Page 152 of Things Left Unsaid

“It’s a possibility. Ask Theo. He’ll tell you who was working in the same quadrant or thereabouts.”

“Do you own a beat-up red pickup truck? Could be a Japanese make. One was seen driving through town shortly after the accident.”

“I drive a late-model Chevy, Terry.”But that description rings a bell.

“Does your wife?—”

“No. She doesn’t have a vehicle, and if she did, most of our garage is stocked with Chevrolets or Fords.”

“That concludes the interview with Colton Korhonen.” The recording switches off again. “You’ve made my job a lot harder, Colton. In the future, please don’t be kind to your blackmailers.”

Calmly, because I see no need to worry, I inform him, “I didn’t do this, Terry.”

“It’s a good thing I know you and believe that,” he grumbles, getting to his feet. “If I ask you to return to the detachment, bring. A. Lawyer. Understood?”

I sigh at his about-face. “I understand.”

Once he guides me out of the small interview room, we shake hands and I take my leave, fully aware I shot myself in the foot by paying Lydia off. I don’t regret it, though. Not if it kept Zee safe from that psycho.

When my phone rings, my day gets worse.

As one of my ranch hands murmurs in my ear about finding a mysteriousredpick-up truck on the Seven Cs, I know exactly what’s coming my way. Still, I have to make arrangements before I’m detained for the next twenty-four hours. All being well, I’ll be out tomorrow and they won’t have grounds to arrest me.

Zee’s busy on another call, so I loop her in with a text message. Not ideal, but I’m running out of time. Neither Mrs. Abelman nor Mum pick up either. So I drop a voicemail with them and email Theo to apprise him of my whereabouts.

That done, I call Juliette who answers immediately. “Colton?”

“The triplets’ truck mowed down Lydia Armstrong.” I keep my voice low. “Do you know where they are?”

“School. They weren’t behind the wheel, Colton.”

“I’m not suggesting they were.Butit’s their truck and it was found on my land. Once the cops check the license plate, they’ll know who owns it. It’s likely the triplets will be brought in for questioning. I’m volunteering the car’s location to the RCMP so I’ll make legal arrangements for them now before I’m detained.”

Sniffing, she thanks me by declaring, “That bitch couldn’t even die in peace. Always had her nose into everything.”

Leaning against my truck, I frown at the ground. There’s something in her tone… “Did you get any letters from her recently?”

Silence hums on the line. “Perhaps. Did you?”

I scrape a hand over my jaw. “Did she ask for money?”

“Maybe.”

Fuck.

More probable cause—this time, for the triplets.

Digging my fingers into my eyes, I mutter, “Don’t say a word about that to anyone else.”

“You think I’m an idiot? Make sure my grandsons are home tonight.”

With that, she disconnects the call.

No one can say she doesn’t have a way with words.

Grunting, I call Marc Robard’s office and make arrangements for him to come to Pigeon Creek to help me out and for him to send three other attorneys for the triplets.

That done, I turn on my heel and head back into the station.

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