Don't Trust Me (Hamlet Book 1)

by Jessica Lynch

  Before she knew it, she heard the rustling of keys and the sliding of her cell door. Collins, looking as fresh as he did all those hours ago, stood in front of her with a muffin in his hand.

  “Hungry?” he asked. He had a pleasant voice, deep and resonant. Too bad he looked like any sort of smile might cause a crack in his cheeks. As pleasant as he was, Tess thought of him as a glass empty sort in contrast to Mason Walsh’s glass full demeanor.

  Her stomach flip-flopped at the sight of the muffin. It smelled delicious but Tess felt like something had taken residence in her mouth the night before and quite possibly died in there. She swallowed. Her throat was so dry, she didn’t see how she could get that muffin down even if her stomach wanted it.

  “No, thank you,” she croaked. Wincing, she rubbed her throat. “You wouldn’t have any water, would you?”

  “Sure thing.” He left the room without another word.

  Tess wasn’t sure what to do. He’d unlocked the cell door for her. Did that mean she was free to go? Or was she supposed to wait for him? Come to think of it, she didn’t even know if she’d actually been arrested or even detained last night. Mason had told her to sleep it off and she guessed she had.

  It was time to get back to the hotel, get Jack, and get out.

  Deciding the best spot to wait would be outside of the cell in case Deputy Collins got the idea to shut the gate again, Tess tried in vain to smooth some of the wrinkles out of her blouse before giving up. A finger through her wavy, tangled hair was the best she could hope for.

  When he returned with a cup of ice water, she thanked him before gulping it down greedily.

  He stared but, unsurprisingly, didn’t say anything.

  Tess felt her cheeks heat up, certain the deputy was judging her. “Am I allowed to go?”

  Collins nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Mase buzzed earlier and said to let you out as soon as you were awake. He got held up, but mentioned you might need a ride.”

  That’s right. It dawned on Tess that she hadn’t driven to the station in her own car. Mason drove her over in his cruiser which left her car abandoned on the side of the road somewhere in Hamlet. She closed her eyes, exhaling softly. Great. How was she supposed to explain that?

  First things first. Before she started to worry about how she was going to retrieve the car without Jack finding out, it might be a good idea to return to the hotel. After a shower and a fresh change of clothes, she’d certainly feel more human.

  With that to look forward to, she shook her head. “Thanks, but don’t worry about me. I’ll find my way back to the hotel myself.”

  Collins narrowed his eyes on her. They were a beautiful color, a striking copper shade that popped against his darker skin. “This your first stay in Hamlet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thought so. One thing I learned living here is that outsiders have a hard time accepting help,” he said, unable to hide his derisive snort. “Always think that there’s a price for everything.”

  Something in what Collins said triggered Tess’s memory of a hand-painted sign and a slogan drawn prettily near the bottom. “‘Hamlet helps’,” she quoted.

  “That’s right. Hamlet’s full of good folk. We look out for each other. Mase says you’re a fine girl and you need a ride. I trust him so a ride to the inn is what you’re gonna get. Now, you want to ride in the front of my car or the back?”

  Part of Tess wondered if she should take his no-nonsense tone and harsh words as a threat. To her surprise, she found that she liked his blunt attitude. He wasn’t being rude so much as he was definitely a direct kind of guy. If she wasn’t so desperate to escape his company, she might have even liked him.

  “Am I a prisoner?” she wondered.

  Collins nearly glowered. “A guest.”

  “Then I guess I’ll sit in the front.”

  “Good choice.”

  Deputy Collins drove her right to the Hamlet Inn. She didn’t know how he knew where to go until she remembered that she was stuck in a town with less than two hundred people living there. It was the Hamlet Inn, after all. For an outsider staying at a hotel, it was a pretty safe bet that this was the place.

  He pulled up to the front, dashing her hopes of sneaking around back and trying to find another way upstairs to her rented room.

  “You want me to walk you inside?”

