Deadline (Love Inspired Suspense)

by Maggie K. Black

  “Hello? Ms. Duff?”

  She blinked. The fourteen-year-old memory of Chris faded from her mind, replaced with the very real sight of Chris’s thinner, paler and far more timid cousin, Wesley, standing on her doorstep.

  “Please, Wesley, call me Meg.” She stepped back and beamed a warm smile over the rest of the wedding party. “Welcome, everyone. Please, come in and help yourself. There is fresh coffee in the pot. The wedding decorations and place settings are laid out in the next room, whenever you’d like to head in and take a look.”

  Wesley bobbed his head. “Thank you for fitting us in this morning.” The young groom pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and smiled weakly. It was hard to believe this boy of barely twenty-one was just a day away from making the biggest commitment of his life.

  “Oh, it’s no problem. Really. This is your wedding weekend, and it’s my job to make it run as smoothly as possible. I’m here for whatever you need.”

  “Which is precisely what I told him.” Rachel wrapped a protective arm around her fiancé’s waist. Her other hand brushed against the back of his neck, in a gesture that was both intimate and possessive, as if the girl who’d once been so desperately lacking in love had now had grown into a young woman determined to clutch on to it for all she was worth.

  It was almost hard to believe the sulky teenager who’d slunk into the corner of Meg’s Sunday-school class years ago was now the willowy and poised bride standing in front of her. Blond hair cascaded down the bride’s back. A focus glinted in her eyes, while her delicate floral sundress did little to hide the sinewy strength of a dancer’s frame. With her mother deceased, and a father who had abandoned her as a child, the bride had decided to walk herself down the aisle tomorrow. Looking at her, Meg was unsurprised by the decision. Clearly this was a woman who had learned to stand on her own.

  Rachel let go of Wesley, then reached out and gave Meg the kind of artificial embrace designated to keep as much distance as possible between yourself and the person you were hugging. Meg felt the corners of her own smile tighten. Funny how being around some people had the ability to suddenly remind her of exactly what it had been like to be a small, mousy teenager in a class full of flashy beauty queens. Which was why she was so well suited to her job where she had to help other women feel beloved, confident and beautiful. She knew just how to encourage a shy bride into confidence—a part of her work that she loved. Brides like Rachel, on the other hand, set her teeth on edge.

  Rachel’s eyes ran critically over the pastries. Then she took Wesley by the hand and led him through to where Meg had laid out the place settings and decorations, going over every silk flower and trimming like it held some vital significance. The dress fitting on the mainland yesterday had been frenetic and demanding. Rachel had been sullen and demanded too many last-minute alterations while her maid of honor, Fiona, hung by the wall, too intimidated to speak. Definitely the worst fitting of Meg’s career. Then Rachel had become all girly and giggly when the boys had shown up two hours later, dragging the other three around the ferry to take endless cell phone pictures.

  Fiona was a year younger than the bride, with delicate features dwarfed by huge, owl-like glasses. She hovered over the fruit tray for a moment, before squeaking out a question about the location of the washroom, and disappearing down the hall toward it.

  Which left Meg alone with the large, unsmiling bulk, which was the best man, Duncan. It was rare she had such an instant dislike as she did for Mr. Kitts. The bald geography doctoral student apparently spent most of his time far up North in the frozen tundra, and had only returned to civilization two weeks ago, which might explain his chilly personality. Duncan had started off on the wrong foot at the ferry docks by brushing up against Meg and slurring something in her ear about her giving him a private tour of the island later. When she looked him straight in the eye and politely refused, he’d shot her a poisonous look. Now he was standing in her kitchen, clutching a mug of coffee in his giant hands so tightly she half expected the china to shatter. Just one more reason why she’d be thrilled when this wedding was over tomorrow.

  Still, she was a professional, with a job to do. She picked up the pastry tray and tilted it toward him. “So, how do you know Wesley?”

  He glanced at the food tray but didn’t touch it. “Through Rachel.”

