Chapter 2

9:45 am, September 22, 2022

Ryan had just finished reviewing the previous night’s reports when his phone rang. Thankful for the break, he picked up the handset, wondering who was calling.

“Caldwell,” he answered.

“Morning, Sheriff. Darnell Hanes here.”

“Good morning, Sheriff. What can I do for you today?” Ryan asked.

“It’s about that BOLO you put out yesterday,” Darnell said. “We found your guy.” Ryan sat up, hoping Darnell would tell him they had taken Dan Holder into custody.

“You have him in custody?” Ryan asked.

“In a manner of speaking ... He was found in his truck this morning ... Dead. Looks like he did himself in. We impounded his truck and have his body here in the morgue.”

“Damn,” Ryan hissed. “Okay, I’ll have someone come get him. And his truck. Where was he found?”

“Rest stop out on Hwy 19,” Darnell said. Ryan was familiar with that stretch of road. It was desolate even during the busiest time of the day, with hardly any traffic. “It was pretty messy. Looks like he cut his own throat. Knife was still in his hand.”

“You sure it was suicide?”

“Yeah, pretty sure. We found a typed suicide note. Said something about letting them out of the freezer. No idea what that’s about. You ask me, his bread wasn’t quite done. No evidence of robbery or anything like that.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Ryan thought. He kept those thoughts to himself, however. “All right, Darnell. Thanks for the call. Send the impound bill to the Hard Rock Sheriff’s Department. You got photos of the crime scene for my detective?”

“Yeah, we got photos, prints, everything. I’ll hand everything over to your detective when he gets here. He was your prime suspect, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah, he was,” Ryan sighed.

“Looks like you might be able to wrap this up then. Good luck, Sheriff,” Darnell said.

“Thanks,” Ryan said before ending the call. Shit, he thought. Ryan didn’t believe for a minute that Dan had killed himself. How much higher is the body count going to get? His next call went to Ray.

“I’ll call Ron and take care of the details,” Ray said when Ryan passed on what Darnell told him.

“Thanks, Ray,” Ryan said. Frustrated and angry, Ryan grabbed his hat and left the office. He desperately needed a cup of Sally’s coffee.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Sally beamed when he entered the coffee shop.

“I desperately need a cup of your finest, Sally,” Ryan declared.

“One cup of Sally’s finest, coming right up, Sheriff,” she said with her million-watt smile. She placed the cup on the counter, then took Ryan’s money.

“Thanks, Sally,” Ryan said.

“My pleasure, Sheriff. Y’all come back now, y’hear?”

“Count on it,” Ryan said with a smile and a wink. Turning to leave the shop, Ryan stopped short when he saw someone he hadn’t seen in over ten years, sitting in a booth eating a chicken-fried steak. What is he doing here? Ryan ambled cautiously to the seated stranger, hands away from his sidearm and concentrating on not looking threatening.

“Roland Waters?” Ryan asked. Surprised, the man looked at Ryan. He studied the Sheriff’s face for a few moments before he finally recognized Ryan.

“Ryan Caldwell? Is that really you?”

“In the flesh,” Ryan said.

“Damn. And you’re a lawman now?”

“Actually, I’m the sheriff in these parts.”

“Sheriff? They made YOU a sheriff? Even with that eye patch?”

“Sure did,” Ryan replied. “Mind if I join you?”

“It’s a free country,” Roland remarked. “Have a seat. Been a long time. What? Ten years?”

“At least,” Ryan said.

“What happened to you?” Roland asked, pointing at Ryan’s eye patch.

“Workplace incident,” Ryan said. Roland nodded his head in understanding. He didn’t need to know any more than that. “You know how that shit happens.”

“Tell me about it,” Roland said with just a trace of sarcasm.

“So, what are you doing here?” Ryan asked with pointed curiosity.

“Passing through. I thought I’d stop and get a bite to eat. No law against that, is there?” Roland asked blandly.

“Reckon not. But Hard Rock isn’t exactly someplace people just pass through.”

“And you’d be right,” Roland quipped.

“Still in the business?” Ryan asked.

“Not exactly,” Roland said. “I do freelance consulting these days. Industrial espionage, blue-collar crime. That sort of thing. You’d be amazed at how much companies will pay to keep their shit secret. Hung up my trench broom about three years ago or so,” he added. Ryan knew Roland was referring to the Thompson submachine gun he was well-known for.

“Heard you were married,” Ryan said.

“Yeah, well, that didn’t work out too well. She ... died ... in an accident.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Ryan told him. Roland shrugged his shoulders.

