Page 26 of Seducing the Sheriff
The clerk’s posture straightened once Cash announced he was the sheriff.
“Recently,” Cash began. “Mr. Harding discovered old remains while in the process of renovating. We’re trying to discover who the owner was during the time period the body would’ve been hidden.”
The man’s jaw went slack. “Goodness. That’s quite a shocker!” He regarded me. “Nice how-do-you-do for ya’, huh?”
I nodded. “Definitely not what I was expecting.”
The clerk rubbed his scruffy chin. “What time period are we looking at? I’ll see if there are records I can pull.”
“The coroner estimated that the body was between eighty and ninety years old,” Cash answered.
The clerk let out a low whistle. “That takes us back to pre-war. What year was the house built?”
I snorted before I could stop myself. “Which part?” Cash laughed lightly, and the clerk furrowed his brow at me. “Sorry.” I continued. “The real estate listing stated that the original structure on the land was a line shack. It’s since been added to by different owners. I don’t know who or when the additions were done, only that I detect at least four different time periods comprising the current home. But as far as the initial building goes, it was built in 1899. However, the listing only showed the property history going back to the 1980s.”
“Hmm…” The clerk was back to worrying his chin. I wondered if he’d once had a full prospector’s beard, but all the rubbing had worn away half the follicles. “And the last owners?”
I let out a small sigh. “I don’t know anything about them, unfortunately. The property was empty for several months before I bought it. I was told by the realtor that the family was selling it on behalf of a relative who’d passed. A couple locals told me the most recent residents were husband and wife, but that they were pretty much hermits. No one knew them that well.”
“Gotcha.” He gave the counter a light smack. “Write down your address. I’ll warn you, though. It’s gonna be a challenge. Since line shacks were never meant to be permanent residences, there’s typically very little information on those early years. Our records only go back to 1915, and remodeling laws weren’t voted in until the 1960s. Up until then, permits weren’t required to do most renovations that didn’t involve plumbing or electricity. Even after that, rules are sometimes difficult to enforce in rural areas.”
Cash grunted. “So, it could be anyone’s guess who was responsible for constructing the closet under the stairs.”
I tilted my head. “Wouldn’t it be whoever owned the place during that time period?”
Cash shrugged. “Perhaps. But what if the owner hired a contractor to do the work, and the contractor thought, gee, excellent place to hide my wife who I just so happened to have murdered last week?”
The clerk chimed in, “What about the smell?”
I cringed and was back to regretting my choice of breakfast pastry. “Yuck.”
“That only lasts so long,” said Cash. “Whoever it was could’ve moved the body from another location. Saw this as their chance.”
My shoulders dropped. “And depending on how big the project was, there could’ve been a dozen workers on site. I doubt we’d ever find out who any of them were.”
“Come on, fellas,” interjected the clerk. “Let’s not give up so soon. I’ll go see what I find, then you can go from there.”
The clerk, who we learned was named Sam, was able to provide us with a list of property owners, including dates, going back to 1932. At that point, we had to assume that my home had ceased to be a line shack for a while. Not only because those shacks faded in usage by that time, but also because the square footage and description of the home as having three bedrooms and two stories meant it was being used as a permanent residence.
“Okay, so we have the house changing hands once in the thirties, and twice in the forties.” I pointed at the names on the ledger. “That means there are three possible culprits.”
Cash pressed his lips together, nodding. “And we don’t know anything about these people. Since we’re both new to Charming, we’re woefully uninformed on its history.”
I grinned. “How convenient that we both love history so much.”
Cash gave me a lopsided smile, those amazing, intense eyes dancing. “Very convenient.” He turned to Sam. “Does there happen to be a historical society in town?”
Chapter Eight
Cash
We’d taken an hour out at a roadside diner just outside the city limits recommended by Sam to have lunch before we headed back to Charming. It turned out that Santa Maria did have a historical society which, according to Sam, had set up a small museum in the old courthouse, and “…did you know there’s a historical society in Charming?” he’d asked seriously.
I bit my lip as I had to admit, I’d no idea it existed. Greg kept a diplomatic silence. I felt the amusement rolling off him in waves. I shoved him as we walked out onto the sidewalk and couldn’t help grinning at his mocking but affectionate laughter.
Here we were now, relaxing with strong, hot coffee as we indulged in playful bickering over the menu. Could one man have so many opinions about bell peppers? Greg could.
Somewhere between choosing the homemade soup and the massive, overloaded sandwiches, I caught myself staring at Greg while he was focused on the menu. Not in a casual, buddy way. Not in the way a man checks for a smudge on someone’s cheek or a weird stain on their shirt. This was something else.
