Crime Scene Cover-Up

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Crime Scene Cover-Up Page 8

by Julie Miller


  “It’s the people, not the place or the activity, that matter.” A lesson her grandparents had taught her as a child.

  “Yep. Still, when one of those people is missing...”

  Amy nodded. “Jocelyn was the closest thing to a sister I’ll ever have. Now Gran’s all I have left.”

  “You live here with your grandmother?”

  “I moved back when I left grad school at Williams University, after my grandfather passed. Mutual benefits. This way, I don’t worry about her being out here by herself.”

  “And she had the perfect location for your art studio.”

  “Exactly.” Amy fiddled with her pendant again, wishing she could rebuild her own heart the way she’d crafted the coiled tendrils around the abstract chunk of steel. “We’re all each other has.”

  “I lost my grandfather a couple of months ago.” The way he worked the tight line of his jaw made her think he was still in the throes of grief. “He was one of the greatest men I ever knew.”

  She reached over to squeeze his thigh. Exhaustion must be making her a fool to care about his pain. Or maybe it was simple empathy because of the loss she’d suffered today. “I’m sorry.”

  He placed his hand over hers. It was a workingman’s hand, yet it was as finely shaped as the rest of his body. “Thanks.”

  When he flipped his palm to link their fingers together, she didn’t pull away. Despite the instincts that screamed at her to guard her emotions, getting close to Mark Taylor felt so natural, so right. She felt his sadness as clearly as her own. “Are you okay?”

  “Hey, I’m here to cheer you up,” he teased.

  Amy didn’t laugh. “I told you I don’t need to be rescued.”

  “Give me a break. It’s what I do.” He tightened his grip around hers briefly before pulling away and checking his watch. “I hate to do this to you, but, if you’re ready, I do need you to go talk to Dad.”

  She stood when he did. “Might as well get it over with. I don’t know what I can tell him that I didn’t already tell the police.”

  “Just be honest. And if you don’t have an answer, it’s okay to say that, too.” Mark helped her close the windows. After locking up her studio, they crossed down to the long gravel driveway and headed back to the house.

  “I’m glad you were there when I found Jocelyn,” she admitted as he fell into step beside her. “But, for the record, I would have gotten past the shock. I would have called the police and made my way back here without your help.”

  He grinned at her over the jut of his shoulder. “Message received. You’re a tough chick and I’m a Neanderthal.”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth. It’s not an insult. I just meant that I can do the rescuing and cheering up, too.”

  “It’s okay to let someone help you when you need it, Amy. Family has taught me that.”

  Then why hadn’t his family helped him with the grief or guilt or whatever emotion had shadowed his face earlier?

  Amy grasped his hand and stopped, silently asking him to face her. When he did, she gave in to the urge that had taunted her all evening and reached up to smooth the messy spikes of hair that stood up above his forehead. She hadn’t expected a simple neatening up could feel so intimate. She hadn’t expected him to reach out and capture a loose lock of her hair between his fingers and inspect its color and texture before tucking it behind her ear, either.

  He was taking care of her. Rescuing her. Seducing her without even trying.

  “Look, Fire Man—Mark...” She grabbed his errant hand and squeezed it between both of hers, stilling his caress, whether it had been intended or accidental. She tilted her chin the short distance necessary to meet his curious gaze. “I need you to stop being such a good guy. Nothing’s going to happen between us. Nothing should. You don’t want to get involved with me. I can be a lot of trouble.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Seriously. I don’t think I’m your type, and...”

  “And what?” He switched grips so that he was holding her fingers in his. This would be so much easier if she could boss him around. He was patient, yes, had a cheesy sense of humor, but he clearly wasn’t a pushover. And that was part of the problem. “Are you thinking you like me, too?”

