The Daughter of Death

By Dianne McCartney

Rachel Mann's reclusive life is thrown into disarray by the discovery of a young woman's dead body in her field. She is forced to call Sheriff Seth Talbot for help. They both want to discover why the body was dumped on her property, but Rachel has insider information she is reluctant to share.

Seth is curious about why a young, attractive woman like Rachel would hide away from the world. What is she hiding? When a second body is found, he is forced to call in the FBI. As Rachel's secret history is stripped away, exposing her tragic past, they struggle to find a way to protect the citizens of the county and their future together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Sep 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9781509227327

Dianne McCartney

Dianne McCartney is an award-winning writer, speaker and contest judge from Canon City, Colorado. She lives with her husband, Mitch, among the deer, coyotes and other wildlife. Her novels are mainstream thriller/suspense and contemporary romance published by The Wild Rose Press. Her upcoming release, Breathing Fire, will be released May 31, 2023. She has sixty-eight writing awards from contests in Oklahoma and Texas and is a member of the OWFI, The Rose Rock Writers, The Tornado Alley Mystery Writers and The Oklahoma Romance Writers' Guild.

Book preview

Inc.

She couldn’t summon any appetite. The picture of that poor girl kept swimming into her vision—the pale blonde hair, matted with blood from the inch-deep gash in her throat. The waxy white of her skin meant she’d been dead for a while.

Why had she been dumped here of all places?

Violent crime hardly ever occurred in this town. It had to be a coincidence her farm had been chosen. Didn’t it?

But deep in her heart, she didn’t believe it. Maybe your past stays with you, no matter how hard you try to leave it behind.

Rachel knew Seth Talbot had been a New York detective for a couple of years until his hometown lured him back. How much time did she have before he discovered the truth about her? How long before the scorn of the townspeople forced her to move on?

The Daughter

of Death

by

Dianne McCartney

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

The Daughter of Death

COPYRIGHT © 2019 by Dianne McCartney

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Abigail Owen

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Crimson Rose Edition, 2019

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2731-0

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2732-7

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

Thanks to

my wonderful husband, Mitch, and daughter, Colleen, who are always on the front lines of support,

especially with weird and wonderful computer issues.

Acknowledgments

I owe a great deal to the endless patience and humor of my editor, Ally Robertson, and the rest of the gang at The Wild Rose Press. I couldn't ask for a better support system.

I also want to thank my dear friend MaryAnn Manning, who many years ago suggested a local writing group might be fun and always lent an ear when needed. And thanks to my friend and walking partner Kathy Bird, who always gets excited about my books.

Finally, sending a parting wave to my dad, who died earlier this year at the impressive age of ninety-six.

Chapter One

People in town said Rachel Mann led a simple life and, in that, they didn’t lie. For her, a defined routine was not a matter of choice, but an essential. She didn’t bother to explain her reasoning—the dialogue required more personal contact than she desired.

At 6:05 a.m. Rachel headed out onto her deck, pulling on her fleece jacket to ward off the early morning chill. Her boots made a hollow thud on the thick cedar planks as she stopped to survey the surrounding beauty. She gazed at the most compelling reason for buying this property two years ago—twenty-five acres of land spread in all directions with no other houses in sight. Solitude proved a precious commodity.

The early Tennessee autumn had coaxed a few reluctant leaves to turn. In a couple of weeks, a flood of color would tempt artists and photographers to stop by the roadside and snap dozens of pictures. She posted No Trespassing signs on her property at regular intervals to keep the most persistent observers away.

She stepped off the bottom stair. The dogs appeared, tongues lolling, brothers, part Labrador, that some thoughtless moron had dumped in a box at the end of the drive. She lacked a hard-enough heart to turn them out. Almost two years old now and as big as houses, she’d named them Jack and Zack, but called them you two more often than not, as they stuck together like burrs to wool.

Used to the ritual, they trailed after her as she struck off. She set a brisk pace, enjoying the slap of cold air against her cheeks. An hour spent crowning the tops of the surrounding hills might give her an appetite for breakfast.

Halfway through their walk, Jack growled. She stopped in her tracks, watching, puzzled, as the hair on his back formed a ridge along his spine. What’s wrong? she asked, walking to lay a hand on his head. He shot ahead of her, racing down the hill to a shadowed gully under the trees.

Jack! She jogged after him, wondering what had spooked him and hoping to find another dog, rather than a bear. Zack raced past her to catch up with his brother.

They stood, their backs to her, in a typical investigative pose, their noses pressed to the ground, tails quivering. A flash of purple caught her eye, and moving closer, she saw a jacket lying on the ground.