“That’s the way it goes, I guess. Things weren’t too good toward the end. We were on the way to a divorce anyway. What about you? Ever find a second Mrs. Ryan Caldwell?”

“Actually, yes,” Ryan said.

Roland raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised. “Here’s to a happy marriage,” he said, holding up his glass of coke, and Ryan touched it with his coffee cup. “Heard from the old gang recently?”

“Off and on,” Ryan said.

“Heard about that little incident up in New Mexico a while back,” Roland said, eyeing Ryan warily. Ryan knew he was referring to the assault on the Knight Petroleum compound, which Ryan led to rescue his daughter and grandson.

“Not surprised. It was all over the news,” Ryan replied.

“FBI claimed it was a drug cartel.”

“What, you don’t believe the FBI?” Ryan asked. Roland snickered before answering.

Roland’s eyes glanced around quickly and then settled on his. He lowered his voice. “Give me a break, Ryan. I saw the news reports – saw the damage. That was no cartel. That had your fingerprints all over it. And that jet? Looks to me like the kind of damage caused by a mini-gun.” He eased a trifle. “Not many of us could pull something like that off.”

“Official reports said it was a drug cartel. And I’m not going to question the FBI,” Ryan said dismissively. “So tell me, how long are you planning to be in town?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Maybe a couple of days, tops. I have a couple of meetings.”

“So much for just passing through,” Ryan remarked with a sly smile. “There’s not going to be any trouble, I hope?” Ryan asked. Roland snickered at that.

“What? Me? Trouble?”

“Yeah. You ... Trouble,” Ryan quipped with a smile, but the smile didn’t touch his eyes. Roland shook his head.

“No. No trouble. Promise,” Roland said.

“I hope not,” Ryan said, standing up. “You get a chance, come visit me at the Sheriff’s Department. We can get caught up.”

“Sure, Ryan. Been good seeing you again,” Roland said with a smile. The two men shook hands, and Ryan left the shop, wondering what the old mercenary was doing in town. He spotted a rental Toyota Corolla and committed the license plate to memory.

He sipped his coffee as he returned to the office, greeting others on the boardwalk. When he reached the office, he gave the plate number to Elaine.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Put that plate out. It’s for a rental car, a dark blue 2022 Toyota Corolla. I’d like to keep a loose tab on that car.”

“Will do, Sheriff, I’ll put the word out.”

“Thanks, Elaine,” Ryan said before stepping out to the smoking area, where he lit a cigarette and contemplated the last few days’ events. And again, he wondered: What the hell was Roland Waters doing here? Is he part of the mystery or a completely separate mystery?

Ray checked in with Ryan when he returned from Sheriff Hanes’ office that afternoon. Ryan didn’t have to ask – he could see the frustration on Ray’s face.

“Ron’s going over Holder’s truck. A God-awful mess. Looks like we’re back to square one,” Ray sighed. “By the way, I asked Sanders to have Don come in to identify his brother’s body.”

“Thanks,” Ryan said. That was one job he didn’t envy the deputy. “Hanes said they found a suicide note in Holder’s truck.”

“Yeah, I saw that. Looks like it was printed out. No signature. Pretty strange. I took a picture of it,” Ray said, handing Ryan his phone.

“They wanted out of the freezer. I couldn’t take it anymore! I had to let them out,” the blood-soaked letter read. Ryan handed the phone back to Ray.

“Strange. No pleas for forgiveness, no apologies. How do you see this?”

“On the face of it, I’d say it looks like Holder walked into his house, found his wife doing the nasty with Dupont, then went nuts. He killed them, mutilated them, and hid the bodies in his freezer for months, until the guilt got the better of him. Then he positioned the two body halves on the bridge, hid out and finally killed himself,” Ray said.

“You don’t believe that, though, do you?” Ryan asked.

“Not sure what to believe, Sheriff. I’m trained to follow the evidence. We found the taser in Holder’s house, and his fingerprints were all over it.”

“True. But that doesn’t fully explain the stuff we found in his shed. And I don’t see how Holder could’ve moved two unconscious bodies by himself from his bedroom to his shed. And I doubt he lifted those bodies onto that band-saw by himself. I’ve been doing some thinking on this. What do we know about Holder’s wife?” Ray thought for a few moments, then shook his head.

“Not much,” Ray admitted.

“Anything in all the paperwork we picked up from Holder’s house?”

