A Broken Bone (Widow's Island #6) - Melinda Leigh

1

Deputy Tessa Black roared down the narrow dead-end street in her county-issued SUV, lights flashing and sirens blaring. A report of a possible explosion in the small town of North Sound was a true emergency. The volunteer fire company was also on the way, but in rural areas, deputies were usually the first responders to almost every call.

What could have exploded in a residential neighborhood? Was someone cooking meth?

The weather in May was gorgeous in the Pacific Northwest. Barely five thousand residents lived on Widow’s Island year round, but the busy season had begun. Tourists already crowded the island. With the influx came a corresponding increase in accidents and 911 calls. Maybe a propane tank from a barbecue grill had exploded.

In the passenger seat, Logan Wilde, the local park ranger, scanned mailboxes as they passed. He wore boots, tan cargos, and a Washington State Forest Ranger T-shirt. He was tall and fit, his rigid posture and closely shorn black hair testifying to his military background. Tessa had known Logan her whole life. He was her best friend’s brother. Now, their relationship had grown into a romantic one. He’d been with her when the call had come in. There were only three deputies on Widow’s Island. With one on vacation and another off duty, Logan had volunteered to be her backup.

He pointed to a dilapidated bungalow with a FOR SALE sign staked in the middle of an overgrown front yard. “There it is. The last house on this side. It’s not on fire, and it still looks intact.”

“Let’s see what’s up,” Tessa said.

Across the street from the bungalow, a woman of about fifty watched from behind the screen door of a ranch-style house. A little boy of about three stood at her side, holding her hand. Tessa parked her SUV at the curb. When she and Logan stepped out, the woman lifted the child onto her hip and hurried out to meet them in the street. She wore boots, jeans, and a sweatshirt with the Rolling Stones tongue logo on the chest.

“Are you Gladys White?” Tessa asked.

“I am. I called you.” Gladys gestured to the bungalow. “Johnnie and I were having our lunch when we heard a loud sound, like an explosion, and then someone screamed.”

“I was scared.” Johnnie blinked innocent blue eyes at Tessa.

Gladys shuddered and hugged him closer. “That place has been empty for years. Someone bought it a couple years ago. He was fixing it up to sell but ran out of money. We had a drug addict camping there last summer. Who knows what could be going on with all the tourists running around the island? Whoever’s there is up to no good.” She shoved a few strands of short gray hair behind one ear. “Things go on in that house all the time.”

Though an hour’s ride by ferry from the mainland of Washington State, Widow’s Island had its share of homelessness, and there seemed to be no place on earth remote enough to escape drug addiction and the crime that went along with it. Last year, the sheriff’s department had busted two meth labs.

“Yes, ma’am,” agreed Tessa. “Please take Johnnie inside, and lock your doors. I’ll let you know what we find.”

Gladys turned and rushed back into her house.

Tessa drew her service weapon. Logan did the same. Tessa squinted against the afternoon sun high overhead. The temperature was a comfortable sixty-five degrees, but beads of sweat dripped down her back and pooled under her body armor.

“Hold on.” Tessa opened the cargo hold of her SUV and pulled out a Kevlar vest. “Here.”

Logan put it on. As a deputy, she wore a vest every day as part of her uniform. Logan’s job did not usually necessitate such measures. Since he’d helped Tessa with several cases lately, she now carried a spare vest in her vehicle.

Logan squatted in the grass. “These footprints look fresh.” Rain the night before had left the soil damp and soggy in low-lying areas. The boot prints led from the sidewalk toward the front porch.

They approached the house. The flaky bricks in the walkway crumbled under their feet. They stopped short of the porch. The front door stood open. About ten feet beyond the entrance, a black, moldy spot on the ceiling indicated a water leak. Beneath it, Tessa could see a hole where the floor had collapsed into the basement.

Logan pointed. “That looks recent. Very recent.”

The frayed edges of the broken subfloor were fresh rather than weathered.

“Gladys probably heard someone go through the floor,”