Deputy Olson rubbed the side of his nose. “Do you have your lipstick with you, Miss Mason?”
Patrick moved to stand behind Shelby and place a comforting hand on her shoulder. “This is nuts. This woman is the victim.”
Shelby patted his hand. “It’s all right. My lipstick is in my purse. The police are welcome to check it against the message on the mirror. I have nothing to hide. I’ll get it.”
Watching her leave the room, Patrick’s anger grew. Why would anyone think Shelby would do something like this? Even as the question formed in his mind, he had an answer. Because it was easier to believe the worst of people than it was to trust them.
He knew how hard it was to prove yourself innocent when the police were looking for easy answers.
Wendy, her hand clasped in front of her on the table, said, “Shelby’s lipstick is a common brand sold at several places in town. Even if it matches, it won’t prove anything except the person doing this is observant.”
Shelby returned a few moments later and handed the deputy a silver tube.
He took it and closed his notebook. “Thank you. I’m going to file a report, but there isn’t much we can do. We’ll dust for fingerprints, check for footprints outside and run this lipstick to see if it’s a match.”
Glaring at the man, Patrick blurted out, “This is the third threat aimed at Miss Mason. I think your office should be more concerned that she has a stalker, in light of recent events in this town.”
“I believe I’ve wasted enough time here tonight,” Charla declared. She gestured to her driver standing motionless at the rear of the room. “Bosworth, bring the car around.”
Bosworth nodded and strode from the room.
The mayor became instantly solicitous. “This has been a most unfortunate event. We will reschedule Miss Mason’s presentation at a time that will be convenient for you, Mrs. Renault.”
“Don’t bother. I believe my money will be better spent elsewhere.” Pushing forward the small joystick on the arm of her chair, Charla wheeled herself out of the room.
Shelby barely heard Mrs. Renault’s pronouncement. The library expansion hardly seemed important now.
Someone was watching her. Someone had overheard the childish mispronunciation of Shelby’s name. The thought made Shelby’s blood run cold.
With a sharp intake of breath, she pressed a hand to her lips.
There had already been one kidnapping attempt on Sarah. Was this somehow related? The FBI had proven that Angelina Loring had been behind that attempt, but she was dead. Her accomplice was in jail.
Who was spying on Shelby and Sarah now? Another accomplice the police didn’t know about? Was Sarah safe?
Shelby turned and raced to the checkout counter. She grabbed the phone and quickly punched in Clint’s number. He answered on the third ring.
“Clint, this is Shelby. Where is Sarah?”
“She’s in bed asleep. Why?”
“Go check on her right now.”
“Shelby, you’re scaring me.”
“Just do it. I’ll explain when you come back to the phone.”
The receiver clattered as Clint dropped it.
The minutes seem to stretch on forever. Shelby chewed on her fingernail. Finally, she heard him pick up the phone again.
“Sarah’s fine. She’s asleep.”
“Oh, thank the Lord.” Relief made her weak in the knees.
“Mind telling me why I broke the land speed record getting up my stairs?”
“Someone broke into the library tonight and scrawled a threatening note on the mirror. Someone has been watching Sarah and me together. I just needed to be sure she was safe and make you aware of this.”
“Sarah is fine, but what about you?”
“I’ll be okay. It’s some kind of prank.”
“Like the snake? These pranks are getting too frequent for my liking, Shelby. You be careful.”
“I will. Thanks, Clint. I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up and found Wendy and Patrick waiting for her.
He leaned his forearms on the counter. “I’m sorry I antagonized the old battle-ax, but she acts like the world revolves around her and no one else is important.”
“That’s okay.” The badly needed funds for the library had vanished like dissipating smoke. Shelby wasn’t sure her spirits could get much lower.
The mayor, accompanied by the other members of the library board, filed out. Mrs. Carmichael stopped for a moment at the counter. “Perhaps Charla can be persuaded to change her mind about hearing your proposal. I’ll speak to her tomorrow before church services. Will I see you there?”
Shelby nodded. “Of course. As for Mrs. Renault, she’s not going to change her mind. I don’t think she really wanted us to have the money in the first place.” Shelby swallowed her disappointment.
“Don’t give up so easily, Shelby.” Patrick’s words brought her head up. She looked into his eyes, brimming with understanding and encouragement.
“You’re right. Mrs. Carmichael, I’ll speak to Mrs. Renault myself. This project is my idea, and it’s a good one for the community. I can make her see that.”
“All right, my dear.” Mrs. Carmichael smiled slightly, then walked to the door where the mayor was waiting for her.
Stepping behind the desk, Wendy picked up her purse. “I think you should come home with me, Shelby.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine. I’ll be even better when I’m in my own bed.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Wendy turned to Patrick. “Thanks for speaking up for Shelby back there. I was kinda hoping peach was the old battle-ax’s color.”
Patrick grinned. “Unfortunately, the writing was higher than she could have reached from her wheelchair.”
“Yeah, I thought of that. I hope the police catch who did it, but I’m not holding my breath. Be sure and lock your doors and windows tonight, Shelby Sue.”
