A Valentine Wish (Gates-Cameron 1)

She beamed. “I’m so glad to hear that. At least Someone refused to accept those lies about Ian and me.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Er—”

She frowned suspiciously. “He did think Ian was innocent, didn’t he?”

Dean looked at the ceiling.

Anna stamped her foot. The gesture was no less expressive for being utterly silent. “How could he believe Ian could do those things? You tell Jeffrey that I would have expected more of him.”

“Anna, he’s dead. Has been for years.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip. “Of course he is,” she said quietly. “Everyone is, aren’t they?”

“As far as I’ve been able to find out. It has been seventy-five years. We have to be realistic.”

“Didn’t you find out anything else today? Wasn’t there anyone who believed Ian and I were murdered, and that the real culprit was never unmasked?”

“Mark—the newspaper editor-said there werea few rumors, but for the most part everyone believed the official story, told by the lawman who allegedly caught you and your brother in a secret meeting with a known criminal.”

“I heard the story your bleached-blond friend told at your dinner table the other night,” Anna said scornfully. “I’ve heard others give various versions of the same tale. Garbage, all of it. Ian wasn’t meeting with Buck Felcher, and he didn’t open fire on Stanley Tag ert. Ian was walking with me, and he certainty wasn’t armed.”

“So you’re saying Tagert lied. That he was involved in the crime and used you and your brother as scapegoats.”

“Exactly. It was Stanley and Buck having the secret meeting. And another man. The one who shot us.”

“Buck was also shot and killed,” Ian said.

“I heard a third shot just as I lost consciousness,” Anna mused. “They must have killed Buck then. Maybe he wasn’t cooperating with them. Or maybe they didn’t want him as a witness to our murders.”

“Who was the third man? The one you say did the shooting?”

She threw up her hands in frustration. “I don’t know! If I did, I would have told you by now. Someone murdered us, and Stanley Tagert lied to protect him.”

Dean shook his head. “It’s hard to believe Tagert could concoct that elaborate a cover-up in such a short time. Surely there were witnesses from the party. People who heard shots, ran to investigate. Questions.”

“I don’t know,” she said curtly. “I wasn’t around for a while. By the time Ian and I came back, the investigation was over and everyone seemed to believe the lies. We’ve been determined ever since to find a way to clear our names. And you’re it, Dean. I just know you are.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, wondering how he’d ever gotten himself into this mess. “What makes you so sure I’m the one to help you?”

“I’ve thought about that,” she admitted. “Ian keeps asking the same thing. And all I can say is that I have a very strong feeling that you and I were meant to cross paths. There has to be a reason why you can see me, hear me, when others can’t. There has to be a purpose.”

He sighed. “I’m not so sure. Even if I could find evidence of your innocence—and that’s a real long shot, considering how much time has passed—who would believe me? And why would anyone really care, after all this time?”

“Ian and I care,” she said quietly. “We care very deeply. Why else do you think we’d still be here?”

He cleared his throat. “Where’s Buck? He was apparently murdered at the same time. Didn’t he come back with you?”

She shook her head. “We wondered about that for a time. Ian finally decided that since Buck was guilty of the crimes he was accused of, there was no reason for him to stay around to clear his name.”

That sounded as logical to Dean as anything else that had been presented to him in the past few days. “Tell me exactly what happened that evening, everything you remember,” he suggested. “Maybe I’ll be able to find something to back up your story.”

She started at the beginning. “Ian was outside in the garden, angry about the rumors that had been circulating. I went out to soothe him and to try to entice him back inside...”

She gave him the facts concisely, unemotionally, her voice quavering only when she described Ian’s death. “And that’s all I know,” she concluded a few moments later.

“You never saw the face of the third man? Didn’t recognize his shape? His voice?”

She shook her head. “Ian and I have discussed this endlessly. Neither of us knows who he was. Both of us have our suspicions.”