“I am. Hi,” I said to the tall stranger with the dark hair and eyes as he wandered the aisles at the front of the store. “Can I help you find something in particular?”
“Anna Karenina,” he said with a slight smile. “I haven’t read it since college.”
“Tolstoy is over here,” I informed him, leading him to the fiction shelves in the middle of the store. Even as I was busy with my customer, Tristan was settling himself in the chair. It looked like we were about to lock horns at the closing bell.
“Thanks,” said the man with the charming smile. I noticed flecks of gray in his hair. Without thinking, my eyes went to his left index finger. No ring. Of course that really didn’t mean a whole lot, other than there was a slightly higher chance he wasn’t married. It didn’t mean he wasn’t involved with someone did it? These days, that could be anybody.
“My pleasure.” I headed back to finish adding the new arrivals to the bookshelf, and sure enough, Tristan decided that being a complete ass was more pleasurable than behaving.
“Oh, I get it. Not only are you blowing me off, you’re throwing yourself at the first available guy, just to rub my nose in it.” He sat pouting in the chair he commandeered. I just kept working. “So, now you’re going to give me the silent treatment?”
“Tristan, I’m sure there’s a perfect woman out there for you somewhere, but I’m not her. We don’t really have anything in common and I’ve tried to make you understand that we just don’t click. Your best choice is to forget about me and move on, because we are not going to date again.”
“Bravo, Riley, bravo! Wonderful performance. Is this your idea of foreplay for the new guy? Hey, buddy!”
The stranger looked up from perusing the books in front of him, frowning. “Is there a problem?”
“No, no. No problem. I just wanted to let you know that Riley thinks you’re a hunk. Maybe you two should get together. I’m not her type, but you might be. What do you say? Take her out for a drink, feel her up, give her a tumble in the sack?”
“Shut up, Tristan,” I growled under my breath, appalled.
“Or what? What will you do, Riley?” he challenged me. “Insult me again?”
“You want to know why I don’t want to go out with you, Tristan? You’re a self-absorbed, narcissistic jerk who thinks his wads of cash are more important than actually acquiring a likable personality. You have money, but no class. You have a superior attitude, but no compassion for or connection to your fellow man. I thought you were repellent the first time I met you and I should have trusted that impression. My mistake was ever agreeing to go out with you in the first place. Now,” I took a deep breath and snarled in his direction, “bugger off!”
I didn’t care what the stranger thought of me as I made my way to the desk. I didn’t care if he was married or available. I just wanted Tristan Dunlop to find the nearest sink hole and jump into it.
“Nice,” the offended man sniffed sarcastically. “A school librarian just put me in my place. Maybe my first impression of you was also correct. Maybe you really are a man-hating, frigid bitch in need of a good shag.”
“Well, if I am, it sure as hell won’t be from you, pal! Now, do you need an escort out of here or can you make on your own?” As Tristan took three steps towards me, his fists curled, his posture menacing, I stood my ground. With my hands on my hips, I was prepared to do battle. That myth about librarians being shy is a bunch of malarkey, no doubt invented by the same guys who came up with the Catholic schoolgirl in the short plaid skirt thing as a turn-on. I wasn’t going to take off my nerd glasses and let down my braid any time soon. If anything, I was going to call the police and complain about Tristan’s over-the-line bad behavior. And at this point, I didn’t care that his family held a lot of clout in town. The creep was a menace to society.
The next words out of his mouth were so foul and disgusting, I admit I was shocked to my core. I’d tell you what he said to me, but I have too much respect for you, dear reader. Even the man with the Tolstoy paperback looked dismayed. For a moment, I wondered if Tristan would actually attack me.
