"Oh my god. You...you kept it? Why?" Peyton asked, an expression of mild horror on her face as she took in the sight of the vehicle in her driveway.

Tessa shrugged, glancing at the hulking '88 Wagoneer that had become almost a part of her. He...had bought it with the intention of restoring it one day. The thing had sat in her mamaw's barn for years, until she had decided to claim it has her own. For years now, the old steel blue beast with the wood grain panels was her constant physical reminder of who had made her...

"Well, there's nothing like a little moral masochism, I guess," Peyton stated somberly. "Anyway, don't the people you work for fly you to where you need to go?"

"They offer, but I like to drive when I can. Driving gives me time to think," she answered.

"And it means you'll be alone? Hidden safely away from the rest of the world for a while?"

Again, Tessa shrugged, pulling her gaze away from the Wagoneer and looking out into the deepening evening dusk. The temperature had dropped so that the air on her skin was pleasantly cool and she stood there just...feeling it, breathing it into herself. It was a lovely balm after sitting in the living room with all those candles putting out heat and the window air conditioner struggling to stave it off.

"Are you okay here, Peyton?" she asked as she turned to her sister, finding that facing the woman was easier through the gloom. "I mean...really?"

"I'm as okay here as I am anywhere else," came the response. "And I have Kimber. She's fun to hang around. Mostly."

"Well, I'm glad you have someone. And Kimber seems...nice." Even if she was one of the most annoyingly cheerful people to ever be clothed in clay.

Peyton pulled in a long breath, crossing her arms over herself in an effort to offset the chill air. "She grows on you. And she's just so...normal...that it almost makes me feel normal, too. I mean, almost."

"If that's what you need, then I'm happy you have that," she said truthfully.

A tight smile lifted the corner of Peyton's overly plump mouth. "Its what I want. To feel normal. To not wake up every morning and recount my steps from the day before, just to make sure that I remember exactly what I did and where I went, to make sure that I didn't..."

She didn't bother pretending not to understand what her sister was talking about. Because she did understand. She caught herself doing the same thing from time to time. Opening her eyes first thing in the morning and instantly retracing her movements the day before, needing to make sure that she could account for every minute, needing to make sure that she hadn't...slipped, that she hadn't done the things that...he...had done.

"Well, anyway," Peyton sighed, taking a step backward, "will I see you again before you leave? I mean, I'd really like to."

"I might not be able to find the time while I'm working on the case, but I won't leave without saying goodbye," she vowed.

"The spa Kimber and I work at isn't too far from the sheriff's office.  If you're ever free for lunch, just give me a call.  I can take a break and we can grab a coffee or something?  Or we can do dinner again?  I can come to you, if its easier?"

Not wanting to shoot her sister down, she gave a nod of agreement. "I can't promise, but I can certainly try to make some time."

Peyton's seemed to relax a fraction. "Where are you staying?"

"The Desert Rose, over on Pinedale," she said, feeling a waft of sadness as Peyton took another step backward.

"I know that place. Its not too far from work," her sister revealed. "If you want some company or, I dunno, maybe somebody to just talk to, you can give me a ring?"

"I will," she returned.

For a minute, they both stood, watching each other through the thickening twilight, surrounded by the sound of crickets singing their nightly song...and suddenly there seemed to be absolutely nothing more to say.

"I'll...I'll see you later?" said Peyton.

"Yeah. I'll see you later." She watched as her sister turned and made her way back through the courtyard doorway, her white dress luminous in the growing darkness, making her seem like an ethereal spirit...or perhaps a remnant of the past that was just...drifting away into nothingness.

* * * * * *

The next morning found Tessa entering the sheriff's office just before eight, and the main gallery already rife with voices and ringing phones and people hustling this way and that. As she crossed the space and headed toward her desk, her gaze landed on the ruddy haired man already seated there, sipping from a paper cup.

Catching sight of Cole Dalton swept her with a surge of something that was both off-putting and yet...compelling, though she quickly pushed it aside. The ruddy haired man, who reminded her of a rugged, rough and tumble cowboy, was on the right side of handsome, which she could fully appreciate. Who didn't enjoy the sight of a well-looking man? But, she could only allow herself a few heartbeats to admire his large form and strong profile. And then it was time to work.

