Redemption at Hawk's Landing Read online

  “What happened?” Dr. Weinberger asked.

  Harrison shrugged. “Don’t know. Looks like he fell. A couple of kids called it in. I took their statements and let them go home. They were pretty shaken.”

  The ME glanced around the area. “They see anyone else up here?”

  Harrison shook his head. “No. They were throwing rocks off the ridge when they saw vultures circling over Granger’s body. See that blood on the back of his head?”

  Harrison nodded. Granger lay facedown, arms at odd angles. “Looks like he broke his arms trying to brace his fall.”

  “Yes, it does,” the ME said. “He fell face forward. So how did he get the gash on the back of his head?”

  The air around Harrison stirred, bringing the scent of impending rain and the whisper of the ghosts the locals gossiped about. Some said it was the miners screaming when the mine had collapsed on top of them.

  Others justified the eerie whistle of the wind as just that—the wind rolling off the mountain ridge.

  The ME’s words echoed in Harrison’s ears. Granger fell face forward. The back of his head was one bloody mess.

  His gaze met the doctor’s as he realized the implication. “Damn. He didn’t just fall, did he? He was murdered.”

  Chapter Two

  Honey ignored the grief stabbing at her the rest of the day as she finalized plans for the house renovation. She left the project in her partner’s hands, trusting him with implementing her design, then drove back to the small Craftsman-style bungalow she’d bought two years ago.

  This was home sweet home. Her happy place.

  Here she was safe from her past. From the rumors and gossip and the nastiness that had been her life.

  She had no idea how long she’d be in Tumbleweed. Only as long as it took to address her father’s will and handle his burial. She definitely would not give him a memorial service.

  It wasn’t like anyone would attend if she did.

  Her father hadn’t been a popular man in Tumbleweed when she lived there. She couldn’t imagine he’d made friends since.

  She took a deep breath as she entered her home, savoring the cozy interior she’d personally designed to her taste. She liked the farmhouse, shabby-chic look, but avoided anything reminiscent of her childhood home.

  Memories bombarded her—sleeping in a room with no heat, with raggedy quilts piled so thickly on her that she couldn’t turn over. The furnace in the den barely kept that room warm. The summers were hot and stale, the rooms reeking of smoke, rotting wood and booze.

  She blinked back tears, walked to her bedroom and dragged out a suitcase. The earthy tones mingled with slate blue in the room to soothe her nerves after a long day.

  But as she gathered jeans, shirts, boots and a couple of skirts, the memory of the wind jarring the windowpanes in her father’s house taunted her as if she was standing in that old house.

  She would be soon.

  Scrubbing her hand over her eyes to blot out the tears and wipe her emotions away, she braced herself. She wouldn’t let that place or her father’s death get to her.

  Not ever again.

  In her mind, he’d died a long time ago. This visit was just a formality, then she could erase him, Tumbleweed and its residents from her life forever.

  * * *

  ANXIETY KNOTTED HARRISON’S shoulders as he parked at the morgue the next morning. Honey Granger was meeting him here.

  He hadn’t slept the night before for stewing over the fact that she was coming back to town. He didn’t exactly know why that thought unnerved him, but it did.

  His first instinct had been to call his family together and relay the news about Granger’s death, but he’d kept the information between the ME, his deputy, Mitchell Bronson, and himself.

  Telling his mother and brothers would dredge up all the pain again.

  He also wanted to verify the cause of death. Everyone in town knew that his mother hated Granger, which would no doubt lay suspicion on her. Truthfully on his entire family.

  He wasn’t ready to deal with that suspicion or to throw his mother and siblings into the line of fire.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead as he climbed from his SUV onto the hot asphalt and walked toward the hospital. The morgue and ME’s office were located in the basement. Already the noonday sun was beating down full force and the temperature was climbing.

  His phone buzzed. Dr. Weinberger. He punched Connect. “Sheriff Hawk.”

  “Harrison, Honey Granger is here.”

  “I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. I just parked.” He ended the call and took a deep breath as he entered the hospital. The image of Honey Granger at sixteen with her golden-blond hair, big brown eyes and long legs made his gut tighten.

  As a teenager she’d been pretty but homely, with her ragged secondhand clothes. The popular girls had been mean to her, and the boys had joked about getting into her pants. Two football players had made a bet to see who could screw her first.

  A foul taste settled in Harrison’s mouth. She had definitely gotten a bad rap.

  Oddly his little sister was the one who’d stood up for Honey instead of him. He wasn’t proud of that.

  Chrissy had liked Honey’s flashy clothes, jewelry and makeup.

  But their mother had forbidden her from hanging out with the girl, saying Honey was too old to be friends with Chrissy and that Honey looked like a tramp.

  When Honey left town abruptly after high school, rumors surfaced that she’d gotten pregnant and had gone away to have the baby.

  He’d hoped that wasn’t true, that she’d found a better life.

  The air-conditioning hit him as he entered the hospital, stark against the blazing summer heat. He strode to the elevator and rode down to the basement, the scent of cleaner and antiseptic was strong as he walked down the hall to the ME’s office.

