P.I. Daddy's Personal Mission

Peter took Patrick’s half-eaten cereal to the sink and ate a few bites himself before dumping the rest.

Jamming his thumbs in his jeans pockets, he headed into the den where he had his PC set up in one corner. Perhaps on Monday, he’d drive Patrick to school and make a point of speaking to Ms. Navarre. His pulse spiked a notch, a bump that had more to do with his anticipation of seeing Patrick’s teacher again than his morning caffeine kicking in. He thumbed the power button on the computer and leaned back in his chair as the monitor hummed to life.

In the face of his shouting and sarcasm, Lisa Navarre had not only held her own, but she’d kept her tone calm and her arguments constructive and focused on Patrick’s needs. He respected her for her professionalism and grace under fire.

And the fact Lisa Navarre had sexy curves and a spark of stubborn courage in her dark eyes only made her more intriguing to Peter. Knowing her observations of Patrick in the classroom mirrored his own suspicions about Patrick’s difficulty processing the most recent family troubles gave him reason to call on her expertise. Perhaps the attractive teacher would give him a bit of her time and help him figure out the best way to handle the recent family crises with Patrick.

When his computer finished loading the start-up programs, Peter opened his case file on Bill Rigsby and got to work, but his mind drifted again to the same family issues that had had him distracted yesterday on his stakeout. His visit with Craig at the hospital only confirmed that someone outside the Colton family needed to be looking into his father’s murder and who’d paid Atkins to poison Craig.

Peter lifted his coffee mug and squeezed the handle until his knuckles blanched. How could Sheriff Wes Colton possibly conduct an unbiased investigation when his own family was most likely at fault? What secrets and evidence was Wes suppressing to protect his brood of vipers? Craig may have ruled out Finn, since Finn was his doctor, but Peter wasn’t willing to make that leap of faith yet.

Peter gritted his teeth and shoved away from the computer. Enough waiting for answers. He’d go down to the sheriff’s office and demand answers from Wes Colton.

Even if Mark Walsh had been a half-hearted father and a two-timing husband, he deserved justice. And Craig Warner, the man who’d managed the reins at Walsh Enterprises for almost two decades and who’d been a father figure to Peter, deserved answers about who’d poisoned him.

Peter refused to rest until he had the truth.

As Peter strode up the front walk to the county courthouse, he huddled deeper into the warmth of his suede coat. A chill November wind announced the approach of another bitterly cold Montana winter, a bleak time of year that reflected Peter’s current mood. He glanced up to the steepled clock tower in the red brick and natural stone edifice where the sheriff’s office had told him he could find Wes Colton that morning, waiting to testify in a court hearing. The woman at the sheriff’s office had said she thought Wes was due at the courthouse by 9:00 a.m.

But if he wasn’t, Peter would wait.

He nodded a good-morning to an elderly man who shuffled out the front door of the courthouse, then shucked his gloves as he entered the lobby and got his bearings. The scents of freshly brewed coffee, floor cleaner and age filled the halls of the old building. Peter could remember thinking how old the courthouse seemed when he’d come down here with his mother to get his driver’s license when he was sixteen. Little about the building had changed in the intervening years, even if Peter felt he’d lived a lifetime since then.

Jamming his gloves in his coat pocket, Peter spotted Wes Colton down a long corridor and headed purposefully towards him. “Sheriff?”

Wes turned, lifting his eyes from the foam cup of coffee he sipped. The sheriff stilled, his expression growing wary, before he lowered his cup and squared his shoulders, taking a defensive stance.

“Peter.” Wes gave a terse nod of greeting. “Something I can do for you?”

“Yeah. You can tell me why no one’s been arrested yet for my father’s murder.” Peter stood with his arms akimbo, his chin jutted forward.

A muscle in Wes’s jaw tightened as the sheriff ground his back teeth. “Because we don’t have enough evidence to make an arrest stick yet.”

“You’ve had more than four months. What the hell’s taking so long?”

