Page 107 of Rangers Last Promise

The small ring where Grant’s key once hung has been pulled apart.

Not broken accidentally.

Opened.

Deliberately.

Someone entered Mara’s bedroom, opened her jewelry box, found a specific charm among everything inside, removed it, and left without disturbing anything else.

That bothers me more than a ransacked room would.

This person knew exactly what they wanted.

“Mara.”

“I’m going.”

She puts the bracelet back into the jewelry box.

I wait until she walks past me.

Then I follow.

Outside, morning sunlight has replaced last night’s storm. Neighbors stand on porches pretending not to watch the sheriff’s vehicles surrounding Mara’s house.

An elderly woman in a pink robe makes no attempt to pretend.

She walks straight across the street.

“Mara!”

Mara closes her eyes.

“Mrs. Grady.”

The same woman from the photograph.

I recognize her immediately.

Mrs. Grady marches toward us wearing fuzzy slippers and carrying a coffee mug.

“I told Sheriff Tate someone was skulking around your house.”

Tate turns.

“You told me a man parked in front of your mailbox.”

“He was skulking.”

“He was delivering a package.”

“He sat there for four minutes.”

“He was looking for the address.”

Mrs. Grady sniffs. “Suspicious.”

Mara rubs her forehead.