Redemption at Hawk's Landing Read online

  She did—his mother thought she was protecting her sons from Honey, the bad girl.

  But she knew nothing about Honey or the woman she’d become.

  Harrison veered down a narrow dirt road that wove through the woods.

  “Sheriff Dunar lives out here?”

  He nodded. “When he retired, he and his wife wanted to live by the lake.”

  “It’s pretty,” Honey said. “I’d forgotten how close Tumbleweed is to the lake.”

  And to her father’s house. If she decided to redo it and sell, the lake could be a marketing point.

  The SUV rumbled over the rough terrain, and she noted a few rustic houses built along the way. If people wanted privacy and a retreat in the woods by the lake, this was the place.

  They broke to a clearing where a small cabin sat, a black pickup parked in front. A gray-haired woman was tending a garden to the right.

  Harrison parked and climbed out, and Honey followed.

  “Mrs. Dunar,” Harrison said. “Is your husband here?”

  The woman shaded her eyes with one hand, a garden trowel in her other. “Sure is. Fishing on the dock out back.”

  “Thanks.”

  Honey followed Harrison around the side of the cabin. The sheriff had aged since she’d left town. His face was thin, but his belly had grown rounder. He pushed his hat back and peered at them.

  “Well, well, Sheriff Hawk, I heard you found Waylon Granger dead. I figured you’d show up here sometime.” He glanced at Honey with narrowed eyes, then a frown marred his face. “You’re his kid, aren’t you?”

  Honey nodded. “Yes, I came back to handle funeral arrangements.”

  He set his fishing pole aside. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Honey murmured thanks, the moment awkward.

  “So what can I help you with?” Sheriff Dunar asked.

  “I have questions about when my mother left,” Honey said.

  “And I want to talk about my sister’s disappearance.” Harrison explained that Honey’s father was murdered.

  The older man pulled at his chin. “You got any theories about who killed Granger?” he asked Harrison.

  “I think his murder may have something to do with Chrissy,” Harrison said. “Honey found one of my sister’s hair ribbons in her father’s house.”

  “So you think Granger killed Chrissy?”

  “It’s one theory. We searched his property but didn’t find anything. Although I found her other hair ribbon in the mine.”

  The sheriff frowned. “We searched those mines and all around the bluff,” he said, “and didn’t find anything.”

  “The ribbon was half-buried in rubble inside the cave,” Harrison said. “You questioned all the teenagers at the bluff that night, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I made notes in my police report.”

  “Did anyone stand out to you or seem suspicious?” Harrison asked.

  The sheriff folded his hands and laid them on his belly. “Well, there was one guy, a homeless drifter, who used to sleep in the park and at the bluff. I thought he might have seen something, but two weeks after I talked to him, he turned up dead.”

  The timing was interesting. “What was COD?”

  “Liver failure,” the sheriff said. “Poor guy died in his sleep.”

  “What about the teenagers?” Harrison asked.

  “All the kids seemed nervous, but I assumed that was just because your sister disappeared. Something like that shakes up the whole town.” He paused and worked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Honestly, I thought the incident might spook some of the teenagers enough to stay away from the bluff. I always thought that swimming hole and the ridge were dangerous.”

  Honey made a low sound in her throat. “Mrs. Hawk thought Chrissy came to my house. Did you question my father?”

  He nodded, his thick brows meeting in the middle of his forehead. “Yeah, we talked.”

  “And?” Honey held her breath.

  The sheriff sighed. “He was drunk as a skunk the next morning when I stopped by to talk to him. Said he didn’t go anywhere the night before.”

  If only she’d stayed home, she’d know for sure if he’d left. Or if Chrissy had come by to see her.

  The memory of that morning still disturbed Honey. She’d been terrified her father would catch her sneaking back in the house in the middle of the night, but he was passed out and hadn’t stirred.

  “Did he act suspicious when you talked to him?” Harrison asked.

  “That’s hard to say,” Sheriff Dunar said. “When he was drunk, he got belligerent. But I didn’t see signs of foul play at the house.”

  Honey swallowed hard. She had to summon the courage to ask him the question eating at her. “My mother left abruptly.” She inhaled sharply. “Did you ever suspect that my father did something to her?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Honey held her breath while she waited on the sheriff’s response.

  “Your daddy was a mean drunk,” the sheriff said. “When your mama left, I wondered if he’d hurt her, but Waylon showed me the note she left.”

  “She left a note?”

  He picked up a twig and snapped it in two. “Yeah. She said she couldn’t take it anymore, that she’d met someone else and was leaving town.”

  Her father could have forged the note. “Did you keep the note?”

  “Naw, but I compared the handwriting against your mama’s and it was hers. And I checked the bus station, and they verified that she boarded a bus headed toward San Antonio.”

  Honey wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. She didn’t want to believe that her father had killed her mother, but it hurt to know that her mother had abandoned her and never come back.

  * * *

  HARRISON GLANCED ACROSS the lake, giving Honey time to absorb the sheriff’s words. Honey’s mother had left without telling her goodbye. He understood—his father had done the same thing.

