Page 4 of Exposure of Murder

“You should.” Tanner scooped up some stew with his spoon and ate it. He placed the spoon down and frowned. “Jane’s nice and, from what I could tell, lonely. She’s a good-looking woman and intelligent. Did you know that she’s a mystery writer?” He picked up a biscuit and buttered it, took a bite before continuing. “I understand she lost her husband a while ago in an accident and now she’s trying to start a new life.”

“You got all that from Jane?”

“No.” Tanner shrugged. “Some information I got from her friend Savannah. She was asking about fun spots around town. I suggested the Beaver.”

“The Beaver?” Ethan coughed, then put his spoon back into the stew and stared at Tanner. “Are you nuts? That place is nofun for city women or any woman. It’s just a bunch of old geezers complaining about life.”

Tanner laughed. “I know, but I thought they might enjoy some local color.” He dipped his spoon into the stew. He held up a spoonful, pointed it at Ethan, and smirked. “I have an idea. Why don’t you show Jane around?”

Ethan could only shake his head. He wasn’t interested in being a tour guide for some flatlander, especially a single big-city woman. She was used to more excitement than Beaver Creek could offer.

How could he entice her to love his small town when Corrine couldn’t wait to get out, and she’d lived here all her life?

As he took a bite of a flaky, buttery biscuit, Ethan couldn’t help but wonder if he was missing out on someone special. Would that ache in his chest and feeling of betrayal ever go away?

Right now, though, his primary focus was on being the best sheriff he could be and not dwelling on what could have been with Corrine. And most certainly not worrying about finding a woman. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, trust another one with his heart. Been there. Done that.

Three

The next morning, Ethan rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom to shower and dress.

He looked out the window at a dreary sky. Black thunderclouds were rolling in. Crap. After a quick breakfast of eggs, coffee and toast, he shrugged his sheriff’s jacket on and stepped outside.

In the distance, he heard mooing from the barn. Tanner milked every twelve hours, at 4 a.m. and p.m., the same time their father had.

Ethan was always happy to help but thankful he became a sheriff and not a farmer. Despite his long hours, he had the luxury of days off and sleeping in. Besides, none of his other brothers wanted responsibility for the farm either.

He was thirty-two, the middle child of five boys. Tanner was the youngest at twenty-eight and loved being a farmer. Sean was the oldest at thirty-six and owned a security company a few towns over in Burlingham. Dylan was thirty-four, an artist in town, and his twin, Kane, was a mountain guide in Stowe.

Ethan smiled. God bless his parents, but five boys, almost two years apart—no way. His mother had the patience of a saint.However, there was always work for them to do on the farm. Little time to get into mischief, so his parents thought.

He got into his truck and drove west toward town.

Clouds shrouded Elephant Mountain, giving it a mysterious and ethereal appearance. Ethan’s mind wandered to his conversation yesterday with Tanner.

He hadn’t thought much about the Jenkins farm since it was put up for sale. Old man Jenkins had to be a hundred if he was a day. He farmed the land next to Ethan’s grandparents and parents until he finally retired last year and went to live with his son in town.

It would be nice to see the farm renovated and refreshed. A big plus for any farmer was that the land was organic. Jenkins never used chemicals, just spread cow manure like his ancestors did. It sounded like Jane had great plans for the farm.

Still, after years of seeing only cows and horses in pastures, glimpsing sheep grazing on the land was jarring. But it was all good, even though there were too many changes going on in his small part of the world and Ethan wasn’t sure he was all that comfortable with them.

Arriving in downtown Beaver Creek, Ethan parked behind the small brick building that had housed the sheriff’s department since the early 1900s. A plaque out front claimed that the building was built in 1861, about a hundred years after the town was established.

It was conveniently located near the train station and feed store. The original brick showed signs of weathering and chipping, but the building remained sturdy and reliable. Brick arches graced the tall, narrow windows, which let in lots of natural light.

His granddad and dad served their time there as sheriffs, as well as running the family farm. Ethan was thankful today that he could focus on just being sheriff with a staff of ten to help him.

He reached for the solid wood front door. Its stained-glass transom window usually radiated shards of light on the sidewalk but not today.

Nora Foster, the receptionist, greeted Ethan. She’d been there since his father worked in the office, still sitting at the same wooden desk that was old even in the 1950s.

“Morning, Nora.” He picked up his messages at the desk and walked back into the office where several deputies sat. It was quiet today. The weekends were the busiest, especially after 1a.m. when the bars closed and the drunks thought it was a good idea to drive home.

Ten desks, front to front, occupied the center of the floor, while filing cabinets lined one wall and windows adorned another.

A long hallway led to the four-person jail and the coroner’s office. Neither had been used in a while. His office was at the back of the building.

He caught up with the overnight reports. Nothing exciting—a lost dog, a couple of speeding tickets, and a call from the Beaver asking for someone to pick up old Bart, who’d had a little too much to drink. Something they did regularly, since Bart didn’t have family or friends willing to give him a ride when he got drunk.

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