Page 219 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

“Sure thing. Bye.” Nate went inside the quiet place and poked his head in the office Shawn shared with the other full-time deputies. “Hey.”

Shawn pulled his crossed ankles off the desk as he put down the newspaper. “Hey.”

“Busy day around here.”

“Don’t go and curse it. You know we’re always one phone call away from some sort of disaster.”

Nate smiled. “You’re not kidding.” He glanced at his watch. “Denny will be taking over in a couple of hours. Go on home if you want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely. Keep your radio on in case I need you, but both of us shouldn’t be here trying not to fall asleep.”

Shawn smiled. “Ellie’s been working on her sixth-grade science project she decided to tell us about last night. I’m sure Sherry wouldn’t mind a break.”

Nate winced. “Good luck.”

“I’ll take it. These projects are a nightmare.” Shawn put on his coat. “Isn’t parenting hard enough already?”

Nate chuckled. “Nothing about it looks easy. Have a good night if I don’t see you before tomorrow.”

“You too, Nate.”

Nate walked to his office and sat down, eager to get back to it. He and Sanchez had new theories and leads to work with. Now he had to find out more about Evan’s business partner. Nate imagined he should have known the man’s name—Evan had been co-president with the guy for years—but he didn’t know Evan quite as well as he did Matthew and Thomas. Evan and Lily had moved off Carter Island when Nate had been young—nine or ten? He picked up the phone and dialed Dad, certain he would be able to give him the answers he was looking for.

“Hello?”

He smiled. “Hey, Dad, I’ve got a quick question.”

“Sure.”

“You wouldn’t happen to remember Evan’s business partner’s name?”

“Trace Miller.”

Nate nodded, recognizing the name immediately. “That’s it.”

“What’s going on with Trace? Are you looking at him for your case?”

“Sort of.” Over the last few weeks, Nate hadn’t been telling Dad as much as he could. He glanced toward the door in the empty sheriff’s station. “Dad, I’m starting to think Samantha Fletcher never made it off the island.”

There was a long silence. “I see.”

Nate fiddled with a pen, twisting it between his fingers. “Everything’s pointing me to Brewster’s Forest. Callie seems to have odd dreams about the old cottage, and we think we found an artifact that belonged to Samantha not far from there.”

“Wow.” Dad cleared his throat. “It’s a little hard to swallow the idea of something happening to a visitor while the island was under my watch. We always worked so diligently to keep everyone safe.”

And this was why Nate hadn’t mentioned much, hating that Dad suddenly sounded old. Former Sheriff Henry Carter was honorable and deep-down kind, and had taken his job as guardian of the residents and guests of Sanderson, Massachusetts, very seriously. “Of course you did. We have no control over the criminal element. More often than not, we don’t get to do our job until after the fact. You know that.”

Dad sighed. “I do, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a damn shame if that’s indeed what happened.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I realize that, son. It’s a bit of a shock, but if that’s where your leads are pointing you then keep digging. You’re a fine sheriff, Nate. If there’s something to find, I have no doubt you will.”

He leaned back, wishing he felt as confident as Dad did. “This case—” The emergency line started ringing, interrupting his thought. “Dad, I’m getting a call.”

“Go do your job and keep yourself safe.”

“I will. Bye.” He hung up and immediately answered the other phone. “Carter County Sheriff’s Department. This is Nate.”

“Nate, this is Bess over at Everything Antiques. A pipe burst in my kitchen and I’ve got water everywhere. I’m not quite sure what to do.”

He stood, more than okay with the fact that this was the typical type of “emergency” he dealt with on the island. Murder didn’t sit well with him. Upsetting his girlfriend and father was something he could do without. “Do you know where the shutoff valve is?”

“Under the sink, I believe.”

“Go ahead and reach under there and give it a twist until the water shuts off.”

“My back’s not real good for bending anymore.” A rush of water carried over the phone line. “Oh my goodness. It’s just pouring out.”

“I’ll be right there, Ms. Bess. We’re going to take care of everything.”

“Okay, honey.”

Nate locked up, jogged to the Tahoe, flipped on his blue lights, and made his way to lend his elderly neighbor a hand. He wanted this back. Sanchez could have his missing persons cases and homicide investigations. Burst pipes and pulling trucks out of icy ditches were more Nate’s speed.