  “Oh, and how do you know Rachel?”

  “Partying.”

  They met at a party? Or they liked to go “partying” together? She hoped it wasn’t slang for drinking and drugs. The young couple already seemed to have enough problems without adding substance abuse into the mix. “You’re studying geography, right? Postgrad?”

  His large shoulders rose and fell. She’d take that as a yes. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

  She set the tray back down and let out a sigh. Guess that meant this conversation was over. Fiona still hadn’t returned from the washroom and Rachel was now taking pictures of the reception decorations on her phone. Wesley stood by the front window. A dark blue ribbon twisted through his fingers.

  “I’ll be making bows with those to decorate the wrought-iron staircase at the pavilion,” she said as she walked over to him. “You know both the rehearsal dinner tonight and reception tomorrow are being held on the second floor, right?” Which, as she said it, seemed like an odd thing to tell a groom the day before his wedding. Still, he wouldn’t be the first groom she’d met whose entire role had begun and ended at “show up.” “The view of the lake is amazing.”

  Wesley brushed a mop of dusty brown hair from his face. It fell back. “Thank you for doing all this.”

  “You’re very welcome.” She smiled. “I love planning beautiful events for people, and the pavilion is one of my favorite spots on the island.”

  Wesley’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Rachel picked it for her grandmother, because her grandfather built it. It’s all...” He glanced back down at the ribbon in his fingers. “Unreal, you know? I guess until I saw all the work you and Rachel had put into it, it hadn’t sunk in that we were really doing this thing tomorrow. I’m really happy to be with Rachel. It’s just, when I agreed to get married so her grandma would let us move to London together, I guess I didn’t imagine it would turn into something this big.”

  Meg nodded slowly. He definitely wasn’t the first person to admit to cold feet in the hours before his wedding. Her hand slid over his shoulder. It was bony. “That’s perfectly normal. A lot of people feel that way before they get married. It’s a big, lifelong commitment you’re making.”

  Would Wesley even be considering getting married this young if he wasn’t moving to England? As she seemed to remember hearing, he’d been accepted to a prestigious history program there almost a year ago, which had left Rachel to claw and fight through auditions to gain a coveted dance spot at a London dance institution so that they had a reason to move there together. Only to then have her grandmother decree the only way Rachel would chase a young man halfway across the world would be as his wife.

  “I was sorry to hear about your parents,” she added.

  His shoulders shook slightly under her palm. He looked up. “Thanks. You know it was cancer, right? Diagnosed a year apart. Died three months apart. Rachel says it’s kind of romantic in a way.”

  Only if you found romance in tragedies. Rachel was watching them from the other room. Meg pulled her hand away.

  “Can I ask you something?” Wesley’s words came out in a rush. He looked up at her. “That tree on the road, the one with all the ribbons? Is that where my cousin died?”

  Sudden tears rushed to her eyes. “It is. Your cousin, Chris, was quite the athlete and won a lot of awards. In the weeks after the accident, a lot of his peers took the ribbons off their medals and tied them to the tree where he died. Over time it became a tradition that people tied ribbons there in remembrance.” She took a
deep breath and felt it catch in her lungs. “You’re welcome to take a ribbon with you. Maybe you and Rachel can tie one of your wedding ribbons there, as a way to remember him?”

  “I can’t tell whether or not I remember him.” Wesley’s voice was so soft she could barely catch the words. “He was my only cousin and I was really young. But I dream about him sometimes. About him dying. For a long time I thought I was going to die at eighteen too....” His voice trailed off. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I just said that.”

  She blinked hard. “It’s okay. I understand.” Oh, Lord, as much as I might hate this wedding, thank You for giving me the chance to talk to Wesley. Help me know what to say. “My brother, Benji, was snowmobiling with your cousin when he died. I’m sure he’d be happy to talk to you about Chris. I can bring you all by the store later.”

  “What store?” Rachel strode across the kitchen. Her hand reached for Wesley’s. “Everything okay?”

