Hers for the Holidays by Samantha Hunter Page A

kind of attention.”
    There were so many kids in the city that went unnoticed, and ended up lost for good. Jonas had been a cop for several years, and some of the stories he told from those days painted a sad, dark picture of the inner city.
    “Don’t kid yourself. We try, but the problems get more serious here all the time. Meth labs, illegals, domestic violence. It’s a small town, but we have the same challenges some of the cities have, and fewer people to cover them. Anyway...you are?”
    “Ely Berringer. I’m in town for a few days, visiting a friend. Lydia Hamilton.”
    “Right. I heard Lydia was back in town, but our paths haven’t crossed yet.”
    “You know her?”
    “She was friends with my younger sister Ginny when we were growing up. Always wondered what happened to her after she took off. Sorry to hear about her mama, though,” the sheriff offered. “Faye was a great lady. A cornerstone of the town.”
    Ely recognized the name, Ginny, from the yearbook he’d seen. “Lydia has been having some trouble since she’s come back to town. She didn’t want to make a fuss over it—she seems to think it’s nothing, but I’m concerned.”
    The sheriff’s eyes narrowed as he sat back in his chair.
    “What kind of trouble, exactly?”
    “Small stuff around the ranch, so I’ve heard—messages left, broken fences. Two guys were harassing her at the bar night before last. But later that same night, someone was in her house. Luckily, she had a gun, and one of her ranch hands and I were close by. Drove the guy off.”
    The sheriff straightened, grabbed a pen. “An intruder? Why didn’t she call us?”
    “She did. Your deputy told her there wasn’t anything they could do, and so she didn’t see the point in calling back.”
    The men took each other in for a few seconds, sizing each other up.
    “I wasn’t informed. She must not have filed a formal report, or I would have seen it. Was she hurt?” Granger asked.
    Ely shook his head. “They vandalized her kitchen, broke some stuff. It shook her up. I found this in the snow by the house the next day,” he said, taking the vial out of his pocket.
    Granger scrutinized it in his hand. “This could be anything.”
    “It looks like vials I’ve seen used for drugs.”
    Granger’s eyebrows shot up. “You have a lot of experience in that area?”
    “I’ve seen my share when I was in Afghanistan, and on the streets. My brother was a cop for a while.”
    “The house has been empty and sometimes folks will scan the obits looking for places to loot. As for this, I can try it for prints and contents, but I wouldn’t expect much. It could have been on the ground for who knows how long,” the sheriff countered.
    “I don’t think it was kids or thieves in the house. They didn’t take anything, and why not do it before the house was occupied? Lydia said someone here might be bearing some sort of grudge, and if so, how far they might be willing to go to deliver that message.”
    “Lydia tell you that? That someone has a grudge?”
    “Just my gut.”
    “You’re in law enforcement?” the sheriff asked.
    “I was in the Marines, and I work as private security with a firm back in Philly. I came out here to check on Lydia, as a friend.”
    “So you were the guy who phoned in the complaint about the two guys harassing a woman last night near Hailey’s?”
    Ely nodded. “Saw it all myself if you need a witness.”
    “I took care of it,” Granger said succinctly, clearly closing off that thread in their discussion. “Lydia left a long time ago—under bad circumstances, that was true—but I don’t think anyone would hold that against her now.”
    “What bad circumstances?” Ely asked, noting that the sheriff had completely ignored his question about the two cowboys.
    Granger grimaced. “Water under the bridge. It’s up to her to tell you, if she wants to. I can go by the house, talk to her, get a statement and look around the place. Other than that,