She’d been right. Jolene knew something. That’s why she’d researched the murder at the newspaper office.

“You never told me what got you interested in this murder case,” Dulcie said.

Jolene slowly raised her gaze to meet hers. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“Because I can tell you’re terrified for some reason,” Dulcie said. “So am I.”

Jolene studied her openly for a moment, then rose and went to the drawer in a cabinet. She took out some papers and, holding them against her chest, returned to her chair and sat down.

“I gave my students a short-story assignment. The story is to continue for six days with a small part turned in each day until the story ends on the last day.”

She glanced down at the papers she held tightly against her chest. “The first day I got an extra story. Someone had left it on an empty desk in the schoolhouse. The story is about the murder of a widow who had a young daughter.”

Dulcie wasn’t sure what she’d expected but definitely not this. “Laura Beaumont?”

“That would be my guess.”

“Who is leaving you the story?”

“I have no idea. Apparently, some of the residents have keys to the school, so it could be anyone.”

“This story, do you have reason to believe it’s not fictional?”

“It takes place during a hot spring just like this one. It reads as if it was written by someone who knew the murder victim, someone who watched her and her daughter.”

Dulcie felt her heart begin to race faster. “Someone who might know who killed her?”

“Possibly.”

Her gaze went to the pages Jolene held. She was trying to be patient. “Why would this person give it to you, do you think?”

“At first I thought they just wanted me to read their story and critique it.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m afraid it might be a confession.”

Dulcie sat forward. “May I read it?”

Jolene seemed to hesitate for a second before she handed it over. “It’s only the first four days’ worth. There are still two more segments. One tomorrow, with the ending on Monday. At least I hope there is an ending.”

“We already know how it ends,” Dulcie said absently, her attention on the papers in her hands.

“Do we?” Jolene said. “I’m not so sure about that.”

Chapter 9

Russell spent the remainder of the afternoon making sure Finnegan Amherst didn’t return to Dulcie’s farmhouse.

Watching the rainmaker work only convinced him that he and the other ranchers and farmers had just thrown away fifteen thousand dollars.

“So where did you learn this?” he’d asked Finnegan.

“I met an old Indian who could make rain. He taught me everything he knew.”