  Agitation lined her face. “I’m going to take a walk.”

  “Honey?” Harrison glanced at her to see if she was okay.

  “I’ll be back.” She avoided his gaze and walked from the dock to the path leading around the lake. The summer breeze blew gently, ruffling leaves, and water rippled beneath the sun.

  She looked so lost and alone that he wanted to join her and comfort her.

  But he was here for information and he had to get it.

  “Sheriff,” he said in a low voice. “I recently learned that Chrissy was not my father’s birth child. My parents argued about it the night she disappeared. Did you know anything about that argument?”

  The sheriff fiddled with the button on his overalls. “No. I sensed tension between your folks and thought they might be holding something back, but they didn’t mention a fight or anything about Chrissy’s paternity.”

  Then it was up to him and his brothers to find out the man’s name and talk to him.

  “My brother mentioned that Geoffrey Williams was one of the teens at the bluff that night,” Harrison said. “When you questioned him, did he act strange or did any of the other teens mention seeing him with Chrissy?”

  The sheriff pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was a long time ago, Harrison. Williams is on the town council. Most folks like him.”

  “But you don’t?”

  The sheriff shrugged. “He’s always been too cocky for me. Back then he was a smart-ass. But if he said anything suspicious, I would have written it in my notes.”

  Harrison had reviewed them a dozen times, although he didn’t recall anything specific about Geoffrey.

  The sheriff snapped his fingers. “Although there was one thing that struck me odd. Happened a couple of years later.”

  “
What was that?” Harrison asked.

  “Another little girl went missing from Waco. She was about the same age as Chrissy.”

  Harrison’s pulse jumped. “You think the two cases were related?”

  The sheriff shrugged. “I called and talked to the detective working the case, and we didn’t find any connection. But I always wondered...”

  “Did they find that little girl?” Harrison asked.

  The sheriff shook his head. “Afraid not.”

  “Were there any suspects?” Harrison asked.

  “He looked at the immediate family, but they checked out.”

  Of course. Parents and families were always primary suspects.

  “So you looked at my parents when Chrissy went missing?”

  “I had to,” he said. “Why, Harrison? Do you think one of them had something to do with her disappearance?”

  Did he?

  It had never occurred to him that that was a possibility. But knowing about the argument and his mother’s affair shed a different light on the situation.

  So did the fact that another little girl had disappeared from Waco.

  * * *

  HONEY LOST HERSELF in the beauty of the lake. She had to distract herself from her current situation.

  Decisions had to be made about her father’s house, but first she had to settle what to do with his remains.

  She certainly didn’t plan to take her father’s ashes home with her to Austin.

  Maybe she’d scatter them here in the lake.

  Birds chirped from a tree overlooking the lake drawing her gaze to the water. The natural landscape and rustic cabins gave the property a serene, majestic look. There were also acres and acres of land that could hold lovely homes—or a retreat center—for travelers and guests visiting the area. A trail around the lake for horseback riding would be inviting and the wooded areas would offer great camping and picnic sites.

  An investor could make a fortune if he developed the property right. But someone else could ruin it if he or she chose to build condos or apartments.

  The wooden dock creaked as she stepped back onto it. Not that she cared what happened here. This lake was part of Tumbleweed, a place she despised.

  Harrison stood as she approached, his posture rigid. He looked troubled, as if disturbed by something the sheriff had said.

  She’d wanted to hear their conversation but had to take a break. She’d also sensed Harrison wanted privacy to discuss his mother’s affair.

  Odd that the woman had judged her so harshly when she wasn’t perfect herself.

  “Are you ready to go?” Harrison asked.

  She was ready to leave town, but she refrained from commenting and simply nodded.

  “Thank you, Sheriff. If you think of anything else, call me.”

  The sheriff murmured he would, and Honey followed Harrison to his SUV. “Did you learn anything?” she asked as they drove away.

  “Just that a little girl went missing in Waco a short time after Chrissy did. The sheriff doesn’t think she was ever found.”

  Honey’s mind spun. “You think that the same person who took Chrissy took that girl?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s worth looking into.”

  Honey twisted her hands in her lap. If that was true, it might clear her father. He’d been drinking so much back then that he never left Tumbleweed.

  * * *

  HARRISON DROPPED HONEY back at her car at the sheriff’s office, then drove to The Broken Spoke, the local bar, to meet his brothers.

  Lucas looked antsy as he approached. Dexter and Brayden were talking to the waitress as she set a pitcher of beer and a plate of wings and basket of fries on the table.

  His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten today, and he claimed a wooden chair at the table with his brothers.

  Dexter poured them each a mug of beer, then pushed one toward Harrison. “So what’s this family meeting about?”

  He raised a brow at Lucas, who shook his head, indicating he hadn’t explained.

  “A couple of things,” Harrison said. “But first, Lucas, tell them about Williams.”

  Lucas nodded. “He denied any wrongdoing and lawyered up. I talked to Tina Fuller. She said Chrissy followed her and Geoffrey to the creek but Geoffrey shoved her and told her to leave them alone, and she ran off.”