“We’re doing all we can.” The sheriff lifted one eyebrow, his blue eyes as cold as his tone. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want us hauling anyone in prematurely, just to lose an indictment due to lack of good evidence.” Wes paused and canted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing. “Unlike the last time your father was murdered, I intend to build a case based on solid evidence. Forensics. Facts. Not the circumstantial tripe and suspicion they used to railroad my brother when your father pulled his disappearing act years ago.”

Peter stiffened. He should have known this discussion would deteriorate to a rehashing of the Walsh and Colton families’ ancient feud. Even before Mark Walsh had forbidden his eldest daughter, Lucy, to date Damien Colton, the families had been rivals. Two powerful families in the same small town couldn’t help but butt heads every now and then, in business, or in politics, or, in the case of Lucy and Damien, in the personal lives of their children.

“Your brother may have been innocent of murder, but even your family can’t deny he looked guilty as sin.”

Wes curled his lip in a sneer. “Thanks to your family greasing the skids of the judicial system to see that the prosecutor’s flimsy circumstantial case slid by the judges and jury.”

Peter stepped closer, aiming a finger at Wes’s chest. “We did no such thing!”

The sheriff sent a pointed gaze to Peter’s finger before meeting his eyes again. “Want to back off before I charge you with assaulting an officer?”

Drawing a deep breath, Peter dropped his hand to his side, balling his fingers into a fist. “Just tell me where the current case stands. Who are you investigating? What clues do you have?”

Wes shrugged casually. “Everyone’s a suspect until the investigation is closed.”

“Don’t give me that crap. I want answers, Colton!” Damn, but the Coltons could push Peter’s buttons.

He paused only long enough to force his tone and volume down a notch. A public brawl with the sheriff would serve no purpose other than to land him in jail for disorderly conduct. “What are you doing to catch my father’s murderer?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation.”

When Peter shifted his weight, ready to launch into another attack, another round of questions, Wes lifted a hand to forestall any arguments. “And I’m not just saying that to get you off my back or because there’s no love lost between our families. I truly can’t answer any question for you right now.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“It has to be.”

Peter clenched his teeth. “I have a right to know who killed my father.”

“And you will. As soon as I know.” The sheriff pinned a hard look on Peter. “But I won’t blow this case by tipping my hand prematurely or letting you or anyone else pressure me into making an arrest for the sake of making an arrest. My brother knows all too well what happens when vigilante justice is served rather than reason and law. My deputies and I are conducting a thorough investigation. We’ll find the person responsible. Don’t doubt that.”

Scoffing, Peter shook his head. “Well, forgive me if I don’t take you on your word, Sheriff Colton. I haven’t seen any progress on the case in weeks, and now Craig Warner’s been poisoned, too.”

“And you think the two incidents are connected.” A statement, not a question.

“Damn straight. And I’d hardly call my father’s murder and the attempted murder of a family friend ‘incidents.’ They’re felonies. Need I remind you that someone ran Mary off the road a couple months ago? How do we know that whoever is responsible won’t come after someone else in my family?”

“We don’t.”

The sheriff’s flat, frank response punched Peter in the gut. When he recovered the wherewithal to speak, he scowled darkly at Wes. “And that doesn’t bother you, Sheriff? You may not like me or my family, but I have a ten-year-old son at home. How are you going to feel if he gets hurt because you didn’t do your job and find the scumbag who killed my father?”

Wes hooked his thumbs in his pockets and rolled his shoulders. “Believe it or not, I’d feel terrible—and not because I didn’t do my job, because I am doing everything humanly possible to catch the bastard. No, because I’m not the inept, hard-hearted fool you seem to think I am. I don’t want to see anyone else hurt. But I have to work within the law. A proper investigation takes time. There are forces at work behind the scenes that you may not see, but which are busy 24/7 looking at this case from every angle.”

Peter gritted his teeth, completely unsatisfied with the runaround and placating assurances he was getting from the sheriff. “Here’s an angle you may have missed. Not only do I think Craig Warner’s poisoning is related to my father’s murder, I think your family is involved. I’d bet my life a Colton is behind everything.”

Wes’s glare was glacial. “Do you have any proof to back up that accusation?”

“Not yet. But I can get it.”

The sheriff’s eyes narrowed even further. “I’m warning you, Walsh. Don’t interfere with my investigation. If you so much as stick a toe over the line, I’ll throw the book at you.”

