Edgar Daniels wasn’t a warm and fuzzy guy. Not the type to inspire such dogged loyalty. I’d seen enough of life to know that there were a lot of things that could make gruff, emotionally distant Edgar Daniels look like a prize as a guardian. I was sick at the thought of Hope suffering any of the scenarios floating through my mind. She knew what it was like to be hungry. To be scared. Scared of what?
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but I was going to find out. Later.
Now wasn’t the time to pry. For better or worse, thanks to Prentice, time was something we had plenty of. I said the only thing I could.
“You’re right. I’m an ass. We’re all asses who don’t deserve what we have. And I’m sorry. If you’re happy with the choices you’ve made, that’s all that matters, and it’s none of my fucking business.”
Hope nodded her acceptance of my apology, her eyes glued to her new beer bottle, her thumb scraping at the label just like she had on the last one. She took a sip, swallowed, and met my eyes, her emotions locked tightly away. “What are you going to do about Ford?”
I wasn’t surprised by the change in subject. “I don’t know. You said he’d been arrested. I’m assuming since he missed the funeral and the circus at Harvey’s, he’s still in jail?”
“The judge denied bail.”
I raised an eyebrow. Here I was being an ass again, but come on—Ford is a Sawyer. “Are you telling me Ford couldn’t get the judge to grant him bail?”
Hope shook her head. “Cole Haywood is his attorney. He’s good, one of the best, but the evidence—” She shook her head. “The judge felt Ford was a flight risk and the evidence was overwhelming.”
“What do they have?”
“Harvey might know more, or we can talk to Cole, but I know they found shoes that match footprints found outside your father’s office window, which was open. A gun in Ford’s bedroom closet that matches the bullet that killed your father. He also doesn’t have an alibi, and people saw him speeding out of town not long after the coroner says Prentice died.”
“Shit. That’s bad,” I said. Bad didn’t really cover it. With that kind of evidence, I’d bet the D.A. was thinking it was open and shut. The press was going to have a field day if this went to court. The Sawyer name wasn’t nationally prominent—Prentice made a point of staying out of the news—but we had too much money not to be a factor.
The heir apparent murdering his father in the family manor house? That’s news. “How are they keeping this quiet? Why aren’t there news vans everywhere? Are they holding Ford in town?”
“They moved him to the county prison after the judge denied bail. Cole is doing everything he can, but all the evidence points right to Ford.”
“But you don’t think he did it?” I asked.
“The evidence looks bad, but I know Ford pretty well,” Hope said. “Uncle Edgar’s business intertwines with Sawyer business and I’ve worked with Ford and Prentice a lot over the years. Your father was an ass, no argument there, but Ford is a good guy. A little distant. Stiff, maybe, but he’s honorable. He’s not a liar or a cheat.”
“Funny you’d call him honorable, considering.” Considering he’d betrayed me to our father while cheating with my fiancée. When he was done, I was homeless, and Ford had both my inheritance and my woman. Not exactly honorable.
Hope looked away. “He’s changed, Griffen. He’s not like your father. And he’s smart. If Ford had killed Prentice, he wouldn’t have been caught.”
“You think he was set up.”
“It sounds so contrived, but I can’t get my head around anything else. As far as I know, Ford didn’t carry his gun with him. Ford is controlled. I’ve never seen him lose his temper. I could see him killing Prentice. I could see a lot of people killing Prentice. But not like that.”
“Any ideas who might have done it?” I had to ask even though I knew what she was going to say.
“How long do you have? Half the people who knew your father probably thought about killing him at least once. He had his fingers in a lot of pies. There could be enemies we don’t know anything about. We have a good police force in town. Weston Garfield is the police chief—you remember him—and the county sheriff is a good guy. But with this kind of evidence, they’re not looking for anyone else. Why would they?”
“Then I guess we pencil in a visit to West and Cole Haywood after we get back.”
A knock fell on the door. Hope rose to answer. Out of habit, I followed her, checking the peephole to see the pizza delivery kid before I stepped back to let her open it. Sawyers Bend is a small town and relatively safe. Then again, my father probably thought it was safe, and look what had happened to him.