Chapter 1

JASON

Singer's Ridge, a town so small it had one grocery store and a single shopping district. This town was the peace and quiet I needed following the disaster with my soon-to-be ex-wife. I didn't want to think about it. I needed something new, a fresh perspective on life. And this sleepy little town was just what the doctor ordered.

I had pulled in about an hour ago after a straight drive from Nashville and dropped the U-Haul off at a storage locker outside of town. The owner was a plump woman in her mid-forties who talked my ear off about nothing in particular.

"Bradley said he would touch up the paint job here." She rubbed two fingers along the edge of a storage shed. "You know Bradley?"

"No, ma'am," I said.

I stopped to gas up my truck and struck up a conversation with the old man on duty.

"You're not from around here," he said.

"I'm here for a job interview," I told him.

"What job?" The old man looked puzzled. I guessed there weren't that many employment opportunities in a town this small.

"Police officer." I grinned.

"Well." The old man wiped an oil-stained hand on his jeans and stuck it out. "Welcome to Singer's Ridge."

I found the police station just off the main commercial artery, near the post office and across the street from a diner. I pulled in, put the truck into park, and reached for the rearview mirror. With far too serious, blue-grey eyes, a haunted man stared back at me. Stubble was beginning to appear on my chin, even though I had shaved early that morning. My hair was short but growing longer, and I might be in need of a trim soon. I made a mental note to see if there was a barber or a hair salon in this one-horse town.

I approached the station with caution, no detail of the building escaping my notice. It looked more like a house than the barracks-like structure back in Nashville. A set of wooden stairs led to a door that was badly in need of repair. It didn't bode well for the municipal budget or my potential paycheck. Inside, a single dispatch officer sat at a desk behind a microphone and a computer. She looked up at the sound of the opening door.

"Good morning," she said. "Can I help you?"

"Jason White," I introduced myself. "I'm here for the officer's position."

"Have a seat." She smiled, pushing out from behind her desk.

I looked around and found a line of metal chairs against the far wall. Before I had a chance to pick one, the dispatch officer crossed the room and knocked against a far door. She leaned inside and said something to the room's occupant. A moment later, a ruddy, middle-aged man emerged from the office.

"Dawson Lane, Chief of Police." He held out a hand.

"Jason White." I clasped the offered hand.

"Thanks for comin' all this way," Dawson said, motioning toward his office.

"No problem," I said, maneuvering into the tiny office and choosing a seat across from the desk.

Dawson shut the door and sat down in his chair. "What makes you interested in our little town?"

"I've been working in Nashville for almost ten years," I said. "My buddy moved out here a few years back, and when I got tired of city life, I looked him up."

"Who's your buddy?"

"Dillon Ford," I answered.

"Sure," Dawson nodded, "I know Dillon. Good man. Shame what happened to him."

I wasn't sure which of Dillon's tragedies the police chief was talking about. Dillon had quit the force after his partner was killed on the job and had become a recluse in the mountains outside of town. After that, I was vaguely aware of some drama involving a woman and her abusive ex-fiancé, but I never asked for any specifics. I just nodded as if I were sympathizing.

"So, tell me a little about what you did in Nashville," Dawson said.

"A little bit of everything," I answered. "When I first came out of the academy, I did traffic stops and walked a beat for about a year. Then I did some work in narcotics."

"I heard about you." Dawson wagged a finger at me. "You were the one that broke open the nanny cam case."

The nanny cam case had made print in nationwide newspapers as far away as New York City. The wife of a politician had been caught on a friend's nanny cam snorting coke and bragging about how established her husband was in the drug trade. The friend had an attack of conscience and turned the tape over to us. I had been on the task force assigned to follow up, collecting evidence and turning out sources. When I went in to buy from the senator, my cover was as an up-and-coming lawyer. I managed to get him to open up to me and got it all on tape before the cavalry arrived. We nailed that bastard to the wall, and with the evidence from the sting and the nanny cam, we were able to put both him and his wife away for a long time.

That was before Dillon's partner was shot, and before my marriage collapsed.

"How would you like to start as a detective?" Dawson asked.

I was shocked but tried not to let surprise register on my face. I had always wanted to make detective; in Nashville, that was all I could ever think about. But I had come out to the country to take a step back, to reevaluate my life. I wasn't sure if I wanted to jump back into all the stress and responsibilities being a detective would entail.

Dawson saw my reluctance and made his pitch. "We have the officer position, but I can fill that from the local high school. What we really need is someone who knows their way around a crime scene, someone who has experience putting a task force together."

"I wasn't lead on the task force," I said.

"But you know how it works," he countered. "Look, I'll be honest with you. It's not every day someone with your qualifications walks in the door. The salary's double what an officer takes home. You could make a real difference in the quality of life in this town."

I sighed. It was more than I'd bargained for, but it was a job. Hell, it was a promotion and a way for me to get settled. "I accept," I said, holding my hand out across the desk.

"I'm glad to hear it," the police chief said, grasping my hand in both of his. "I'm going to need you to start right away."

Istayed and worked the rest of the day. The case they needed help with was straight out of a crime drama. There was a new drug floating around that was causing instant overdoses. It was nearly unheard of in this small town for something like this to happen, and they were scrambling to figure it out before it got worse. There were four bodies buried in the past month, four people with families who were never coming home. The chief of police had shared all the files: the coroner's reports, the toxicology labs. I spent five hours familiarizing myself with names, places, and dates so I could get an early start in the morning.

I figured I could reinterview some of the family members, see if there was any new information I could uncover. But right now, I needed a place to sleep. There were two hotels in town, one little roadside place that reminded me too much of a pay-by-the-hour establishment. The other hotel was an inexpensive chain with bland corporate rooms. I chose the latter and rented a room for the week.

