The Sheriff of Silverhill

He didn’t want Dana to tell Mrs. Thompson about the vision. He didn’t want her to tell anyone.

“She has a lot of stuff on her laptop.” Rafe jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Can we take it and turn it over to the FBI? They can retrieve her e-mails and review any Web sites she visited.”

Mrs. Thompson’s bloodshot eyes drifted from Rafe’s face to the back of Dana’s head as she bent over the nightstand drawer to drop the brush back inside.

“Sure. Take it. I got that list on the coffee table.” She pointed to the papers scattered on the floor. “Don’t leave a mess in here.”

“I’d like to take those photos with me if you don’t mind.” He crouched on the floor to gather up the papers and pictures.

“I don’t mind.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Thompson. I’ll pack up the laptop too, and we’ll get out of your way.”

Mrs. Thompson pushed away from the doorway, and Dana looked up. She whispered, “Do you think she heard us before?”

“I don’t know. She’s getting drunker and drunker by the minute. This room’s in the back of the house, and we weren’t exactly shouting.” He walked to the laptop and snapped the lid shut. “You realize the importance of keeping this incident to yourself, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. Why do you think I buried my head in the nightstand drawer? But maybe Mrs. Thompson already knows, or at least she was hoping I’d have a vision of her daughter’s murder.”

“Why do you say that?” Rafe cocked his head while he slipped Holly’s laptop into the case he’d found beneath her desk.

“The tea. She offered me some of Auntie Mary’s special blend of tea. Auntie Mary swears that tea relaxes her, making her susceptible to visions.”

“And you think Mrs. Thompson gave you the tea to kick start your special powers?”

Dana shot a glance at the doorway. “Didn’t she have an expectant look in her eyes when she walked in here?”

“How would you know? You never even looked at her.”

“Maybe it was her tone of voice. I was afraid she’d see something strange about me.”

“There’s nothing strange about you, and I don’t think she suspected a thing.”

Dana nibbled on her bottom lip. “Maybe I do owe it to Mrs. Thompson and all the other families to give it a try, Rafe.”

Rafe trained his eyes away from her lips while he massaged her shoulders, her hair tickling the backs of his hands. “I don’t think you should be putting yourself in any more danger than you already are investigating this case. Leave it. If the visions come, they come, but don’t go seeking trouble.”

She briefly laid her cheek against his hand, her touch igniting a fire in his belly. “I guess you’re right. The gift never brought anything but trouble to my mom.”

He ran his thumb along her jaw. He remembered Dana hated comparisons to her mother. Her mother had died before Rafe met Dana, but he’d heard stories, mostly from Pam, that Ronnie Croft had slept around and couldn’t even identify Dana’s biological father. Not that Rafe cared.

Dana’s refusal to acknowledge she had the gift puzzled Rafe initially. She’d never pushed away her Southern Ute culture before. Now he understood that her reluctance to explore her gift stemmed from the fact that she shared it with her mother. She wanted to distance herself more from her mother than her culture.

Not that he wanted Dana to immerse herself in visions of a serial killer. He’d rather use old-fashioned police work to solve this case than put Dana’s life in danger.

She slipped out of his grasp and bent over to smooth the wrinkles from the bedspread with her palms. Her hair hid her expression as it slid across her face. “Grab the laptop and I’ll turn it over to Steve. Maybe Holly has something on there that can help us out.”

Rafe hitched the laptop case over his shoulder and shoved open the door, gesturing Dana through first. They walked into the living room together where Mrs. Thompson slumped on the sofa, her head tilted back, eyes closed.

A dull pain throbbed at the base of Rafe’s skull. He didn’t have children, but he couldn’t imagine losing a child, especially to murder. When his niece was kidnapped, his brother, Ryder, was almost deranged until he got her back.

Rafe kept his voice low, soothing. “Mrs. Thompson.”

Rolling her head to the side, she peeled open one bloodshot eye. “Huh?”

“We’re leaving.” He patted the side of the laptop case. “Maybe this can tell us something.”

She pushed to her feet, swaying slightly. “I’ll see you out.”

“That’s okay. We’ll see ourselves out.” Dana cupped Mrs. Thompson’s elbow.

“I may be drunk, but I haven’t lost all my manners.” She scooted around the coffee table, banging her shin.

Dana winced, but Mrs. Thompson didn’t seem to notice. She shuffled toward the front door and opened it. Standing with her back against the dilapidated screen door, she peered into Dana’s face. “Give my best to Mary Redbird. M-maybe she can figure out who’s doing this. Maybe she can see who murdered my Holly.”

Gasping, Dana drew back. “Auntie Mary doesn’t have visions like that, Mrs. Thompson. She’s more of a healer.”

Mrs. Thompson’s hand shot out and grabbed Dana’s forearm. “Your mama, Ronnie, had that power. I knew my husband was cheating on me, and Ronnie gave me her name and the name of the hotel where they were meeting. Claimed she saw them there together.” Mrs. Thompson tapped her temple. “Up here in her head.”

“My mother’s dead.”

Rafe placed a steadying hand on the curve of Dana’s back, feeling a shiver snake through her body. Damn. Maybe Dana nailed it. Maybe Mrs. Thompson suspected some of what went on in Holly’s bedroom.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Thompson. We’ll get this guy.” Rafe stepped between her and Dana and shoved open the screen door. “We’ll let you know if we need anything else.”

Dana practically flew down the front steps and banged through the flimsy gate. Nothing like acting guilty. If Mrs. Thompson hadn’t suspected anything before, Dana’s hasty escape might have planted a seed of a notion.

Rafe gave Mrs. Thompson a weak smile and followed Dana out with measured steps. No sense in both of them scrambling from the house.

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