by Rebecca Deel
He pulled out a chair for her. “Tell me if you need to talk to someone. We have a counselor we recommend for trauma victims. There’s no shame in seeking counsel, Darcy. I’ve been on the receiving end of it several times.”
She set her bag at her feet. “In relation to your police work?”
“That and when I lost my family to murder while I was away at college.”
“Oh, Nick. I’m so sorry for your loss.” She didn’t remember reading about his tragic past. The classical guitarist had done a great job keeping it from being bandied about in the media.
“Me, too. I still miss them. The point is I needed help to get past it.” He reached into his desk drawer, grabbed a business card, and handed it to her. “Dr. McMillan is very good.” He smiled. “She’s also notorious for not being able to cook so she’ll be a customer of yours. If you decide to consult her, tell her I sent you.”
She glanced at the card, then slipped it into her pocket. “Thanks for the recommendation, Nick. I also appreciate your willingness to play in Julia’s benefit concert at the last minute.”
“My wife and I love that little girl. I’m glad to help. Rod typed out your statements before he went home to catch some sleep.” He slid two pieces of paper across the desk, one for her, one for Rio. “Read through them. If you need to make changes, I’ll take care of it before you leave.” The detective stood, stretched. “Do you want any coffee? It’s Serena’s specialty blend.”
“I’ll take some,” Rio said absently as he read the paper in his hand.
Darcy sighed. Man, she so wanted a mug of the steaming brew. She missed the caffeine hit of coffee.
The detective crossed the room and filled two mugs. “Here you go,” he murmured, handing one to Rio. “Black, right?”
“Yep. We don’t have access to cream and sugar on ops.” He sipped, moaned. “For a woman who hates to drink it, Serena makes the best coffee I’ve ever tasted.”
“I agree.” The deep voice of the police chief easily carried from his office doorway, a mug in his own hand. His gaze shifted to Darcy. “Did you get much sleep, Darcy?”
She scowled. “Do I have a sign on my forehead that says I didn’t sleep well? You’re the third person who’s asked me that today.”
He grinned. “I’ll take that as a no. Rio, have you checked on Lang?”
“Called as soon as I woke up and talked to a friend on the nursing staff.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed as she wondered if the “friend” was a female. Come to think of it, most of the people who stopped to chat with him were women. The same ones who provided casseroles and dessert to capture his attention?
“And?”
“He’ll make a full recovery. Darcy and I plan to stop by there after we visit with Bob Schiller.”
Ethan’s mug stopped halfway to his mouth. “At the antique shop? Talk to me, Rio.”
“There’s a chance the attempts on Darcy’s life are connected to Morgan silver dollars.”
“Explain.”
“I should have thought of that,” Nick muttered. “Stella told me about the coins. Ethan, the original owner of Darcy’s house, Charles Rockingham, was the founder of the Otter Creek bank. He owned many silver dollars when he was hung for murder. No one ever found the money.”
Ethan frowned. “He wouldn’t have put the money in his own bank?”
“Aaron says those old bankers were known for hiding money instead of risking it all in the banks,” Rio said. “There were a lot of runs on them in those days.”
“No proof?” the police chief asked.
“Nope. The speculation makes sense. I’m still not convinced there are silver coins left, but I think someone believes they still exist.”
“And they’re willing to kill to get them.” Ethan turned to Darcy. “It might be in your best interest to leave the house until we find out who is doing this and put them behind bars.”
Her cheeks burned. What was it with these big military men that they thought women were helpless? And, yeah, she was positive Blackhawk was military. She recognized the demeanor and the air of authority he wore like a second skin. “I’ve heard that before, too. I’ll give you the same answer I gave my brother. No. These creeps aren’t chasing me out of my house. I’ll take precautions, but I’m not running.”
Ethan’s lips curved upward. “Sounds like several other women I know, starting with my wife. All right. I can’t deny that we’re short-handed. Anything you and Rio learn, I want to know.”