Then she saw a form under the jacket.

Air she drew into her lungs seemed eager to leave. Her legs threatened to give, and she shut her eyes for a moment to gather strength. Forcing herself to move forward, she took a closer look, praying some drunk from town had simply helped himself to nature’s bed.

Her prayers went unanswered.

One shocked look told Rachel the young woman had passed the point where help could come quickly enough. The gaping gash in her throat no longer oozed blood; the smears had dried on her ghost-white skin. Come here, Rachel said to the dogs and, hearing the tremble in her voice, patted the side of her leg for emphasis. They came reluctantly, their dark eyes questioning.

Home, she said, and they moved off with her, one on either side, instead of bounding ahead. She didn’t think she needed a guard, but the positions they chose gave her pause.

Rachel tried not to think of the painful repercussions of what would come next. The poor girl in the glen had suffered more than she, herself, would. But could she act as a normal person would under these circumstances? Anything else might raise questions. Questions she had to avoid at all costs.

She hurried to the phone, yanking off her gloves, and with shaky fingers, dialed the sheriff’s number. She reached him in person, solely by her stubborn refusal to talk to anyone else. This is Rachel Mann speaking. You need to come up to my place right away.

Seth Talbot, his voice low and steady, asked, What’s going on? Are you okay?

I have a dead body in my field. It’s a young woman. You need to come right now. She hung up as his voice sharpened in response.

Rachel locked the dogs in her bedroom to prevent them from getting underfoot. Her rolling stomach forced her to stop for a glass of water. The sheriff’s office was located just a ten-minute drive away—he’d make it in less this morning, she figured. She closed her eyes and tried for a calming breath. Why me? I can’t go through this again.

Securing the door behind her, she waited at the bottom of the steps. After a few minutes, she saw the telltale dust that signaled the sheriff’s imminent arrival and watched his speedy entry in between the two towering trees that marked her driveway.

He jolted to a stop in front of her and swung long, muscled legs out the door. Seth Talbot looked like an advertisement for testosterone—tall, broad, and dark. No doubt the women in town found his type attractive. He pulled off his sunglasses. Is there any chance you’re mistaken?

No.

Then you’d better show me.

He opened the passenger door and waved her to take a seat. Reluctantly, she did. They bumped across the field in his car until the hill began to slope to the gully. Stop here, she instructed. Wrenching open the door, Rachel slammed it and struck off at a brisk pace, knowing he could keep up.

Seth stayed abreast. When did you find the body?

Right before I called you. What—did you think I stopped to have breakfast?

His stare made it clear she was out of line.

Look, I’m a little rattled, okay? She slowed a bit. I went out for my morning walk, and the dogs went on alert about halfway down the hill. She’s lying in the gully.

Did you check her pulse?

Her stomach heaved. She hung on with grim resolve. I didn’t have to. She’s been dead a while.

Seth frowned. How can you be sure?

I’m sure. She swallowed. I think she’s been dead a while.

Did the dogs get at her?

Rachel shook her head. They just stood beside her and sniffed. When I saw what was lying there, I called them off.

They reached the edge of the glen where sunlight transitioned into shadow. He slowed when he absorbed what waited there and cursed, reaching for the radio strapped on his hip. Rosie, it’s me. We have a body, so we’ll need the coroner here, asap. And send over anybody else that’s not tied up. We’re on the southeast side of her property, at the bottom of the hill.

He told Rachel to take a seat close to the car and she did as directed, sitting cross-legged, grateful to feel the cool, firm ground underneath her. Before long, the coroner’s van reached them, accompanied by two deputies who, according to the looks on their faces, had never seen a murder victim. They roped off a large area around the body with crime scene tape, and the sheriff snarled when they wandered too close.

Seth took dozens of pictures from the camera he kept in his car. After what seemed an eternity, they removed the corpse. Doc Vernon conferred with the sheriff and then left, giving her a somber nod as he passed. Rachel felt ashamed by the relief she felt as the van drove off.

The sheriff squatted down beside her. We didn’t recognize her. Do you?

She shook her head.

Looks to be in her early to mid-twenties. He gave her a considering look. The murder didn’t happen here, you know. Somebody dropped her off.

I know.

Seth raised a questioning eyebrow.

Well, those injuries didn’t look very fresh, and she wasn’t here on my evening walk.

His gaze sharpened, and for the first time, she noticed the laser blue intensity of his eyes. When was that?

I leave the house at 6:05 morning and night, every day, so I’d guess about 6:20.

Do you always follow the same path?

Rachel nodded. Close enough.

And you’re sure you would have noticed?

