Landry's Law

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Snow crunched beneath his boots as Sheriff Seth Landry cautiously made his way down the steep bank to the crime scene. Flurries still swirled in the air as he greeted his deputy, J. D. Lindsey.

“Has the coroner been called?” J.D. nodded, then blew warm breath into his cupped hands. “As far as I know, no one has touched a thing.”

“Who called it in?” Seth asked. J.D. pointed toward the Mountainview Inn behind them. “One of the guests. Ken Updyke. He’s passing through on his way to Seattle. He was out jogging and came up on this.”

Seth regarded the scene. The snowstorm had
pretty much obliterated the area around the body. He stepped forward and knelt to get a better look at the victim. Judging from the small entrance wound at the back of the guy’s head, Seth figured the weapon was a .22.

He also noted that the man’s clothing wasn’t right. He was wearing a suit beneath a camouflage down jacket but didn’t have any gloves on. He made a mental note of that inconsistency.

“Looks just like the last one,” J.D. remarked.

Seth’s gut knotted at the mere suggestion. Jasper, Montana was a small, out-of-the-way town where everyone knew everyone else. Tourists passed through to visit some of the quaint shops and historic markers in the area. To date, none of them had turned out to be serial killers.
If
he actually had a serial killer on his hands.

“Anyone know who he is?” Seth asked the half-dozen or so onlookers who had gathered. The victim was on his stomach, but his face was turned to one side.

“Isn’t that Harvey Whitlock?” one of them asked.

Seth adjusted his position and tilted his head to get a better look. “It appears so.”

“He’s only lived here a couple of months,” J.D. said. “I guess that’s long enough to make an enemy.”

Seth stood as the coroner arrived. He shook hands with Dr. Hall. “Sorry to get you out so early,” Seth offered as he watched the doctor shifting from one foot to the other in an apparent attempt to ward off the cold.

“I’m getting too old for this,” Hall grumbled. “Isn’t that Harvey Whitlock?”

Seth nodded. Dr. Hall handed J.D. a camera and instructed him on where and when to take photographs of the victim and the scene.

The idea that there might me some deranged killer running loose in his town still distracted Seth. He pulled out his notepad and started making some observations and listing possibilities.

By the time Dr. Hall was ready to have the officers turn the body over, the ambulance crew and at least a dozen more gawkers had arrived. Seth silently hoped his death would be more private. Not some public spectacle like poor Harvey’s.

J.D. took the feet, the ambulance guys the midsection, and Seth took the head. With practiced precision, they turned Harvey over so that he could be placed on a stretcher, then whisked away from the prying, curious eyes of the crowd.

“What’s that?” Seth asked, pointing to Harvey’s left palm.

They all moved in for a closer look. The frigid water from the creek had washed away the writing until it was very faint.

“Savannah, 9-1-2,” Seth read aloud.

“Looks like part of a phone number. Maybe an area code?” J.D. theorized, excitedly.

Seth was puzzled. If he recalled correctly, Harvey was from someplace in the east, which had 200, 300
and 400 area codes. He breathed a little easier. There had been no writing on the hand of the first victim. Maybe the two cases weren’t related.

“I don’t think that’s a phone number,” came a voice from the crowd.

Seth turned and looked in the direction of the voice. It was a man in his early thirties. He had the dress and manner of a yuppie tourist. Seth went over to the man.

“Why not?”

The yuppie shrugged. “I saw him last night in the bar.”

“And?” Seth prompted.

“He was staring at the clock.”

“When was this?” Seth asked.

“Maybe ten after nine or so.”

“And you’re sure it was him?”

The yuppie insisted that he was.

“How can you be so sure? You aren’t a local.”

“I remember him because of the
babe
who showed up to meet him. I mean, no offense to the dead or anything, but that guy isn’t exactly
GQ
material, and he managed to snag the prettiest woman in the place.”

“What did she look like?”

“Pretty brown hair, incredible green eyes, a body to die for—sorry, poor choice of words—I mean—”

“Did you happen to hear him call her by name?”

The yuppie nodded with enthusiasm. “That’s why
I don’t think that writing on his hand is a phone number.”

“Because?” Seth prodded.

“Because he called the woman Savannah.”

