“I’ll take this to bed with me.” She raised the mug. “Thanks for making the snack, but I guess I really don’t feel like eating. Enjoy your cozy fire.”
The flatly spoken words hung in the air as her graceful stride carried her from the room. David’s gaze followed her retreat—empty protests, explanations, reassurances locked behind his tongue.
Good thing he’d never aspired to an acting career. He stunk at it. Laurel’s body language communicated that she didn’t believe he’d told her the truth. Well, he had; just not the whole truth. Before he grabbed the wood, he went out to her car first and verified his glimpse of that tattoo on the body. The tat was there, all right. His memory hadn’t played him false.
He picked up the blanket and settled onto the sofa next to his sandwich and cocoa. Frowning, he sipped at his hot beverage, then ran stiff fingers through his hair. The thick mop needed cutting, but a trim hadn’t seemed important before he went on a solo retreat to the mountains. Who could have predicted so many complications to a simple plan?
David set his mug on a side table, leaned forward— elbows on his knees—and gazed into the blossoming fire. What was the meaning behind the nearly identical tattoos on jet-setting Alicia and this middle school biology teacher? Was there a real connection between the dead women, or were the tattoos a coincidence? The questions seared his mind, demanding answers. Where did he start looking for them?
Maybe he should hire another private investigator. This would be his fourth. The notion left a sour taste in his mouth. He’d had nothing but empty promises and bills from every P.I. he’d hired to look into Alicia’s murder. Call him paranoid, but he’d had the sense that even the P.I.s on his payroll had figured him as the culprit. Had they looked very hard to find another explanation? Why would they take him seriously this time? No, he wasn’t going to go that route again.
He could point out the similar tattoos to the police once they arrived and let them follow the lead. His insides shriveled. What was he thinking? Major bad idea. If the police caught wind of the tattoo connection on another dead body in his vicinity, they were as likely to try to pin this second murder on him as to look further for answers.
Before he went to the cops with this similarity between the murder victims, he needed to have some idea how the tattoos might point to a different culprit. He knew he hadn’t killed the high school teacher, so if the murders were connected, then this could be proof that he hadn’t killed Alicia either. He sat up stiff.
Did he dare hope the tats signaled his innocence? Or was he setting himself up for bitter disappointment? At this point, there was no way to tell. He’d have to uncover the significance of the ink markings for himself before he could trust this knowledge to anyone—even the woman who owned the car where the teacher’s body was stowed.
For all he knew, Laurel or her daughter had a hand in the teacher’s death or knew something about it. Either they were innocent victims of a frame-up, or they were devious and culpable. Either way, innocent or diabolical, he needed to keep an eye on those two until the tattoo business was explained.
FOUR
An unusual noise roused Laurel. Rather, the lack of noise. No wind howl! The cabin lay in blessed stillness. She’d been certain she wouldn’t sleep, but she’d actually dozed off after that disturbing encounter with their host.
The man confounded her. At times, he was gallantry personified. But she’d learned the hard way to be wary of too nice exteriors. On the other hand, he could be moody and sharp. His first words to them when they appeared on his doorstep proven that much. Also, he had been angry at her mistrust of him when she’d clutched that knife last night. She’d seen it in his eyes and had felt about two inches high. How many times had she promised herself not to overreact to situations where she had to be alone with a male—especially a man of means and power—who was an unknown quantity? Psychologist, heal thyself! Easier said than done.
When she’d gone from the kitchen to the living room last night, she’d had good intentions to apologize for her defensive behavior as soon as he came in with the sandwiches…then she’d found her car keys on the floor by his parka. Maybe she hadn’t fooled him, but he hadn’t fooled her either with that song and dance about only going out to fetch wood from the porch.
Had he done something out there that could further incriminate her or Caroline? Had he tampered with the evidence in some way? Those questions had no answers. At least not yet.
David Greene harbored secrets. The man had motives for doing things that she didn’t understand and dared not trust. He was gifted, and charismatic and attractive. Even without his suspicious past, all of that would have been enough to make her wary. Add the wherewithal for him to carry out any purpose he planned, and her peace of mind was blown out of the water.