“I will. You do the same.”
As her cousin left, Shelby gathered her bag and stepped out from behind the counter. “You don’t have to stick around. It won’t take me a minute to lock up.”
“I’m sticking around until you’re finished here, then I’m taking you home.” Patrick draped an arm around Shelby’s shoulders.
His warmth, the leather-and-spicy scent of him, his strength, all served to bring her comfort. She soaked it in like a sponge. “I’m all right.”
“Nevertheless, I’m still taking you home.”
“On your bike?”
“I know you’ve been dying to get a ride on it since the day I pulled into town.”
If he was trying to make her smile, he succeeded. “Busted. But my car is in the parking lot. If you’ll walk me that far, I can get home by myself.” Would she be safe even there?
“Okay, but this may be the only offer of a ride you’re gonna get from me.”
Together, they walked out of the library. Shelby locked the door while Patrick waited on the steps.
She really thought she was fine until she saw how far away she had parked. Her car was at the very back corner of the lot. The fog had moved in, carrying with it the damp, decaying smell of the bayou. The streetlamps barely penetrated the darkness.
She couldn’t count the number of times she’d crossed this lot without a second of worry. After Leah’s disappearance and Dylan and Angelina’s murders, she had been cautious and watchful of her surroundings, but not fearful.
Tonight, even with Patrick at her side, she couldn’t force herself to walk back there. The deep shadows of the buildings that bordered the lot offered too many hiding places.
Someone was watching her.
A surge of fear flooded her brain, causing her heart to hammer against her chest. She licked suddenly dry lips.
“Are you okay?” Patrick’s quiet query made her realize just how frightened she was.
“No, I’m not okay.”
He took her into his arms. “When I find out who is doing
this, I’m going to beat him to a pulp.”
She wanted to burrow beneath his skin. Inside the circle of his arms, she felt safe. “I wish I was as strong and brave as you are.”
“I might have a little more muscle, but I don’t have the corner on brave.”
“Between the two of us, you’re winning hands down.”
“Come on, I’ll take you home.”
“Thank you.” She was grateful that he left his arm across her shoulders as they walked to his bike. In spite of the warm muggy air, she still shivered.
When they reached his motorcycle, he detached himself long enough to hand her his helmet. Slipping it on, she waited as he adjusted the strap and tightened it beneath her chin. She glanced around the quiet street.
He rapped his knuckles on top of the helmet. “Feeling safer?”
“Not particularly. Do I look as fashion-challenged as I feel?”
“No, you look cute.”
Her spirits lifted. “Really?”
Chuckling, he straddled the bike, and she slipped onto the seat behind him. Wrapping her arms tightly around his chest, she pressed herself against his back.
He patted her hands. “Breathing is still a requirement for me.”
“Sorry.” Loosening her grip, she made herself relax.
“Where would you like to go?” he asked over his shoulder.
She checked the street again. Was there someone standing beneath the trees across the road? “L.A. sounds good.”
“Where would you like me to take you tonight?” The amusement in his tone helped her regain her composure.
“Home, I guess.”
“Are you sure you shouldn’t go to Wendy’s?”
For a second she considered giving him Wendy’s address, but stopped herself. What if she brought danger to their door? Wendy had a husband and children. Shelby would never forgive herself if something happened to them because of her.
“Can we just ride around for a while?”
“Sure. Are you scared to go home?”
“A little.” She didn’t want to be afraid.
Lord, help me. Give me courage. Don’t let me give in to the fear.
“I’ll check your place out from top to bottom before I leave. How’s that?”
“You’ve got a deal.”
“Okay, hold on.”
She didn’t need to be told twice. Despite all her misgivings, it was exactly what she wanted to do.
NINE
Shelby pressed her cheek to Patrick’s back as they traveled through town. He hadn’t worn his leather jacket tonight. She could feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his shirt. With her arms around his waist, she couldn’t help but notice the taut muscles of his abdomen. The erratic pace of her heart made her all too aware of him as a man.
If only he would stay. I could go on holding him like this forever.
Even as she thought about a future that included him, she had to discard it. He would never stay in Loomis. And he’d turn his back on God.
Her long hair hung out from under the helmet and twisted into tangles as it blew behind her. It would take longer than usual to brush it when she got home. Much longer.
Home. It was only a few blocks away. When they got there, she’d have to let go of him. She didn’t want to do that. As silly as she knew the desire was, she wanted to rest against him for a long, long time.
When they rolled to a stop at a red light, he turned his head. “Are you hungry?”
She had been too nervous about her presentation to bother with supper. “I’m starving.”
“Where’s a good place to eat at this time of night?”
“Bitsy’s Diner is still open.” It was the closest place she could think of.
“Is that good Cajun place still in business between here and Lacombe?”
“Do you mean the Creole Kitchen?”
“That’s the one. They used to serve killer seafood gumbo.”
“They still do.”
The light had changed. A car pulled up behind them and honked.
“Are you sure you’re up for a road trip?” he asked.