"Morning, Tessa," his deep, gravelly voice greeted as she approached the desk.

"Good morning," she responded, taking off her bag and laying it aside before dropping down into her chair...and instantly taking note of a waft of something delicious in the air.  "Something smells good."

"Breakfast," came the riposte as Cole pushed a paper bag and lidded paper cup toward her. "I ordered your coffee black, but there's cream and sugar in the bag."

Tessa gave the man a smile as she accepted his offering, which did smell good enough to make her stomach rumble. Not worrying about being shy, she emptied the contents of the bag, doctored up her coffee so that it tasted more like desert than coffee, and dove into the biggest breakfast burrito she'd ever encountered. And Cole, having waited for her, did the same.

"So, what's on the agenda for today?" he asked in between bites.

"Well, I want to browse the files and get caught up on the work so far. And then we'll probably see if we can set up an interview with Nathan Rutherford," she answered, using a paper napkin to swipe at the stuff that was dribbling down her chin.

"Good morning, Detective. Tessa," Officer Collins grinned as he appeared, looking bright eyed and bushy-tailed.

Cole gave the young man a nod. "You're just in time, Collins. Your breakfast is on your desk. When you're finished, we can get to it."

"Yes, sir," Zeb replied, hurrying to his own desk, unpacking his bag, and attacking his food with a fair amount of zeal.

"The people involved in this case are all worth about eleventy billion dollars, so a horde of lawyers and probably a loud mouthed Senator will be involved. Its gonna be a pain in the backside getting an interview with any of them," Cole stated matter-of-factly.

"Detective Rogers barely managed to get more than field statements from anybody. Even the victim's family only gave one interview and then they refused to speak to him again," Zeb pointed out by way of being helpful.  "Of course, it was all over the news that Rogers was calling Nathan Rutherford a person of interest, so his family had their team lock him down."

"Maybe if Rogers hadn't done that, Rutherford might have been a little more cooperative," Cole said, finishing off his breakfast and tossing the wrapper into the bag.

Tessa, swallowing down the huge bite she'd been working on, lifted a shoulder. "All we can do is try. And if anyone, Nathan Rutherford in particular at this point, refuses to be interviewed, then we go looking for reasonable suspicion. I don't know these people, but they might prefer their son answer a few questions rather than having him arrested on suspicion. That probably wouldn't look very good on the local news."

Cole lifted a ruddy brow. "So, you're thinking about playing hard ball?"

"Not unless we have to. I'd rather go slow and easy, so none of the other suspects involved get spooked, but we'll go whichever way works best."

In an ideal world, or in a world that existed behind a TV screen, she'd be able to waltz up to Nathan Rutherford, take him by the arm, and drag him to the sheriff's office, where he'd willingly cough up answers to any questions she might ask him. In reality, it usually didn't work that way. People were fairly savvy these days. Coming up against a suspect who refused to speak at all was part of the norm.

"You finish your food and I'll grab the files from the clerk," said Cole, finishing off his coffee before getting up and striding away from the desk.

Tessa obeyed Cole's directive and finished off every last bite of her food, and subsequently wound up with her stomach feeling like an overly inflated balloon. But, it was worth it. Cleaning up the desk and tossing everything into the trash can sitting in the corner, she pulled in a breath and tried to ready herself for what was likely going to be a very long day.

"What can I do to help?" questioned Zeb as he tossed his own remnants into the can and wheeled his chair up to the front of her desk.

"How do you feel about giving Mr. Nathan Rutherford a call to see if we can set up a meeting?" she posed.

The young man gave a pert nod. "I don't think he'll talk to you, but I'll give him a call."

"Can you tell me anything about him? Anything that might not be written in the files?" she wondered.

"Actually, his file is pretty sparse," came the reply. "Other than the standard information, his prior arrest record, and his initial statement at the scene, there's nothing there."

