his service, he had a degree in Fire Science. Hed come home to join the Jackson Hole fire department and marry his sweetheart.
Where did I go wrong? he muttered, frowning into the darkness of the kitchen. Where? And who had killed Bev and set his house on fire?
The coffee now ready, Matt automatically poured himself a cup and stood in the silence of the kitchen. Mentally, as he sipped the hot, black brew, he went over the cold case. As badly as the local police and the county sheriffs department had tried, they couldnt find the killer or the reason for such a shocking attack. Jackson Hole was the Palm Springs of the Rocky Mountain states. It was filled with corporate millionaires, oil tycoons, politicians, Hollywood stars, ranchers, overseas tycoons and national tour operators. The middle class lived on the outskirts or in Driggs, Idaho, across the Grand Tetons or fifty miles south in Star Valley, Wyoming.
Who would want to do this to him? Who had a vendetta against him? Matt had lived here all his life. He made friends, not enemies. The sheriffs department had gone out of their way to work hand-in-hand with the Jackson Hole police department. Theyd found nothing. Nothing. Matts mouth was a grim line as he considered the possibilities. There were none. And Matt lived in silent terror of this home and his daughter being attacked once again.
Matt didnt taste the coffee. He never did at this time of morning. When Megan had her nightmares, his mind would churn with so many unanswered questions. His good friend, Cade Garner, a deputy sheriff, had gone above and beyond the call of duty to try and find out who had done this. Cade had come up empty-handed. The deputy felt the arsonist might have been an itinerant who had wandered through the area, but Matts gut told him otherwise.
At thirty, Matt had been a firefighter for four years. He knew fire. He knew its ways. And yes, as Cade had informed him, he knew they had a few amateur arsonists in the valley. But none of them had killed anyone. And the county sheriff had personally confided in him that Bev had been killed by a professional. One shot to the head. That bothered him more than anything else. The coroner, Jason Armitage, had told him his wife had not been molested or harmed in any other way, and that gave Matt some relief. He didnt think he could stand the thought of Bev being raped and then murdered. Dr. Armitage had postulated that someone had hired a hit man to come in and do the killing.
Shaking his head in frustration, Matt moved restlessly around the large, airy kitchen. The coolness of the pine floor felt good against the soles of his feet. It grounded him, kept him here. Who would hire a hit man to kill his wife? And why hadnt the hit man walked down the hall to kill Megan, too? It just didnt make sense!
Growling an obscenity beneath his breath, Matt stopped, turned and stared out the large window above the kitchen sink. It was dark and quiet outside this house. His gut churned. Hed gotten heartburn a lot since Bevs death. It always kicked up when Megan would run down the hall and wake him, sobbing and clinging to him as if a monster were chasing her.
Megan knew something. Matt sensed it. What had she seen? She couldnt speak, and a host of child psychologists over the last two years had tried to spring open that door and get her to talk, but all Megan would do was cling to Elmo and stare up at them with huge, terrified blue eyes, her mouth open, lips tremblingbut no sound other than animal-like cries would issue forth. Rubbing his wrinkled brow, Matt paced around the island in the kitchen. What could he do to get Meggie to talk again? What?
Guilt that he was gone when this had happened ate daily at Matt. If hed been here, hed have heard someone breaking into their house. Bev had always been a deep, hard sleeper. An earthquake could have shaken the place and she wouldnt wake up. Matt, on the other hand, had always been a light sleeper. The least noise and he sprang awake in a millisecond. He knew hed have heard the murderous intruder. If only hed been here and not away at fire school in Cheyenne. He could have saved Bevs life, stopped his daughter from being utterly traumatized and saved the house hed built with his own two hands from being burned to the ground.
Halting, Matt sipped the last of the coffee. It was scaldingly hot, but he wasnt aware of that. His heart and mind were centered on Megan. He would be taking her to school at 7:00 a.m. She would sit in the back of Mrs. Harringtons class, mute, attentive and taking notes. Sherry Harrington, Megans second-grade teacher, was wonderful with his daughter. Matt thanked God for that. Megan was intelligent and caught on quickly. She could read and comprehend, but she never uttered
a word out loud. Sherry had even tried getting the children to read from Muppet stories in hopes that Megan would want to take part, but she did not.
And so, Megan would sit mutely in class. Mrs. Harrington was sensitive and attentive, even though she had a class of thirty second-graders. She went out of her way to create unique teaching content for Megan. Matt was forever grateful to the teacher.