worker and fled. He's been on the streets ever since."
"Doesn't sound like Clint. He loves that boy. You sure he's okay? He's a long-haul trucker. Maybe something happened to him on one of his runs and the poor kid doesn't even know."
Jenna bristled. She still had no clue where Clinton Caine was and didn't care. Adam was her case. Her fugitive.
"Inspector Galloway, seems to me—"
She felt like an old school marm, the way he kept using her title. When she did the math, she knew he had to be around her age, though he seemed so much younger. Innocent? Naive? It was appealing yet annoying at the same time. "Jenna. Call me Jenna."
"Yes, ma'am. So, Jenna, I'm guessing you think Adam coming home has something to do with what went on around here four years ago."
"So, Deputy Bob." She stopped. "Is that really your name? Or are you like the school cop who works with kids and that's what they call you?"
"No, ma'am. My full name is William Bob, but that's my grandad and my dad's Billy Bob—"
"Your dad's name is Billy Bob?" Good God, she'd driven over the mountain and into an episode of Hee-Haw .
"And proud of it. There's been a William Bob in our family since before the Revolution. We were one of the first settlers here."
She held up a hand in truce. "You didn't want to be Willy Bob?"
"Ah no, ma'am. Not in my line of work. Didn't seem fitting. So everyone calls me Bob."
"Deputy Bob."
"Just Bob is fine, ma'am."
"Then I'm just Jenna."
He smiled, dipped his head. "Yes, ma'am. I mean Jenna."
"You worked the original New Hope case four years ago."
He looked away, swept a finger across his brow as if expecting to find a hat there, glanced across the room to the hooks beside the door where a lonely tan Stetson hung. "I'd just started with the sheriff's. But I wouldn't say I 'worked' the case. More like accidentally fell into it."
"What happened?"
"Well, ma'am, I'd only been patrolling on my own without a training officer for a few weeks. Which is why they assigned me this side of the county. Nothing much happens except the occasional traffic incident. Except that day the sheriff himself—this is the old sheriff, Sheriff Dobbs, you understand—gave me a special assignment."
"What was that?"
"Seems a woman was trespassing on the Harding’s property. Got Mrs. Harding all upset. And her husband, well, he's a bigwig down in Washington, and about the richest guy around these parts. When he's upset, the sheriff and county commissioners, they get upset. So now it was my job to escort this woman to the county line and make sure she didn't return."
"And the woman was?" Jenna asked, although she had a good idea.
"Luc—er—Special Agent Guardino. Ma'am."
"So you all had no idea there might be something going on here in New Hope?"
"No, ma'am. See, all we knew was something bad happened to Mrs. Harding when they still lived in DC. Felt bad for her. But it was years ago and far away. You think Kurt Harding would have gone to all that trouble to build her that fancy house up on the mountain? Bring her here if he knew those terrible things started right here in their hometown? Talk about bad luck."
Jenna didn't believe in luck. Good or bad. She made a note to check out the Hardings' history growing up in New Hope.
"There's no way Kurt Harding could have been involved? The killer could have had an accomplice." Maybe that was who had sent the letter. Angry with Lucy for not giving him due credit for the New Hope case.
"Lucy thought of that. Checked him out even after everyone else said the killer died. Well, asked me to, since she was officially off the case by then. But he had alibis."
"So Harding was the only victim with any ties to New Hope?"
"That we knew of at the time. Until we found Rachel Strohmeyer. See, the Strohmeyers are Mennonites from down the valley and Rachel had met an English boy—that's what they call us—while working at her folks' produce stand. College kid from Penn State. Liked to come up here and
"Doesn't sound like Clint. He loves that boy. You sure he's okay? He's a long-haul trucker. Maybe something happened to him on one of his runs and the poor kid doesn't even know."
Jenna bristled. She still had no clue where Clinton Caine was and didn't care. Adam was her case. Her fugitive.
"Inspector Galloway, seems to me—"
She felt like an old school marm, the way he kept using her title. When she did the math, she knew he had to be around her age, though he seemed so much younger. Innocent? Naive? It was appealing yet annoying at the same time. "Jenna. Call me Jenna."
"Yes, ma'am. So, Jenna, I'm guessing you think Adam coming home has something to do with what went on around here four years ago."
"So, Deputy Bob." She stopped. "Is that really your name? Or are you like the school cop who works with kids and that's what they call you?"
"No, ma'am. My full name is William Bob, but that's my grandad and my dad's Billy Bob—"
"Your dad's name is Billy Bob?" Good God, she'd driven over the mountain and into an episode of Hee-Haw .
"And proud of it. There's been a William Bob in our family since before the Revolution. We were one of the first settlers here."
She held up a hand in truce. "You didn't want to be Willy Bob?"
"Ah no, ma'am. Not in my line of work. Didn't seem fitting. So everyone calls me Bob."
"Deputy Bob."
"Just Bob is fine, ma'am."
"Then I'm just Jenna."
He smiled, dipped his head. "Yes, ma'am. I mean Jenna."
"You worked the original New Hope case four years ago."
He looked away, swept a finger across his brow as if expecting to find a hat there, glanced across the room to the hooks beside the door where a lonely tan Stetson hung. "I'd just started with the sheriff's. But I wouldn't say I 'worked' the case. More like accidentally fell into it."
"What happened?"
"Well, ma'am, I'd only been patrolling on my own without a training officer for a few weeks. Which is why they assigned me this side of the county. Nothing much happens except the occasional traffic incident. Except that day the sheriff himself—this is the old sheriff, Sheriff Dobbs, you understand—gave me a special assignment."
"What was that?"
"Seems a woman was trespassing on the Harding’s property. Got Mrs. Harding all upset. And her husband, well, he's a bigwig down in Washington, and about the richest guy around these parts. When he's upset, the sheriff and county commissioners, they get upset. So now it was my job to escort this woman to the county line and make sure she didn't return."
"And the woman was?" Jenna asked, although she had a good idea.
"Luc—er—Special Agent Guardino. Ma'am."
"So you all had no idea there might be something going on here in New Hope?"
"No, ma'am. See, all we knew was something bad happened to Mrs. Harding when they still lived in DC. Felt bad for her. But it was years ago and far away. You think Kurt Harding would have gone to all that trouble to build her that fancy house up on the mountain? Bring her here if he knew those terrible things started right here in their hometown? Talk about bad luck."
Jenna didn't believe in luck. Good or bad. She made a note to check out the Hardings' history growing up in New Hope.
"There's no way Kurt Harding could have been involved? The killer could have had an accomplice." Maybe that was who had sent the letter. Angry with Lucy for not giving him due credit for the New Hope case.
"Lucy thought of that. Checked him out even after everyone else said the killer died. Well, asked me to, since she was officially off the case by then. But he had alibis."
"So Harding was the only victim with any ties to New Hope?"
"That we knew of at the time. Until we found Rachel Strohmeyer. See, the Strohmeyers are Mennonites from down the valley and Rachel had met an English boy—that's what they call us—while working at her folks' produce stand. College kid from Penn State. Liked to come up here and
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