Page 29 of Out of Time (Undaunted Courage #3)

SIXTEEN

“I HAVE A PUZZLE FOR YOU.”

As Rod’s comment crackled over the phone line, Brad glanced at his chief deputy and slid into his patrol car, cell to his ear. Larry had the graffiti situation in hand, and it didn’t take two law enforcement officers to listen to the owner rant about his barn being defaced.

“Lay it on me.”

“It’s about Micah Reeves’s death.”

Brad’s ears perked up. “I’m listening.”

“During the autopsy, I found a small amount of caked matter on the back of his shirt. It bothered me.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure. It could have been poop from a passing bird, for all I knew. He’d been lying there awhile. But I decided to send it out for testing. It wasn’t bird poop.”

Silence.

Naturally.

The coroner loved milking juicy tidbits for all they were worth.

Brad played along. “What was it?”

“The report says it contained food-derived proteins and a multitude of peptide digests.”

“Can you translate that to English?”

“Vomit.”

Brad frowned. “Are you saying Micah threw up?”

“Onto the back of his shirt?”

Oh yeah. That didn’t fit.

“Did you run DNA on it?”

“I did. It’s not Micah’s, as we already concluded. There were no matches in the databases.”

So someone had thrown up on him.

It wasn’t Cara. She would have told him about that. And no one else had come forward to report the body.

Of course, if a trespasser had spotted Micah, they may have been reluctant to admit they’d been on the premises. They could have gone over to investigate, puked, then hightailed it off the property.

But a killer who didn’t have the stomach for murder wouldn’t report a body, either.

Brad’s pulse picked up. “You may want to put a temporary hold on your manner of death ruling.”

“We’re tracking the same direction. Good luck figuring this one out.”

“Thanks.”

Brad ended the call, slid his cell into his pocket, and started the engine.

From the beginning, this death hadn’t felt as innocent as it seemed. The lack of blood in the boat, and the odd smear on the side. The location of the small skiff and the body. Now this.

Each new fact increased the possibility that foul play could have been involved.

He tapped his finger on the wheel.

The question was, why would anyone want to kill Micah? The man hadn’t appeared to have any friends—other than Natalie—let alone enemies.

Yet if murder was involved, someone had wanted him gone for a reason.

The challenge was to figure out who and why ... and to determine if all the other strange happenings on Natalie’s property could somehow be related.

A daunting task on this early October day.

Because if someone had taken Micah’s life, they’d left law enforcement very little to work with. And the case was getting colder by the day.

So unless he got a major break or the perpetrator made a serious mistake, it was possible justice would never be done.

He scowled as he put the car in gear and drove forward.

That didn’t sit well.

Neither did the fact that if, indeed, all the strange incidents on the Boyer property were somehow tied together, the danger there might still be present.

Meaning Cara could be in the thick of it.

She was an outsider, though. A temporary resident. She had no connection to the Boyer estate, no vested interest in the place. She wasn’t a threat to anyone.

But Micah hadn’t been, either, based on current intel.

A chill snaked through him as he drove through the early morning light, two things clear in his mind.

Collateral damage could happen if you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And more and more, Natalie’s property was looking like a very wrong place to be.

MAYBE NATALIE HADN’T NOTICED the missing stamp yet.

Lydia checked her watch as she dusted the living room. She’d been here all morning, and the woman hadn’t said a word.

Then again, her boss and the professor had been locked away in the study working on that stupid journal. Hard to believe they paid people to dig into ancient history. Who cared what had happened in this godforsaken area a hundred years ago?

She was much more interested in current events.

Like how to find a way out of her brother’s house that didn’t exchange one dump for another, now that her odds of convincing Natalie to be her ticket to a cushier life were in the toilet.

Getting greedy had been a mistake. Sure, those old stamps were just sitting there gathering dust, of no benefit to anyone, but she should have focused first on wrangling an invitation to live here instead of letting the temptation to pick up what had seemed like easy money mess with her priorities.

She swiped at the film of dust on the antique hall table. Keeping this place clean was a constant battle, and the gravel drive didn’t help matters. Natalie ought to pave it and—

“...see you at dinner.” Cara Tucker opened the door to the study, aiming the remark over her shoulder.

“I’ll look forward to it.”

The two women emerged from the room.