  “Too?” Her eyes widened at the implication. He was feeling this foolish connection just like she was. “This has been an extremely unusual day. We were thrown together by awful circumstances. You made me laugh, you annoyed the hell out of me, you comforted me—and I’m grateful. If I leaned on you a little bit, or there’s some heat-of-the-moment, opposites-attracting kind of thing going on, I blame it on the day.” She wished the breeze hadn’t kicked up just then, blowing the dust that billowed up from an approaching car in the driveway over them, and kicking up those coffee-colored spikes of hair her fingers itched to smooth into place again. She pulled away, wisely breaking all contact with him. “I’m not looking for a relationship. I’ve taken advantage of your kindness more than once today. I don’t want you to think I’m leading you on.”

  “Fair enough,” he agreed. He nodded toward her art studio. “But I wasn’t the only one doling out comfort back there. Don’t I get a say in this heat-of-the-moment, opposites-attracting thing, too?”

  Amy was saved from coming up with another reasonable argument that would shut down this budding attraction by the sound of her grandmother’s voice. “Amy?”

  At the honk of a car horn, Amy turned and waved a thanks to the friends who had dropped Comfort Hall off and were now driving away. Leaving Mark behind, she hurried to meet the slender, slightly stooped woman with the circular lime green eyeglasses, a mannish snow-white haircut and cropped linen pants that gave her grandmother a distinctly boho vibe.

  “Gran.” Amy wound her arms around Comfort’s slender shoulders and felt those familiar loving arms wrap around her in a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. What a horrible accident.” She pulled back far enough to study Amy’s face and inspect the evidence of tears there. “Jocelyn was such a fine young woman.”

  She pulled her in for another hug, and Amy held on when she felt the shudder of grief tremble through her grandmother’s body. They kissed each other’s cheek before Amy pulled away to deliver the grim news. “It wasn’t an accident, Gran. The police are in the preliminary stages of their investigation, but someone attacked Joss. The fire was an attempt to cover up the crime scene. I think her killer thought the police would blame it on the other fires we’ve been battling.”

  “Murder?” Comfort pressed a hand over her heart. “That poor girl. Who would want to hurt Jocelyn?” Dropping her voice to a whisper, Comfort peeked over the top of her glasses. “An arson fire? They don’t suspect—”

  “That’s why I wanted to warn you about all the people in the house tonight.” Amy cut her off before her grandmother could finish that sentence. She tilted her head toward the man waiting patiently behind her. “They’re trying to figure it all out.”

  “I see.” Comfort’s hazel eyes darted past Amy to assess Mark’s casual uniform before hugging her one more time. Gran understood better than anyone how much trouble Amy could be in if certain elements of her past came to light, whether she was innocent or not. “How are you holding up, dear?”

  “I’m okay.” She looked back to invite Mark to join them. “I made a new friend today. He tried to rescue me earlier.”

  The older woman snickered, not bothering to hide her amusement. “How did that go?”

  “He’s been...patient...with me.” She gestured to make the introductions. “Gran—Comfort Hall—this is Mark Taylor. He’s a KCFD firefighter.”

  Gran smiled broadly when Mark took her hand. “I can see that. Nice uniform.”

  “Mrs. Hall.”

  “Aren’t you a tall, hunky drink of water.” Her smile didn’t dim as she d
rew back. “I’m available, you know.” Oh, my gosh, was that a nudge on Amy’s elbow? “So is my granddaughter.”

  “Gran!”

  Mark grinned. “I believe you’re flirtin’ with me, ma’am.”

  “Is it working, handsome?”

  His cheekbones warmed with a sweetly vulnerable blush.

  Amy rushed to his defense, hoping to tone down the obvious matchmaking. “He’s not handsome, Gran.” When Comfort arched a fine, snowy white brow above her glasses, Amy realized that her words might not have come out the way she’d intended. Not wanting to offend Mark or endure a lecture on politeness from her grandmother, Amy hastened to explain. “His face is interesting.” Ever the artist, Amy touched Mark’s face to point out exactly what made his looks so compelling. “Strong angles and shading. The intriguing bump on his nose. Those gray-blue eyes. The design of his face is better than handsome.” When she felt the stubble of his beard tickling her fingertips, and saw those gorgeous eyes boring into hers, Amy quickly pulled away. Now they were both blushing. She squared her back against the firefighter who was doing crazy things to her vows to swear off men and wrapped an arm around her grandmother’s shoulders. “We’d better get you inside. The police and arson investigator might want to ask you some questions about Jocelyn.”