The knots in her muscles slowly disappeared when she realized he wasn’t going to force her to leave. He wouldn’t be any more successful than her brother. “Deal.”
“Remember these guys are serious. They’ve already killed one of their own. They won’t hesitate to kill you or those you care about to achieve their objectives. Under no circumstances are you to take chances or confront them on your own. Stay with someone at all times, Darcy. If I find out you’re putting yourself at risk, I’ll pack you up and move you out of that house myself. Am I clear?”
Where would he move her to? Probably the motel. She didn’t want to go there again if she could help it. Darcy enjoyed being in the kitchen too much to tolerate a sterile motel room for long. Besides, her agent was staying there. Allen would drive her crazy, wanting her to return to the concert stage. “Yes, sir.”
“Please, call me Ethan.” Amusement lit his gaze. “Got a feeling we’ll get to know each other well in the coming months.”
She smiled, turned to Nick, and waggled her statement. “Where do I sign this?”
Nick handed her a pen. “At the bottom.”
Once she and Rio signed, they left the bull pen. In the lobby, Rio placed a hand on her arm to stop her from heading outside. “Are you hungry or do you want to see Schiller first?”
“Food first.” She’d rather visit the antique dealer. Most shops, however, opened at 9 or 10. It was too early for Schiller to be in the store.
“Delaney’s okay?” He smiled. “Until That’s A Wrap is open, there aren’t other options aside from fast food at the gas station.”
Darcy rolled her eyes. “Lovely. I’ll pass on the fast food. Delaney’s it is.”
As she anticipated, the place was buzzing about Marcus Lang’s shooting and the patrons wanted details from Rio. She admired his careful answers which didn’t give details that weren’t already on the town’s grapevine. What impressed her was the obvious love the citizens of Otter Creek had for Lang.
As they finished breakfast, the crowd began to thin. “Do you think Nate’s mother would supply her blueberry tea blend for my store?”
“I imagine she would, especially if you give her free advertising for the tea. In fact, you should talk to her about the different flavors she’s come up with. She probably has a website set up for online orders. I’ll ask Nate for her number.”
Rio drove them from the town square and turned right on Rosewood Lane. Halfway down the street, he parked in front of Schiller Antiques. Inside the store, Darcy wandered the aisles, examining different items before continuing on. The murmur of male voices drew her attention to the front of the shop. Rio was deep in conversation with an older gentleman. The overhead lighting gleamed off his bald head, his genial expression reminding Darcy of her grandfather. Roland St. Claire had loved talking to people, much as this man seemed to. She crossed to Rio’s side.
He circled her waist with his arm. “Bob, this is Darcy St. Claire. She’ll be opening a deli on the square in a few weeks.”
The old man’s eyes brightened. “Is that right? Congratulations, my dear.”
“Thank you. I noticed you had several hurricane lamps in stock. Do you have more in your inventory?”
“Let me check. I picked them up at an estate sale a few months back. No one’s been interested in them.”
“However many you have, I’ll take them. They’re perfect to decorate the tables in my deli.” Especially with all those candles Gretchen Bond had collected. Wonder where she found
them? Darcy would love to have more. Each one was unique and called to something in her soul. They were sure to be a hit with her female customers. Maybe Annie would know where Gretchen bought them.
When Bob left to check his inventory, Darcy turned to Rio. “What did you find out?”
“Nothing yet. He wanted to know about Pastor Lang’s condition and the name of the beautiful woman who walked in with me.”
She smiled. “He’s quite a charmer.”
“See anything interesting besides the hurricane lamps?”
She mentioned a few of the items she was thinking of buying for the house.
The medic chuckled. “You’ll make his day if you ask him to hold those things for you.”
“Why? His stock is amazing. He should have many customers begging him to set aside items.”
“Not everyone is as appreciative as you.”
“Their loss.”
They turned as he returned to the main floor, a large box in his arms.