If you’re thinking this is just a “he said, she said” situation, rest assured it’s not. It wasn’t as if I had ever led him on, teasing him into falling for me. I hadn’t even flirted with him. And as for our dates, they were uneventful. We doubled with Kathy and her boyfriend on the first. The second was lunch on a Sunday at a crowded restaurant overlooking the ocean, where Tristan talked about himself and I listened. The third date signaled the end of hope, when we went to dinner and a movie. In the theater, he pestered me frequently, trying to hold my hand in the dark. In the car, he tried to cop a feel before I fought him off. By the time he dropped me off at my doorstep, the best he got was the opportunity to air-kiss my cheek as I evaded his practiced moves. That all just seemed to get him even more excited. The phone calls started coming with frightening regularity, despite my adamant refusal for another date. Ever since then, Tristan’s attitude had gone mean. Now, as his anger got the better of him, he seemed unlikely to let it go.
“Stay away from me,” I sputtered. “Don’t ever speak to me again, don’t ever contact me again. Just get away from me.”
I never let my gaze drop. I kept the eye contact even as I saw his fury barely contained. He finally turned and stormed out of the shop. The tinny sound of the bell seemed to go on forever, thanks to the big slam Tristan gave the door on his way out. If that customer hadn’t been here, what would have happened? I shuddered at the thought.
“Are you okay?” It was the stranger. I could see the concern in those dark eyes. I nodded.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said kindly. “Can I give you a piece of advice?”
“Um,” I said, taking a deep breath, still trying to calm my rapid heartbeat, “sure.”
“When a man is that riled up, don’t argue with him. Deflect him.”
“What?” Was he suggesting I date Tristan to keep him happy?
“Blow him off that obviously and he’s going to make trouble for you, as payback. Take a less direct approach. Don’t be quite so honest. You see, the minute I walked in, he had an audience. He’s a real loser when it comes to women and you would have turned him down anyway, but he was more upset that you did it in front of me.”
“Really? So, your advice is I should lie down and take a good stomping from the....”
He cut me off, waving the book towards the counter. “My apologies. I overstepped my bounds. I’ll get out of your hair. If you’ll just let me pay for this, I won’t trouble you anymore.”
He swiped his credit card through the machine and signed for his purchase. Alton Wheeler. As I handed him the receipt, I gazed up a final time, knowing his eyes would be on mine. I owed him an apology. It wasn’t his fault Tristan was a jerk.
“Look, I’m really sorry you had to hear all that. It was unprofessional of me to lose my temper. And,” I swallowed, “I do understand what you’re saying. The trouble is the guy seems to be getting worse. I feel like I’m being followed everywhere lately. He has a knack for turning up when I’m by myself. I just want him to stop. I want to be left alone.”
“You have to be careful when you’re dealing with people who constantly seek to save face. They will destroy you to make themselves appear powerful. A man like Tristan doesn’t want people around town thinking you have the upper hand.”
“What’s the solution? I move?” I meant it as a joke, but the stranger didn’t laugh.
“It’s more about making yourself less of a target. When you resist that way, he takes it as a challenge. Dull down some of that personality of yours. Make yourself less attractive to him by not showing any emotion, and he won’t have anything to work with when he comes at you. Disengage.”
“Food for thought,” I admitted. “Thanks.”
I actually meant it. I would think about his suggestion, because my gut was telling me that Tristan wasn’t about to leave me alone, and th
at meant he was going to put even more effort into stalking me.
“Are you here all by yourself?” he asked. I hesitated to answer for a moment, and that didn’t go unnoticed. “What I was going to suggest is that I wait until you lock up, so I know you’re okay. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
“The owner lives upstairs. I have an apartment above him.” Why was I telling a stranger so much personal information?
“Can you call him, make sure he keeps an ear out for you?” Alton Wheeler asked.
“Right now?”
“Yes. I want to know that when I leave here, someone is available if you need help.”
“Well, he’s hardly....”
“Humor me?” There it was, a flash of boyish charm, but behind it was genuine concern.
“Sure.” I dialed Mr. Lawson, gave him a brief explanation of Tristan’s behavior, and told him that the stranger was going to make sure I locked up.