She tried hard not to be insulted. Yes. And I always have the dogs with me. They would have caught the scent even if I hadn’t.

Seth nodded. Well, that’ll help with the time frame anyway. He stood and she joined him, heading up hill. Are you going to be in for the rest of the day?

It was a rhetorical question, and they both knew it. The fact that she seldom left her property made good gossip for idle minds. Yes, I’ll be here.

I’m sorry you have to be saddled with this.

He sounded as if he meant it. It’s not your fault.

I’ll likely have some more questions later, but if you think of anything that might help in the meantime, call me. He handed her a card. Here are the numbers for both my office and my private line. Call anytime.

Rachel watched him as she climbed the steps, turning sideways to see him pick up the radio and talk into it. The car didn’t move as she let herself into the house. Finally, he climbed into his car and trailed after the others, down the long hill and back onto the county road.

When she let the dogs out of their room, they circled anxiously around her legs, growling at the sight of the departing car. They forgot about it as soon as she fed them, gulping down the dry food with all the finesse of starving teenagers.

She couldn’t summon any appetite. The picture of that poor girl kept swimming into her vision—the pale blonde hair, matted with blood from the inch-deep gash in her throat. The waxy white of her skin meant she’d been dead for a while.

Why had she been dumped here of all places?

Violent crime hardly ever occurred in this town. It had to be a coincidence her farm had been chosen. Didn’t it?

But deep in her heart, she didn’t believe it. Maybe your past stays with you, no matter how hard you try to leave it behind.

Rachel knew Seth Talbot had been a New York detective for a couple of years until his hometown lured him back. How much time did she have before he discovered the truth about her? How long before the scorn of the townspeople forced her to move on?

Chapter Two

Seth thought he left all this mayhem behind him when he moved back from the Big Apple. In the two years he’d been sheriff, there had been no murders at all. In towns this size, the most excitement they experienced was the occasional car wreck or domestic call. Seth had seen enough death to last a lifetime.

He’d sent the initial details about this morning’s victim to all the surrounding counties to see if they had a missing person that matched. The only missing person in town was Elmer Tate, who went missing every two weeks when his paycheck came in. He’d hightail it off with his buddies for a binge and his long-suffering wife would come in and weep all over Seth’s collar. Seth didn’t figure Elmer counted as a missing person.

Doc guessed the young woman had been dead two to three days and had promised him a full report by nightfall. Seth noted the cut in the girl’s neck had been deep and jagged, implying strength and a lack of finesse, but at this point he didn’t have anything else. His four deputies stayed busy checking with all the neighbors to see if anyone had seen a strange vehicle in the area.

One of Rachel’s neighbors, Hooky Hobart, said he wouldn’t be surprised if Rachel Mann hadn’t done it herself. When Seth asked why he thought so, the idiot replied that she was unnatural, living up there herself.

At that point, Seth decided to leave the neighbors to the deputies to question. He’d bet a dime to a dollar Hobart had tried to pull a fast move on Rachel. Imagining her response made him grin for the first time all day. No, Seth was a pretty good judge of people. Rachel might be a loner, and prickly at times, but she’d been shaken by this recent turn of events. He knew that much.

Of course, by the time all was said and done, he would have to look at damn near everyone in town if he had a hope of finding the killer. His radio crackled to life. Sheriff? It was the sincere and squeaky voice of Wayne Hiscock, his youngest deputy. Appearances can be deceptive; he was undoubtedly the smartest of the four deputies.

Yes, Wayne.

His voice struggled through the static. Amos Green says he saw a black truck stopped on the back road behind his place just before midnight. Said he was gonna call you about it when he got up this mornin’, but it was gone by then.

All right. Are you at Amos’s house?

Yes.

You and Amos stay put. I’ll come and get you and see if we can hunt up a track.

We’ll be waitin’.

Normally the drive to Amos’s place would make any fool smile, just from seeing the rich, green grass and the hearty apple trees that bloomed alongside his driveway. But today hadn’t started off well and was unlikely to get much better.

The kind of man who made Seth’s job easy, Amos farmed and tended his well-behaved children and affectionate wife even better than he did his beloved crops. But today, as Seth approached the cheery red and white outbuildings, he saw the saddened expression on the farmer’s face as he stood waiting with Wayne. Amos pulled his shoulders back as Seth approached and rubbed one hand into his graying beard. This is an awful thing we have here.

Seth nodded. Do you think you can show me where this truck was parked?

Yes. Amos walked around to the passenger door of the cruiser and climbed in. Almost too tall to fit, Wayne hopped in the back, folding his legs so his knees almost hit the top of the front seat.

Seth took the much shorter back drive,