On the other side of the bed, Caroline’s breaths came deep and even. How long would her daughter be allowed to enjoy sleep? The sheriff had said they would be out as soon as the storm subsided.
Laurel sat up on her elbow. The first blush of predawn peeked around the edges of the blinds on the bedroom window. She grabbed her wristwatch from the side table. The lit face stared back at her. A little after five.
As if the thought conjured company, a sound rumbled from outside—a full-throated engine. Faint and distant, but drawing closer.
She laid a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Caroline, I’m sorry, honey, but I think we should get up and get dressed. I suspect the authorities are about to arrive.”
The girl groaned and lifted her head from the pillow. “Yeah, I know, Mom. I hear it, too.”
Her tone was subdued. Sad like only a teenager can be. But in this situation, Caroline had more reason than most. Laurel restrained the impulse to gather her daughter close. No time. Quite likely her gesture would be rejected anyway.
Laurel got up and switched on a light, then they scrambled into their clothes. Sounds came from David’s room. He must have heard the rumble, too. Laurel left the bedroom, trailed by Caroline. David stepped into the hallway at the same moment, and Laurel pulled up short. Caroline bumped into her from behind, and a soft ooph left their lips in unison.
Clad in sweatpants and a T-shirt that fit nicely over his athletic frame, David offered a rueful half smile that gleamed white in a darkly attractive halo of five o’clock shadow. Five in the morning, that is.
“Sorry about that.” He ran fingers through the dishevelment of his bedhead. “Here they come; ready or not.”
The rumble outside grew to a roar, then abruptly the engine noise powered down to a loud purr. Laurel’s heart tap-danced against her ribs.
“Mo-o-om! It’s a snowplow, and there are cop cars behind it.” The call came from the living room.
Laurel tore her gaze from David’s and hurried up the hall. She found Caroline standing at the front window, holding the curtains apart. Laurel stepped up behind her.
Headlights and red-and-blue strobes sliced away the paling gloom outside the window, leaving the cabin exposed. Defenseless. Maybe a dozen feet away sat her car, a modest four-door with snow piled to the tops of its hubcaps. Who would guess the ordinary vehicle was someone’s coffin? The car was surrounded by a snowplow, two sheriff’s units and an ambulance-style vehicle. The ME’s transportation?
“Don’t mention your personal feelings about Ms. Eldon unless they ask,” Laurel said softly over her daughter’s shoulder.
“I know, Mom. I’m not stupid.” The girl snorted, and Laurel bit back a sigh.
A tall, stocky man emerged from one of the law enforcement vehicles and waded toward the front door. The star on his jacket glinted as he passed a set of headlights. A man and a woman climbed out of a second sheriff’s vehicle and followed their leader.
Laurel tugged Caroline away from the window, and the teenager didn’t balk. Heavy footfalls reverberated on the porch steps, and Laurel’s heart rate kicked into a gallop. Caroline whimpered. Laurel drew her close and pressed her lips to a spot beside Caroline’
s ear. When had her daughter grown nearly as tall as her?
A loud rap sounded at the front door. She looked toward David, and he offered a grave nod as he went to answer it. Laurel took in a deep breath while Caroline cowered closer. Frigid air slapped their faces as the door opened, followed by the entrance of the law enforcement trio. They stomped white-coated feet on the entry rug and stared around the cozy area. Laurel steeled herself not to flinch beneath their assessing looks.
“Sheriff Nate O’Dell here,” the lead man said, “and these are my deputies, Aaron Teel and Carly Mackin.” The sheriff’s flat gaze zeroed in on David. “You’d be Greene then? The one who radioed?”
“That’d be me.” David lifted a hand.
The sheriff grunted while the deputies scanned him up and down as if he were an intriguing but loathsome specimen. Sympathy for David rippled through Laurel. It couldn’t be fun going through life dealing with those looks. Maybe he deserved them, but maybe not. Would she and Caroline soon be the object of such stares?