“Yes, I’ll stop in when I’m done here,” I promised the elderly man.
Five minutes later, as I double-checked the lock on the door out to the back alley, Alton stood by and watched, then we both walked to the front of the shop. Pausing by the door, he held up the book.
“Thanks for this,” he said. “It was nice to meet you, Riley. By the way, I left you my number on the desk. You call me, day or night, if you ever need to talk to someone about Tristan.”
With that, he pulled the door open and went out into the chilly night, but instead of strolling away, he stood waiting. On cue, I bolted the door, armed the alarm, and slipped out the back of the shop, locking that door as well. Mr. Lawson was standing at the top of the landing.
“Riley, what happened?”
As I climbed the stairs, I gave him the short version, and by the time I reached the top step, he invited me in for a drink.
“I could use one,” I admitted. “Tristan Dunlop really is a creep.”
Chapter Four --
Mindy and I went out a little before ten for a quick whiz, while her master waited nervously with the phone in hand, on the off-chance he would need to call the police for help should Tristan be lying in wait to accost me. Once the pooch was safely ensconced back in her home, I bid Mr. Lawson adieu and headed up to my own place. Puttering around, I did my level best to force myself to relax, but I was too restless. Even a hot bath failed to do the trick. I kept thinking about Tristan. I admit it. I was scared of the man.
It took me a long time to get to sleep after I left the safety of Mr. Lawson’s place. Part of me longed to curl up on his sofa and sleep there, within earshot of the yappy, but protective Mindy and her master.
But it was also Alton Wheeler who disturbed my thoughts, not because I feared him, but because I found him so attractive. I had pocketed his number on my way out of the shop, and in the darkness, I found myself worrying that I would lose it. Hopping out of bed, I went to my laundry basket and dug through my pockets until I located it. I slipped it into a pocket of my wallet. At least now I knew it was safe and sound. Not that I expected to ever need it.
The rest of the week was uneventful, much to my great relief. Tristan was nowhere in sight. The police had identified Paul Darlington’s body and rumors abounded about the motive of his murder. Once the state police had made the rounds of the neighborhood to question potential witnesses, things seemed to go back to normal. All that came to a crashing halt on Friday afternoon.
The buzzer for the back door trilled a little after four. I was getting ready to join some friends for happy hour at the Lazy Crustacean, followed by dinner at Margarita’s. I was about to push the button to open the door at the bottom of the staircase when something stopped me. To this day, I’m not really sure what it was, but the feeling was strong in me. Instead, I walked down two flights of stairs to find two men standing there. Caution made me leave the door locked as I peered through the window.
“Yes?”
“Riley Horton?”
“Who might you be?”
“FBI. We’d like to come in,” said the older man. I looked down to see the manila mailer I had sent in his hand. Stricken, I gulped hard, still hesitant to be alone with these strangers. “We can get a warrant.”
What was the federal penalty for sending photos of a murder victim to the FBI? I was fairly certain there wasn’t one.
“Miss, we just want to have a word,” said the younger man.
“Okay,” I said. But as I opened the door, I made up my mind that I was not going to take them to my apartment. Instead, I let them into the bookstore.
“Terry,” I said, stopping briefly at the desk on my way past, “I’m just going to use Mr. Lawson’s office for a few minutes, while I talk to these gentlemen.”
I saw the concerned look he gave when he saw the two overly serious men behind me, but he just nodded and gave me the best impression of nonchalance he could muster on short notice.
Once we were inside the book-littered room, I waved the two men into side chairs flanking the desk and took the big desk chair as my own.
“I’m Agent Rheingold,” said the younger man. “This is Agent Cook. We’re here to talk to you about the package you sent.”
“Package?”
Cook held up the manila envelope. There was something about his attitude that made me nervous. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I knew I needed to be less than forthright with him.
“Did you send these photographs to the FBI?” asked Rheingold. I nodded. “Mind telling us why?”