Seth swallowed, hard.
Savannah Wyatt.

Savannah Wyatt was armed for a sneak attack. Slowly, cautiously, she tiptoed across the cool wood floor, moving ever closer to her prey. Her victim didn’t flinch. Didn’t turn around in time to see her coming.

“Gotcha!” she exclaimed as she captured the field mouse between the floor and the box. Its days of stalking her dried goods for the better part of a week were history!

She could hear the little thing scurrying around under the box, clearly frightened and disoriented. She muttered a guilty curse and blew out a breath. The kitchen, where she had trapped the varmint,
was a good twenty feet from the front door. She was less than three feet from the kitchen door, but a five-foot snowdrift blocked it. Silently, she said a few choice words about Montana in the grips of winter, none of them flattering.

Considering her options, Savannah tried to think of a way to grant the mouse freedom without actually touching it. One of the solutions she considered was barbecue tongs, but that would mean lifting the shoe box edge high enough for the furry little monster to make an escape, so that was abandoned.

Lifting her foot, she applied pressure, thus leaving her hands free to search for a way out of this mess.

Catching sight of herself in the stainless steel refrigerator, she decided she looked a tad like a brunette version of the painting of George Washington crossing the Delaware River by Larry Rivers. Shaking her head, Savannah reminded herself that art and fashion were her past. Her present was the very unglamorous job of liberating Mighty Mouse.

A knock reverberated through the two-room cabin.

“Enter at your own risk,” Savannah called. She had stopped locking the door of the secluded cabin during the day after her first few desolate weeks in Jasper. Besides, it wasn’t as if she had lots of strangers dropping in.

She smelled his inexpensive cologne a flash before she turned and saw Junior Baumgartner standing in the foyer, stomping snow from his boots
on a rag rug designed to save the finish on the wide pine flooring from potential water damage. His balding head was covered by a navy watch cap, which was the same shade as his down parka. She smiled at him. Frederick—known only as Junior around Jasper—was a kind of friend. She worked part-time for his mother and the two of them sort of came as a package deal, in spite of the fact that Junior had to be pushing forty.

As was his habit, he kept his eyes downcast when he spoke. “What are you doing?”

“I was smart enough to trap a mouse but not smart enough to know how to get rid of it once I did,” she replied in a rather self-deprecating tone.

“Want me to kill it?” Junior offered.

“Lord, no!” she fairly shouted. “I just want to put him outside to fend for himself. Mice can live outside in this kind of weather, right?”

Junior was about to respond when another knock sounded at the door. The sound made Junior jump nervously. Not for the first time, Savannah felt pangs of compassion for the man. Though he was a lifelong resident of the tight-knit ranching community, she seemed to be his only friend—unless you counted his sweet but overbearing parent as a friend. Savannah had learned her first day on the job that Olive was Junior’s friend, mentor, and fiercest protector. He spoke with a slight lisp and seemed incapable of making eye contact with anyone. Poor man.
She wondered what made him so shy, jumpy and awkward. Possibly his mother—it seemed as if the widowed Olive still hadn’t cut the umbilical cord to her only child.

“Hey, Junior,” came a friendly greeting that immediately set Savannah’s teeth on edge.

Sheriff Seth Landry didn’t take the time to shake the snow from his boots. He entered her small home, removing his hat as he came closer.
Too close,
her little voice screamed.

“Some new form of intense yoga, Miss Wyatt?” he asked with enough charm to melt her bones.

Which was exactly what she didn’t like about this man. Two weeks earlier he’d all but accused her of murdering Richard Fowler. Now he was sauntering in as if he’d been invited for afternoon tea.

“Sheriff,” she acknowledged evenly.

“Junior?” Seth said as he opened the buttons on his leather uniform jacket. “I need some time alone with Miss Wyatt.”

“But I have to help her with the mouse,” Junior protested almost forcefully. “Besides, she didn’t kill that Fowler man and you should leave her alone.”

She was surprised to hear Junior so adamant, but then again, she knew he liked her and was probably just being chivalrous. The sheriff didn’t seem to notice or care that he had upset Junior.