  She knew she looked like something the cat dragged in. Her hair felt like a rat’s nest attached to her head. Her back ached from sleeping on the hard bench in the cell. She was wearing the same clothes she put on yesterday morning. It was bad enough she had to do the walk of shame through the front lobby of the hotel. If she didn’t have to have a police escort, she sure as hell didn’t want one.

  “Thank you, Deputy. I think I can manage on my own.”

  “Alright then. Try not to get into any more trouble.” His grave voice washed over her like a warning of doom. She had to fight the urge to shiver. “And remember: if someone needs help, offer it. It’s the right thing to do.”

  He wasn’t wrong. It was something to think about. So, solemnly promising him that she would, Tess managed to escape from the cruiser.

  She could feel his dark eyes on her back as she trudged up the steps and let herself into the inn. The front lobby looked exactly the same as it had before her major lapse in judgement, right down to the woman working the counter. Except, this time, she wasn’t ogling Jack. She watched Tessa with open curiosity.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Sullivan.”

  It was the exact same woman who checked them in last night. The one who warned her about the gulch. Too bad she didn’t tell her that their precious town actually had a drunk tank.

  Since it wasn’t her fault that Tess was the idiot who decided to drink and drive last night, she kept herself from scowling at the woman’s too chipper greeting. It was tough, though.

  Especially since she looked well-rested and fresh, her hair slicked back, obviously wet. She must have already showered. Tess vaguely remembered the woman—this Caro—answering Mason’s radio call at close to two in the morning. She probably hadn’t gotten any more sleep than Tess had.

  Tess decided to hate her on principle. Faking a tight-lipped grin, she offered a quick wave, leaving the greeting at that as she purposely headed straight for the stairs.

  The Hamlet Inn didn’t have an elevator. As she dragged her weary body up the narrow flight of stairs, she searched her purse. She saw her wallet, noticed that the car keys were missing—wonderful—and continued digging until she found the room key she made Jack give her. At least that was one thing in her favor. Who knows what she would’ve done if that was gone, too?

  Her eyes, like the rest of her, were tired and achy. Tess squinted, trying to make out the number scrawled across the top of the keycard. She remembered that their room was on this level and toward the back. 203 maybe? Or was that a 5?

  It was a 3. A Do Not Disturb tag was on one door only, and that was to room 203. She’d hung that there herself before she left last night so that Jack could rest peacefully, then promptly forgot she had. It was a good thing the clerk woman ignored it last night or she’d be in even worse trouble for spending the entire night out without checking in.

  That was if Jack had even realized just how late it was.

  When she let herself in, she discovered that he was still sleeping. The room was dark, the curtains drawn, but she could make out that shape of him sprawled out beneath the floral-print quilted bedspread. His head was covered. He must have passed out hard after the late night wake-up call.

  Unusual for Jack? Definitely.

  Was Tess grateful for the fact that she could put off the inevitable for a few minutes more? Oh, yeah.

  So desperate to feel clean again, she tiptoed carefully past the bed. Tess knew her husband. Once he was up, he’d start grilling her about what happened last night. She wasn’t proud of her temper tantrum—looking back, her insistence to leave the inn had been childish—and it was humiliating that s
he not only spent the night drinking, but then she got caught driving afterward.

  What was she thinking? She knew better than to do something so reckless. So stupid. The deputy had let her off way too easily. Tess was aware she deserved more than a chaperone and a night in the holding cells. The lecture she was sure to get was going to suck, no doubt. She couldn’t deny that she’d earned it, though.

  It took her a minute to find her luggage. Jack must have gotten up and moved their duffel bags sometime last night. She remembered tossing it back onto the armchair. After tiptoeing around the darkened room, searching, she finally found the two bags stacked one on top of the other underneath the window. Picking up her bag, she purposely left the curtain alone. No reason to face the light of day just yet.

  Tess locked herself in the bathroom. Avoiding her reflection, she quickly stripped out of her rumpled clothes and jumped into the shower. The first spray of the hot water in her face made her groan. The knots in her back relaxed as she turned and let the water beat down on her. By the time the hot water had cooled down to lukewarm, she was starting to feel back to normal.

