Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

T he rhythmic hum of his SUV’s tires against the cold asphalt was the only sound keeping Shane company as he drove through the winding roads that led from sheriff’s headquarters to Ellijay. A radio blasting in the cab would’ve only added to his stress. The drive wasn’t long, but it was quiet and that gave him enough time to replay everything he’d pieced together so far.

He planned on talking to Missy Ann again to ask her about her ex and get her take on whether he had any beef with her family. He was angry at himself that he hadn’t thought to ask her that in the other interviews, though she had put him off by saying she’d been divorced for years, and it hadn’t been contentious. Still, he’d dropped that thread too soon. Made him look stupid in front of Dawkins and Tuffin. He should’ve let them do the follow up, but he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that if he let Tuffin or Hanson chase this lead and they cracked the case while he was spinning his wheels on someone else, it’d be a blow to both his pride and his standing in the department.

His gut still told him Cotton Timmons was the better suspect. The man had a documented history of violence, and the neighbor had painted him as someone with a volatile temper. He had easy access to the property, and motive.

Shane tightened his grip on the steering wheel, thinking hard.

Thomas Pratt was a long shot, no doubt about it, but long shots had a way of turning into wins if you hit the right target. He went over what he knew: the divorce, the financial troubles, and just what if—a possible tension with Seth?—it was enough to raise questions, and he should’ve been on it.

As the mountain roads stretched out before him, Shane’s mind wandered back to Seth. According to everyone who knew him, the man had been a talented carpenter, steady and hardworking. If Seth had worked under Pratt when he was starting out, there could’ve been tensions, right?

Pratt’s address came into view as Shane turned down a quiet, gravel road that led to a small ranch-style home. The place was modest but well-kept, with a fenced-in yard and a few toys scattered near the porch—evidence of a child who lived there. As Shane pulled up and parked, a dog started barking from somewhere inside the house.

He stepped out of the truck, the crunch of gravel under his boots announcing his arrival. Before he could knock, the front door opened, and a woman holding a toddler on her hip appeared. The dog, a wiry terrier mix, hovered at her feet, barking loudly.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her expression guarded.

“Ma’am, I’m Detective Weaver from Hart’s Ridge,” he said, pulling his badge from his coat pocket. “I’m looking for Tommy Pratt. Is he home?”

She shifted the toddler to her other hip and tightened her grip on the doorframe. “No, he’s at work.”

“Mind if I come in?” Shane asked, though he already knew the answer .

“I do, actually,” she said, her tone firm. “Tommy didn’t do anything wrong, and I don’t want my son getting scared by whatever this is about.”

Shane nodded, recognizing that she wasn’t going to budge. “Fair enough. Can you tell me where he’s working?”

She hesitated, glancing back into the house before answering. “He’s at a remodel on Chestnut Hollow. Just past the fork in the road, you’ll see a white truck and a dumpster out front.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Shane said, tipping his head slightly before stepping back to his vehicle. The dog’s barking followed him as he drove off.

The remodel site wasn’t hard to find. It was a two-story farmhouse undergoing extensive work, with a crew scattered across the property. Power tools buzzed, and the faint smell of sawdust filled the air. Shane spotted a man who matched Pratt’s description: tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a faded ball cap and a toolbelt slung low over his hips. He was directing two younger men who were carrying a heavy beam toward the porch.

Shane stepped out of his truck and approached. “Tommy Pratt?”

Pratt turned, squinting against the sun. “Yeah, who’s asking?”

“Detective Shane Weaver. I need a few minutes of your time.”

Pratt scowled and glanced at the beam his crew was struggling with. “Can’t this wait? As you can see, I’m in the middle of something here.”

“Afraid not,” Shane said, crossing his arms. “But I’ll keep it short.”

With a sigh, Pratt waved the crew off and stepped closer. “Alright, what’s this about?”

Shane didn’t waste time. “I’m looking into the murders of the Colburn family. Your ex-wife’s family. ”

Pratt stiffened slightly, then folded his arms across his chest. “I already heard about it. Terrible thing. But other than getting my son one weekend a month, I haven’t had anything to do with Missy Ann or her family in years, so, if you’re here to pin this on me, you’re wasting your time.”

“Relax,” Shane said. “Just trying to connect some dots. I hear you knew Seth Colburn pretty well.”

Pratt nodded slowly. “I did. Hell, I taught the kid a lot of what he knows—or knew, I guess. Missy Ann pushed him on me, so he worked for me for a few years when he was starting out. Damn fine carpenter. Sharp, too. Picked things up quick.”

“So why’d he leave?” Shane asked, watching Pratt closely.

Pratt shrugged, but there was tension in the movement. “He wanted to strike out on his own. Can’t blame him for that. Kid had natural talent, and he wasn’t gonna waste it working for someone else forever.”

“Any hard feelings about that?” Shane pressed. He knew that no business owner enjoyed losing a good employee, especially one who could turn into competition.

Pratt’s jaw tightened. “Look, nobody likes losing good help, alright? But Seth and I parted on good terms. I wished him nothing but the best. I’ve even recommended him for jobs I didn’t have the time to take on. Far as I know, he was doing fine for himself.”

“Okay,” Shane said, keeping his tone neutral. “What about Missy Ann? Any issues between you and her family during or after the divorce?”

“None worth mentioning,” Pratt said. “Did she send you here to talk to me? I’d be surprised if she did. Willis and Jane were good people. Loved their grandson, treated me fine. Whatever happened between me and Missy Ann, it didn’t spill over to them. We kept our divorce friendly. For our son, really, but we didn’t want to have anyone taking sides. ”

Shane let the silence hang for a moment before asking, “Would you be willing to give a DNA sample? Just to eliminate yourself as a suspect.”

Pratt’s eyes flickered with hesitation. “What? You want me to give you my DNA just like that?”

“It’s standard procedure,” Shane said, his voice firm but not unkind. “If you’ve got nothing to hide, it’ll clear you. If not, I’ll just have to keep looking into it. Saves both of us time.”

Pratt glared at him for a moment, then let out a breath. “Fine. If it’ll get you off my back. I’ve got a deadline to finish this house, and I don’t want to be dragged into an investigation that’s going to keep me offsite. I’ll do it, but I don’t like it.”

Shane didn’t acknowledge the comment. “Appreciate it. I’ll have someone come by for the sample. Tomorrow work?”

Pratt muttered something under his breath, then turned to his crew, already barking orders. Shane filed away the brief interaction, noting the way Pratt had been quick to agree, but still bristled at the request. There was something off about that. It wasn’t typical for someone innocent to act that way.

Shane didn’t linger long. “Appreciate your time, Pratt. I’ll let you get back to it.”

Pratt didn’t reply, already deep into directing orders again.

Shane climbed into his SUV and drove away, the gears in his head still turning. The answers hadn’t been as clear-cut as he hoped, but they’d been revealing in their own way.