"What about Nancy Grant?"
"Ah, now there's a totally different proposition."
Duncan raised an eyebrow. Holier-than-thou Nancy had a past? "Why?"
"Nancy was born and raised on the Bitterroot Reservation over in Idaho. She was an A-grade student until she got in with the wrong crowd, and as a sixteen-year-old was part of a pack that raided the Sinclair stronghold over there and burned it to the ground."
Though he'd been too young to remember it happening, he could recall reading about it in later years. Thirteen people had died that night, and many more were injured. "Was she charged?"
"No. Word is her father slipped a lot of cash to the right people, and a blind eye was turned. She was sent to relatives in Ripple Creek, and that's how she met Levon."
"Anything since then?"
"Quiet as a mouse."
Did that mean her involvement with the raid had merely been a one-time prank that had gone horribly wrong? Or did the anger that had led to the raid still simmer deep inside? "Did you find any connection between Nancy and the four murdered women?"
"None. But you'd probably uncover more by talking to her relatives in that respect."
Probably. Only he very much doubted whether her relatives would tell him the time of day right now. Which left him with Neva — and she certainly wasn't going to tell him anything willingly. "Nothing else on either of them?"
"Nothing you wouldn't already know."
He hesitated. "You want to check into the Bitterroot raid a bit more? See if you can get names and perhaps trace what has happened to those who were charged?" It was always possible one or two of the others had recently gathered in Ripple Creek and old prejudices had flared. It was certainly a link worth exploring.
"Sure. I'll get back to you."
"Thanks for your help, Lance."
"No prob."
Duncan hung up, then glanced across at the window as the glass rattled. The Ripple Creek Special had well and truly hit. They'd only get the diehards at the dance tonight, that was for sure.
He looked at the computer screen again, then grimaced and reluctantly continued his search. He'd spent most of his time this morning going though the on-line news. Something must have triggered the start of these murders three weeks ago, and if it was at all newsworthy, it would be mentioned in one of the papers somewhere. A long shot, but one worth trying. He had very little else to try right now — at least until his father got those test results back from the samples Martin had taken from Betise. Talking to his brothers again had provided nothing new in the way of clues.
He worked his way through the remainder of last week's news reports for last week and was just about to give up when he caught sight of a small photo that looked horribly familiar. Something clenched in his gut as he enlarged the image.
Neva. In a ranger's uniform.
Impossible. There was no way on this Earth she was a ranger.
He glanced down at the name under the caption. Savannah Grant. Neva's sister — twin sister, if this photo was anything to go by. And now that he knew, he could see the slight differences. Neva's mouth was slightly lusher, the look in her eyes less analytical, and her hair longer.
He quickly read the accompanying article. Savannah had been attacked and left in critical condition while continuing investigations at the scene of the last murder. Her attacker and the murderer were believed to be one and the same.
Which meant it was more than possible Neva was here to find her sister's attacker, not spy on what he was doing. And if that were the case, they'd been working on the same side all along, despite his conclusions to the contrary.
He swore softly and rubbed a hand across his eyes. What a goddamn mess. He stared at the photo a few seconds longer, then thrust up from the chair. It was time he got some answers, and if she wasn't forthcoming, he'd force them out her. She already loathed him, so it didn't really matter anymore.
He strode down the silent corridors, unable to believe no one had bothered mentioning the fact that Neva had a sister who was a ranger. A sister who was lying critically ill in the hospital. But then, maybe his father and brothers had presumed he knew.
Nor could he believe she'd go to such lengths to track down her sister's attacker. To come to the dance and give herself willingly to pleasure when it went against everything she'd ever believed in was an incredible act of selflessness. And, in many ways, also incredibly stupid. The killer had almost overwhelmed her sister — a trained ranger. What made Neva think she'd fare any better?
But if it was the killer who'd attacked Savannah, then that surely crossed Nancy Grant's name off the suspect list — or would, if they'd actually had a list of suspects. She might be against the dance, but there was no way she'd attack her own daughter. Not from what he'd seen of her, anyway.
Which led him to another question — why did Neva believe the killer was here at the mansion? What information had her sister given her?
The wind whistled icily around his ankles as he entered the old section, and he frowned. It felt like there was a door open somewhere. These halls were normally cold, but not this cold. Or windy.