  “Absolutely,” Meg said. “Wesley and I were just talking about his cousin, Chris, and I was telling him my brother was snowmobiling with him the day he died. I suggested you might stop by my brother’s store later today, if you wanted. We could all meet back at your hotel an hour before the rehearsal. Benji would probably be more than happy to talk to you about the accident. He talks about it a lot, actually, to schools and stuff. Maybe he could even look over the yacht you rented, and make sure it’s got everything it needs for your honeymoon.”

  Wesley glanced at his bride. Rachel frowned slightly. Her lips pressed together as if she was looking at something complex and serious that only she could see. Finally she sighed.

  “Yeah.” Rachel slid her arm around Wesley’s waist. “Yeah, I can see that’s a good idea. Anything to help you feel better about your cousin. And if our wedding planner thinks we’ve got time to squeeze another thing into today, then who am I to argue?”

  “Wonderful. I’ll give Benji a quick call right now.”

  Thank You, Lord! After she’d been so worried about arranging a wedding for Chris’s cousin, now it looked as though God was actually going to use it for the best. Finally something was beginning to look up.

  * * *

  Jack paced the basement apartment. His eyes darted from the clock on the wall to the phone in his hands. What was taking Vince so long?

  He’d called the editor’s desk at Torchlight News almost six times that morning before he finally managed to reach his boss at a quarter after nine. Vince had answered the phone grumpy, thanks to a delay on his morning commute and a coffee that had grown cold before he’d managed to drink it. When Jack had added to Vince’s morning joys with the news that he might be named a person of interest in the Raincoat Killer case, at the police chief’s next press conference, Vince had sworn, then apologized and then promised to look into it and call Jack back as soon as he knew something. He’d hung up before Jack could say another word.

  That was half an hour ago, which might not seem like a long time from the editor’s perspective, but practically felt like a year from where Jack was standing. The phone began to ring. He hammered on the button so hard he nearly dropped it on the floor. “Yeah, Vince?”

  “Hi.” The editor sighed, like a man who’d just gone twelve rounds in a boxing ring with an opponent who fought dirty, barely gotten out alive, and then had the match called on a technicality.

  “What’s the news?”

  “The chief’s a stupid, arrogant fool with a serious bone to pick about that article you wrote.” There was the sound of Vince’s office chair squeaking on ancient springs. “Sadly, your source wasn’t wrong. The chief is going to name you as a person of interest today. Which is one of the most pigheaded things I’ve ever heard in my career.”

  Jack felt the breath leave his lungs. He dropped sideways into a chair. “Wow.”

  “As you can imagine we had some choice words,” Vince said. “Loud ones. Like his calling up my publisher’s office and demanding we fire you wasn’t enough, now he’s got to make life a whole lot harder by dragging your name even further through the mud.

  “Of course he doesn’t believe you have anything to do with the Rainbow, Raincoat Killer or whatever you’re calling him. He doesn’t even believe there is a serial killer on the loose. He just thinks some cocky reporter made him and his force look bad by implying they weren’t doing their jobs. Then he gets a call from the provincial police up North, saying you’re up there, reporting serial-killer sightings. You know as well as I do, kid, that this chief abuses the whole ‘person of interest’ thing way too often, just as some way of intimidating people or trying to convince the public the police force is actually doing something.”

  Jack groaned. Tension was rising through his body, like quick-setting cement, spreading up his back all the way to the nape of his neck. “But he can’t name me a person of interest in a series of crimes without admitting there’s actually a connection between them. So, if he names me a person of interest in all four murders, basically he’s saying he believes that one person was behind them all.” And that this person is me.

  “’Course not.” Vince snorted. “He’s sticking to his guns on saying that there’s no serial killer. He’s just now naming you as a person of interest in the crime of intentionally creating a big, public nuisance and scaring the good people of this city by inventing an imaginary serial killer.