Peter pulled his gloves from his pocket, signaling an end to the conversation. “I would expect as much.”

Chapter 3

Thanks to a new missing-person case on Friday and his promise to take Patrick to the game on Saturday, Sunday afternoon was the first chance Peter had to follow up on his suspicions regarding the Colton family’s connection to Craig’s poisoning and his father’s murder. The best place to start, Peter always figured, was the beginning—in this case, the circumstances and events surrounding the Coltons at the time of Mark Walsh’s first “death” in 1995.

He left Patrick in the capable hands of his mother, Jolene, and headed to the library to begin his research. In 1995, when his father went missing and was presumed dead, Peter had been a typically self-absorbed teenager. He hadn’t cared what political causes or social events his family or the rival Coltons were involved in. But in hindsight, he thought maybe he could glean some helpful information to focus his investigation.

As he headed into the library from the parking lot, he noticed a number of large limbs and debris still cluttered the lawn. He frowned at the reminders of the tornado that had struck Honey Creek recently. Most of the brick and stone buildings in town had survived with minimal or no damage, but many homes, including his own, had sustained varying degrees of damage. He scanned the library’s brick exterior searching for signs of damage before mounting the steps to enter the front door.

He spotted his younger sister, Mary, near the front desk and made a beeline toward her. “Well, if it isn’t the future Mrs. Jake Pierson.”

Mary’s head snapped up, and a broad smile filled her face. “Peter! How are you?”

Love—and Mary’s recent, significant weight loss—looked good on his sister. She positively glowed with her newfound happiness.

“Clearly not as well as you. Look at that radiant flush in your face.” He tweaked his sister’s cheek playfully, and she swatted his hand away. “So what are you doing here? I thought your days as librarian were over now that you and Jake are opening the security biz.”

She leaned a hip against the front desk and grinned. “I may not work here, but I have friends who do. And I volunteer to lead the story time in the children’s area on Sunday afternoons. What brings you in today, and why didn’t you bring my favorite nephew with you?”

“Mom’s watching Patrick so I can get some research done.” Peter unbuttoned his coat and glanced around at the tables where people were scattered, reading and studying. An attractive dark-haired woman at one of the corner tables snagged his attention.

Lisa Navarre.

Patrick’s teacher was hunched over thick books, scribbling in a notebook and looking for all the world like a college co-ed the night before exams. Her rich chocolate hair was pinned up haphazardly, wisps falling around her face. A pencil rested above her ear, and a pair of frameless reading glasses slid down her nose. Chewing the cap of her pen, she looked adorably geeky and maddeningly sexy at the same time.

Peter stared openly, his pulse revving, and his conscience tickling. No time like the present to apologize for his oafish behavior on Thursday afternoon.

“Hello? Peter?” Mary waved a hand in front of him and laughed as he snapped back to attention. “I asked what kind of research you were doing. Geez, bro, where did you go just then?”

Peter shifted awkwardly, embarrassed at being caught staring. “Sorry. I saw someone I need to talk to.”

Mary glanced the direction he’d been looking. “Would that someone be an attractive single female who teaches at the elementary school?”

Peter ignored the question and his sister’s knowing grin. “Say, where do they keep the microfiche around here? I need to look through old issues of the Honey Creek Gazette.”

Mary shifted through a stack of children’s books, setting some aside and discarding others. She thumbed through the pages of a colorful picture book, then added it to her growing stack.

He tipped his head and smirked. “Just how many books are you planning on reading to the story-time kids?”

Pausing, she looked at the tall pile. “Looks like about fifteen to me. But I could always add more later.” She gave him a smug grin. “How far back do you want to go with the Gazette? Anything older than two years is filed in a room at the back. Lily will have to get it for you.”

When she nodded toward the other end of the check-out desk, Peter shifted his attention to the raven-haired woman who’d earned a bad reputation before leaving town years ago. Now Lily Masterson was back in town, repairing her reputation after being hired as the head librarian. She was also Wes Colton’s fiancée.

Tensing, Peter took Mary by the elbow and led her several steps away from the front desk. “I want everything from 1995.”