I thought quickly, coming up with the simplest explanation that came to mind. “I think something odd is going on around town. I can’t really put my finger on it. I don’t really have any proof. All I know is that right after that body showed up in the Dumpster, the flower shop was firebombed.”
“Why didn’t you just talk to the cops?” Cook wanted to know. I fudged my answer.
“This is the kind of town where folks form alliances and pick sides.”
“The state cops are working the case, yet you didn’t offer them the information.” The senior agent clearly did not like me, but I couldn’t figure out why.
“When I mailed it, I was terrified. You may have heard that there have been a few people in town who disappeared after they came across...secrets....”
“Name one,” Cook demanded, skepticism dripping from his lips.
“Lucy Warren, for one. Donny Killiham, for another,” I replied, meeting his gaze head on. I wanted to make the point that people really do disappear in this town.
“Why did you think it was necessary to send the FBI the gold watch?” Agent Rheingold wanted to know.
“Honestly?” I turned my gaze to him. “When I saw what was done to that poor man’s face, it gave me the heebie-jeebies. My biggest concern was that the body would go to a landfill and never be found. I thought that if I sent the FBI the watch, at least you would take the case seriously.”
“Well,” said Cook, “there’s no reason to believe that the FBI has jurisdiction here, Ms. Horner.”
“No, but I knew that if I sent it to your office, at least someone would know that the body was dumped in the trash. It wouldn’t get covered up. It didn’t really matter to me if it was your jurisdiction.”
“You just wanted someone to know the murder had occurred?” the younger man wondered, his tone tinged with surprise.
“Exactly. I’m new here in town. I don’t know a lot of people, and I certainly don’t know who I can and can’t trust. I didn’t want to become another victim.” It was true. Even Agent Rheingold acknowledged that possibility.
“You were just trying to report a crime. That’s understandable,” he nodded amiably.
“I didn’t want to make myself a target, but I felt that I owed Paul Darlington some chance to be buried properly. If it was someone in my family, I would want that. Besides, that’s a real gold watch. It’s worth a small fortune. If I left it on the body and someone else came along and stole it, that would be wrong. The Darlingtons deserved
to know what happened to their son.”
“So you didn’t witness the murder,” Cook demanded. I wasn’t expecting the question, and my reaction reflected that.
“Heavens, no! I...I think I would have lost it. I mean, look at his face! It’s horrible!” I shivered, looking down at the photos on the desk before me. “If you saw Paul Darlington when he was alive, you’d know what I mean. He was... an attractive guy.”
“How long did you two date?” the older man probed.
“Never. I don’t think I ever even spoke to the man. I saw him around town enough to know who he was. Not exactly my....”
“Type?” Cook was staring at me.
“I was going to say social circle. He was more involved with a moneyed crowd than I am. Let’s be honest. The guy heads...headed Darlington Trust. I’m just a school librarian. Why would he ever think to date me?”
“You’re not bad-looking,” Cook acknowledged. “Older guys go for younger women.”
“Still, I don’t think we had all that much in common, and for any good relationship to work, you need common bonds.”
“Well, okay,” Cook decided. “I guess we’re done here. Why don’t we do this -- we’ll take this information to the state cops in charge of the homicide investigation, give them the photos and the watch, and explain that we don’t think you have any relevant information. If there is any monkey business going on in town, we’ll make sure folks know you didn’t see anything.”
“Why don’t you take my card,” said Rheingold, sliding a white business card with an official emblem in blue across to me. I took it, intending to add it to my wallet, and I slipped it into my pocket. “If anyone bothers you, give us a call and we’ll straighten them out.”
“Just one thing.” Both men stopped as I posed a question to them. “How did you know I sent the package? I didn’t put my name on it. And it’s not like my fingerprints ever hit a police blotter.”
“You put the package in the box at the New Hampshire post office just before dawn on Sunday. The security camera got a clear shot of your license plate,” Cook said.
Run for Your Life, Riley Horton!: A Page 3