  To her surprise, the towels hanging in the inn’s bathroom were fluffy and luxuriant. She was used to staying at hotel chains where the guest towels were one step up from toilet paper. The oversized towel she wrapped herself in felt like she was being swaddled in a cloud, it was that soft.

  If she thought she could get away with it, she’d hide one of them in her duffel bag before they checked out. Except, she admitted, that wouldn’t be very helpful. So, with Deputy Collins’ solemn voice still running through her head, she reluctantly hung the towel back up when she was dry.

  She didn’t know how long she hid in the bathroom. She did, however, admit that she was stalling. Since they would be heading back out on the road soon, she threw on a comfy pair of jeans, a tank top, and her favorite hoodie. It had the name of her alma mater on it and, though she graduated more than three years ago, she liked to wear it whenever she had the chance. Slipping on her sneakers, she mentally prepared herself to face her husband.

  Tess opened the bathroom door. “Honey,” she called out, “you awake?”

  Nothing.

  Okay. That was weird. She’d expected the sounds of her shower to rouse him. Now that he was still sleeping, she didn’t know what to do. Glancing around the bathroom, her eyes fell on the hairdryer resting on the top shelf of the towel rack. She grabbed a chunk of her damp hair, letting the strands slide through her fingers.

  Plugging the hairdryer into the outlet, Tess let her lips curve slightly for the first time since yesterday.

  Back home, he always complained that it was impossible for him to sleep when she was drying her hair. The blow dryer the hotel provided was so loud, it sounded like there was a small airplane in the bathroom with her. There was no way he could sleep through that.

  Except he had.

  When she finished fluffing her hair, brushing the dirty blonde waves out, she placed the dryer on the side of the sink before gathering all of her belongings together. She stepped back into the room, expecting to find Jack waiting with his eyes open.

  Nope. As if she hadn’t made a peep, he was lying beneath the covers. Quiet. Unmoving.

  Throwing her duffel bag on the floor, tossing her brush angrily on top of it, she scowled at the lump on the bed. “Come off it, Jack. Stop fooling. I know you’ve got to be pissed, but pretending to sleep isn’t going to work.”

  His silence was the only answer she received.

  That made her furious. He always did this. Either he shot down her arguments, or he acted like she didn’t have any at all. And, yes, she knew that she was the only one to blame for what happened, but she’d spent the whole morning and most of her shower trying to figure out how she was going to explain her actions to her husband.

  And now that she was ready? He didn’t want to hear any of it.

  Uh-uh. No way.

  Tess stormed over to the bed, snatching the blanket off of him. He was lying on his stomach, his face turned away from her.

  “Jack!” she snapped, slapping him on his back to get his attention. “Are you listening to me?”

  The instant she touched him, she knew. His body was stiff. Cold. He wasn’t moving. She knew. In the pit of her stomach, where panic sparked and bloomed before overwhelming any common sense she had left, Tessa fucking knew.

  That didn’t stop her from what she did next. Nothing could.

  His name stuck in her throat. “Jack.” It came out like a whisper, a soft rasp strangled by her frantic breath. Her hands started to shake. She didn’t look. She couldn’t look. Breathe in, breathe out. She was the only one making any noise. He was still. Too damn still.

  She grabbed at her husband, yanking on his shirt, pushing him. He didn’t move. Terror coursed through her veins, cold and terrible, and she heard someone chanting no, no, no before realizing the anguished squeal was coming from her.

  She never knew where she got the strength from. Half his size and admittedly a weakling, Tess hefted Jack until his body flopped from his front to his back. His eyes—and his tongue—the blue lips. The waxy, white skin. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth, horror and shock and devastation crashing over her like a wave. It threatened to drag her under, drown her, leave her battered and broken against the shore. Without even giving her body the order to move, she took one step toward the bed again.

  And that’s when she saw the noose tied tightly around his neck. She blinked. Stared. Then, as loud as she possibly could, she started to scream.

