Page 14 of Seducing the Sheriff (Charming Butte #2)

Of course, knowing me, I’d been parking next to them every time I came into town without ever noticing they existed.

Cash frowned, sticking out his bottom lip as if debating a serious topic. “Well, they’re really only by our city hall and the station. So… eight in total? Have no idea why they aren’t on Main Street.” He gave a small shrug. “There are still plenty of town details I haven’t learned yet.”

We jogged up the dozen or so steps, then, like the gentleman he seemed to be, Cash grabbed the brass handle of the heavy door, giving it a hearty yank before gesturing for me to go ahead.

I mumbled a ‘thanks’ as I passed by him, our bodies close enough that my arm brushed against his.

The hint of physical touch sparked my body to attention, and my breathing hitched.

Focus. I needed to wrangle my attraction into submission for the time being. Solving the mystery of a dead body in my house wasn’t a great combination in tandem with unbridled lust.

Neither of us commented on the moment, which totally worked for me.

Instead, we perused the directory, which was enclosed in a steel frame and drilled into the shiny, taupe granite-covered wall.

The interchangeable white letters against a black background outlined the location of each department in the historic, three-story building.

If I had to guess, and I wasn’t too bad when it came to old structures, I’d place the era of the stone building somewhere in the early twentieth century.

Which meant there was a good chance it would have the information we came for, given the age the medical examiner had given the body.

“Here we go.” Cash pointed to the assessor’s office on the third floor.

We strolled past elaborately framed, enlarged black-and-white photos from the city’s earliest years.

Men on horses with long moustaches and cowboy hats, traveling on dirt roads, a wagon or two filled with hay or wooden barrels in front of ghost town-style structures, along with a muddled style of adobe and slatted wood structures sharing the landscape.

I didn’t have a chance to read the inscriptions beneath, as we’d reached the elevators.

I pushed the decorative button to summon our ride, most of the topcoat of metal worn away.

You couldn’t really call the conveyances a bank, more like a duo, since there were only two.

But once we’d survived the journey to our destination in the clanging, banging cubicles of metal, I’d silently resolved to take the stairs on the return trip to the ground floor.

We reached the correct office, and after a short wait of awkward silence between me and Cash while a woman from a title company had her questions answered, it was our turn.

Despite the fantasy of solving the mystery before we left the building, my expectations were much lower.

As a contractor, I’d been through plenty of aggravating quests for info when dealing with old properties.

“How can I help you, gentlemen?”

The man behind the tall counter that ran the length of the room was anywhere from mid-forties to why-hadn’t-he-retired-yet.

After folding his veiny hands covered in a carpet of sunspots and placing them on the surface, he offered us a friendly, if not exhausted, smile.

Cash quickly introduced us, identifying himself as the sheriff of the county and me as the property owner of the land we were inquiring about.

The clerk’s posture straightened once Cash announced he was the sheriff.

“Recently,” Cash began. “Mr. Harding discovered old remains while in the process of renovating. We’re trying to discover who the owner was during the time period the body would’ve been hidden.”

The man’s jaw went slack. “Goodness. That’s quite a shocker!” He regarded me. “Nice how-do-you-do for ya’, huh?”

I nodded. “Definitely not what I was expecting.”

The clerk rubbed his scruffy chin. “What time period are we looking at? I’ll see if there are records I can pull.”

“The coroner estimated that the body was between eighty and ninety years old,” Cash answered.

The clerk let out a low whistle. “That takes us back to pre-war. What year was the house built?”

I snorted before I could stop myself. “Which part?” Cash laughed lightly, and the clerk furrowed his brow at me.

“Sorry.” I continued. “The real estate listing stated that the original structure on the land was a line shack. It’s since been added to by different owners.

I don’t know who or when the additions were done, only that I detect at least four different time periods comprising the current home.

But as far as the initial building goes, it was built in 1899.

However, the listing only showed the property history going back to the 1980s. ”

“Hmm…” The clerk was back to worrying his chin. I wondered if he’d once had a full prospector’s beard, but all the rubbing had worn away half the follicles. “And the last owners?”

I let out a small sigh. “I don’t know anything about them, unfortunately.

The property was empty for several months before I bought it.

I was told by the realtor that the family was selling it on behalf of a relative who’d passed.

A couple locals told me the most recent residents were husband and wife, but that they were pretty much hermits. No one knew them that well.”

“Gotcha.” He gave the counter a light smack.

“Write down your address. I’ll warn you, though.

It’s gonna be a challenge. Since line shacks were never meant to be permanent residences, there’s typically very little information on those early years.

Our records only go back to 1915, and remodeling laws weren’t voted in until the 1960s.

Up until then, permits weren’t required to do most renovations that didn’t involve plumbing or electricity.

Even after that, rules are sometimes difficult to enforce in rural areas. ”

Cash grunted. “So, it could be anyone’s guess who was responsible for constructing the closet under the stairs.”

I tilted my head. “Wouldn’t it be whoever owned the place during that time period?”

Cash shrugged. “Perhaps. But what if the owner hired a contractor to do the work, and the contractor thought, gee, excellent place to hide my wife who I just so happened to have murdered last week?”

The clerk chimed in, “What about the smell?”

I cringed and was back to regretting my choice of breakfast pastry. “Yuck.”

“That only lasts so long,” said Cash. “Whoever it was could’ve moved the body from another location. Saw this as their chance.”

My shoulders dropped. “And depending on how big the project was, there could’ve been a dozen workers on site. I doubt we’d ever find out who any of them were.”

“Come on, fellas,” interjected the clerk. “Let’s not give up so soon. I’ll go see what I find, then you can go from there.”

The clerk, who we learned was named Sam, was able to provide us with a list of property owners, including dates, going back to 1932.

At that point, we had to assume that my home had ceased to be a line shack for a while.

Not only because those shacks faded in usage by that time, but also because the square footage and description of the home as having three bedrooms and two stories meant it was being used as a permanent residence.

“Okay, so we have the house changing hands once in the thirties, and twice in the forties.” I pointed at the names on the ledger. “That means there are three possible culprits.”

Cash pressed his lips together, nodding. “And we don’t know anything about these people. Since we’re both new to Charming, we’re woefully uninformed on its history.”

I grinned. “How convenient that we both love history so much.”

Cash gave me a lopsided smile, those amazing, intense eyes dancing. “Very convenient.” He turned to Sam. “Does there happen to be a historical society in town?”