  “Did you make coffee for them?” Comfort asked.

  “No. I was trying to stay out of the way.” When Comfort stopped at the bottom of the porch steps, Amy confessed the truth. “All right. I was hiding out for a few minutes, trying to get my act together. I’m guessing someone sent Mark out to fetch me.”

  “I came of my own volition,” Mark volunteered, unable to avoid eavesdropping. “I swear.”

  Comfort lowered her voice to a whisper. “He seems like a nice man.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Amy whispered right back.

  A little bit of heartbreak creased her face before Comfort squeezed Amy’s hand. On a mission now, she turned and climbed the porch steps. “I’d better get a pot started for our guests. You get cleaned up and come help me.”

  “What is it with everyone wanting me naked in a shower?”

  Her grandmother turned at the front door. “Who wants to get you naked?”

  “Gran!” Amy heard the words and turned to Mark to apologize. “I mean, offering me a private bath...” Nope. That wasn’t any better. “I will stop talking now.”

  Mark nudged a pebble with his foot, the blush on his cheeks as evident as the fire heating her own. But her grandmother was grinning from ear to ear as Amy glared daggers at her. “I don’t know what you two have been talking about, but it sounds mighty intriguing. It was nice to meet you, Mark.”

  “Ma’am.”

  Comfort winked behind her glasses. “Invite your friend to stay if he wants.”

  When the front door closed behind her grandmother, Amy quickly apologized to Mark. “That was awkward.”

  Being the unfailingly good guy that he was, Mark grinned and put her at ease. “Don’t worry. I know a thing or two about grandmothers. Relentless matchmakers. Always worried you’re going to wind up alone.”

  “Or unfed.” She shrugged. “And unwashed, apparently.”

  His easy, deep-pitched laughter made her smile. Amy extended her hand. Nothing could ever come of this chemistry they seemed to share, but she had enjoyed most of her time with Mark Taylor. “Thank you, Fire Man.”

  “I was just doing—”

  “Don’t say you were just doing your job. I was losing it earlier, when I couldn’t find Jocelyn. I did lose it when we did.” The polite thing to do would be to release his hand. And yet she didn’t. Instead she turned it over and traced the shape of his knuckles with her fingertips. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you then. But I couldn’t think straight. I was frantic with the need to—”

  “Find your friend.” His grip tightened around hers a moment before he proved the stronger of them and pulled away to prop his hands at his waist. “I’ll give you a pass on that one today, too. Your reputation as a stubbornly independent woman is still intact.”

  “Thanks.” Amy tugged on the bandanna knotted at her wrist. “And thanks for not letting me be alone with my thoughts for too long tonight.”

  “Why does Dale O’Brien call you Crazy Amy?”

  “Because he’s a jerk?” The abrupt change in topic when she kept trying to say goodbye reminded her that he could be part of his father’s investigation. But O’Brien was a sore spot for her. “Because I don’t bow down at his feet like he’s the power broker he thinks he is? I work odd hours in my studio when I get an inspiration, so he thinks I’m spying on him and sabotaging his construction sites if I’m up in the middle of the night? He doesn’t understand the words no sale? Take your pick. And yes, I might have given him a little aesthetic advice on the design of his blocky, modern houses so that they fit in better with the lake and wilderness surrounding us. His designs are like sticking a concrete cinder block in the middle of a Monet painting. I don’t think he appreciated my input. I can be obstinate sometimes.”

  “Really? You? Speaking your mind?” Mark teased.

  “You don’t know me, Fire Man,” she teased right back.

  “I know you don’t take orders very well.”