Mary stilled and cast him a suspicious look. Clearly she recognized the time frame as when their father disappeared. “What are you doing, Peter?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Looking for the answers that the sheriff either refuses to find himself or is covering up to protect his family.”

Mary’s shoulders drooped, and she lowered her voice. “You make it sound like Dad’s disappearance was part of a big conspiracy with the Coltons.”

He twitched a shoulder. “Maybe it was.”

She looked skeptical. “Look, Peter, I don’t know what you’re up to, but be careful. When Jake and I dug into Dad’s death this summer, we clearly rattled some skeletons. This research you’re here for could lead to trouble for you if word gets out. I don’t want to see you or Patrick in any danger.”

Craig had said as much, too, when he’d visited him in the hospital. Peter’s gut rolled at the suggestion his investigation could threaten Patrick’s safety.

“And considering that Damien was proven innocent of killing dad, since dad wasn’t really dead all these years,” Mary added, “I’m not sure what sort of conspiracy you think the Coltons are involved in. But Jake trusts Wes, and that’s good enough for me. What makes you think Wes isn’t doing his job?”

Peter glanced around the bustling library, his gaze stopping on Lily. “That’s a conversation for another day and another, more private place.” He shoved his hands deep in his jeans pockets. “So do you still have access to the Gazette microfiche? I really don’t want the sheriff’s new girlfriend knowing I’m digging into his family’s history.”

She frowned and flipped her red hair over her shoulder. “I can’t access the back room anymore, but I’ll ask Lily to get the microfiche you need. Meet me over by the film reader.” She jerked her head in the general direction of the microfiche machine on a far wall, then headed across the room to speak to Lily.

Peter noted the machine she indicated but headed the opposite direction. He had to eat a bit of humble pie.

Wiping his suddenly perspiring palms on the seat of his jeans, Peter headed toward the table where Lisa Navarre sat. As he approached, she paused from her work long enough to stretch the kinks from her back and roll her shoulders. When her gaze landed on him, he saw recognition tinged with surprise register on her face, along with another emotion he couldn’t identify. She seemed uneasy or flustered somehow as he stepped up to her table and flashed her an awkward grin. He couldn’t really blame her for being disconcerted by his presence. He’d been rather gruff and unpleasant last time they met.

Ms. Navarre snatched off her reading glasses and smoothed a hand over her untidy hair. “Mr. Walsh…hello.”

He rocked back on his heels and hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. “Hi, Ms. Navarre. I’m sorry to interrupt. Do you have a minute?”

She closed the massive book in front of her and waved a dismissive hand over her notepad. “Sure. I was just doing a little studying for my class.”

Peter read the title of the book. “Critical Evaluation in Higher Education. Huh, I didn’t know fourth grade was considered higher education nowadays.”

She tucked one of the stray wisps of hair behind her ear and sent him a quick grin. “It’s not for Patrick’s class. I’m working on my PhD in Higher Education. I’m thinking of moving to teaching college-level classes instead of elementary.”

“Because at the college level you won’t have to deal with jerk fathers who read you the riot act for doing your job?” He added a crooked smile and earned a half grin in return.

“Well, there is that.” Her expression brightened. “Although, for the record, the term jerk is yours, not mine. Concerned, somewhat overwrought fathers might be a better term.”

“Call it what you want, but I still acted like a jerk.” He met her golden-brown eyes and his chest tightened. “Please forgive me for taking you to task. I do appreciate your concern for Patrick and your willingness to bring his errant behavior that day to my attention. I’d already had a rather stressful day and was on edge about some family matters, but that’s no excuse for the way I bit your head off.”

She blinked and set her glasses aside. “Wow. That’s, um…Apology accepted. Thank you.”

Peter noticed a pink tint staining her cheeks and added her ability to blush to the growing list of things he liked about Patrick’s teacher. “So if jerk fathers aren’t why you’re thinking of moving up to higher education, what is behind the career change?”