“Nothing incriminating. Bank statements, bills, that sort of thing. Nothing out of the ordinary on his computer. He spent a lot of time shopping for hunting supplies. And porn, of course. But nothing incriminating there. I did spot regular deposits into their bank account from a company called ‘Worldwide Imports and Exports,’ though,” Ray said, referring to his ever-present notebook.

“Paychecks, perhaps?” Ryan asked.

“Looks like it. According to the latest bank statement, there was a deposit on August 30.”

“It looks like this company has an office right here in Hard Rock. Over in the old Harding Office Building, just down the street,” Ryan said while looking at his computer. “Wanna take a little walk?”

“Sure,” Ray said. “I could use a break.”

They left the office and walked the three blocks to the old brick building erected in the late 1880s. Once inside, they consulted the directory and found “Worldwide Imports and Exports” on the fourth floor, in suite 410. They took the elevator to the floor and found the suite, but the door was locked.

“Kinda hard to do business if they’re not here,” Ray observed.

“Reckon so,” Ryan answered. “Let’s go see the building management.” They returned to the first floor and found the building management office.

“Good afternoon, Sheriff,” an attractive brunette said with a wide smile. The nameplate on her desk read Brenda Morris. “What can I do for you today?” she asked, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“What can you tell us about the occupants of Suite 410?” Ryan asked.

“Suite 410. That would be Worldwide Imports and Exports,” the brunette said, consulting her computer. “Their rent is current. We get a payment every month from their North American headquarters in Montreal. Is there anything else you’d like to know?” Ray pulled a picture of Carmelita and the man with her at Leah’s tattoo shop.

“You ever see these two individuals?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s the man who runs the office, and his assistant. But we haven’t seen them lately,” the brunette said.

“What can you tell us about him?” Ryan asked.

“He seems very nice. Smooth-talker. Sophisticated. French, I think. Let me look ... Here it is. His name is Phillipe Dupont. I’m not sure who the woman is, but I heard him call her Carmelita,” Brenda replied. At least Ryan now had confirmation of a name.

“Their office is locked. Do you think you could let us inside?” Ryan asked. Cooperation was faster than a warrant, and speed might be of the essence.

“Are they in some kind of trouble?” Brenda asked, concerned.

“They’re dead,” Ray said. “We’re trying to find out what happened to them. It’s imperative that we get inside that office.”

“Oh my God,” she gasped. The news shook her. “We normally don’t do this, but I guess we can make an exception in this case. Let me get a key, and I’ll let you in.”

“Thank you, miss,” Ryan said. As they waited for the brunette to return with the key, Ryan called Deputy Sanders.

“Sanders,” the deputy replied when he answered.

“Deputy, I need you to do a full background check on a Phillipe Dupont who works for a company called Worldwide Import and Exports. I need to know everything about this man. Think you can do that?”

“Sure, Sheriff, I can do that. By the way, I brought Don Holder in to ID his brother. He’s pretty broke up right now.”

“I figured he would be,” Ryan said dryly. “Where is he now?”

“He just left. I reckon he’s going back to work. I recommended he see a counselor.”

“Good. Thanks, Deputy. I know that wasn’t easy.”

“Not my favorite job,” Sanders said. “I’d better get on this background check.” They ended the call, and Ryan, Ray, and Brenda returned to the fourth floor, where she opened the door to suite 410.

“Thank you,” Ryan told Brenda. “We may be here awhile, so we’ll leave this door unlocked.”

“No problem, Sheriff. If there’s anything I can do, please feel free to call. Here’s my card. My cell number is on the back,” she said with a slight smile. “Call any time,” she added as she eyed Ryan.

“Uh, thank you, Brenda,” Ryan nervously said as he accepted the card. For a moment, he felt like a side of beef under inspection.

“That was awkward,” Ray said after Brenda left.

“Just a little,” Ryan chuckled as he put the card in his pocket.

The office space looked spartan, almost as if it was rarely used. The desk in the main office had a nameplate that read “Carmelita Holder.” Except for a desktop computer and a phone, the top of the desk was barren. Using a handkerchief, Ryan opened the desk drawers. He spotted a few pens, some paper clips, and other office items but nothing else.

Walking into a larger office, they saw a desk with a nameplate reading, “Phillipe Dupont.” That desk also held a computer and a phone. It also sported a framed photo of a smiling Phillipe beside a blonde woman. Ryan wondered if this was his wife. She was considerably shorter than Phillipe and sported an unsmiling pixie-like face, pouty full lips, and a prominent cupid’s bow.

“Wife or sister?” Ryan asked.