  6

  Lucas De Angelis was dreading this call.

  He knew it was coming. Every morning after for the last three years, the call came through first thing and Lucas knew better than to ignore it. It was like a band-aid. Grab it quick, give it a tug, and get it the hell over with. Yeah, it might hurt. It was still better than dragging it out.

  If only she had the decency to wait until he was up and ready to deal with her. It was Sunday, the only day that he shut down his office and allowed himself any rest. He would always take in any emergency patients, of course, but at least the rest of the townsfolk were considerate enough not to bother him on Sunday if what ailed them could damn well wait until Monday.

  Lucas didn’t even open his eyes. When the first buzz came through on his Hamlet radio, he blindly groped outward until his fingers brushed one of the knobs on the side. He always slept with his communicator on his nightstand in case of some medical emergency. Stifling his groan, he mentally prepared himself for what was coming.

  He already knew who was buzzing him today.

  His fingers tweaked the nearest knob. Pressing the side button, he answered. “Hello?”

  No response.

  A second later, another buzz.

  His eyes opened to slits. That wasn’t Caity’s call signal. It was the sheriff’s—and it was set to emergency.

  Sitting up, Lucas clicked his radio over to the right channel. “This is Dr. De Angelis. What’s the emergency?”

  “Luc. Hey. You up?”

  He was now. “Yeah. What’s going on?”

  There was a pause. “We’ve got something over at Bonnie’s inn. A real live DB. Do you think you can come over and check it out?”

  DB. Dead body. As the only trained medical doctor in town, Lucas knew his way around a corpse, both in his practice and because of his adopted duty as the local medical examiner whenever necessary. Only a few months ago he’d had to wheel Mrs. Birmingham’s withered old body out on a stretcher. It wasn’t his favorite part of the job, but he could handle it. He had to. No one else in Hamlet would.

  “Of course. I’ll be right on my way.” He was already out of bed, searching for something to wear. His gaze fell on the alarm clock resting on the edge of his nightstand. It was 11:33. Even for a Sunday, he’d slept in much later than he usually did—and Caitlin hadn’t buzzed him before this. Yesterday was the anniversary of their divorce. She should’ve called him hours ago, dr
unk and babbling and begging him to give them one more shot.

  Something wasn't right.

  Grabbing a change of underwear from his dresser, he signaled back to Caity. “Is there anything else I have to know before I go?”

  “Shit, Luc. I think we’ve got a homicide.”

  With one sock halfway on his foot, Lucas froze. He gripped his radio so tight, he nearly cracked the plastic side. “Anyone we know?”

  Caitlin might be, in his very experienced opinion, a paranoid shrew who drove him absolutely batty with her insecurities, but she was loyal to a fault. As far as she was concerned, when the people of Hamlet voted her in as their sheriff, she became their protector. If one of them was hurt, Caity wouldn’t stop until she found out who did the hurting and made them pay for it.

  “Negative. It’s a— he was an outsider.”

  Lucas let out a sigh of relief. He was a doctor. He hated the loss of any life but, well, he was loyal to their village, too. If someone had to die, at least it was just an outsider.

  “Gimme ten, Cait. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Don’t worry about rushing.” Her laugh was hollow. “Trust me, he’s not going anywhere.”

  Lucas usually found a hundred different reasons to avoid Caitlin, especially so close to the anniversary of their divorce. As bitter as it was when they first split, they both eventually agreed that they were much better friends and neighbors than they had ever been lovers or partners.

  Most of the time Caitlin remembered that—until the reminder came that he was the one who instigated the divorce and she gave him hell for it.

  It wasn’t too difficult to avoid her. There was a handful of professionals who made their homes year round in Hamlet. As the only doctor and the town sheriff, they were often too busy for Caitlin’s childish tantrums. He humored her on the anniversary of their divorce because he still cared for her, even if he wasn’t in love with her anymore.

  If he was honest, he didn’t think he ever actually loved her. She’d just always been there, as constant as the sunrise.