“News?” Harper rubbed her hands together, attempting to warm them as Keri glanced behind her toward the back of the small county jail.
Keri bobbed her head. “Hmm-hmm. That murder the town’s been buzzing about? There’s been another one. And”—she lowered her voice—“they have a suspect.”
Harper’s heart constricted. “Another murder?” She frowned, the surprise of the news prickling her skin. Here? In Helena Springs? And a suspect?
“Hmm-hmm. And get this, the suspect is some kind of wild man.”
“Wild man? What do you mean, wild man?” And why in the world had she been summoned to the station?
Keri glanced toward the back again and when she spoke, her voice was rushed. “Like the guy’s never lived in civilization before. Like a . . . like a caveman. Wait until you see—” Keri’s words cut off abruptly as footsteps sounded and a second after that, Dwayne Walbeck, Helena Springs’s sheriff emerged from around the corner, tipping his chin as he spotted Harper.
“Harper. Thanks for coming.”
“No problem, Dwayne.” Harper glanced at Keri quickly but she had already turned away toward her desk. Wild man? Harper turned her attention back to Dwayne. “What’s going on?”
Dwayne looked to where Keri had taken a seat at her reception desk, her head tilted in a way that let Harper know she was hanging on every word. Despite her current confusion—and the trickle of dread moving down her spine knowing that something awful had happened to someone in her small town—a smile teased at Harper’s lips. Keri was as sweet as she was nosy, and everyone in a twenty-mile radius knew exactly where to go if they wanted to find out the latest gossip. It was a wonder Dwayne kept her around. Although normally, her loose lips weren’t too much of an issue—generally, the most newsworthy thing coming out of the station was an occasional drunk and disorderly.
“Keri, hold my calls, will you?” Dwayne shot over his shoulder.
“No problem, Dwayne,” she sang.
Dwayne placed his hand on Harper’s shoulder as he led her to the back of the station where his office was located, along with two holding cells, and a small interview room that mostly served as a break area for Dwayne, Keri, and two deputies, Paul Brighton and Roger Green.
“Dwayne, what in the world is going on?” Harper asked once they’d entered the interview/break room and he’d closed the door.
Dwayne picked up a remote and turned on a monitor hanging on the wall to Harper’s left. She turned toward the screen. It showed one of the two holding cells, and a man was sitting on the bench attached to the wall, staring straight ahead.
Harper tilted her head, moving closer, her gaze zeroing in on the man. He was wearing regular blue jeans, stretched taut over muscular thighs, but his jacket was anything but usual. Was it made of . . . animal fur? Patched together in a way that made it look hand . . . sewn. She couldn’t make out the details of the jacket’s specific construction from the picture on the screen, so she didn’t even know if that was the right word. In any case, his boots—footwear—were made of the same pieced-together animal skins and went halfway up his calves. He suddenly looked up, his eyes moving directly to the screen as though he knew she was there—or at least knew a camera watched him, and Harper took a step back like he really could see her and she should be embarrassed for staring at him the way she was.
“Recognize him?”
She shook her head, taking in his face still aimed directly at her. Straight brown hair framed it, choppy in a way that made her think he’d cut it with some sort of dull cutting tool. His jaw was shadowed by facial hair somewhere between heavy stubble and a short beard, and despite his overall unusual appearance, she could see that he was handsome, albeit in a way that made her wonder if he bathed.
And if so, where? In an icy stream? The picture her mind conjured wasn’t unpleasant, and ashamed of herself, she pushed the image aside.
“You sure you never ran across that guy either on a guided tour or when you were out by yourself?”
No, I’d remember him. Harper shook her head again.
“He might’ve been wearing something less conspicuous. Especially if it was summer.”
Like what? A loincloth? Somehow, she didn’t think that would be any less conspicuous. “I’m sure. Who is he, Dwayne?”