“Hard to say,” Ray replied. “They’re not touching or holding hands. And she doesn’t look very happy.”

“No, she doesn’t.” Ryan replaced the photo, and they continued looking around.

Like Carmelita’s desk, the drawers in this desk were also barren – no files, papers, or anything else to suggest this was a legitimate business. A file cabinet contained a few folders containing bills and manifests for items coming into the States from various countries south of the border.

“Did they even do any work here?” Ray asked, puzzled and irritated.

“Good question,” Ryan replied, also somewhat confused. Indeed, an import-export business would have generated more paperwork than they saw. Unless it was all on the computer. Damn the 21st century.

“What do you think?” Ray asked.

“I think we need to get Ron’s special expertise on this,” Ryan sighed as he grabbed his phone.

“It’s not like he has anything else to do, right?” Ray asked sarcastically. Ryan chuckled at that. Ron answered on the first ring.

“What’s up, boss?” Ron asked.

“Ron, I need you to come down to the Harding Office Building, Suite 410. There’s a couple of computers here I need you to check out,” Ryan said.

“You mean, hack into, right?” Ron asked sarcastically.

“Whatever it takes,” Ryan said. “I need you here ASAP.”

“On my way,” Ron sighed. “Let me just get my toolbag.”

“We’ll be here,” Ryan said. They continued looking through the office but found nothing to provide any answers. Ron showed up a half hour after Ryan called, a laptop bag slung over his shoulder. “About time you got here,” Ryan shot.

“Hey, I’ve been a little busy, you know,” Ron said.

“Find anything on Holder’s vehicle?” Ray asked.

“A lot of blood, a pile of cash. Two cell phones and a severed forefinger in a plastic bag. Looks like it had been kept on ice for a while. We also found ... DNA ... in the bed. If I were a betting man, I’d say the remains left on Eastland Bridge were in the back of that truck,” Ron said.

“What about Holder? What did you find?” Ryan asked.

“Looks like his throat was slit,” Ron said. “A bloody knife was found in his hand.”

“Suicide?” Ray asked.

“Possibly,” Ron said quietly. “So, is this the computer?” he asked, pointing at the computer on Carmelita’s desk.

“That’s one of them,” Ryan said. “There’s another in that office,” he added, pointing to the second office.

“All right. Give me a few minutes,” Ron said, opening his bag. He pulled out a laptop and a cable. After connecting the cable to the laptop and the desktop, he turned them on. Ray and Ryan watched Ron as he worked on his laptop. After a few minutes, he frowned and shook his head.

“What’s wrong?” Ryan asked.

“There’s nothing on this computer,” Ron said.

“What do you mean, nothing?” Ryan asked, exasperated.

“Just that. There’s nothing on this machine. Operating system and some standard, basic applications. Otherwise, nothing; no files, documents, images, or even standard hidden files; nada. It’s basically a terminal. Nothing is stored on it. Not even an email. Let me check the other machine,” Ron said. He sat at the other desk and looked at the photo. “Is this our guy?”

“Yeah,” Ryan said.

“That woman ... I’ve seen her around town several times, over at the Piggly Wiggly. Is she his wife?” Ron asked.

“We don’t know,” Ray said. “You’ve seen that woman around?”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “Always looks like she’s got a corn cob shoved up her ass, know what I mean? She might be attractive if she smiled, but then her face would probably crack from the strain.” Ray and Ryan glanced at each other. “Let me see what we have here,” Ron said as he set up. A few minutes later, he sat back, shaking his head.

“What?” Ryan asked.

“Same thing,” Ron said. “There’s nothing on this computer. I’ll bet they use some form of cloud computing. Something like Azure.”

“English, please, Ron,” Ryan said testily. “What are you talking about?”

“Many companies are transitioning to cloud computing, especially large companies with regional offices. Everything is done over the Internet. All the computers, and all the storage, are remote. Sometimes really remote, like on another continent. There’s a lot more involved, but that’s it in a nutshell.”

“So, how do we get access to that stuff?” Ryan asked, mildly annoyed.

“For starters, you’re probably going to need a warrant. And then you have to find someone to serve it to. And even then, there’s no guarantee you’ll get access to everything,” Ron replied.

“Maybe if we contact the company, tell them what’s happening. Surely they’d want to find out what happened to their employee,” Ryan said. He thought suspiciously about a company that had employees disappear for six months without, apparently, checking on them but automatically paying the rent.