She watched Seth’s inky-black eyes go from Junior’s up-turned red face to the box she was guard
ing with the weight of her foot. “I’ll take care of the mouse,” Seth assured Junior. “You go on home now, but be careful out on the highway. Those roads are mighty slick.”

“Yes, sir,” Junior said, deflated, then in a brighter tone he added, “Bye, Savannah.”

“Bye, Junior,” she called over her shoulder. To Seth, she said, “Do your civic duty. Please.”

“Where’s the top of the box?” Seth asked, shrugging out of his jacket.

Savannah’s mind threatened to go blank as she took in his broad shoulders, trim waist and uniform. She never would have pegged herself as a sucker for a man in uniform, but she was wrong. Seth Landry was an incredible blend of dark, dangerous and delightful. Too bad her life in Jasper was temporary.

Too bad he hasn’t technically cleared me as a suspect in Richard Fowler’s murder.

“The top?” Seth prompted.

“On—on the bed,” she stammered.

Being in Savannah’s bedroom made Seth a little uncomfortable. What should have been an investigation was quickly turning into an inventory. The room was neat as a pin and incredibly feminine. The subtle scent of flowers hung in the air. Candles adorned nearly every inch of the bedroom and what he could see of the open bathroom. Even though he knew better, he could just imagine the reflection of candlelight in her eyes. Savannah had the most incredible
eyes. They tried to be brown, but somehow managed to be blue near the pupil. Her face was on the square side, but that just made her full lips seem invitingly pouty.

Like most doctoral candidates he’d met, she had a penchant for wearing casual clothing. Only, she wore
tight
casual clothing. He knew it was the style. He also knew that when he returned to the kitchen, he’d have to pretend not to notice that her shape-hugging sweater fell just shy of the waistband of her jeans. He couldn’t notice that she worked out enough to have a perfectly toned midriff, or that her belly button was pierced with a small gold ring.

Hell, he had to pretend that Savannah wasn’t his ideal woman. Or that he thought of her often.
Too often.
It could jeopardize his professional integrity, something he had
never
done.

“What are you doing in there?” Savannah called. “Going through my panty drawer? Isn’t that illegal?”

Seth put on his game face and returned to the main room. “It isn’t illegal if I have your permission,” he offered with a wicked smile.

“Dream on,” she said with a laugh.

“Stay still until I tell you to move,” Seth instructed. He bent next to her leg with the box top in his hand. Because she was so petite, he found himself eye-level with her bared skin. She smelled clean, fresh. He would only have to turn his head a
fraction of an inch and his lips would be against the gentle curve of her waist.

“You should have warned me that this was going to be a long-term rescue effort,” Savannah teased.

Seth put his libido in his back pocket and managed to trap the mouse inside the closed box. He smiled when he saw how frightened she was, even with the little thing safely inside the box.

“Now what?” he asked.

“Free him,” Savannah insisted with conviction.

Seth sighed. “I know you’re new to Jasper, so you must not know that this little guy came in here to keep from freezing to death outside.”

The way she wrinkled her nose was adorable. It was just another of her quirks that he tucked away in his mind.

“What do I do, then?”

“You could get a cage and some feed and…”

“I don’t do roommates, Sheriff,” she said. “Especially furry ones that aren’t house-trained and eat trash.”

No roommates? He added that to his list. “I’ll take care of it,” he offered.

Her expression brightened just as the reflection of sunlight filtered inside, painting her shoulder-length brunette hair with auburn highlights.

“You’re going to take care of it?” Savannah fairly gasped. “As in, a favor?”

Seth shrugged. “Sure. I’ll run him out to the
Bronco for now so we can talk, and take him to the Lucky 7 on my way back to the office.”

“You’re taking him to your ranch? As a pet for Kevin?”

Seth blinked and Savannah blushed.

He allowed his mouth to curve into a slow grin. “Been checking up on me Miss Wyatt?”

Her lips pursed momentarily. “No,” she insisted firmly. “Working part-time at Olive’s Attic, I meet people. People tend to gossip about the richest family in town. By the way, how is Callie feeling?”

“Fine,” Seth answered, hiding his disappointment. He wished she would show half the interest in him that she did on his brother Sam and Sam’s expectant wife, Callie. Even before the first murder, he’d felt as if he were invisible to Savannah. He didn’t like that feeling. Not at all.