  The receptionist waved him in. When he’d phoned Honey, she’d obviously been shocked at the news of her father’s death and hadn’t said much.

  He had no idea what to expect today. Granger was her father and the only family she had left. He was surprised she hadn’t asked for more details, but everyone reacted differently to bad news. She probably would be asking now.

  And he needed to find out the answers.

  He knocked then eased open the door to Weinberger’s office. Dr. Weinberger stood and nodded in greeting, then Harrison’s gaze fell on Honey.

  The teenager with the too-flashy clothes had disappeared.

  This woman wore jeans with a silky-looking deep blue top and strappy heels that made her legs look endlessly long. Her hair was just as blond and golden looking, her big brown eyes smoldering hot, sensual, like liquid pools a man could drown in.

  His gut clenched. Dammit she was...beautiful. In a wholesome, almost-innocent way.

  “Honey?” He offered his hand.

  Her hand trembled as she placed her slender palm in his. Heat rippled through him at her touch.

  A wary look flashed in her eyes, and she rubbed her palm on her jeans as if she’d felt it, too. Then her soft lips pressed into a thin line, and a frown darkened her face.

  “We were waiting on you,” Dr. Weinberger said. “I explained to Honey that she doesn’t need to make an ID, that we recognized her father, and DNA confirms it’s Waylon. But if she wants to see him, that’s fine, too.”

  Harrison arched a brow, waiting on Honey’s response. He needed time to get his reaction to her under control.

  Their past was way too complicated for him to be attracted to her now.

  * * *

  HONEY QUICKLY AVERTED her gaze from Harrison.

  Good heavens. She’d thought he was cute when he was seventeen, but he was so handsome now he could bring a woman to her knees.

&nb
sp; He’d morphed into a mountain of a man with big, broad shoulders, a muscular body, the deepest amber eyes she’d ever seen and an all-gruff, masculine exterior. His tanned skin and dark hair accentuated his high cheekbones, square jaw and the cleft in his chin.

  He had dimples, too, when he smiled, although that smile had disappeared after his sister went missing. It was still gone.

  In fact, his frown suggested he found her lacking.

  His mother’s hateful words had been imprinted in her brain forever. “You’re trash, Honey Granger. You’re not welcome at Hawk’s Landing. My daughter is not going to associate with the likes of you.”

  “Have you decided on arrangements?” Harrison asked, jarring her from the painful memories.

  Honey shrugged. “According to Daddy’s lawyer, Truitt Bennings, my father wanted to be cremated.” She was surprised that her father had a will, but grateful he did. He’d left the house to her. Owning it outright would make it easier to sell.

  She didn’t intend to stay in this town any longer than necessary.

  “I can call the crematory for you if you want,” Dr. Weinberger offered.

  “Thank you,” Honey said. “I’d appreciate that.”

  Dr. Weinberger gave her a sympathetic smile. “Do you want to see him now?”

  Did she? No. When she’d left town, she’d sworn never to see or speak to him again.

  But some inner voice beckoned her to at least say goodbye. After all, he was her father. And he hadn’t deserted her as her mother had, although some could argue that drinking himself into a stupor was his way of abandoning her and reality.

  She stood, lifting her chin and putting on a brave face. “Yes. Let’s get it over with.”

  Harrison and the doctor exchanged an odd look, but neither commented. She almost asked what was going on, but decided they’d probably discussed her before she’d arrived. Gossip in small towns was hard to overcome. For all she knew, everyone in Tumbleweed knew of her arrival.

  She lifted her chin. Dammit, she didn’t care what the people here thought of her anymore. She’d made herself a new life, and she was proud of who she’d become.

  Still, their quiet looks made her uneasy and reminded her of the reason she hated Tumbleweed.

  Dr. Weinberger led her from the office through a set of double doors past a room labeled Autopsy, then into a smaller space. She took a deep breath to brace herself, then followed him over to a steel gurney. The room was so cold that she shivered.

  Her father lay beneath the draped cloth.

  The ME stepped to the opposite side of the table. “Are you ready, Ms. Granger?”

  She nodded.

  He pulled the cloth away from her father’s face, but she didn’t react. It was as if she was looking at a stranger, someone she’d met years ago, someone who hadn’t meant anything to her. Age had turned his hair gray, carved deep lines in his craggy face, and he’d lost weight. The yellowish-gray pallor of his skin coupled with the bruises on his face looked stark beneath the harsh lighting.

  “What happened?” she asked. She’d assumed it was the liquor, but his face looked like he’d been in a bar fight.

  The doctor shifted. Beside her, Harrison’s breath puffed into the air. “I found him at Dead Man’s Bluff.”

  Honey looked at him for confirmation. “Why was he there?”

  “I don’t know,” Harrison said.

  “How did he die?” Honey asked.

  “Cause of death was head trauma,” Dr. Weinberger said.

  “So he was drunk and fell?” Honey said, disgusted.

  A tense second passed. Harrison cleared his throat. “He didn’t simply fall, Honey. It looks like he was struck by a rock then pushed over the edge.”

  Shock bolted through Honey. “You mean someone murdered him?”

  “I’m sorry,” Harrison said. “But yes, it looks that way.”