She could just see the corner of his smile. “Absolutely.”
“That’s my girl.” Gunning the engine, he sped through the intersection. Within minutes, the lights of the city fell behind them.
The highway ran straight as an arrow past small farms and occasional clusters of houses. Patrick’s large, powerful machine ate up the miles as it roared through the darkness. Fifteen minutes later, they reached the edge of Fontainebleau State Park. After that, there was only the dense forest pressing close to the road and the occasional headlights of an oncoming car.
The ride was glorious. Even with her face pressed against Patrick’s broad back, the wind still brought tears to her eyes. All she could hear was the rush of the air blowing past her ears and the roar of the engine as they sailed along the road. Now she understood why he loved it.
All too soon, they left the forest behind and Patrick slowed to turn into a crowded parking lot just off the highway. He pulled up to the front of the building and stopped beside several other motorcycles.
The sounds of laughter and Cajun music poured out the open doorway of the converted barn, along with the rich aromas of the restaurant’s famous cooking.
Stepping off the bike, Shelby pulled her helmet from her head and shook out her hair. Patrick took the helmet from her and hung it over the handlebar. Two men dressed in black leather vests and leather pants walked out of the diner and strolled past.
“Nice bike,” the first one said, nodding to Patrick.
“Nice back warmer, too.” The younger blond guy winked at Shelby. She took a step closer to Patrick.
“Pay him no mind, miss,” his buddy said. Tipping his head to one side, he took a longer look at the bike. “Who designed it for you?”
“I did.”
“No joke? Who built it?”
“Carl Wolf.”
“Wolfwind Cycles out of L.A.? I’ve heard of them.” He held out his hand. “Name’s Ben Cooper.”
Patrick shook his hand. “Patrick Rivers. This is Shelby Mason.”
“Rivers? I know that name.”
Shelby felt Patrick tense.
Ben grinned, showing a gap-toothed smile. “You’re the fella that won the International Motorcycle Design Award last December in Phoenix. I read about you in Custom Cycles magazine. That was one sweet ride you built.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s an honor to meet you, man.”
As the two men walked away, Shelby turned to Patrick. “You’re famous?”
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“International Motorcycle Design Award–winner. I’m impressed.”
“I’m hungry.” He motioned toward the door. “Let’s eat before they close.”
Inside the building, they were shown to a booth in the corner, away from the band and the couples gliding around the small dance floor. The rough wooden beams of the converted barn were decorated with strings of tiny lights. In the bright atmosphere, it was easy to push aside the frightening event of the evening.
Sliding into the high-backed wooden bench, Shelby propped her hands on the red-checkered vinyl tablecloth and leaned toward Patrick. “I have to ask. What’s a back warmer?”
“A biker term for the chick riding behind him.”
“Oh, well, that makes sense. I never thought of myself as a biker chick.”
“I’ve never thought of you that way, either.”
“I did enjoy the ride. It was exhilarating.”
“I’m glad.”
The way he stared at her sent a wave of heat to her face. She looked down and pulled her tangled hair over her shoulder. Twisting it into a rope, she had a chance to compose herself.
This is only the kind gesture of a friend. Don’t read more into it.
Fortunately, the waitress arrived to take their order. When she left, Patrick leaned back in the booth
and propped one arm around the back of the bench. “Mrs. Carmichael said she’ll see you at church tomorrow. Tomorrow’s Friday. Is someone getting married or something?”
She frowned. Did he really not know what day it was? “Tomorrow is Good Friday.”
“Oh, sure. I don’t pay much attention to holidays. I guess I lost track.”
“That’s a shame. The day Jesus Christ died on the cross for our sins is a day that should never be forgotten.”
“Is this the you-should-get-religion speech?”
“No. This is the I-have-religion speech, and I don’t want you poking fun at me for my beliefs.”
“Whoa, Miss Shelby is getting spunky.”
“Having your name scrawled on a mirror in lipstick tends to do that to people.”
“Who do you think did it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t have any idea who’d want to frighten you?”
“Well, Chuck Peters has been acting very strange toward me lately.”
“Chuck Peters. Is he a jilted boyfriend?”
“Hardly. I’m sure you’ve seen him around. He’s the homeless man, small, with thin red hair. He’s a very sad case. He drinks heavily, and he’s had some psychiatric problems in the past.”
“He sounds like a perfect candidate for a stalker.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Why? Because you feel sorry for him?”
“It’s not that. The timing, the physical skill to climb in the window—it just seems more complex than Chuck could manage.”
“Maybe his drunkenness is an act. Maybe he’s crazy like a fox.”
“Maybe.” She paused as she considered how much she should say about Coral’s visit.
He leaned closer. “What?”
“Nothing.”
His eyes narrowed. “No, you have something you want to share.”
“What makes you say that?”
“When I told you I could read your face like a book, I wasn’t kidding.”
“Like a first-grade book.”
“That rankled, did it?” A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“I never thought of myself as so transparent.”
“It’s your best quality, Shelby. Don’t ever lose it.”
A Cloud of Suspicion Page 9