Page 97 of Forever Dead

Connor drove on without responding.

*

Ray Cutler lived fifteen minutes outside Elmsview on a wooded rise above an old county road. The property announced money without displaying much taste for it. A black iron gate stood open at the bottom of the drive. Beyond it, the asphalt climbed between trimmed hedges toward a wide brick house with white columns and a three-car garage.

Two pickup trucks sat near the garage, both recent models. A utility trailer occupied a gravel spur beside a large metal outbuilding farther down the property.

Connor parked near the front steps.

Selena reached for the cane.

“Wait,” Connor said.

“I can get out of a car.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t.”

“Your eyes said it for you.”

“I was about to tell you the ground slopes beside your door,” Connor said.

Selena looked down.

It did.

“All right,” she said. “Thanks.”

Connor came around while she eased herself from the seat. He offered an arm without comment. Selena used it until both feet were stable, then took the cane.

The front door opened before they reached the porch.

Ray Cutler stepped outside.

Selena placed him somewhere in his early sixties. Thick through the chest, gray hair cut short, work shirt tucked into dark jeans. He carried himself like a man who did not expect visitors to bring him good news.

His arms crossed before Connor spoke.

“Sheriff,” Ray said.

“Ray.”

Cutler’s attention moved to Selena. “Who’s this?”

“Selena Raven,” Connor said. “She’s assisting me informally with an investigation.”

Ray’s gaze lingered on the cane. “FBI Raven?”

Selena noticed the phrasing.

“You’ve heard of me,” she said.

“People talk around here.”

“I’m sure they do.”

Connor stepped onto the porch. “We need to ask you about two properties.”

Ray did not invite them inside. “Ask.”