Page 63 of Maverick Detective Dad
Willy’s vintage Land Rover Defender was parked next to the house beneath the shade of a massive white oak. A trembling smile tugged at her lips. God, how he’d loved that old thing. He said it made him feel as if he were on safari. Truth was, he carried parts of the world they had visited in his heart too. There were times and places that stayed with you, he would say.
“I should have come back sooner.” The words tasted bitter on Olivia’s tongue and sank deep into her gut, where they sat like blocks of concrete.
She reached back into the SUV for her bag, then slammed the car door shut, frustration and anger—at herself—burning away the softer emotions. Olivia hadn’t been home since Christmas. Christmas! How could she have waited over five months? She and Willy had talked two or three times each week, but that wasn’t the same, no matter that they used video chatting most of the time. She should have beenhere.
Now her dear grandfather was dead.
Olivia swiped at the tears that would no longer be held back. Her first stop when she had arrived in Chattanooga had been the Hamilton County Medical Examiner’s Office, where she’d insisted on seeing her grandfather’s body. Sheriff Arnold Decker, Willy’s close friend, had already identified his remains, but Olivia had needed to see for herself that he was really gone. He’d always been so strong and confident. How had this happened?
Her chest tightened with the image that played over and over in her mind. Multiple broken bones and a devastating head injury, the attendant had explained. Her grandfather had fallen, the report said. From Sunset Rock.
Even now, she could hardly believe it was true.
For the past twenty-four hours, Olivia had been operating on autopilot. Late yesterday, the call had come from Sheriff Decker explaining that Willy’s body had been found by hikers on Bluff Trail. The assumption was that he’d fallen from the overlook, Sunset Rock. Olivia had heard the words, but her brain had stopped working after the worddead.Willy is dead.
On the seemingly endless drive from Bozeman, Montana, she’d repeatedly berated herself for allowing 159 days to pass since she’d hugged him. Since she’d inhaled the familiar woodsy scent of him. She had mentally ticked through each of those days and what she’d done on them, and none of it had been excuse enough not to have visited the only family she had left in this world.
She stared at the house, told herself to move toward it. She was tired. She’d been driving all night—not that sleep would have been possible. Every minute of every hour she’d played Sheriff Decker’s words over and over.I’m so sorry to inform you that your grandfather is dead.When you get here, Liv, you let me know if there is anything I can do to help. I am so, so sorry. He was like a brother to me.
She had thanked him then ended the call. She hadn’t been able to talk...how could Willy be dead?
Even twenty-odd hours later, the little girl in her wanted to crumble to the ground in a sobbing, miserable heap. But she was no little girl anymore. She was thirty years old. A geologist in Bozeman. She owned a townhouse with a mortgage and an SUV. Had work friends.
And no one else. Not a single other person connected to her by blood or anything stronger than the shallowest definition of friendship.
Olivia closed her eyes and forced the horde of debilitating emotions away. She had things to do. When she’d called her boss, she had already been on the road and hadn’t been able to say when she would return to work. She had weeks and weeks of unused leave. Her work was well ahead of the rest of the project. It wasn’t like she couldn’t take a few weeks off. She squared her shoulders. She owed it to Willy to take care of him and his home properly—the way he would want it done.
She dug in her bag for her keys. “No putting this off any longer, Liv.”
Forcing one foot in front of the other, she walked to the porch, climbed the three steps and crossed to the door. She poked the key into the lock, took a deep breath and turned it, then opened the door. The scent of home filled her lungs. Her eyes closed with the weight of sensory overload. Didn’t matter that she hadn’t lived here in a dozen years. Not since college. This would forever be home.
Forcing her eyes open, Olivia stepped inside, closed the door and came to an abrupt halt.
The house was a wreck.
Not merely untidy or cluttered...someone had ransacked the place. Her heart charged into a gallop.
Olivia held her breath. Whoever had done this could still be in the house.
Her icy fingers dove into her bag and closed around the small can of pepper spray Willy had insisted she carry starting the day she left Hamilton County. The spray would be no help against a gun, but it was the only weapon at her disposal just now. She glanced at the shotgun on the rack above the mantel. She listened intently. No sound. Okay, she should make her way to the fireplace and grab that shotgun.
Easing soundlessly in that direction, she kept her gaze roving side to side, checking each door that exited the main room that was living, dining and kitchen all in one. Beyond the first of those doors was a short corridor that led to the bedrooms and bath. The only other door led to a small laundry room and mudroom as well as the back door.
Since the front had been locked, whoever had done this must have entered and, hopefully, departed from the rear of the house.
Olivia made it to the fireplace. Still no sound. No movement. No unexpected odors.
Keeping her attention focused on her surroundings and the spray poised in her right hand, she reached up with her left and clutched the long, cold barrel. She lifted the shotgun from its resting place and drew it down to her side. The pepper spray went back into her bag, which she eased down onto the floor. Then she readied the shotgun with both hands, the business end leading the way as she moved away from the fireplace. She didn’t have to wonder if it was loaded; Willy had kept it loaded at all times.
The cushions had been pulled from the sofa. Chairs overturned. The drawers of her gran’s sideboard stood open haphazardly, the contents spilled onto the wide-plank wood floor. The cupboard doors and drawers were open as well, utensils and spices spewed over the countertop. Photographs and paintings that had once hung proudly on the walls lay on the floor, tossed aside like trash.
Fury whipped through Olivia. Her grandparents’ beloved work. Willy had been the photographer, but it was Gran who had created amazing paintings of his work—paintings that had sold for thousands of dollars. Between their talents, they had amassed a small fortune. Though one would never know it based on his demeanor. Willy was never one to brag or to show off. His only remotely lavish purchase that Olivia was aware of was his Land Rover Defender—the vehicle he’d had since before she was born—and donations to charities focused on saving the planet. His and Gran’s worldwide travels had convinced him the environment was on the verge of extinction.
Olivia paused before continuing into the hall. She tucked the butt of the shotgun firmly into her shoulder, rested her cheek against the stock and snugged her finger around the trigger. If someone was hiding in the house, he had better hope he could escape faster than she could lock in on him.
Unlikely.
With the curtains open on the windows, enough sunlight filtered in to prevent the rooms from being in shadow.
