Beneath Blackwater River by Leslie Wolfe (love story books to read txt) 📕

“Consider it done. Her name is Nicole Scott, and she’s married to a Deputy Herbert Scott.”

“I know him.” Everyone called him Herb. He had a streak of cruelty about him, something she’d seen manifested in rougher-than-necessary arrests and brutal interrogations, but nothing so extreme to justify action on her part. She’d assumed the sheriff might’ve spoken with him about the issue, but now she found herself doubting that assumption. Herb loved to hang out and drink with the other cops at the local bar, and pushed iron obsessively when he had a chance, his almost cartoonish biceps a testimony to that fact. “Yeah, he fits the part.”

“Report to me only, and don’t talk to anyone on your new team. Let’s keep this as quiet as possible. I don’t believe Nicole can survive another one of her husband’s rage fits.”

She didn’t say anything, while sketching a plan of attack. “These things can get dicey,” she eventually said. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

He wished her good luck and then hung up, leaving silence to reign over her space, to bring back the unwanted ghosts of her past. Her late father, drunk and out of his mind, pounding on her mother. Screams of pain tearing through the tension-filled air in their home. Her own powerlessness watching that happen day after day. Her heart breaking when she cleaned her mom’s wounds, wondering why no one was helping them. Someone must’ve heard her mother’s cries, her father’s bellowing, the blows and the oaths and the sobs.

She wiped a tear off her cheek with the back of her hand. Maybe no one had helped her mother, but Nicole Scott wasn’t alone anymore. History would not repeat itself, and Herb Scott would soon pay dearly for every bruise and every cracked rib.

She wished she could’ve had Elliot with her, to share as much of what she was feeling as she dared, but he wasn’t there, and she suddenly realized she’d been missing him. She frowned as the thought passed through her mind; he was her partner, nothing else. Emotions didn’t belong. But still, she would’ve appreciated his input on the new case, feeling tempted to bend a little of Greg’s order of absolute confidentiality. That’s how much she trusted Elliot; she’d bet her career on the honest kindness of his big, Texan heart.

Exiting the highway, Kay headed toward Caldwell Farms. The property gates were near the highway, right off the service road, but she kept her eyes on the GPS, making sure she didn’t take the wrong turn and further delay her arrival. She wanted the death notification to be over and done with, so she could ask Caldwell the question that remained at the forefront of her mind. Why did Shelley have a stroke when she heard about Alyssa’s death? When she believed her own daughter, Rose, was the victim, she was heartbroken, but she didn’t have that extreme reaction. Maybe it was nothing… Maybe the cumulative effect of the recent stress and devastating news had built up and caused the attack.

She turned onto Caldwell’s wide, well-lit driveway, still immersed in thoughts, completely unaware that an SUV that had been on her tail since she’d left Redding Hospital had pulled over to the side of the road, behind some bushes, killing the lights.

The SUV’s window lowered silently, and the man behind the wheel lit up a cigarette, cupping the lighter’s flame in his hand. He inhaled deeply and held it in for a moment. Then he exhaled, muttering in a cloud of smoke, “Not good. Not fucking good at all.”

15Father

The Caldwell residence was larger than she’d anticipated. A new wing had been added to the original house, at a 90-degree angle and in a matching style and design, the resulting structure harmonious yet visibly serving two different purposes. The Craftsman house welcomed her with yellowish porch lighting and sconces, and second-level, warm-colored siding that contrasted nicely with the dark shingled roof. On the wide front porch, chandeliers cast a glow above the patio table and the lounge area. The right section had fewer accoutrements, appearing colder, less hospitable.

The Caldwells owned the largest farm in the county, one of the largest in the entire state. She’d read a brief history of their business before leaving her vehicle; it had been in the family for three generations, but only the last generation had grown the business to its current size. The first William Caldwell, Bill’s father, had acquired more and more land as his business grew, having the ambition to build the farm he had inherited into what it was when he passed, last April.

Kay chose to walk to the nearest entrance and rang the bell. Within seconds, a middle-aged woman dressed in a crisply starched uniform opened the door, giving Kay’s badge a disapproving and suspicious glower.

“All business calls have to use that entrance,” she said coldly, pointing a stern finger at the other section of the house.

“This is not a business call,” she replied. “I need to speak with Mr. Caldwell immediately.” She paused, expecting the woman to comply, but she was measuring her insolently from head to toe, as if to prove her worthiness before announcing the unwelcome cop to her employers. “That is, if it’s all right with you,” Kay added, her voice dipped in sarcasm.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asked, without batting an eyelash.

Kay started to raise her hands in exasperation, then let them drop. “This is an urgent police matter. Would you prefer I return in about ten minutes with a dozen deputies and warrants to cover everyone and everything in this house?”

The woman hesitated, her arrogance tickled the wrong way. Then she stepped out of the doorway, inviting Kay in without a word or any other gesture but a stiff upper lip. She closed the door behind her, before inviting Kay, in an ice-cold tone of voice, to follow her.

The housekeeper led the way upstairs, their footsteps swallowed by the thick, wall-to-wall, burgundy carpeting. Kay