“She’ll tell you she feels like a whale, but I think pregnancy agrees with her.”

He watched as something flashed in Savannah’s kaleidoscope eyes. It wasn’t long enough for him to get a read, so he had nothing to add to his list but a suspicion that babies, pregnancies, family—something along those lines—made her react, even if she was a master at hiding most of her reactions. Maybe today, with the new development, her facade would crumble.

After Seth had taken the mouse out to his car, he returned, walking in without knocking. That didn’t
seem to bother Savannah. She was standing in the living area, between a sofa covered with various warm throws and a coffee table made out of what looked like a portion of a wooden feed trough with a custom-cut glass top. When he took a second to glance around, he realized her place was homey in a funky, New Yorkish way. She had the usual stuff, living room, dining room and kitchen furnishings. But it was what she didn’t have that tweaked his imagination. No photographs, nothing really personal in view. It was as if she hadn’t existed until this cabin, but he knew that wasn’t possible. He’d checked. Savannah was a transfer doctoral candidate from the University of Maryland. The dean of students at Montana West had verified all her paperwork and transfer credits.

“Should I make coffee?”

“Should you?” Seth countered.

She stiffened, “I was offering.”

Seth smiled. “No, an offer is, ‘May I make you some coffee?’”

Reluctantly, she smiled, as well. “Fine.
May
I make some coffee?”

“Please.”

As she took down a grinder and retrieved a bag of whole beans, she asked, “Are you the resident grammar fairy? If so, you’re welcome to critique my thesis.
If
I ever get it finished.”

“I’m not a grammar anything. My momma just
insisted that all her boys be polite, especially to women.” He let that sink in for a minute, then said, “Your thesis is on forensic psychology, right?”

Savannah turned and gave him a cool smile. “I keep forgetting that after Richard was killed, you investigated every aspect of my life.”

“It’s my job,” Seth said somberly.

“If you’re not here to arrest me for Richard’s murder, would you kindly take an ad out in the town paper proclaiming my innocence? I’ve found Jasper a little slow to warm to outsiders, and labeling me a murder suspect isn’t helping.”

“I’m not here about Richard’s murder.”

That got Savannah’s attention. “Since I didn’t call 911 about the mouse, what brings you out this way?”

“Harvey Whitlock.”

He watched and saw only a trace of boredom in her expression at the mention of his name.

“Sells real estate and is big on punctuality,” Savannah supplied easily. “I was supposed to meet him at nine and I believe I was about ten minutes late because I was helping a customer at Olive’s.”

“Where did you meet him?”

“At the Mountainview Inn. Why?” Suspicion and trepidation had crept into her voice.

“Your idea?”

“No,” she answered, less open than before. “Olive Baumgartner set it up as a blind date. She
can’t stand the fact that—her words—I’m ‘on the ugly side of thirty and don’t have any marriage prospects.’”

Seth smiled. Olive had arranged a date or two for nearly every single person of marriageable age in Jasper. Everyone except her precious Junior. Apparently she had no intention of letting go of her son. Not since Junior became the man of the house at the age of thirteen when Frederick, Sr. died in a hunting accident.

“So, your date with Harvey was just like your date with Richard?”

“Yes. Are you the dating police?” she asked with slight amusement. “If only you knew how ludicrous that was. You think I killed Richard so now you’re going to keep track of all my dates?”

“Something like that,” Seth answered.

“I’ll save you some time. Harvey and I had dinner. He had the beef, I had the salmon. He had two drinks, I had a club soda and a cup of decaf.”

“What did the two of you talk about?”

She rolled her eyes and a mischievous little grin curved her inviting lips. “Whether we should have sex right there in the restaurant, or go back to his place.”

Seth felt his jaw clench. “What did you decide?”

“Neither. I was making a joke,” she said, laughingly.

He felt the sound of her laughter deep in the pit of his stomach.

“We talked a lot about real estate. Harvey thinks I should buy rather than rent for the tax advantages. If I give him copies of my financial records, he will see about getting me qualified for that modest, gray clapboard house out on 141.”

“That’s a nice property. It comes with a dozen or so acres.”

“Well, I’m really not into buying homes right now and I told Harvey that.”