Cara greeted her but didn’t linger. It was hard to tell from her expression if she’d shared the desk incident with Natalie.

As Cara disappeared toward the back of the house, Natalie smiled. “I appreciate your offer to pick up blackberries at the market for me, Lydia. They didn’t have any when I was there earlier in the week.”

“It was no problem, ma’am. I know how much you like them. I put them in your fridge.”

“Excellent.” She waited a few beats. “I believe I’ll have my lunch.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Several more seconds passed, but Natalie didn’t move. She just stood there, as if she was waiting for ... what? A confession?

It would be a long wait.

No one could pin anything on her, even if Natalie called the sheriff. Not after she’d arrived extra early today and cleaned in the study first. Including a major wipe down of the items in the bottom right-hand drawer of the desk.

There were no incriminating fingerprints to find on that stamp collection.

Putting back the stamp tucked in her pocket had been an option, of course. One she’d mulled over. Yet in the end she’d held on to it. If she was going to get fired, she needed the money it would provide for a deposit on an apartment somewhere.

“You know, I’m a great believer in second chances.

” Natalie set her cane in front of her and rested both hands on top, her tone conversational.

But as the silence between them stretched, there was a subtle shift in her posture.

“I understand you were looking in the desk in the study yesterday, Lydia. Last night I discovered a stamp missing from my father’s collection. Do you know anything about that?”

Lydia wadded the dust rag in her fingers, wavering.

If she confessed and offered to return the stamp, would Natalie really give her another chance, as she’d implied?

But what if she didn’t? What if she called the sheriff instead and asked him to press charges?

It would be safer to play dumb. The sheriff wouldn’t find anything if he investigated. She’d covered her tracks, despite the circumstantial evidence that put her in the bull’s-eye. And if she admitted her guilt, Natalie would never trust her again. No matter what the woman said.

Second chances didn’t happen in real life.

“No, ma’am.”

Natalie let out a long, slow breath. “I think we both know that’s not true, Lydia.

You’ve been a reliable worker, and I’m sorry to have to do this, but I can’t have people in my house who aren’t honest and who won’t own up to wrong behavior.

I’ll send you a check for the work you’ve done, but I’ll have to ask you to leave. Now.”

Her throat pinched, and bitterness washed over her. The outcome was no surprise. She never got any breaks.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Ms. Boyer.”

“I am too, Lydia. And please let your brother know I won’t be needing his services, either.”

“I will.” But not until she lined up somewhere else to live. “I’ll get my things.”

She retreated to the kitchen, where she’d left her purse and sweater.

When she returned to the hall, Natalie was standing by the front door. As if she couldn’t wait to kick her out.

“I wish you well, Lydia. I’ll pray for you.” There was no anger or recrimination on her face. Instead, she looked sort of sad.

Lydia bit back the sharp retort hovering on the tip of her tongue. No sense creating any more hard feelings with her employer. Or rather, former employer.

But the truth was, prayers wouldn’t help her. God didn’t care about people like her. If he did, she wouldn’t be in this mess—divorced, barely making ends meet, bounced from a cushy job, and soon to be kicked out of her brother’s house.

It wasn’t fair.

Slinking away, however, would be too humiliating.

So she straightened her shoulders, gripped her purse, and walked past Natalie.

Only after the soft click of the door sounded behind her did her posture sag and her step falter.

For the door to Natalie’s home wasn’t the only one that had closed for her today.

It appeared the time had come to leave this place behind. Use the funds the stamp generated to start over somewhere else. Someplace where no one knew her.

And this go-round, she’d steer clear of men, substitute waiting tables for cleaning, and stay far away from anything that reeked of ill-gotten gain.

If nothing else, she’d learned one valuable lesson from this fiasco.

She wasn’t cut out for a life of crime.

WHO COULD BE CALLING HER at such an ungodly hour?

Cara blinked to clear the sleep from her eyes and peered at her phone on the nightstand in her condo as her vibrating smartwatch alerted her to an incoming call.

Oh.

Nine o’clock wasn’t all that early. Unless you were a night owl who considered sleeping in every Saturday an indispensable indulgence.

She groped for the phone and squinted at the screen.

Bri.

She huffed out a breath.

Her sister knew better than to call her at this hour on the weekend.