“Show me the body in the trunk,” the sheriff said. “An EMT and the medical examiner are waiting in the ambulance to get started on the remains. My deputies will stay here and take statements.” His gaze found Laurel. “You are?”
“Laurel Adams from Denver,” her voice rasped through a dry throat. She swallowed her last drop of saliva. “This is my daughter, Caroline.” At least her second sentence came out in a normal tone.
The sheriff turned toward his deputies. “Aaron, you speak to Ms. Adams here, and Carly, you can take the daughter in the other room.” He stepped toward the door.
“Excuse me.” Laurel’s tone emerged a great deal stronger than she felt, but this was her daughter at stake. “Caroline is underage, and I am her mother—her only parent. She will speak to no one outside of my presence. Besides, she had nothing to do with the discovery of the body, and only knows what David and I have told her.”
Caroline lifted her head and moved out of her mother’s arms, but her gaze gleamed gratitude. The first of that emotion Laurel had seen from her daughter in a long time.
Hand on the doorknob the sheriff looked over his shoulder at the pair of them standing side by side. His dark eyes narrowed. Silence stretched long and thin.
“You sure about that?” he drawled at last.
Did he mean was she sure that she wanted to be present at any questioning of Caroline? Or was he implying that Caroline might know more about the situation than what she’d been told? The implications of the double-edged question slammed the brakes on Laurel’s heartbeat and erased every thought in her head.
“You heard the lady.”
The words from David rang as firm and defined as measured blows. Laurel’s gaze widened. He wasn’t a big man or taller than ordinary. The sheriff was twice his size, yet a quiet authority emanated from David that dwarfed the man behind the badge.
Did limitless money create that effect in a person? She didn’t think so. Sure, money could buy a certain type of power. But David’s was not that kind of presence. What sort of man—really—was this David Greene?
Sheriff O’Dell scowled and yanked the door open. “Let’s get a move on, then.”
“I’ll throw on my jacket and boots and be right with you,” David said.
The sheriff stomped out, trailed by gape-faced stares from his deputies. Apparently, they weren’t used to seeing their boss bested in a contest of words and wills.
Laurel stifled a grin that would have mirrored the one Caroline wasn’t hiding so well.
“I’ll get those keys,” Laurel said to David.
She darted for the bedroom and returned in short order. “Thank you,” she said as she held out the vehicle’s key chain. “I don’t think I could face looking into that trunk again.”
“You’re welcome.”
His fingers brushed hers as he accepted the keys. The warmth of the brief touch spread to Laurel’s heart, and an odd expression passed over David’s face. Like something scared him and pleased him at the same time. What was that all about?
David threw on his outerwear and hustled through the door, admitting another blast of cold air. The deputies closed in on her and Caroline.
Half an hour later, she swore she’d scream if anyone—anyone at all—asked her another question. Caroline was teary-eyed and using a tissue to swipe at her face while she huddled beside Laurel on the sofa. Neither she nor Caroline had any information to add to their insistence that, while they had known the woman in life, they had no idea how her dead body ended up in the trunk of their car. How many different ways could the same questions be asked, fishing for different answers? Each new angle of inquiry came like a fresh jab of the hook.
The sheriff stepped inside, red-faced from cold. He stood over them, steely eyed and radiating outdoor chill. “Who besides yourself, Ms. Adams, would have access to your car keys in order to get into your trunk?”
Laurel sucked in a breath. She hadn’t been asked that one yet. “I carry a set in my purse and keep a set on top of my refrigerator at home.”
“Do you keep your car locked at all times?”
“Always when I go somewhere. Almost always when it’s at home in the garage. I suppose there is the rare occasion when I forget to lock it when I’m home.”
Sheriff O’Dell rubbed his chin. Then his face went blank. Was that a good or bad sign? Did her diligence to keep her car secured point more solidly toward Caroline and her as suspects?
“The ME has delivered his opinion that the victim was dead at the time the body was placed in the trunk. However, he was not able to estimate exact TOD due to—”
“TOD?”
