Page 67 of The Hardest Part

And Arien’s bare footprints went from the deck down to the drive.

“Well, yeehaw,” Justin whooped. “Will you look at this?”

A set of large footprints—a man’s size twelve, unless he was mistaken—came out of the trees to the French door in the living room and went back out again.

“My guess is whoever these belong to came in from the stream,” Victor said as Justin followed the trail toward the woods, taking photos along the way.

Jake turned to follow his uncle. “I’ll go check.”

“We will, son. I want to look inside the house first.” And his father reined him in. “Emily, do you know if that baby monitor records?”

“I’m not sure, but I think so.”

He prayed it did. It was their best shot, and likely their only shot, to get the evidence they were looking for.

“Looks like the asshole had the decency to wipe his feet. There’s not a smudge of a footprint or a melted puddle of snow anywhere,” Justin muttered, coming in behind them.

Up the stairs and to the right, they made their way over to Matthew’s wing of the house, of which there were four. The house had stood here for generations, added on to and renovated throughout the years. There were twenty bedrooms here once, but families were much larger way back when. It was a necessity for survival.

As if he were in there sleeping, they crept into Benjamin’s room. A woodland forest was painted on the walls. A plush bear rug covered the floor. Stuffed toy rabbits, foxes, and deer waited in a playhouse teepee. An empty rocking chair sat in the corner. Jake glanced at the adjoining door that connected the nursery to Matthew’s suite. It hit him then.Jennifer did all this. For a son, she hardly had the chance to hold.

Emily went to the dresser. “It does record.”

“Play it.” And Jake held his breath.

Huddled together, the four of them watched a figure, dressed all in black and wearing a hood, enter the room, and then, finding the crib empty, he left through the connecting door.

“Who the fuck is that?” Her hands trembling, terror laced Emily’s voice.

Justin pursed his lips. “I have a hunch.”

Jake looked at his father.

His father looked at him.

They said his name together, “John Jacoby.”

January is fucking cold in Wyoming.

Grateful the power got connected, and they had heat, Billy and his brother nailed down hardwood flooring in their living room over the creek. Everything was coming together just as he had envisioned it. After this, they had the cabinetry, counters, and fixtures to install, but that was easy enough. Then, come spring, once all the snow had melted, they only needed to do the exterior grading and some landscaping.

Between Emily, school, the horses, and the John Jacoby situation, what little time Billy had to spare was spent here. Now, seeing how far he and Jake had come, with the help of family and friends, he was certain the house would be finished in time for the wedding.

At least, after tomorrow, no one would have to think about John Jacoby anymore.

Crazy shit.

He always thought the old man was a little off, but Billy never figured the guy was capable of murder, and his own daughter at that, until they went to his house and confronted him with the proof his father had found.

They stared evil in the face that day.

Billy was still trying to make sense of it all. Tanner’s mother, the elder sister, offs Kellan’s mother, injecting her with a fatal dose of insulin because she was jealous, then tells her father what she did, so he offs her—why? How could a father do that? The man was twisted. His daughter, too. John Jacoby’s hatred for Matthew Brooks drove him to do the same to Jennifer. Benjamin would have been next.

So, yeah, it was good that no one had to worry about him anymore.

He was going in front of the town council in the morning.

And Billy was going to be there.

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