by Laurie Paige
This was a much better prospect than munching on a salad and sandwich from the grocery deli. “Okay.”
“Meet me at the Calico Diner.” Kelly waved and drove off, then turned the corner to circle back to the diner.
The driver of the car behind her waved, too. A local, Chelsea surmised, returning the greeting. An outsider would have sat on the horn instead of thoughtfully waiting while the conversation was concluded. Small towns could be nice.
“See you later,” Holt said and climbed in the SUV, his lean face still set and angry.
Chelsea left her car in the library parking lot and walked to the diner. Inside, she looked for her friend. A waitress—second trimester pregnant, Chelsea automatically noted—motioned toward a table. Kelly was already there.
“The town is abuzz,” Kelly confided when Chelsea slid into the chair opposite her.
“What about?”
“The murder of Harriet Martel, for one.” Kelly grinned, which was certainly at odds with her news. “And the fact that my brother’s car was at your place during lunch and afterward…when he was supposed to be with the president of the Chamber of Commerce.”
Chelsea groaned. Small towns were hotbeds of gossip, she revised her earlier assessment. She should remember that.
“Well?” Kelly demanded.
“We were discussing the Martel case.”
“Was it murder?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“How terrible,” Kelly said in a near whisper, her sparkle dimmed by the news. “Who could have done it?”
At that moment the diner door swung open. The sheriff walked in and went to the counter. Pierce was right behind him.
He spotted them and came over, his face grim. “Who the hell did you tell about the murder?”
Chapter Four
“Really, Pierce,” Kelly scolded. “Is that any way to greet a person?”
He pulled out a chair and sat down, his eyes on Chelsea. “Well?”
Chelsea debated between defending herself and telling him where to get off. “Ask the sheriff,” she said coolly.
“It’s all over town,” Kelly said impatiently. “Colby has been broadcasting far and wide that his aunt didn’t commit suicide.”
Chelsea nodded. “People should be told the truth. You can’t keep murder a secret.”
“The sheriff said we were to keep a lid on it.”
His manner was a direct challenge. Chelsea responded to it. “Actually, in a case like this, the longer you wait, the colder the trail gets. Memories become fuzzy. Witnesses, who might have made a connection to something or someone they saw that day, forget things that seem trivial at the time. It’s better that the truth come out.”
“All of it?”
She shook her head. “We don’t disclose the details, but the conclusion of the investigation is inescapable.”
Kelly let out a whoosh of breath. “I don’t ever recall a murder in this town.”
“Then you’ve been lucky,” Chelsea told her friend.
The pregnant waitress came over. “Hi, Mayor. How are you?” She gave him a menu and told him about the dinner special, which he ordered along with coffee.
“You should drink decaffeinated coffee at night,” Kelly informed him. “Caffeine disturbs your natural sleeping patterns. You probably don’t get enough rest.”
“Thank you, Doctor, for that advice.”
Chelsea felt like kicking him for the sarcastic tone aimed at his sister. She refrained. Recalling the she’d felt after their lovemaking, she wondered why life couldn’t always be like that.
Because those moments are but interludes, rest-stops along the highway of life, as one might say. Recalling their time together, she wryly admitted they hadn’t been so restful, but there’d been contentment afterward—
“What’s so funny?” Pierce demanded, looking grumpier by the minute.
“Life,” she said softly.
Kelly laughed while he glanced from one to the other. “Women,” he muttered.
“Yeah, we got you outnumbered, big brother. You’d better watch yourself,” Kelly said.
He didn’t respond to the teasing. Instead, his eyes on Chelsea, he said, “You’d better watch it. There’s a murderer loose in the town. It’s known that you were called in as a special investigator to work with Holt. Both your lives could be at risk.”
The grin slipped from Kelly’s face, to be replaced by worry. “Chelsea is alone in that cabin by the lake. Yours is the closest house, and it’s a good distance away. The noise from the creek could cover up any sounds of struggle.”
Chelsea gave her friend a smile. “I come from the city. That means I lock up every night.”
“Locks,” Kelly scoffed. “He could come through a window. What about a burglar alarm?” she asked Pierce.
“Hmm, we could run a line from the cabin to my place. All you’d have to do is push a button to summon help.”
“That isn’t necessary,” Chelsea assured him. “From the evidence, it was a crime of passion. Those aren’t usually repeated.”
“Usually,” Pierce echoed. “If a person has killed once, what’s to prevent him from doing it again?”
Their food arrived, interrupting further discussion. A woman came in carrying a big, covered tray. A boy and a girl followed, each carrying a box. The owner of the diner rushed forward to help her with the load.
Chelsea watched them unload pies and cakes. The kids—the twins she’d seen at the lake yesterday—carried cookies which were put in huge bins behind the counter. A man entered, also carrying a box. It was filled with muffins of various kinds, she saw. They were obviously a family.
“Libby Adler, now Jessup,” Kelly said, seeing her interest. “She and Marcus recently married. Those are Libby’s twins from her first marriage. She was a widow and earned her living by baking for the diner.”