  “Which way did she go?” Brayden asked.

  “Toward Honey’s.”

  Damn, they were back to Granger.

  Lucas gestured to Harrison. “You want to fill them in on the rest?”

  He didn’t, but he had to, so he explained about their mother’s affair.

  “You’re kidding?” The color drained from Brayden’s face.

  “Mom cheated on Dad?” Dexter asked, his voice cracking.

  “It gets worse,” Lucas said.

  Brayden and Dexter looked at Harrison as if begging him to say, “It’s not so,” but he refused to lie to them. “Chrissy was not Dad’s biological child.”

  Shock bolted across his brothers’ faces. He and Lucas sipped their beers while they gave Dexter and Brayden time to absorb the news.

  “Dad knew this?” Dexter asked.

  Harrison nodded. “Mom and Dad fought about it the night Chrissy disappeared.”

  Brayden swallowed hard. “Did Chrissy know?”

  Harrison shrugged. “Mom said they didn’t tell her, but it’s possible that she overheard something at some point.”

  “Then she could have tried to find her birth father.” Dexter gripped the table edge. “Who is the bastard?”

  Harrison scraped a hand through his hair. “Mom wouldn’t tell us.”

  “This is not exactly ethical,” Lucas said, “but I could put a trace on Mom’s phone to see if she calls him.”

  “I’ll talk to her,” Brayden said. “Maybe I can convince her to talk.”

  “She seemed pretty protective of the man’s identity,” Lucas said.

  Harrison reached for a french fry. “She also said it had been over for a very long time and insisted the man wouldn’t have hurt Chrissy.”

  “How can we believe her when she lied all these years?” A sense of betrayal laced Dexter’s voice.

  “I feel the same way,” Harrison said. “So what do we do?”

  “I’ll watch her, maybe follow her,” Brayden said. “She might try to see him.”

  A tense silence stretched between them, filled with guilt and indecision and the reality that none of them would be happy until they knew the man’s name and confirmed that he wasn’t involved in their sister’s disappearance.

  Finally they all agreed, then dug into the wings. But Harrison couldn’t get the sheriff’s words out of his head. “There’s something else. It might be important.”

  Dexter released a weary sigh. “What else?”

  Harrison snatched another wing, then relayed his conversation with the sheriff.

  “Another girl went missing just like our sister,” Lucas said. “Why didn’t he mention this before?”

  “He didn’t find a connection.”

  Lucas grabbed a napkin. “I’ll check the FBI’s databases and see if there were other similar cases.”

  “I’ll talk to the detective the sheriff dealt with,” Harrison said. “If there’s a connection, we might finally get a lead.”

  * * *

  HONEY STOPPED BY the ME’s office on the way back to her father’s house.

  “What have you decided to do?” Dr. Weinberger said.

  “I haven’t,” Honey said. “There were no directives in Dad’s will and he doesn’t own a burial plot. I was thinking about scattering his ashes in the lake or the river.”

  “You’ll have to get permissio
n from the county to do that.” Dr. Weinberger gave her the number of the contact person. “There’s also a memorial center that has an area specifically designated for urns.”

  He handed her a couple of business cards from his desk. “How are you holding up?”

  Honey offered him a tentative smile. “Fine. Hopefully I’ll handle this quickly, then get out of town.”

  “I’m assuming you’ll stay till the sheriff learns who killed your daddy.”

  Honey leaned against the door. “That depends on how long it takes. I...have jobs waiting on me back in Austin.” And people who liked her work and cared about her.

  Jared’s face flashed through her mind. He was a good friend, trustworthy, and she enjoyed working with him. But she’d never been tempted to kiss him the way she had Harrison.

  It would make life simpler if she did want Jared. They made a great team.

  She and Harrison had nothing in common except their troubled pasts.

  “I’ll let you know what I decide to do with the urn,” Honey said.

  “All right. I’ll send his body to the crematorium and they’ll call you when it’s done.”

  She thanked the ME then left, her stomach knotting as she passed through town and made her way to Lower Tumbleweed. She parked in the drive, her designer instincts immediately imagining what this house would look like with her touch.

  Don’t go there, Honey. You are not taking on this mess.

  The afternoon heat was sweltering and her clothes were sticking to her as she entered the house. She immediately froze, her senses alert as she spotted dishes broken and scattered all over the kitchen counter and floor. The couch cushions had been ripped with a knife, stuffing overflowing and falling out.

  Spray paint marred the walls, with a message—Leave Town.

  A noise outside startled her, and she gripped her purse, wishing she had her gun. Damn, she’d left it in her nightstand. She rushed down the hall to her room to get it, quickly noting other damage.

  The mattress on her father’s bed had been ripped, and something red that looked like blood was smeared on the dresser mirror.

  Pulse hammering, she dashed into her room. Just as she reached the nightstand and grabbed her gun, the floor squeaked behind her. She started to spin around, but something hard smacked the back of her head.