“Well…” Her dark eyebrows knitted, and she fumbled with her pen. “My reasons will sound really bad without knowing the whole long, boring personal story behind my decision. Let’s just say teaching older students would be less…painful.” She winced. “Ooo, that sounded more melodramatic than I intended.” She laughed awkwardly and waved her hand as if to erase her last comment. “Forget I said that.”

“Forgotten.” But Peter had already filed both the comment and the shadow that flitted across her face in his memory bank. He had no business delving deeper into her personal life, but he couldn’t deny he was intrigued. And sympathetic to her discomfort. He had painful things in his past that he avoided discussing when possible.

“Is Patrick with you?” she asked looking past him toward the children’s section.

“No. Not today. I’m here on business matters, looking for information for a case I’m working on.”

He could tell by the wrinkle in her brow that his working on the weekend away from Patrick bothered her. A jab of guilt prodded him to add, “But yesterday, Patrick and I took in the MSU game and spent most of the evening playing Monopoly together.”

“Oh, good.” Her lips curved, although the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m sure he enjoyed that.”

“I hope so. You made some valid points the other day at school.”

She blinked as if surprised, and Peter chuckled. “Despite how it may have seemed, I was listening. I heard what you said about Patrick’s withdrawal and falling grades.”

She held up a finger. “Um, slipping. I believe I said his grades were slipping.”

He scratched his chin. “The difference beings…?”

“His grades are still good. They’ve come down a bit, just a few points. But falling to me is more dramatic. Big drop, by several letter grades.”

Peter chuckled. “You are a master of nuance, aren’t you? Incident not accident. Slipping not falling.”

She flushed a deeper shade of pink, and Peter’s libido gave him another hard kick.

“I’m not trying to be difficult. I just believe in saying what I mean. Exactly what I mean.”

Mary caught his attention from across the room. With an impatient look, she held up the microfiche Lily had retrieved for her.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you from your studying.” Peter motioned to her books then took a step back. “I just wanted you to know I’m sorry for shouting at you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Walsh.” She held out her hand, and he grasped her fingers. Her handshake was firm and confident, and the feel of her warm hand in his sent a jolt of awareness through him.

Ms. Navarre, Dad. She’s not married.

As he turned to walk away, Peter hesitated. The woman was beautiful, intelligent and single. “Uh, Ms. Navarre…”

Good grief. Suddenly he was thirteen again and asking Cindy Worthington to the Valentine dance. He was a geeky ball of jittery nerves and sweating palms. He hadn’t asked a woman on a first date in more than thirteen years. Not since he’d asked Katie out for the first time in high school. Since Katie’s death, he’d preferred to be alone, to focus on Patrick and losing himself in his work.

But somehow Lisa Navarre was different from the other women in Honey Creek. She’d managed to stir something deep inside him that had been dormant since Katie died—an interest in getting back into life.

She raised an expectant gaze, waiting for him to continue.

His heart drummed so loudly in his ears, he was sure she could hear it. “I was wondering if you might be free next Saturday to—”

Wham!

A loud thump reverberated through the library, drawing his attention to the front desk. When he saw the source of the noise and the ensuing commotion, he tensed. Maisie Colton was not only a Colton, reason enough for Peter to steer clear of her, but the Vogue-beautiful woman was well-known in town as being eccentric and unpredictable.

Maisie angrily slammed another stack of books on the counter, and Lily Masterson rushed over to quiet Maisie.

“No respect!” Maisie steamed, full voice. “Do you know how many times I’ve called that damn show? And they still won’t talk to me!”

Lily murmured something quietly to Maisie, who retorted, “The Dr. Sophie show, of course. My God, this town has enough dirty secrets and public scandals to fill the show’s programming for weeks! But the ninny they have working in PR not only wouldn’t listen to me, but told me to stop calling or she’d contact the police!” Maisie tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder and scowled darkly.

Peter gritted his teeth, mentally applauding the Dr. Sophie show’s PR rep for recognizing a kook when they heard one and having the guts to stand up to Maisie. Not too many people in Honey Creek did. She was, after all, a Colton, and Coltons held a great deal of power in the town.

He knew he should ignore Maisie’s outburst as most of the other library patrons were, but watching Maisie Colton was a little like watching a train wreck. Despite knowing better, you just can’t look away.