Rio crossed the room in a few strides. “Here, let me take that for you. How many did you find?”
“A dozen more. Are you sure you need that many, my dear?” he asked Darcy.
“Positive. There are also a few other things I’d like for my house, but I don’t have a place to put them yet. The contractor will need to do some work before I’ll be ready for them. Will you hold them for me?”
“Absolutely. Show me what you’re interested in.” He pulled out a tattered notebook from his pocket and a stubby pencil as he followed her around the store. He attached sold tags to each, then directed Rio to carry them into the back.
When Rio returned to the counter, Darcy was paying for her purchases. “Mr. Schiller, do you know anything about Morgan silver dollars?”
He frowned as he handed her a receipt. “Morgan silver dollars? What’s with all the interest in those?”
“Someone else has asked about them?”
“That young man who was murdered the other day for one.”
Finally, a connection she and Rio could give to Nick and Ethan. “Who else?”
“Someone else in the last few months, but I can’t remember who that might have been right now. My memory isn’t what it used to be.” He paused a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Gretchen Bond also came in here not too long before she died, asking about the silver dollars. In fact, she showed me one she had in her possession.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Darcy jerked beside Rio. He twined their fingers together and gave her hand a squeeze. When she glanced his way, he gave a slight head shake. He didn’t want Bob to know too much information. The last thing he wanted was for this good man to become the target of Sutton’s crew. “That’s interesting. What did she want to know?”
A snort from the old man. “Same as everyone else, what they’re worth.”
“And that is?”
“Anywhere from $150 up to $6,000, depending on the condition and whether the dollar was in circulation.”
“Did Ms. Bond say where she got the silver dollar?”
He rolled his eyes. “Crazy old woman claimed to have inherited a pirate’s treasure. Then she just laughed like a loon. Personally, I think she’d been reading too much historical romance.” He glanced at Darcy, a flush staining his cheeks. “No offense, my dear.”
Wonder how much information Sutton learned from Schiller? “What did you tell the man who was murdered?”
“Not nearly as much as he wanted to know.” A smile curved his mouth. “Didn’t like the look of him. Just told him the history of the silver dollars and range of value.” He snapped his fingers. “The history teacher up at the community college, Paul Cambridge. That’s the other person who asked me about Morgan silver dollars. Of course, that’s been several months ago. Said he was preparing a lecture for one of his classes and thought I could add to whatever he already knew. Nice man, Cambridge. Wish I’d had a teacher like him when I was in school. Might have finished my degree instead of quitting to seek my fortune in the world. Met my sweet wife, Mary Elizabeth, at my first job, though.” Sorrow shadowed his gaze. “I still miss her.”
“How long were you married?” Darcy asked.
“Sixty glorious years.”
“That’s incredible, Mr. Schiller. You’re a very blessed man.”
He nodded, his face softening with memory. “Now, tell me, young lady, why are you and Rio interested in Morgan silver dollars?”
“Darcy bought Ms. Bond’s house.”
“Used to be quite a showplace. What are your plans for the old girl?”
Darcy smiled. “To bring it back to life—hopefully a much happier life. I understand that Victorian has seen a lot of heartbreak.”
“Indeed. I hope you are successful. Do you want me to inquire about Morgan silver dollars for you?”
Tension vibrated through their handhold. “No, sir. My curiosity is satisfied. I’m really more interested in things for the house. Will you keep an eye out for items that would fit well in a Victorian home?”
“I will, indeed.” He looked pleased to be given the task. “How should I contact you if I find anything of interest?”
Darcy handed him a business card. “I don’t have a card for the deli yet. My cell phone number is on the bottom.”
He glanced at the print, stopped, read more carefully. “Darcy Melton, the classical pianist?”
“Yes, sir.”
“My wife loved your music. She would have been so thrilled to make your acquaintance.”
She grinned. “Did you and Mrs. Schiller attend a concert?”