Then he thought about the Holders, an extensive family who hadn’t seen Dan’s wife for months and didn’t seem all that concerned. He couldn’t shake the alarm bells going off in his head. Something was up, and he had a bad feeling that the body count would go up if he couldn’t get a handle on it soon.

“Good luck with that, Sheriff. I can see what I can do, though,” he sighed, jotting down some notes on his phone. “I’ll talk to the judge if you want.”

“I’d appreciate that, Ron,” Ryan said. “Listen, why don’t you get some people over here and gather what paperwork we have? Maybe we can get some answers from that.”

“Will do,” Ron said.

“Let’s get on back to the office, maybe Sanders has some information for us,” Ryan said. “You got this under control, Ron?”

“I got it, Sheriff.” Ray and Ryan left and went to see Brenda. Her face lit up when they walked in.

“We’re going to have some people taking things out of Suite 410. Thank you for your cooperation,” Ryan said.

“My pleasure, Sheriff. If there’s anything else I can do for you ... anything at all ... please let me know,” Brenda gushed as she positioned her legs to give Ryan a glimpse of what lay underneath her clothing.

“Uh, thank you, miss,” Ryan replied nervously, tipping his hat. They left the building and walked back to the Sheriff’s Department. He had a brief mental image of walking down the sidewalk, waving his ring finger in front of him, flashing his wedding ring like a talisman to keep a passel of predatory women at bay. He shuddered at the image, and Ray shot him a look.

“I think she was coming on to you, Sheriff,” Ray said with a knowing smile.

“You think?” Ryan asked sarcastically. “Good thing Bev wasn’t around. She’d probably scratch her eyes out.” They both laughed at that. Deputy Sanders met them when they walked into the office.

“Got something for us?” Ray asked.

“Yeah,” Sanders said.

“My office. Now,” Ryan said. He closed the door when all three were inside, then sat down. “All right. What do you have for us?”

“First off ... Phillipe Dupont, 42 years of age, originally from Calais – that’s in France, by the way...”

“Yes, I know,” Ryan said in an irritated tone, then sighed. “Sorry, go on,” he added, seeing Sanders’ stricken look.

“He’s worked for the Worldwide Import and Export Company, based out of Marseilles, for 15 years. Transferred to Montreal, Canada, eight years ago to work in the company’s North American headquarters. That’s where he met and married his wife, Azalea.

“The two of them moved here to Hard Rock about a year and a half ago so he could open the company’s southwest regional office,” Sanders said. “I also have some information about his wife.”

“Azalea,” Ray interjected.

“Yes. Thirty-five years of age. Until about four and a half years ago, she was a sergeant in the Sûreté du Québec.”

“The what?” Ryan asked, interrupting Sanders.

“The Sûreté du Québec – the Quebec Provincial Police,” Ray explained.

“Okay. Go on.”

“She lost her left foot when an IED exploded,” Sanders added. Ray and Ryan looked at each other, shocked.

“Did you say, her LEFT foot?” Ray asked.

“Yes, Detective. Her left foot. I took the liberty of contacting the Sûreté, and managed to speak with her former commander. He had high praise for her. Said she had applied for the GTI.” Again, Ryan looked at Ray for clarification.

“That’s the Groupe tactique d’intervention – their version of SWAT,” Ray explained. “To my knowledge, no woman has ever been accepted, but women are allowed to apply.”

“Her former commander told me that she applied, but the incident with the IED put a stop to her application. Anyway, he also informed me that she was well-thought of, was highly proficient with small arms, hand-to-hand combat. And knives,” Sanders said.

“Holy shit,” Ryan breathed. “Anything else?”

“Yes. He said she tends to be somewhat awkward ... socially, that is. Comes off a bit ... eccentric,” Sanders said.

“Any idea what she’s doing now?” Ray asked.

“She works for some kind of global security outfit as a consultant. Her commander said he would email me everything he could release on her, after he cleared it with his superiors,” Sanders said.

“I assume you have her address?” Ryan asked.

“Sure do, Sheriff,” Sanders said, handing Ryan a slip of paper.

“Good work, Sanders,” Ryan said. “That’s a lot of information to gather in a short period of time.”

“There’s more coming, but that’s what I was able to get so far,” Sanders said.

“That’s a lot more than we had a couple of hours ago,” Ray said. “Nice work, Sanders.”

“Thank you, Detective,” Sanders replied.

“It’s not too late in the afternoon,” Ryan said, looking at his watch. “What do you say we go pay Mrs. Dupont a visit?”

“Let’s go,” Ray said.

“You coming, Sanders?” Ryan asked.