  “No. But I can be reasoned with.” She frowned, remembering that he hadn’t been reasonable at all when he’d first chased her down during her search for Jocelyn. “Would you really have thrown me over your shoulder and carried me away from the fire?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m a big girl,” she argued.

  “I’m a big boy,” he responded without batting an eye. “Picking you up would not be a problem for me.” His strong arms swelled in size as he crossed them over his chest, more than proving his point.

  Something deep inside Amy’s womb fluttered at the blatant show of masculinity. Not. Your. Type. Why couldn’t she keep a coherent thought around this man? Or just walk away from him? “I don’t know whether that’s freakin’ hot or if I should be offended by your Neanderthal tactics.”

  “Did it get you to listen to me in a potentially dangerous situation?”

  “It got my attention. But I think hearing me out, and the promise to give me fifteen minutes of your time, is what ensured my cooperation.”

  “So, I’m a Neanderthal and you’re crazy. Makes me think we should go out sometime. People would talk.”

  “Probably not in the way you think.” Captain Good Guy and the eccentric bad girl? People would definitely talk...about her ruining his life or corrupting his heroic ways. Amy smiled. “Good night, Mark Taylor. I’m glad I met you.”

  He caught her hand when she reached the top step. “I was serious about the date thing. When you’re ready. After you’ve had the time you need to grieve.”

  Bless his think-the-best-of-everyone heart. That was why he thought she was refusing him? She should have set him straight immediately, but he was giving her time and space. And he wasn’t professing insta-love or asking her for anything but an evening of her time. Plus, she really did like the guy...even when he was telling her what to do. Or asking questions. And his face wasn’t the only interesting thing about him. She wanted to know more about the dark secrets hidden beneath his friendly exterior. She understood a lot about the differences between what she felt and what she showed the world, too. And how exactly was a woman supposed to resist those smoky blue puppy-dog eyes looking up at her?

  “Give me your phone.” After he pulled it from the clip on his belt, she typed in her number and the nickname Red. “Call or text me sometime.”

  “I will.” When she handed him her cell, he typed in his number and the words Fire Man. “So you know it’s me.” He tucked his phone back onto his belt. “You take care of yourself. No more running toward the fire, okay? That’s my job.”

  When Amy stepped onto the porch, the front door opene
d. The man she now knew to be Mark’s father, Gideon Taylor, stepped out, blocking her path. Detectives Beck and Carson flanked him on either side. This couldn’t be good. Amy bristled, straightening to every inch of height she possessed and raising her invisible defenses.

  Then Dale O’Brien slipped out the door behind them, his self-satisfied smile curling around the matchstick he chewed between his teeth. Amy glanced behind her, too late spotting the white O’Brien Construction pickup parked in the shadows beyond the lights of the house, behind all the official vehicles lining her driveway. How had she missed seeing him here? Because she’d been too distracted by grief and Captain Good Guy to realize she needed to be protecting herself.

  This so couldn’t be good.

  “Miss Hall?” The gravitas in Gideon Taylor’s voice demanded her attention. She faced him again, feeling outnumbered, outsmarted and under attack as the three people with badges and that crud O’Brien all studied her.

  “What is it, Dad?”

  Amy jumped at the weight of Mark Taylor’s hand settling at the small of her back. While she appreciated his support, she doubted it would last.

  “Son.” Gideon acknowledged Mark before returning his gaze to her. “Miss Hall, I’m the chief arson investigator for the KCFD. Our records indicate that we’ve been out here before investigating suspicious events on your property.”

  Her gaze immediately shot to the helpful citizen who had no doubt reported her. Dale O’Brien would do anything to get her and her gran booted off this property—even take advantage of her vulnerability on the day her best friend had been murdered.

  Unless he’d had something to do with that murder? Was the man so desperate to build his Copper Lake empire that he’d kill an innocent woman to set her up like this?

  “What did you do, O’Brien?” she accused, letting the anger coursing through her chase away the chill she’d felt a moment ago. She shimmied away from Mark’s touch and lifted her gaze back to Deputy Chief Taylor. “It’s not what you think, sir.”

 

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