“Marcus is probably as rich as Bill Gates. What’s she doing still baking?” Pierce asked.
“She likes it,” Kelly defended the other woman. “It’s nice to earn your own money and not be dependent on a man for every penny.”
“You feminists need to learn that men expect to support their family. They don’t mind sharing the money they earn. As long as they get something in return.”
He looked at Chelsea at that moment. Her insides squeezed into tangles like a ball of yarn after a kitten is through with it. The fire in his eyes was hot, consuming. It reminded her of the hunger that ran rampant between them when they dared release it.
“Ahem,” Kelly said, amusement in the sound.
Chelsea pulled her gaze from his and focused on the meat-loaf special she’d ordered. She had to swallow around the tightness in her throat after chewing each bite.
Glancing at the family with the twins, she wished them a happily-ever-after existence. The woman looked young, in her twenties. Thirty-four wasn’t old, but if she was going to have a child before she was ancient, perhaps she should check into adoption when she returned home.
A child without a husband?
She truly believed the family unit started with a man and a woman. Children needed both parents, if possible. Not that single-parent families couldn’t be successful, she added, longing adding to the turmoil within.
“I’d like to have twins,” Kelly said after the family had left. She grinned impishly at her brother. “You’ll make a wonderful uncle. I’ll let you baby-sit every Friday while Jim and I go out for dinner.”
“Thanks,” he said dryly. “Have boys. I’ll teach them to fish and hike. We’ll go camping.”
“Girls like the outdoors,” Chelsea said. “Why should they be left out?”
His gaze swung to her. “You’re right. I should take girls hiking and camping.”
The teasing flash of his smile stole her heart right away. She forced herself to breathe deeply until she found the inner well of quiet that had served her so well all her life, during her parents’ divorce and the new marriages, the time when Pierce had tol
d her he’d never intended a long-term relationship with her…
Pierce was aware that Chelsea had withdrawn to some internal place where she became an observer of what was going on around her, rather than a participant.
Kelly continued talking about the baby and their plans for it. She and Chelsea chatted and laughed, but he knew Chelsea wasn’t there, not emotionally. It gave him an odd feeling to realize he knew her so well.
Why shouldn’t he?
They’d been lovers for most of her last year in medical school. He, Chelsea and Kelly had often been a threesome on weekends. Except at night. That’s when he’d wanted Chelsea all to himself.
Covertly studying her, he wondered why she hadn’t married. She’d fulfilled her ambitions careerwise. Why wasn’t there a man in her life?
Why shouldn’t that man be him?
He was jolted, then intrigued by the question that leaped into his mind. Yeah, why not?
The question beat at him during the rest of the meal, the meeting he had that evening and on the drive home.
The lights shining through the cottonwoods along the creek reminded him that she was there, just beyond the creek…and that she’d welcomed him into her arms and bed at noon that day. Heaving a disgusted sigh at his musing, he parked in the garage and went inside.
Instead of turning on a light, he stood by the window and watched as the light went off next door. Chelsea had gone to bed. He ordered himself to do the same.
But he stood there, staring out at the shadows as if in a trance. He shook his head, denying the need that haunted him, remembering how long it had taken to get over her leaving eight years ago. Not that he’d been in love or anything like that. A man was just better off avoiding that kind of entanglement.
With this conclusion he went to bed.
An hour later he rose and pulled on jeans and jogging shoes, then walked out the door. Without thinking about his destination, he crossed the creek and lawn, then stopped at the screened porch on that side of the house.
“Chelsea?” he said, spying a ghostly figure on the wicker love seat.
“Yes.”
“I thought you’d gone to bed.”
“I did. I couldn’t sleep, so I came out here.”
He opened the screen door and entered, letting it slam softly behind him, then sprawled in a rocking chair, his legs stretched out, his hands jammed in his pockets. His feet were only a couple of inches from hers. Hers were bare. “I couldn’t sleep, either.”
“Are you worried about the case?”
He gave a snort of laughter. “The case didn’t enter my mind.”
“I’ve been thinking about it, about a lonely librarian who fell in love with the wrong man.”
Pierce heaved a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about us.”
“There is no us,” she reminded him.
Anger flared at her denial. He ignored both it and her refusal to admit to anything between them. “Maybe not, but there’s an undeniable attraction.”
She swung her bare feet onto the love seat and tucked them under her. An invisible shield seemed to surround her.
“You can’t deny what happened between us today,” he said in a husky voice.
“I’m not.”
There was something stoic and resolute about her, as if she accepted the passion and, like a burden, was determined to bear it without complaint. She tugged at him, this woman who made her own way in the world and asked for nothing in return. But he knew she had dreams. She’d once shared them with him…her dreams and her passion.
Drawing a breath, he spoke what was on his mind. “I’d like to share that with you.”
She’d been watching the moonlight on the lake. Now her head snapped around. “I don’t think that would be wise.”
He shrugged. “Probably not, but with you here in this cabin I won’t be able to stay away. I don’t think you would refuse to let me in.”
The silence lasted an eternity. Blackness gathered within him, a void he couldn’t explain.
