams of Adrienne.
He’d thought the early-morning air and the sight of a beautiful sunrise would erase the unacceptable visions his unconscious mind had conjured up during sleep, but it hadn’t worked.
As he showered and dressed in clean jeans and a navy T-shirt, he dreaded his own suggestion that he and Adrienne work together to figure out who might have killed Wendy.
He might have suffered hot dreams of her, but he had a feeling by the time he’d spent an hour in her company, he’d be pulling his hair out in frustration. Still, as much as she wanted to keep an eye on him, he wanted to keep an eye on her. He didn’t want her somehow interfering or tainting the investigation, an investigation he hoped would quickly exonerate him. He had too much to lose if she screwed something up.
At eight-thirty, he stepped out of his bunk and nearly ran into Dusty Crawford, a fellow ranch hand. “I thought I’d see if maybe you want me to go with you this morning,” Dusty said, his dimples flashing with his smile.
“And why would I want you to tag along?”
Dusty’s smile widened. “She beat you up once. I just thought you might need the services of a personal bodyguard.”
“You aren’t kidding me with your stupid offer to be my bodyguard. The only reason you’d want to go with me is to get a chance to talk to Trisha,” Nick replied.
Trisha Cahill worked as a waitress at the café, and it was no secret that Dusty had a major crush on the blonde, who had a four-year-old son.
Dusty’s smile faded. “I’ve never had a woman give me so many mixed signals. One minute I think she’s about to agree to go out with me and the next she acts as though she doesn’t even want to talk to me.”
Nick clapped the younger man on his back. “If getting a date with Trisha is the biggest problem you have in your life, then consider yourself lucky.” He checked his watch. “And now I’ve got to get going...without a bodyguard at my side.”
Dusty laughed and, with a tip of his hat, headed toward the stables while Nick walked to the oversize shed that served as a garage where the ranch hands parked their personal rides.
A variety of black pickups filled the garage, the favorite mode of transportation for most of the men who worked at the ranch. Nick’s ride was a gray Jeep. He pulled out of the garage and a knot of tension formed in his stomach at the thought of meeting with the woman who had occupied so many of his dreams.
He wished he had another suspect to throw out to her, but he had no idea who Wendy had spent time with when she wasn’t with him. She’d never mentioned anyone else.
He wasn’t surprised to see Adrienne’s silver sedan already parked in front of the café when he arrived. He found her seated in the same booth they’d occupied the day before, although this time she was facing the door.
She was clad in a sea foam–green blouse today. Her eyes were more green than blue, although there was no more warmth in them today than there had been yesterday. Not that he’d expected any welcome.
Sunday mornings, the café was relatively quiet. Things would pick up after church services when families would start to arrive for the afternoon meal.
He slid into the seat across from Adrienne and placed his hat next to him. Before they’d even had a chance to speak, Jenna was by the booth. “Adrienne has already ordered,” she said. “What can I get for you, Nick?”
“Just a cup of coffee,” he replied. He’d eaten breakfast hours earlier in the ranch hand dining room.
“Coming right up,” Jenna said.
“Good morning,” he greeted Adrienne the minute Jenna was gone.
“It won’t be a good morning until my sister’s murderer is behind bars,” she replied.
“Nothing like cutting to the chase,” Nick said drily.
She didn’t blink an eye. “There’s some new information about the case that you probably haven’t heard yet, unless, of course, you’re responsible.”
He sat up straighter. “And what’s that?”
Jenna returned to their table with Nick’s coffee and an order of toast and a cup of hot tea for Adrienne. “Anything else I can do for you two?”
“This should do it,” Nick replied, eager for her to leave and Adrienne to tell him what new information she possessed.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” Jenna said, and once she was gone, Nick focused his attention on the woman across from him.
“Chief Bowie and I believe Wendy didn’t pack up her things and leave her motel room under her own volition,” she said. “Did Wendy ever tell you about her blackbird figurine?”
He frowned at her. “I don’t know anything about a blackbird, but she did show me a bluebird that was given to her by her mother before she died. It was very important to her.”
“It was still in the room where she stayed.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “She wouldn’t have left it behind.” He leaned forward slightly. “A blackbird? Was that some sort of test to see if I knew about the bluebird or not? Did I pass?”
“Yes,” she replied succinctly.
“Are there going to be more tests?”
“Maybe...I don’t know. I’m just being careful about trusting you.”
“You can trust me, Adrienne,” he replied.
“Anyway, when I left the motel this morning, there were several deputies inside her room. I assume they were fingerprinting and collecting