“I’m sorry to say we never managed to do that.”
“Nick Santana and I are giving a concert with all the proceeds going to Julia Kendall’s medical expenses. How would you like a front row seat?”
Schiller beamed. “I would enjoy that.”
“I’ll make sure your seat is reserved. The attendants at the door will escort you down front.”
Outside, a blast of cold air cut like a knife through Rio’s coat. “I think you made his day, sweetheart.”
Rio unlocked his SUV and opened the passenger door. Once Darcy was safely inside, he climbed into the driver’s seat. “We have a couple hours before we need to be in Summerton. How about a stop at the community college? Maybe we’ll catch Cambridge in his office.”
Minutes later, he parked in one of the visitor spaces at Otter Creek Community College. Students and faculty hurried around campus, eager to get out of the wind. “Come on,” he said. “I have someone I’d like you to meet before we track down Cambridge.”
He escorted Darcy across the open grass to the Arts building and up the stairs to the second floor. He steered her around the clusters of students in the hall and knocked on Ivy’s open door.
“Come on in.” The small, dark-haired woman glanced up from her laptop. A delighted smile curved her mouth. “Rio! What are you doing here?”
“How are you, sugar?”
“Better now that I’ve seen you.” Her curious gaze shifted to Darcy.
“Ivy Morgan, meet Darcy St. Claire, Trent’s sister. Darcy, this is Alex’s wife.”
After Darcy and Ivy spent a few minutes getting acquainted, Rio asked, “Where is Paul Cambridge’s office?”
“Third floor. His office is right above mine.” Ivy glanced at her watch. “If you hurry, you can catch him before his 11:00 class.”
Rio’s eyebrows rose. “You know his schedule?”
“Sound carries in these offices. Paul’s office chair has a piercing squeak when he moves around in it.” She turned to Darcy. “Stella tells me we’re planning a ladies-only Mexican food night. When were you thinking about doing this?”
“Sweetheart, why don’t you talk to Ivy a minute? I won’t be long.” Rio was smart enough not to admit he’d rather she didn’t talk to Cambridge in connection to the silver dollars. The fewer people who knew she was asking questions about them, the better for his peace of mind. If word spread that he was a
sking, well, so much the better. He’d rather be a target than for the killer to continue pursuing Darcy. Her sharp glance told him he hadn’t fooled her one bit. Yep, he’d no doubt pay for that later.
Rio slipped out of the office and climbed the stairs to the third floor. A large class must have just let out because he felt like a salmon swimming upstream through the flood of students coming down the stairs. He located the right office and knocked on the door.
“Come in, but make it fast,” came the response.
He opened the door and stepped inside. “Paul Cambridge?”
“That’s right.”
“Rio Kincaid.”
“What can I do for you? If our discussion is going to take a while, we’ll have to reschedule for another time. I have a class in five minutes.”
“I’m interested in old coins. I understand you’re the man to ask about historical significance.”
“What kind of old coins?”
“Anything from the 1930s and earlier, specifically the ones cast in precious metal. American coins only.”
“That covers a lot of territory, Mr. Kincaid. Any coins in particular of interest to you?”
“Morgan silver dollars.”
Cambridge slid a yellow legal pad and pen across the desk. “Write down your email address. I’ll send you the information I use for my lectures. Will that do?”
“Sounds great,” he said as he wrote his PSI email address. “Thank you.”
The history professor scanned the address, frowned. “You’re part of the bodyguard school?”
“That’s right. I’m a medic. I teach first aid to trainees.” Among other things. He’d found it best to downplay his role in the training.
“I see.” He stood, grabbed his suit coat off the back of his chair. “I’ll get that information to you in the next day or two.”
“I appreciate it.” He strolled out of the office and down the hall, conscious of the hairs on the back of his neck rising. His lips curved. Guess the good professor didn’t know what to make of the medic.
He returned to Ivy’s office. “Did you decide when to have your ladies night?”