  Now she understood the odd looks between the men.

  Her mind began to race. Her father hadn’t had any friends in town. A lot of people didn’t like him, but no one hated him enough to kill him.

  Except...

  Her gaze met Harrison’s. Except for his family.

  * * *

  HARRISON SAW THE wheels in Honey’s mind turning. She was jumping to the same conclusion that everyone else would—that one of his family members might be responsible.

  “Do you know who pushed him?” she asked, tactfully avoiding an accusation.

  He didn’t have the answer to that question.

  “Not yet.”

  He would find the truth, though. That was his damn job.

  “Would you like a few minutes alone?” Dr. Weinberger asked.

  Another tense heartbeat passed. Honey twisted her hands together, looking fragile for a moment, then she gave a slight nod.

  “Let us know if you need anything,” the ME said.

  For some reason, Harrison was reluctant to leave her alone. She’d grown up in a house filled with turmoil. Had suffered at the hands of her mother and father. Had left nearly two decades ago.

  And now she’d traveled back here alone to say goodbye to the man who’d failed her.

  Compassion for her made him reach out and squeeze her arm. “Are you okay?”

  A sad smile curved her mouth. “Of course. I’ll just be a minute.”

  Harrison nodded, then followed the medical examiner into the hallway. Worried about her, he turned and watched her through the window in the door, unable to leave.

  “She seems to be handling it okay,” Dr. Weinberger said in a low voice.

  Either that or she was good at acting. He had a feeling Honey Granger had done a lot of that over the years—pretending the rumors and gossip hadn’t hurt her. But deep-seated pain colored her eyes.

  He had the sudden need to make things right for her. To strip her of the anguish she was suffering.

  But he didn’t have a clue as to how to do that.

  Besides, she would probably leave town as soon as she handled the details surrounding her father’s death, the cremation and possibly the sale of his house. Unless she decided to move back and live in it.

  A sardonic chuckle rumbled in his throat. He didn’t see that happening. Ever.

  “Did you find any forensics?” Harrison asked.

  Weinberger crossed his arms. “Slivers of rock and dirt were embedded in the back of Granger’s head where he was struck. My guess is that he was hit with a rock from the bluff.”

  Harrison shifted. “That would imply the murder wasn’t premeditated, that something happened on that ledge that triggered the other party to attack.”

  He’d have to go back to the bluff, look for that rock, see if there were fingerprints on it.

  “Anything else?” Harrison asked.

  “Dirt under his fingernails and a short brown hair.”

  Harrison gave a nod. “Send it to the lab. That hair may belong to our killer.”

  Chapter Three

  Her father had been murdered.

  That fact echoed in Honey’s head as if someone was pounding the words inside her skull.

  Who had killed her father? And why?

  Emotions welled in her chest as she studied his cold body. Eighteen years had aged him, but the alcohol had intensified the process, adding another ten years. The bruises and contusions on his face looked stark beneath the lights. His skin was a sallow yellow, lips a bluish purple, eyes closed as if...as if he was at peace.

  Maybe he finally was. She’d never understood the reason he drank so heavily, why his moods changed erratically, and she’d blamed herself. He missed her mother... He hadn’t wanted a child... He didn’t know how to raise a daughter, especially alone... She’d been a bad kid.

  On a more rat
ional level, as an adult, she realized he’d battled inner demons that she knew nothing about; that alcoholism was a disease. But his behavior and his rejection had hurt.

  Tears pricked at her eyes, and she ached with a sudden longing to go back in time. To a time when she was little, and he’d carried her fishing at the pond. He’d surprised her that day by packing a picnic and taking her on a canoe ride. For a couple of hours she’d felt like she had a real family. He’d taught her how to cast a fishing rod and laughed when she’d been squeamish over baiting her own hook with worms.

  Yet that precious memory had been ruined when he’d pulled out a bottle of whiskey, consumed most of it and passed out in the sun. She’d fished alone and played at the edge of the water and pretended everything was okay. She’d gotten good at pretending.

  But then night set in and the wilderness had seemed vast and lonely and...creepy. She’d been terrified as darkness encroached and the howl of coyotes had echoed around her. She’d shaken him to wake him up so they could go home, but he’d been belligerent, cursed her then backhanded her for crying.

  He’d also been so inebriated that he’d woven all over the road and nearly crashed into another car head-on. He’d blamed that on her, as well.

  She shivered. When they’d finally made it home, she ran into her bedroom, locked the door and hid there all night and half of the next day, too afraid to come out and face his wrath.

  Honey straightened, banishing the memory to the attic of her mind with the other troubling ones that she’d packed away. No use dwelling on them. You had to play with the cards you’d been dealt.

  She’d accepted her father for what he was long ago, but a sliver of hope had remained that one day he might change and she’d have the loving, caring father she’d always wanted.

  Now any chance of that was lost forever.

  Resigned and swallowing back tears, she placed her hand against his cheek. His skin felt leathery, rough, cold in death. She had an insane urge to kiss his cheek, but refrained.

  Instead she whispered, “Goodbye, Daddy,” and left the room, shutting out this image and the pain as the door closed behind her.