“Are Jared and Gabrielle struggling for money?” Ophelia asked. “I thought he had an excellent job.”
“He does and everything’s fine,” Evelyn said, with a tone that Ophelia knew meant that even if it wasn’t, she was changing the topic. “You should really consider staying with us in the hotel. The rooms they’ve booked are just gorgeous. Now, I have a plan to get you a date for this wedding. One of my friends told me about this wonderful telephone thing she used to help her grandson find a wife.”
“That’s kind, but I’m not looking to date anyone right now. Between my full-time job and a PhD, I don’t really have time.”
But Evelyn had already gone to get her large cell phone from her purse. She opened it to a bubble gum pink dating app. Ophelia gaped as her grandmother started to swipe through the smiling faces.
“It’s called Loving Meddlers,” Evelyn said. Her blue eyes twinkled. “Isn’t that perfect? You can put your grown children and grandchildren on it, and it shows you lovely young people nearby who you can introduce them to, through whoever put them on the thing. Like, see, this man’s mother just logged in that they’re visiting a petting zoo less than a quarter of a mile away. He’s a cop and has a little boy.”
Ophelia glanced down at the screen and felt a rush of heat rising to her cheeks, to see the dark hair and intense brown eyes of FBI Agent Kyle West of the Mountain Country K-9 Task Force looking back up at her. Ophelia bit her lower lip as if the incredibly handsome detective could see her through the screen.
“I actually know that one,” she admitted, “or at least I know of him. We’ve worked several of the same crime scenes. He’s an FBI agent who specializes in serial killers.”
“Oh.” Evelyn grimaced. “Maybe not him, then.”
A loud bang sounded from somewhere on the other side of the door. Instinctively, Ophelia froze. A second bang sounded. A distant voice screamed.
“Is somebody setting off fireworks?” Evelyn asked.
“No.” Ophelia could feel a danger warning tingling at the back of her skull. “Those were gunshots.” The property didn’t have a range and handguns were prohibited for hunting in Santa Fe. She snatched up her bag, opened the door a crack and listened. Voices were shouting in what sounded like panic and confusion. “Stay here and don’t open the door to anyone but me or Jared.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, sweetie,” her great-aunt called. “If there’s something wrong it’ll be handled by law enforcement.”
“I’m a part of law enforcement.”
One without a gun, but still she wasn’t about to just hunker down and hide when someone might be in danger.
She locked the door handle behind her and slipped back out into the heat. The courtyard was empty, leaving nothing but fallen chairs and plates of food. The gunshot and scream seemed to have been coming from the direction of the barn where the wedding reception would be. She made her way toward it, gleaning what bits of information she could from the shaken guests she passed.
Then she saw Jared running toward her in an expensive tan suit, his eyes wide with panic. He grabbed her arm. “Ophelia!”
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Have you seen Gabrielle?”
“No,” she said. “But your grandmother is safe and inside one of the suites.”
His blue eyes scanned past her. He still hadn’t answered her question and she wondered if he’d even heard her.
“What happened?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” His skin was paler than she’d ever seen it before and so clammy she wondered if he was about to be sick. “I heard this popping sound. People dropped their food and ran into the building. Somebody said someone was shot.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I heard someone scream.”
“I did, too,” she said. “Has anyone called 911?”
“I...I don’t know...” His head shook. She wondered if he was in shock. “I have to find Gabrielle.”
“When you find her, get inside!”
In the meantime, she was going to call 911. She dialed the number and ran for the barn, down stone paths hemmed in by tall, flowering bushes. A dispatcher answered immediately.
“This is CSI Ophelia Clarke of the Santa Fe PD,” Ophelia told her. “I’m at Cherish Ranch’s wedding venue in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. I heard gunfire and there’s a report of someone being shot. I’m trying to find that person and see if I can help them.”
And if not, she was going to secure the scene and keep people from trampling on whatever evidence there was. Her sandals slipped on the terra-cotta tile, threatening to trip her up. She kicked them off and ran for the barn barefoot.
“We’ve got law enforcement heading your way,” the dispatcher told her. “But they’re twenty-two minutes out.”
Which might be too late if the victim was bleeding out. And an eternity if the shooter was still on-site.
“Call FBI Agent Kyle West of the Mountain Country K-9 Task Force,” Ophelia said. “He’s apparently less than a quarter mile away.”
“We’ll try to reach him.”
She silently thanked God for her great-aunt’s ridiculous app for alerting her to that. Ophelia reached the barn. A handful of guests were standing around the front, taking pictures on their phones, while a couple of men in suits, who she guessed were ranch security, tried to stop them from getting too close.
She wedged her phone into the crook of her neck, yanked her identification badge from her bag and flashed it at them. “CSI Clarke, Santa Fe PD,” she said. “I’m on the phone with dispatch now.”
They waved her through. The huge sliding door was open a couple of feet. She came to a stop.
“Hello?” she called. No answer.
She took a deep breath to steal her nerves and stepped inside. The barn was deep and cool. Chandeliers constructed from hundreds of vintage lightbulbs hung down from the ceiling above. Tables were stacked along one side, covered with mason jar oil lamps. Chairs decked in flowing fabric sat in clumps waiting to be set up for the reception, along with pedestals of flowers and buckets of soapy water and cleaning supplies. Silently, she tiptoed through them.
Then she saw him.
