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will talk more freely to me, cop to cop. Plus, my being there will kick their asses into high gear. There’s something about the Seventy-fifth in Brooklyn that has a macho effect on cops in the boonies. Makes them want to prove they’ve got what it takes.”
    “A good old-fashioned pissing match,” Devon muttered.
    “Something like that. So tell Meredith to stay put. I’ll pick her up in an hour and a half. She can ride up with me.”
    “So can I.” Devon rose.
    “No.” Monty gave an adamant shake of his head. “You can’t. Stay here. I’ll call you the minute I know anything.” His jaw worked. “Devon, your mother’s out there somewhere. She’s going to contact us eventually. You’re home base. Be here to hold down the fort.”
    “Okay,” she conceded. “I will. But, Monty…”
    “Everything’s going to be fine.” He crossed over, gave Devon a quick kiss on top of her head. “You’ll see.”
     
CHAPTER 4
     
    Blake Pierson sat at the kitchen counter, his fingers steepled in front of him. He’d come up to the farm to relax, to get away from all the tension in the office. Instead, he was perched here, waiting for his grandparents to show up so they could discuss the ramifications of his uncle Frederick’s death.
    It was like a bizarre nightmare.
    Untangling his long legs from around the stool, Blake came to his feet. He wished he could
do
something. But there was nothing to be done. Not until his grandparents arrived. Then he’d have his work cut out for him.
    The immediate family had all been notified. Edward had seen to that. He and Blake’s grandmother, Anne, had been the ones who’d gotten the phone call from the sheriff. That was a lousy twist of fate. Sure, Anne was one tough bird and Edward was practically made of stone. But they were nearing eighty now, and Edward’s heart attack last year had thrown them for a loop — a frightening wake-up call that drove home the reality of their own mortality. Finding out that their eldest son was dead might be more than they could handle. At least if they could have heard it from a family member first, someone who could cushion the blow, it might have helped.
    But that’s not the way it had played out. The sheriff had done his best. Ascertaining that Frederick was a childless widower, he’d tried calling each of his brothers. He’d reached neither. Niles was in Wellington, Florida, watching his son, James, compete in the winter equestrian jumping competitions. And Gregory, Blake’s father, was in Italy, vacationing with his wife at their Tuscany villa. The sheriff had even tried phoning Pierson & Company, hoping to find an available family member in the office. No luck. Having run out of options, he’d called Edward and Anne at home.
    Edward had not only received the news, he’d staunchly contacted both Niles and Gregory at their respective vacation locales. Each of them was now making immediate arrangements to return home.
    The only grandchild Edward had gotten in touch with was Blake.
    Blake had been up here at the farm, jogging through the woods with his golden retriever pup, Chomper, when his cell phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, he’d recognized his grandparents’ home number and assumed there was some business crisis at Pierson & Company. He’d never imagined this. But he’d taken it in stride. He had to. If Frederick was dead, the fallout would be monumental.
    The front door slammed and footsteps sounded — footsteps that were every bit as sure as they’d been for all thirty-five years of Blake’s life.
    “Blake?” Edward Pierson walked into the room. Beneath his thick shock of white hair, his features were taut, the lines on his face more pronounced. His voice was rough, just as it had been when he called from the limo to say he was on his way up to the farm. But his composure was intact. He nodded curtly when he saw his grandson. “Not exactly the relaxing weekend you planned.”
    “No, but under the circumstances,