their kids. It's good Nick has a caring uncle like you."
Her innocent words stabbed him like red hot knives. You were too busy for Nick, too, his conscience chided. This all could have been avoided if you'd . . .
Her cell phone rang in the stillness. She put down her glass and reached for her purse on the floor by the chair. "Hello, Father." Her voice sounded tight. Pause. "Yes, I'm planning on coming home tonight." Irritation crept into her tone. "I'm just discussing what happened tonight with the new deputy. Please go to bed. I may be a little longer. Okay. Good night."
She put the phone away and gave Burke a glance. "I guess I better get going. Usually he wouldn't worry like this."
"After what you've been through the past two nights, he wants to make sure you're safe."
She only nodded; then she slipped on her sandals and gathered up her things.
He rose with her. "I'll follow you most of the way home anyway. It's on my way." But the impression that she was holding out on him still nagged him. I asked you my question, but what was it you wanted to ask me, Ms. Turner? And why didn't you ask me? What are you hiding?
Chapter Four
On the sunny morning after the shooting at the school, Burke jogged down the steps of the county courthouse on Main Street in Steadfast. The investigation was moving along. He had the search warrant he needed to get the rest of the evidence from last night's crime. He halted and stared at the outstretched hand in front of him.
"You Sloan?" The man's powerful voice carried through the clear morning air, calling attention to itself. "I'm Turner, Franklin Turner."
Though annoyed at the interruption, Burke nodded, shook the hand, and then studied Keely's father, in daylight this time. Turner was a tall, distinguished-looking man. "Nice to meet—"
"Have you found out—" Turner's brows drew together—"who shot at my daughter last night?"
The question hit Burke wrong. So far everyone else had jumped to the conclusion that some kid had just driven by and shot out the windows as an act of aimless vandalism. And that's what Burke wanted everyone to go on thinking until he'd solved this case. He especially didn't want his suspicion that it was Walachek who had shot out the windows getting spread around. Why worry Keely with this nasty suspicion when it might turn out to be some vandal after all? He decided to use misdirection. "Since your daughter's car was parked behind the school, the assumption is that the shooter didn't realize she was in the building."
"Humph. There's no reason for her to be at that school. There's no need for my daughter to work at all. But Keely's always been independent."
The man's peremptory tone and boasting made Burke bristle. So the Turners did have money—just as he'd suspected. Biting back his heated response to the man, Burke digested this information. It didn't sit well with him. But why? He'd recognized right off that Keely Turner was a step above him. Definitely a cut above.
And evidently Turner didn't require a reply to continue with his speech on the superiority of his family. "But if a Turner was going to waste her life at that blasted school, I told the school board chairman that since she'd do a better job than anyone else she might as well replace the retiring principal." He somehow combined a glare and a half -smile.
Why are you telling me all this? If the man was trying to impress Burke, he'd failed—miserably. Another thought hit Burke. Was this bragger warning him to stay away from his daughter? Save your breath, Turner. I already get the picture. Steaming inside, Burke took a step away.
Then Turner leaned closer. "She knows how to run a taut ship. I taught her that much. Now if I could just whip her brother into shape." A frown drew the man's whole face downward.
Burke nodded noncommittally and distanced himself with another step. He wondered if Keely had any idea her father had pressured the school board into naming her principal and
Her innocent words stabbed him like red hot knives. You were too busy for Nick, too, his conscience chided. This all could have been avoided if you'd . . .
Her cell phone rang in the stillness. She put down her glass and reached for her purse on the floor by the chair. "Hello, Father." Her voice sounded tight. Pause. "Yes, I'm planning on coming home tonight." Irritation crept into her tone. "I'm just discussing what happened tonight with the new deputy. Please go to bed. I may be a little longer. Okay. Good night."
She put the phone away and gave Burke a glance. "I guess I better get going. Usually he wouldn't worry like this."
"After what you've been through the past two nights, he wants to make sure you're safe."
She only nodded; then she slipped on her sandals and gathered up her things.
He rose with her. "I'll follow you most of the way home anyway. It's on my way." But the impression that she was holding out on him still nagged him. I asked you my question, but what was it you wanted to ask me, Ms. Turner? And why didn't you ask me? What are you hiding?
Chapter Four
On the sunny morning after the shooting at the school, Burke jogged down the steps of the county courthouse on Main Street in Steadfast. The investigation was moving along. He had the search warrant he needed to get the rest of the evidence from last night's crime. He halted and stared at the outstretched hand in front of him.
"You Sloan?" The man's powerful voice carried through the clear morning air, calling attention to itself. "I'm Turner, Franklin Turner."
Though annoyed at the interruption, Burke nodded, shook the hand, and then studied Keely's father, in daylight this time. Turner was a tall, distinguished-looking man. "Nice to meet—"
"Have you found out—" Turner's brows drew together—"who shot at my daughter last night?"
The question hit Burke wrong. So far everyone else had jumped to the conclusion that some kid had just driven by and shot out the windows as an act of aimless vandalism. And that's what Burke wanted everyone to go on thinking until he'd solved this case. He especially didn't want his suspicion that it was Walachek who had shot out the windows getting spread around. Why worry Keely with this nasty suspicion when it might turn out to be some vandal after all? He decided to use misdirection. "Since your daughter's car was parked behind the school, the assumption is that the shooter didn't realize she was in the building."
"Humph. There's no reason for her to be at that school. There's no need for my daughter to work at all. But Keely's always been independent."
The man's peremptory tone and boasting made Burke bristle. So the Turners did have money—just as he'd suspected. Biting back his heated response to the man, Burke digested this information. It didn't sit well with him. But why? He'd recognized right off that Keely Turner was a step above him. Definitely a cut above.
And evidently Turner didn't require a reply to continue with his speech on the superiority of his family. "But if a Turner was going to waste her life at that blasted school, I told the school board chairman that since she'd do a better job than anyone else she might as well replace the retiring principal." He somehow combined a glare and a half -smile.
Why are you telling me all this? If the man was trying to impress Burke, he'd failed—miserably. Another thought hit Burke. Was this bragger warning him to stay away from his daughter? Save your breath, Turner. I already get the picture. Steaming inside, Burke took a step away.
Then Turner leaned closer. "She knows how to run a taut ship. I taught her that much. Now if I could just whip her brother into shape." A frown drew the man's whole face downward.
Burke nodded noncommittally and distanced himself with another step. He wondered if Keely had any idea her father had pressured the school board into naming her principal and
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