Page 47 of Apple of My Eye

Gossip Gal

#ForestGrove #CowboyNightsForever #BarnDanceTime #TruckSpotting #HardwareStoreRomance #YouCantStopLove #VotePatrick #SeeYouAtTheODRR

Chapter Fourteen

Daisy

The phone rangwhile I was on my second cup of coffee, standing at the kitchen window, mentally preparing myself for a full day of appointments.

The name Sheriff Patrick flashed onscreen. I set my mug down and clicked into the call.

“Morning, Daisy. Do have a few minutes?”

“Of course.”

I heard squeaky noises, like he’d settled back in his chair, the way a man did when he was choosing his words carefully. Patrick was not a man who spoke carelessly, which meant that when he called you, you listened.

“I want to start by saying I can’t share much. Frankly, some details your father noted go back further than my time in this office.” A pause. “But I thought you deserved to hear this directly from me.”

“Okay.”

“The things you recalled from your father’s notebooks, the specific incidents he noted, the vehicles, the conversations with my dad—some of those line up with things in the coldcase file for his murder. Things that were never made public. Only someone who was there, or directly involved, would have known.”

I knew it. Dad wouldn’t have just made things up.

“Your father was watching something happening in real time, and careful enough to document it, which means what he left behind matters.” He paused. “It’s enough for me to believe something terrible was happening at the time. The cold case on my father’s death may not be so cold anymore.”

“What does that mean?” My knees weakened, and I clutched the counter for support.

“I can’t say more right now.”

“I understand.”

“But if the cold case gets reopened and I investigate deeper into what our fathers were digging into, certain people could get upset. No telling what desperate people would do.”

I blinked. “Are you telling me to watch my back?”

“Be careful.” The chair creaked again as he stood. “I just wanted you informed. You’ve earned that. Oh, and one more thing. We ran the prints we found at your house. Other than your sisters, no other prints were found. I think Knox was right. The perpetrators wore gloves.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” After we hung up, I remained at the kitchen counter for some time.

Dad had been seeing something real, written it down in his careful, cramped handwriting, and kept showing up to document it right until the day he and Mom were taken from us. He had not been paranoid or obsessive. He had been exactly what he always was—methodical, precise, and paying attention when everyone else was looking the other way.

Now someone had possession of his journals. And they probably knew we might have read them, too.

I pressed my hands flat on the cool surface and breathed in deeply. A sick feeling entered my stomach because, without the sheriff naming names, he must have meant the Brewsters.

Be careful, watch my back,because the Brewsters could get upset. Given how my past intersected with Trevor and the congressman, and Dad’s journals supplied a context for reopening the case, could only make things worse for me and my sisters.

I needed to tell Ivy and Sage. I kept things from them before, and they got upset with me. They should know about this call from the sheriff, at least.

My mind was firmly elsewhereon the drive into Forest Grove, running back every word Patrick had said, turning the pieces over.

I was somewhere past the first mile marker when I noticed a truck tailgating me. Sometimes a few lengths back, far enough to be nothing, then whoever it was would speed up and get close enough to keep pace with me.

It was probably nothing. The road led into town, and people drove on it every day. I was rattled by the Sheriff’s call, reading too much into things, that’s all.

I sped up a little more.