  “See, what you gotta realize, Jacky, my boy, is that when you walked into that police station up there and reported knowledge of a Toronto-based serial killer, the chief’s problem suddenly went from having one Toronto reporter yapping his gums to having police officers from another part of the province calling him up asking questions. That freaked the chief so bad he saw red. What happens to his career if the police up North believe you and not him? What if the police up there leak this story to the national press? You think he wants someone in government calling up to ask him what kind of police service he’s running in Toronto? So, yeah. He’s going to act fast and throw the one thorn-in-his-side reporter who started this mess under the biggest bus he can find. ’Course I told him that if his own officers were gonna get drunk and run their mouths off, maybe he should be taking a better look at his own house instead of chucking mud at mine.” Vince chuckled. Jack didn’t.

  “Please just tell me we’re not going to back down from this story,” Jack said. “It doesn’t matter what the chief of police’s detectives are telling him—they’re wrong. There is a serial killer on the loose and people are going to keep dying until he’s behind bars. A man was killed here last night. A woman was strangled nearly to death on the ferry before being dumped overboard, and she would’ve drowned if I wasn’t there—”

  “And I presume you’re about to send me a tight little interview with this woman detailing every single aspect of your story?” Vince asked. “And then you’re going to assure me, on every remaining shred of your journalistic integrity, that she’s not going to recant when the Toronto police, the provincial police, the Mounties, her neighbors and the entire might of the national press show up on her doorstep wanting to hear the story for themselves. Right?”

  Jack clenched his jaw and glanced at the ceiling. “What if she doesn’t want to be interviewed and wants me to keep her name out of the press? What if I can figure out who the killer is and bring him to justice without involving her?”

  “Do you even hear yourself?” Vince sighed. “Look, I’m down here in the trenches, mud up to my elbows, fighting for my star reporter against a police chief who wants to strangle him, and my own publisher who’s ready to throw him out the door to the waiting mob. Today’s Friday. I can give you till Monday, that’s it. Go, get me an interview with the girl. Get it today. Make it so good it shines like the blinding glare of polished gold. Otherwise there’s gonna be nothing I can do.”

  ELEVEN

  Meg closed the front door and had just begun to breathe a sigh
of relief at the sight of the wedding party heading down the driveway when she heard the basement door open. She turned. The door to Benji’s lair was open a crack. But no one came through.

  “Hello? Jack?” Meg crossed through the kitchen. “Come on up. I’m sorry, I guess I should have mentioned I was having clients over. I hope you didn’t feel you had to hide down there until they were done.” She reached for the door. “But they are gone now and they’ve left plenty of food behind if you’re hungry.”

  She opened the door. Jack was standing partway down the steps, as if debating whether he wanted to head up the stairs or down. He had a voice recorder and a notebook in his hand.

  “Good morning,” he said softly. “Did you sleep well?” He ran the back of his hand down, along his unshaved jawline. “You look a lot better rested than I feel right now.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Yes, and thank you. I was hoping to stay up until you got back. But sleep got the better of me.”

  “Well, yesterday was a pretty overwhelming day.” He paused. Uncertainty flickered in the depths of his eyes. “I saw Officer Burne’s son gave you a ride home. Did it go okay?”

  “Malcolm? Yeah, of course. He’s a really good guy. Though I’m not sure what I think of his wife’s plan to start a wedding business up here and give me more competition.”

  He nodded slowly as if he was mentally jotting the words down on some notepad. If he was actually about to ask her if she thought Malcolm could be the Raincoat Killer, she’d probably laugh in his face.

  He didn’t. “Did you manage to look up those names in your database for me?”

  She watched his lips as they moved. He had a strong mouth. Determined. She leaned her head back against the wall and paused for a moment, soaking in the solid, reliable feeling of concrete and plaster behind her. “No. I’m sorry. Not yet. Would you like me to now?”

  “Sure. Thanks.” His mouth melted into an easy, relaxed smile that sent butterflies dancing through her chest. Come on, Meg. Get a hold of yourself. No matter how close she’d felt to him when their lives were in danger last night, now it was time for both of them to get back to reality.