Her Last Goodbye (Morgan Dane Book 2)(47)

“Promise.” Tim kissed his daughter on the head then straightened. “Let’s go.”

He kept his eyes forward until they were outside. They got into the Jeep, and Tim stared at his house from the back seat. “Why would he treat me like this?”

“I don’t know.” In the passenger seat, Morgan turned to face him. “Here are the rules. If I tell you not to answer a question, don’t. You not only cooperated in the sheriff’s investigation; you initiated it. In fact, you are the one who is unsatisfied with the way he is handling your wife’s disappearance. You’ve hired a private firm because he hasn’t made satisfactory progress on the case.”

“OK,” Tim said. “But I don’t understand. All I want to do is find my wife. Why won’t he look for her?”

“I’m sure he is.” Morgan tapped a finger on her leg. The sheriff should be sharing more of his investigation with the family, but she suspected something had happened to initiate the sheriff’s call to Tim.

Once at the sheriff’s station, Morgan, Lance, and Tim were escorted to an interview room by a deputy.

“The sheriff will be back soon,” the deputy said.

Sheriff King isn’t even here?

Seeing the deputy’s grim face as he closed the door sent a chill rippling up Morgan’s arms.

What had happened?

Had they found Chelsea?

“I’ll get us some coffee.” Lance left the room for a few minutes, returning with three Styrofoam cups.

Tim didn’t drink his, but he held it between his palms and stared into the cup, barely moving, while they waited. Ten minutes later, the sheriff opened the door and walked in. Tim jumped, the feet of his plastic chair squeaking on the floor with the jerk of his body. His coffee sloshed over the rim of the cup, and he set it down on the table.

The sheriff’s boots were muddy, and his hair mussed, as if he’d been outside. The grim set of his face put Morgan on alert.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” He settled his bulk in the chair across from Tim. Though his eyes flickered at Morgan with annoyance—no doubt he didn’t appreciate her challenging his authority—when his gaze settled on Tim, it was with empathy. “Thank you for coming in, Mr. Clark.” He sighed, his big chest expanding and deflating. “I want you to brace yourself.”

Morgan stiffened. Next to her, Tim’s hands curled around the arms of his chair.

The sheriff continued. “This afternoon, the body of a woman was found by a pair of hikers.”

Oh, no.

Morgan’s mind spun. Keeping her ears tuned to the sheriff, she turned to her client. Tim blinked. His head shook slightly, as if he didn’t believe what he was hearing.

“The first thing you need to know is that we have not identified her yet. We do not know for certain if this woman is your wife,” the sheriff continued.

Tim’s features were frozen, the color draining from his face until he was the pale gray of day-old snow. When he finally opened his mouth, his voice was a tight rasp. “But it could be?”

“It’s possible,” the sheriff said. “The age bracket fits, and she was blonde.”

The air whooshed out of Tim’s body with an almost inaudible moan.

Morgan touched his forearm. His hands clenched his armrests tightly enough to raise the tendons on the backs of them and turn his knuckles white. She leaned closer. “Are you all right?”

Tim didn’t react. His eyes were fixed in horror on the sheriff, who was watching him with sympathetic—and assessing—eyes.

And Morgan got it.

Sheriff King had wanted to see Tim’s reaction. King had wanted to be the one to deliver the news. So he’d done his best to isolate Tim so he didn’t find out another way.

As if he was following Morgan’s train of thought, the sheriff said, “I didn’t want you to hear this on the news, which is why I sent a deputy to get you immediately. When I left the scene, the first reporters were showing up. It won’t take long.”

Morgan had proudly worked many cases on the side of law enforcement, but in the last few weeks, she’d seen the flip side of criminal law. How people who were supposedly considered innocent were treated. And what she’d learned so far wasn’t pretty.

The sheriff could have gone to Tim’s house, or he could have sent another officer. Dragging Tim in hadn’t been necessary.

“Do you know how long she’d been out there?” Lance asked.

“Hard to say.” The sheriff shook his head. “Coyotes had dug up—”

Tim made a soft, choking noise.

“Sheriff,” Morgan said in a reproachful voice.