So yes, she felt guilty. Not that she thought she could fix the relationship. But if he understood she’d taken the time to be present during his recovery, perhaps that would show him she cared about him. Perhaps this accident could bring about a different relationship.
If he lived.
The qualification pounded in her mind.
She shook her head against the pessimism. Jankowskis pushed through. Faced the world with grit and optimism.
Creating a new and different relationship with her father was a pleasant thought, but Lily Rose was correct. It was time she got back out to the dig. Her father might be laid up for a long time. The summer would pass by, along with the opportunity to dig out her dinosaur.
She didn’t even want to consider the fact that her father might never awaken. That was trouble for another day.
Martha stood up, leaned over Father, and kissed him on the forehead. She smiled. “I love you. I’m praying for your recovery. And I also want to make you proud. Iwillget thatApatosaurusout of the ground.” Reaching into her pocket, she touched her lucky coin.Hiscoin. There had to be a way to make her parents proud.
“His right boot was missing, and the horse was long gone.”
Cole jotted the detail in his notebook and nodded. “Continue.”
The slimmer officer, a middle-aged man named Nichols, shifted in his seat. “His coat smelled like whiskey. And with the path where his body clearly had been dragged...” He trailed off and shrugged. “It looked like what it was. He tottered off his horse and was dragged to death.”
Cole set his pen down and folded his hands. He looked at Nichols. “Did you ever find the missing boot?”
The officer leaned back, hooking his thumbs in his uniform pockets. “Nope. Figured it’d been stuck in the stirrup.”
The Pinkerton detective wrote that down, placing a question mark by the detail. That seemed too neat. He glanced at the other deputy named Price. “How about you, Deputy? Did you notice anything else in particular?”
“Not that I can recall, sir.” Price slipped a thick finger between his collar and neck, tugging the stiff collar away from his skin. Cole narrowed his eyes. Was he sweating?
Nichols tried to subtly kick his partner, but Cole caught it. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. Something was off. Someone was hiding something. “Now, gentlemen, I have eyewitness accounts from his landlady and four others that the man never took in a drop of liquor. Don’t you find the smell of whiskey on his body odd?”
Price shrugged. “Everyone can have an off day, sir.”
“That is true. Very true.” Cole glanced between the two men, letting the silence linger in the room. “I would hate to return to Colorado Springs and tell this man’s father that the Denver police chief’s office refused to dig any further into a suspicious death. I’m sure he will not take kindly to that.”
Price looked at Nichols then at the floor. Nichols leaned forward, glaring at Cole. “We did our job, Agent Anderson. If the father is upset by that, he is more than welcome to lodgea complaint with the police chief. Come on, Price. We’re done here.” He clapped his partner on the back and stood.
Cole glanced at Price. Sweat beaded across his forehead.
“Price!” Nichols barked. “Let’s go.”
Deputy Price looked at Nichols and shook his head. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
Red-faced, Nichols glared at the two men and left, slamming the door behind him.
“Don’t mind him, Agent Anderson. He doesn’t like to be wrong. He’s got a good record and the thought that he might have missed something is offensive.”
“Understandable.” Cole nodded, though he suspected it went deeper than offended pride. “Did you have something to add to my investigation?”
“I do.” Price wiped his forehead with his palm and sighed. “I didn’t put this in my report because, quite frankly, sir, I didn’t know what to do with it.”
Cole scribbled notes in his book and gestured for Price to continue.
“When I was examining the body for any evidence, I went through all his pockets. His coat was clean. But on his vest ...” He swallowed and wiped his face again. His brown hair was plastered to his head. “There was a lady’s glove over his heart.”
A... glove. That was it? The deputy was sweating over a lady’s accessory. “Maybe it was from a lover or a sweetheart.” Cole closed his notebook.
“Perhaps. It was made of fine kid leather, real quality. It smelled like roses. But while the rest of the man was covered in dirt and blood, the glove wasn’t. It was pristine. Stark white against all that red dirt. And it just lay there. Right over his heart.”
The agent leaned forward, the back of his neck prickling. “It was clean?”