“I’m with ya, Sheriff,” Sanders said, beaming. “Let me grab my cruiser.”

“Good idea,” Ryan said. Something told him the extra vehicle would come in handy. They headed for the Dupont home, located in a relatively new development on the north side of town. When they got to the address Sanders gave them, Ryan saw a familiar blue Toyota in front of the house and braced himself.

“Isn’t that the Toyota you saw earlier today?” Ray asked.

“Yup,” Ryan hissed. He didn’t believe in coincidences, which certainly didn’t look like separate mysteries anymore. They parked, exited their vehicles, and approached the front door, which opened before Ryan could knock. Before them stood the widow Dupont, looking much like she did in the photo on Phillipe’s desk.

“Mrs. Phillipe Dupont?” Ryan asked.

“Yes, that’s me,” the woman answered.

“I’m Sheriff Ryan Caldwell, Hard Rock Sheriff’s Department. This is Detective Ray Hale, and Deputy Sanders. May we come in, please? It regards your husband.”

“Of course,” the woman said quietly but authoritatively. She backed away, letting the three men inside. A man entered the front room, tucking his shirt into his jeans, and it was obvious what the two of them had been doing.

“I’ll be going, Azalea,” the man said.

“No,” Ryan said. “I believe Mr. Waters should stay.” Azalea looked at Roland, then at Ryan, her brows furrowed. Ray and Sanders did the same.

“Do you two know each other?” she asked.

“We’ve met,” Ryan said.

“Very well,” Azalea said. “Have a seat.”

Azalea and Roland sat on the couch as Ray and Ryan sat in separate chairs facing the sofa. Sanders remained standing by the door.

“You said this is about my husband,” Azalea prompted.

“Yes, ma’am,” Ryan said. “I’m sorry to inform you that your husband’s body was found on Eastland Bridge.” Azalea said nothing for a few moments. Ray, Ryan, and Sanders waited for the inevitable outburst, but none came. It was as if she expected this to happen. She nodded her head, sighed, and looked at Ryan. He noticed there wasn’t even a tear in her eyes.

“I suppose you want me to identify the remains,” she said in an even tone without a hint of emotion. Ryan began to wonder what kind of a person this woman was.

“If you wish, but I should warn you, it’s quite grisly,” Ryan suggested.

“No, I need to see it with my own eyes. Do not concern yourself with me, Sheriff. I have seen grisly murders before,” she said. The emotionless tone in her voice gave him a bit of a chill. He wondered if someone like that could cut a human being up into spare parts. Or not report a missing husband who had not been seen in months.

“Yes, ma’am,” Ryan said in a tone he hoped would put her at ease or evoke some emotional response.

“And I suppose you need to interrogate me,” she added. “After all, isn’t the spouse generally considered the prime suspect?”

“In many cases, that’s true, however,” Ryan began before she cut him off.

“Please do not patronize me, Sheriff,” she said stiffly. “It is only appropriate that you take me to your station to be interrogated.” She held her hands and wrists close together, expecting to be handcuffed.

“That won’t be necessary, ma’am,” Ryan said. “Not unless you give us reason...”

“I am a grieving widow, Sheriff. I might lash out in my grief and anger. Please. Cuff me. It is all right. I understand completely. I would do the same if I were in your shoes,” she said suddenly, in harsh, clipped tones, her piercing blue eyes flashing.

“Very well, Mrs. Dupont. Deputy Sanders will read you your rights first,” Ryan said. He nodded at a confused Deputy Sanders, who approached Azalea.

“Do you understand your rights as I have presented them, ma’am?” Sanders asked after reading her Miranda rights.

“Yes, completely,” she replied.

“Would you like to contact an attorney?” Sanders asked.

“No. Only the guilty need attorneys,” she said stiffly.

“Very well. Please stand and place your hands behind your back, ma’am,” He placed the cuffs on her wrists and secured them, but not too tight.

“Make them secure. Please,” she commanded.

“As you wish, ma’am,” Sanders said, wondering what kind of a person she was. He cinched the cuffs as tight as possible and thought he caught a whiff of arousal as a slight moan escaped her lips.

“Much better,” she moaned. “Thank you.”

“Take her in, Deputy. Have her identify the body, then put her in an interview room and keep an eye on her. We’ll be along shortly,” Ryan said. “Don’t forget her purse,” he added, seeing a large purse on the kitchen counter. “She’ll need her identification.” Sanders grabbed it and looked inside to ensure she hadn’t stashed a weapon.