“Time of death is as yet undetermined due to the frozen condition of the body. We should know more when the remains thaw.”
Snuggled tight against her mother, Caroline’s shiver at the grisly words transmitted to Laurel, but she resisted an echoing shudder and held her gaze steady against the sheriff’s.
“Why are you telling us this?”
“Based on your collective statements, we are moving forward on the assumption that the body was placed into the trunk before you left Denver. Therefore, jurisdiction for this case will revert to the Denver P.D. However, if examination of the remains determines that the victim died after the time of your departure from Denver, jurisdiction may change. I have been in communication with the Denver P.D., and I’m afraid we’ll have to impound the car for bumper-to-bumper forensic examination. I’m also going to have to ask both of you for every stitch of your clothing as well as your handbags and all of their contents.”
“What?” Laurel heaved to her feet. “You can’t leave us naked, without transportation and penniless!”
Sheriff O’Dell drew himself up stiffly. “I’m sorry. I have no choice. We must perform our due diligence to verify your story that neither of you had contact with the body.”
“But our purses?”
“We must be thorough in sifting through possible forensic evidence. All of your belongings, including your car, will be delivered to the Denver Police Department. At some point, they will ask you for fingerprints and DNA samples.”
Laurel deflated. “Caroline and I will put on the clothing we slept in. Don’t worry. We borrowed those from our host.” She glared toward the sheriff. “As your deputies have been told multiple times, we didn’t move the suitcases after we found the body.”
The man had the meager grace to drop his gaze. “One of my deputies can give you a ride back to your home in Denver.”
Laurel opened her mouth, acceptance on her tongue, and then clamped her lips shut. Riding in the back of a squad car would turn them into a pair of caged canaries that the sheriff no doubt hoped might sing, or at least let slip a note or two that would offer up more information. The journey would be torture.
If only they had cell service out here, she could call Janice to come get them. Of course, she could ask the police to use their radio, or even request use of David’s CB radio, to send an off
icer to her friend’s door with the request. That might be her only alternative, even though the delay might drive Caroline and her stir-crazy waiting in this cabin for Janice to arrive. They needed to get back to Denver—pronto!—and hire a lawyer.
Laurel opened her mouth to request assistance in contacting her friend, but a footfall brought her head around. David stood behind the sofa, groomed, shaved and attired in jeans and a Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt. A keychain dangled from one hand. Not hers; they must be his.
“I’ll drive you and your daughter home right now.”
Caroline sat up, eagerness painting her face, but the gently spoken offer rocked Laurel. Was she thrilled or appalled? Ride for hours in a vehicle with this too attractive and charming man who might be a murderer? Then again, David could be thinking the same thing about them. What better alternative did she have?
*
Silence throbbed in the enclosed space of David’s SUV. They’d been on their way down the mountain for forty-five minutes and no one had said a word beyond the bare minimum.
The snowplow driver had been kind enough to open up a track from his garage to the driveway so they’d been able to head out in short order after the sheriff gave them permission. But not without that grim clichéd warning to Laurel and Caroline not to leave their home city once they arrived. The sheriff had even fixed his glare on David. “Best if you stay in the area, too, until the Denver P.D. gives you the word that you’re no longer wanted for questioning.”
So now he was a suspect again? Or at least “a person of interest.” How could he not be when he was connected to the murder of another woman only a few short years ago? Sure, investigation would show that he’d had no contact with the Adamses or with Ms. Eldon prior to the previous night. But would that fact be enough to take him off the suspect list?
He’d see what his lawyer had to say about the situation. Did his passengers have a lawyer? Would they have a clue who to call when they got home? Why did he care when he had so much trouble of his own? But he did. Very much. He’d enjoyed coaxing smiles from them last evening, and he didn’t wish on anyone the grinding legal and media persecution he’d faced, especially during those first months after Alicia was murdered. But despite his concern, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to break the silence by asking if they needed help.
Love Inspired Suspense January 2014 Page 25