The Legend of Smuggler's Cave by Paula Graves Page A

told me about your investigation. How you think Johnny fit in. And I keep going back to the Davenport Trucking connection. Has anyone ever established how a lumber-yard owner in Travisville, Virginia, even got interested in a Tennessee trucking company in the first place?”
    “We’re pretty sure what caught Wayne Cortland’s attention was the fact that Davenport had contracts with the Oak Ridge National Laboratory,” Dalton said. “It’s guesswork at this point, now that Cortland’s dead, but we think he was planning to cause a scare at the nuclear research facility in hopes that it would stop or at least delay oil-shale exploration and production in the area.”
    He could tell by the look on her face that this information was new to her. “He wanted to stop oil-shale production? Why?”
    “He controlled a lot of people in a lot of areas that can be charitably called wilderness. He liked it that way—fewer eyes mean fewer chances to be caught doing something illegal. His network thrived on isolation and people who live on the fringes of society and like it that way.”
    “And oil-shale production means less wilderness and more people.”
    He nodded. “More eyes. Exactly.”
    “He wanted to use a Davenport truck to deliver something to Oak Ridge that would pose a threat, then. Something that might cause a nuclear incident.”
    “We don’t think he was planning to do anything horribly damaging.” The microwave dinged and Dalton retrieved the two cups of hot chocolate. He gave her the cup she’d sipped from, keeping the other for himself. “Careful. It’s pretty hot.”
    She looked up at him, her expression curious. “Do you think they were planning to use Johnny to drive the truck that would get into Oak Ridge and cause the trouble?”
    “I’m not sure. I just know Johnny seemed to be asking a lot of questions at Cortland. Questions that even that pretty little bookkeeper noticed. If she noticed, other people might have, as well.”
    “You think that’s why he was killed.”
    “I think it’s possible.”
    She sipped her hot chocolate, her expression hard to read.
    “Were you and Johnny happy?” he asked, regretting the words the second they spilled from his lips.
    She looked up sharply. “Does it matter?”
    He shook his head.
    She set the cup of hot chocolate on the breakfast bar counter. “I told you, the same day he died, I started divorce proceedings.”
    “I know.”
    She cupped her hands around the mug. “I did love him. He was my first everything. You know? But he never grew up. The woman in Virginia—I know she wasn’t the first one. And I couldn’t keep myself and Logan in that kind of situation. So I started looking into my options.”
    “And then he was murdered.”
    She looked up at him. “I was lucky I had an alibi, huh?”
    The urge to reach out and smooth those little frown lines from her face was so overwhelming he had to curl his hands around his hot-chocolate mug to control it. “Why don’t you try to catch up on a little sleep, since you have the night off?”
    She shook her head, turning to pour out the remains of her hot chocolate into the sink. “I’m okay now. There’s no reason why I can’t go back to the station and put in some hours.”
    “I thought they ordered you home.”
    She shrugged. “I’m ordering myself back.” She started toward the stairs, then suddenly stopped, turning to look at him. “If Logan wakes up, he may want you to read him a story. Is that okay? His books are in a bag in the guest room closet.”
    Dalton smiled. “I can do that.”
    The faint smile she offered in return made his chest ache a little. She turned and continued upstairs.
    As he was pouring the rest of his own hot chocolate down the drain, his cell phone rang. He dug it from his pocket and checked the display. With a sigh, he answered. “Hi, Mom.”
    “You didn’t call me about lunch today.”
    He closed his eyes, grimacing. “I’m sorry. Things have gotten real