Now that I had a paycheck, I could relax. I needed something to eat. It had been a long day, and I felt like I hadn't had a meal in weeks. I dumped my luggage in my hotel room, locked the door, and slipped outside to find some dinner.

There was a diner across the street from the police station, but I wasn't in the mood for coffee. Beer was more my speed, and after just two blocks, I found what I was looking for. The sign on the door read "Lucky Lady" with a stencil of a drunk lady holding on to a pint. I pushed my way through the door to the bar.

"Can I see a menu?" I asked the bartender.

There were a few couples scattered around at tables and a group of locals playing pool.

"Passin' through?" the barkeep pulled a menu out and laid it on the bar.

I shook my head. "You're looking at Singer's Ridge's newest detective."

"Detective." The barkeeper grinned. "Have a pint on the house." He grabbed a frosty mug and filled it with amber ale from the tap.

I thanked him with a nod, took my menu and my beer, and went to sit down. After taking a sip and staring out the window, I noticed a free real estate magazine stand on the street outside. I jogged outside to grab one before settling back in my booth.

"I'll have the steak and eggs," I said when the waitress came to take my order.

"You thinkin' of buying property?" She pointed toward the magazine.

"Yeah." I held out the menu. "Actually, I am."

"My sister's trying to sell her house," the waitress said, sticking the menu under one arm. "I could give you the address if you like."

"Thanks," I said. "I'll take it."

She flipped the order pad up one sheet, wrote quickly, and tore the page out. "It's a nice little house right downtown." She placed the address on the table and moved away to serve another customer.

I picked up the magazine and leafed through it as I sipped my beer. As nice as the waitress had been, I wasn't really looking for something downtown. I had been downtown for most of my adult life, and what I was really looking for was somewhere away from the center of it all. Dillon used to talk about a cabin in the mountains, with quiet and solitude and room to breathe. I liked that idea and had already been investigating cabins for sale. The magazine had a section in the back with some more rustic offerings, but I had one particular piece of property in mind.

I pulled out my phone just as my meal arrived.

"Here you go." The waitress slid the plate under my nose.

"Thanks." I nodded.

"Would you like a refill?" She pointed to my empty mug.

"No, thanks." I was all too aware of the perils of alcohol.

The waitress moved on, and I put my phone down, the food too distracting to ignore. As I dug in, I remembered what had driven me out of Nashville in the first place. My wife—soon-to-be ex-wife—and I had met at a country bar. I was fresh out of the academy and celebrating my first job. There was a live band, and everyone was dancing a country line dance. The girl next to me was pretty enough, and she latched onto me as soon as the song came to an end.

I bought her some drinks, thinking she might be an easy lay, which was true. I'd had too much, and I wasn't thinking with the head on my shoulders. She pushed her way into my life, and a year later, we were married. All the crazy that she must have been hiding came out as soon as we tied the knot. She got paranoid, accused me of sleeping with every female officer on the force. She threw things at me, breaking windows and television screens. I got sick of it within the first few months but stuck around for too many damn years because that's what you're supposed to do when you get married.

She had left me three months ago with no explanation. Just when I thought I couldn't live with her bullshit anymore, she up and disappeared. It was a relief but also a wake-up call. She took most of our savings, emptied out our bank account, and thought she left me for broke. I put in overtime at work for the past three months, saving every last penny. I canceled all our credit cards, hers and mine, and shut off everything that wasn't essential. I was determined to save enough to make a life for myself somewhere else, somewhere she couldn't find me. She took our brand-new Ford Bronco too, forcing me to buy an older, used truck. I didn't want the car payments, so I paid cash for the vehicle I was driving.

For a few months, while I was squirreling money away, I continued working in Nashville. Coming home after a long day on the job to my own space where no one hollered at me was almost too good to be true. I thought I could be happy, newly freed from married life. But I wanted more than my old life, and I was sick of being reminded of her at every turn.

I put in my two weeks at the Nashville Police Department and put my house on the market. I had no idea where to go, but then I remembered Dillon and his flight from the city years ago. Now I had a new job and possibly a cabin in the mountains, if I played my cards right. The only thing that could make life better would be if I could find Angie and break it off officially. But that was a problem for another day.

I finished my steak and eggs, really more of a breakfast meal than dinner, but I didn't care. I walked back to the hotel, unlocked the door with the plastic card, and pulled off my shirt. The air conditioner was churning loudly, so I shut it off. I pulled my shoes and socks off and sat down on the bed, glancing at myself in the mirror.

I wasn't vain, but I was athletic and proud of my body. I might not have a six-pack, but I had a respectable four and solid biceps. The man in the mirror had more than a five-o'clock shadow. He looked tired and out of place in a corporate hotel room. At the same time, there was a calm to my reflection that I wasn't used to seeing. It was as if I had been living within a storm for years and the clouds had just now lifted.

I pulled the phone out of my pocket. One last thing to do before taking a shower and falling asleep.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end managed to imply impatience in just one word.

"Hello. My name is Jason White," I said, "I'm calling about the cabin for sale."

"Yes?" More impatience.

"Is it still for sale?"

"Yes, it's still on the market," the guy said.

"Can I see it?" I was too tired for this. It was like pulling teeth.

"Alright. I can meet you tomorrow at noon."

"Fine," I said. "Text me the address."

I hung up with that jerk and threw my phone up on the nightstand. Wondering if I would have enough energy to take a shower, I undid my belt and pulled my pants down. I was tempted to put it off for the morning, but the travel and the work had me feeling dusty. A quick rinse and I could wash off the day. I stepped into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the spray.