“We can have this,” he continued, “while you’re here. When you return to Billings, it’ll be over. We’ll get on with our lives.”
“And this will have been a pleasant interlude?”
“Yes,” he said.
“We’ll each go our separate ways when the time comes.”
“Yes.”
Again the silence. He let her think it over. He’d presented a sensible solution to their dilemma, so now it was up to her to see that was the best one. She could move in with him, then he wouldn’t have to worry about her being over here by herself at night.
Finally she shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
The rejection was like a kick in the chest. He realized he hadn’t expected it, not after their time together earlier that day. He stifled the whirl of emotions, froze them in ice until they stopped their fury.
“Fine,” he said. “We’ll play it your way.”
He was pleased that he spoke with just the right mix of cynicism and amusement, good traits to cultivate with her.
Inhaling deeply, his common sense was momentarily shaken as the scent of her powder and shampoo and cologne enfolded him in an odd sense of peace and excitement, something he’d felt before with her, he recalled. He’d loved the scent of her eight years ago. It intrigued him now.
The quietness was in her. He wondered if it didn’t express some sadness deep within. He didn’t know.
“I’m not playing,” she protested softly. “It’s just that I think it’s better not to start something that has no future. It seems…pointless.”
“You didn’t want a future before,” he reminded her. “You had your career all mapped out. Nothing stood in the way of that.”
She seemed puzzled when he reminded her of the cold facts. “I wanted to be a forensic pathologist, yes. It would have been foolish to give up a residency I’d worked for all my life.”
“I agree.”
“I wanted to ask you to wait for me.” She laughed briefly. “I don’t suppose women can do that. But I thought we could work something out. I thought…well, it doesn’t matter now. Anyway, I’m not interested in a vacation fling, but thanks just the same.”
Her words stung in ways he couldn’t define. He muttered a good-night and retraced the path to his house. Before going inside, he paused, then shucked his jeans and shoes and headed for the lake. The cold water cleared his head.
Chelsea was right. There was no point in getting involved in a relationship that had nowhere to go.
Saturday morning Pierce asked Holt Tanner to stop by his office. “I want someone assigned to Chelsea,” he told the lawman. “If there’s a killer in town, he might look for an opportunity to get rid of our expert witness.”
Holt gestured impatiently. “Why would he do that? She’s already done the autopsy and turned in the report. If she disappears, we can call in someone else. What would he have to gain by getting rid of Dr. Kearns?”
“You can’t tell what a warped mind might think. I want someone watching her place at night at the very least.”
“Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” Holt agreed. “It isn’t as if we have cops hanging around with time on their hands.”
“Do the best you can,” Pierce requested in a more reasonable tone.
The deputy studied him for a moment, then grinned and shook his head. “Sure thing, Your Honor.”
Pierce hid his irritation until after the lawman left his office, then he smacked the desk in frustration. He was the one with a warped mind, worrying about Chelsea when neither she nor Holt thought it was necessary. He vowed not to intervene in the case again. Let the law do its work.
But what if the killer decided Chelsea could pinpoint him? The sheriff thought the personality profile would be a big help to their efforts if indeed the perpturned out to be local.
Pierce sprang from the chair and paced the may oral office with its impressive rows of bookcases containing the history of the town reduced to minute
s of city council meetings and ordinances passed over a hundred-year period.
Funny, a hundred years didn’t seem a long time for a city, but a year out of a person’s life could last forever.
A year. That’s what he and Chelsea had shared. If after a year with him she’d wanted to leave, why the hell had he thought she might be interested in a couple of weeks?
He slammed out of the office after telling his secretary he’d be absent the rest of the morning. He drove to his house, then checked on Chelsea. She wasn’t home.
Going to the deck, he spotted a lone figure, definitely female, a few yards up the shore. In the middle of the lake a man pulled on the oars of a fishing boat. Pierce watched for a moment. The fisherman seemed to be heading toward the woman.
“Chelsea,” he yelled.
She stopped and looked back.
“Wait up.” Jogging, he joined her on the walking path around the lake. “What are you doing?”
“Hiking around the lake.”
He noticed the fishing dory had changed its course, heading back for the middle of the lake. “It’s almost four miles in perimeter.”
She glanced at him as if in reprimand for his snarling tone. “It’s a nice walk.” She strolled on.
He stayed with her. “I don’t want you traipsing around by yourself. It’s too dangerous.”
She disagreed.
“I never realized you were so bullheaded,” he muttered after a futile argument.
“There’s no need for a watchdog. The perp is practical and calculating. Leaving a trail of bodies in his wake wouldn’t be to his advantage.”
“So, based on the flimsiest evidence, you’ve decided you have nothing to fear,” he concluded.
Chelsea was aware of the fury in Pierce at her refusal of protection. Neither made any sense. When Holt had called and told her he was sending a man out, she’d laughed and told him not to bother.
She refrained from laughing now. Pierce was teetering near the end of his rope. She appreciated his concern even though she knew he felt it was his responsibility to watch out for everyone in town.