Free Murder on the Last Frontier by Cathy Pegau Page A

Charlotte, shaking her out of her bout of shame. She was supposed to have helped him, but she couldn’t bear to see Darcy Dugan again.
    Another man replied, his tone too low for her to catch the words. Wood clattered on the floor. A third man asked if Michael had an extra sheet or tarp.
    Charlotte listened as the men prepared Darcy for the undertaker, her limbs locked. She’d withstood the chaos of marches and counterprotests. She’d pulled a man off a woman old enough to be his mother as he assaulted her because he didn’t agree with her views. She’d recorded interviews with women who had bruises and broken bones, women who had seen friends hurt because they wanted equality with men.
    Damn it, she should be tougher than this.
    â€œPut ’er on the stretcher, Jimmy.” Feet shuffled. “We’ll get somethin’ from Miss Brigit. The missus’ll fix her up right pretty.”
    â€œThank you, John,” Michael said. “And no talking to Toliver or allowing pictures. This is still an open investigation. Eddington and Blaine will have your hide.”
    â€œLearnt my lesson last time, Doc. Okay, move ’er out, Jimmy.”
    Two sets of heavy footsteps retreated from the exam room. The front door slammed closed, rattling the log cabin. Charlotte heard Michael move about, cleaning up by the sound of the clattering instruments, cupboard doors closing, and sweeping.
    Charlotte closed her eyes, pushing memories out of her head. Maybe she could help Darcy some other way. Her desire to help Michael and the deputy find who had killed a young prostitute was now a quest to seek justice for a kindred soul of sorts.
    â€œSis.”
    Charlotte startled and her eyes flew open. Her face felt hot. Michael crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed.
    â€œYou all right?” He brushed a strand of damp hair off her forehead.
    She pushed herself up into a sitting position. “I’m fine.”
    His brow furrowed.
    Charlotte dropped her gaze and nudged him so she could swing her legs off the bed. “It’s fine. Just a temporary shock.”
    More lies. There was nothing temporary about the guilt and sadness that dwelled within her; they were always there, waiting for an opportunity to reappear. It had been several months since she had woken up shaking, if not crying, after one terrible dream or another. Now those dreams would surely return for the next few weeks.
    Charlotte and Michael both stood, and she busied herself with straightening her clothes so she wouldn’t have to look at him. She grabbed her coat from the chair where she’d left it earlier. Michael helped her slip it on.
    â€œMaybe you shouldn’t go to the party tonight,” he said, sounding a lot like their father.
    Charlotte cocked her head, confused. “Party?”
    â€œThe mayor’s gala. You can stay here, if you’d like.”
    That party. He meant well, but there was no way she would stay in his room with the constant reminder of the day’s trauma just beyond the door.
    â€œNo, I think a party is exactly what I need.” He looked skeptical. Not a surprise. Charlotte pecked him on the cheek. “I’ll go back to my room and freshen up.”
    He followed her through the exam room, where she avoided looking at the table, and to the front door. “Are you sure?”
    â€œThe distraction will do me good.” She put as much of a smile on her face as she could muster. “Seven o’clock?”
    â€œI’m supposed to escort Ruth from her house. Can you meet us at the Windsor?”
    Charlotte’s jaw muscles tightened, fixing the grin on her face. Of course he’d have to escort his fiancée. What else should she expect? “I’ll do that.”
    Michael reached past her to open the door. Watery sunlight dappled the stone step and street beyond. “See you there, but if you don’t feel like it later, don’t worry. It’s