"He has priors?" That revelation brought the image of Nathan Rutherford's chiseled features to mind and she instantly figured him for a DUI, simple possession or casual exchange type. Of course, those would be the things that he'd actually been caught doing.

"Yes, ma'am. Nothing out of the ordinary, though. There was a couple of speeding tickets, a DUI arrest a few years back, a casual exchange charge a year and a half ago. Everything was plead down to fines paid and time served."

That information tracked. "So, that's the official version. Is there an unofficial version?"

Officer Collins shot a quick glance around the gallery before looking back to her. "Sort of. I mean, there's nothing too bawdy..."

Tessa studied the young man as he spoke, feeling her gaze narrow. "There's nothing too bawdy, but there is something?"

"I mean, those rich socialites run in a small circle around the city. According to The Buzz, they're always dating and breaking up with each other---"

"Wait. What's The Buzz?" she asked and Zeb shot another surreptitious look around.

"Its a local internet gossip site. You know, pictures of celebutantes coming out of bars at three in the morning, who broke off their engagement, who lost a small fortune over at the casinos."

"And you're a fan of this site? You keep up with all the gossip?" she asked, watching Zeb's face flush red.

"I...I have insomnia sometimes, so I...you know...poke around on the web," he said in a low voice, sounding as if he was admitting to an embarrassing shortcoming.

Noting his discomfiture, she chose to brush right past his confession. "And what gossip does The Buzz have on Nathan Rutherford?"

"The usual stuff," replied Zeb, a bit more relaxed now that his dark secret was out in the open and the gallery hadn't accordingly erupted into laughter. "Again, nothing too surprising. He's seen with a lot of women. Like, a lot of women. He gets photographed in all the clubs. But, several months back, somebody snapped a few pictures of him getting pretty rough with a woman outside one of the nightclubs. He was grabbing her arms and had his finger right in her face."

Tessa allowed a moment to digest that piece of information. "That's interesting. Anything else?"

"The Buzz got hold of a public intoxication citation out near Santa Fe in April. Other than that, the last story to drop about him, before he was called a person of interest, was back in May, when he got engaged to Hallie Whitmore."

Contemplating all that, she leaned forward in her chair. "So, before he was engaged to Hallie Whitmore, who was he dating? Did The Buzz have him attached to anyone?"

"Yes, actually. He was going around with Etty Montrose."

"And who is Etty Montrose?" she questioned.

Officer Collins lifted a shoulder. "She's the daughter of a pipeline family. Richer than most. Better than average looking. She's the woman Rutherford was photographed getting handsy with."

"That is also...interesting," she intoned. "Did the investigating detective speak with Etty Montrose?"

Zeb gave both his shoulders a shrug, looking slightly contrite. "Those pictures were on The Buzz. Not the local news. I'm...probably the only one in the station who saw them. I did try to bring it up to Detective Rogers, though."

"Tried to bring it up?"

"Yes, ma'am. But, Detective Rogers told me that he didn't have time to worry about what was happening on the internet and that I should—and I quote—keep my nose on my own face and get back to writing speeding tickets."

Detective Rogers sounded like a peach. And also rather like a shoddy detective who should have looked into any lead that was brought to his attention, especially if it was coming from a fellow officer.

"Zeb, can we get those pictures printed off that gossip site and get a file started on Etty Montrose?" she asked as annoyance prickled at her.

"Yes, ma'am. But, do you really think its anything worth looking into?" asked Zeb dubiously.

She could only lift her own shoulders in return. "Its probably nothing. But, in the very least, maybe Etty Montrose can give us a little insight into her ex-boyfriend's temper, his treatment of her and the other women around him. If we get lucky, we might be able to start ferreting out a patter of behavior."

Certainly, pictures of Nathan Rutherford getting physical with a woman could be used to show that he'd been aggressive in the past, perhaps that he had a propensity for violent behavior, especially if Etty Montrose would attest to those things.

But, on the flip side of that coin...

If Etty Montrose really had been previously involved with Nathan Rutherford, and Mr. Rutherford had thrown her aside for another woman, a woman he then became engaged to, then Etty Montrose was not only a possible witness in the case, but she was also a possible suspect.