Conceal, Protect - By Carol Ericson Page 0,55
desk. “Bruce Chandler Pierpont the Third was in Buck Ridge to visit you, Noelle?”
“He was here to ski, knew I lived in the area and dropped by. I wouldn’t say his sole purpose for coming to Buck Ridge was to visit me.”
“You ruled him out as your stalker?”
She tucked an errant strand of dark hair beneath her knit cap. “Not necessarily, but I have no proof that he was the one stalking me.”
J.D. trained his gaze on Sheriff Greavy’s grizzled face so that he wouldn’t give away his surprise at Noelle’s answer. Guess she didn’t want to involve the local P.D.
“You didn’t confront him about it?”
“No. We all had a pleasant dinner last night—that’s it. We discussed some plans we’d had previously for turning my guesthouse into an art studio and just sort of left things hanging.”
“Why all the questions, Sheriff? Pierpont’s death was a skiing accident, wasn’t it?”
The sheriff tapped his chin with his pen. “As far as we can tell.”
“Do you have reason to suspect foul play, Sheriff? Was Pierpont alone when he went over? Were there any witnesses?”
Sheriff Greavy’s shaggy gray brows collided over his nose as his gaze sharpened on J.D. Then he slumped back in his chair. “He was alone. No witnesses to the actual accident. There were several people on the run with him, but they were all going too fast to see anything. Folks behind him just saw him take a turn and disappear between the trees.”
“Do the lift operators remember anything? Was there anyone with him on the lift?”
“We questioned them.” Greavy spread his hands. “Nothing unusual. I wanted to find out if Noelle could shed any light on Pierpont’s life, especially considering that camera in your house appeared just about the time Pierpont showed up.”
“Yeah, I had thought about that, too.” Noelle leaned forward and dug her elbows into Greavy’s desk. “But I didn’t ask, and Bruce didn’t tell.”
The sheriff steepled his fingers as if in prayer. “Could he have been suicidal? Going off that cliff is an act of a very bad skier who had no business on that run or someone who was suicidal.”
Or someone who was forced off by a man holding a gun to his back.
Zendaris’s men would’ve wanted Pierpont’s death to look like an accident.
“I can’t imagine Bruce being suicidal.” Noelle turned to J.D. “Did he seem despondent to you over dinner?”
“I didn’t know the guy, but if that’s his despondent I’d be blown away by his happy.”
“We already notified the family, and I have a feeling Bruce Chandler Pierpont the Second is going to send an army of his own private investigators out here to look into things.” Greavy heaved a heavy sigh. “That type is never satisfied with the job we do.”
Noelle convulsively kicked J.D.’s foot under the table. If Bruce’s father started nosing around, he could get into a lot of trouble. “Let me know if you need anything else from me, Sheriff Greavy. I’m not going anywhere.”
Sheriff Greavy stood up and said, “Will do, Noelle. How’s your head?”
She touched the bandage. “It’s fine—just a mild concussion.”
“You should’ve been driving instead of your friend here. You know these roads like the back of your hand.”
“I don’t know if I could’ve avoided that accident either. We hit a patch of ice. You know how that goes.”
“Yep.” He gave Noelle the same stare he’d turned on him a few minutes ago. “With everything that’s gone on since you’ve been back, including your friend’s death, you must be ready to hightail it back to D.C.”
“It’s been an...eventful few days, but I still have some business to attend to in Buck Ridge.”
“Hope that still includes sprucing up your ranch.” Greavy’s eyes flicked to J.D.
Before Noelle could respond, a clamor of voices arose from the room outside the sheriff’s door.
J.D.’s pulse ticked up. Had they discovered something about Pierpont’s accident? Witnesses? Suspects?
He jumped from his seat with Noelle hot on his heels, but neither of them could beat Sheriff Greavy to the door.
He flung it open while muttering, “What the hell is going on out there?”
A hysterical woman held court in the middle of the substation, waving her arms and screeching unintelligible words. She jerked her head up. Black hair whipped across a tear-mottled face.
Noelle stiffened beside him as his own gut rolled.
What was a visibly upset Tara doing at the sheriff’s substation?
“Noelle!” Tara clawed her way through the small clutch of officers and threw herself into Noelle’s arms.
Noelle soothed her friend, smoothing a hand over her tangled