“All right,” he said. “All that makes sense. Whoever I have working here with you is going to need to see whatever items you take home at night, though.”
She didn’t like the idea of having someone watching her with suspicion at all times, but she understood the reasoning and only nodded.
“Do you have a preference as to where I start?” she asked. “Should I be looking first at the things that were searched, or the ones that weren’t?”
He rocked a couple of times on his heels, hands shoved in the pockets of the windbreaker. Finally he shrugged. “I can’t see that it matters. Until you’re all done, we won’t know what if anything is missing anyway.”
“If we ever know.”
His eyes met hers. “Yeah. If.”
“Well, then, let’s start with that one.” She indicated a tall set of shelves closest to the entrance filled with unopened boxes and bags.
“Good enough,” Daniel said. “Why don’t you go set up your table and laptop, and I’ll be the pack burro?”
Appreciating both the image and the glimmer of humor in his dark blue eyes, she gave him a saucy smile. “I like that,” she decided. “Although I can carry something when I go.” She chose the coffee maker and let Daniel pile a couple of smaller boxes on top of it, then walked around the corner to the empty unit.
By the time she had her table set up and the laptop plugged in and booted, Daniel had made half a dozen trips and gone back to collect the heavy-duty plastic shelving unit. Sophie opened the trunk of her car to grab the rest of her supplies – scissors, packing tape and masking tape, a roll of bubble wrap, black markers, a clipboard, paper and pens as well as a packet of post-it notes.
Last night she’d set up the Misty Beach auction in the program. She was able now to enter the first item immediately: the Keurig coffee maker. In the description field, she entered some of the features mentioned on the box, saved and opened a screen for the next item. By the time she slit open a carton, Daniel had wrestled the tall shelves into place and was standing behind her watching what she was doing.
“I thought you were going to assign catalog numbers,” he said finally, and she glanced up.
“I realized after seeing how inadequate the list of items was that I can’t yet.” She gave him a lecture on how charity auctions were generally structured, with several separate ‘silent’ sections that closed at fifteen minute to half hour increments. “Sometimes items are put in more or less randomly – a five hundred dollar necklace next to a twenty dollar gift certificate, say. But I like to establish the sections by value. Say, items worth up to a hundred dollars in the first section, a hundred to two fifty in the second one, and so on. That gives people more time to look at the pricier items, think about what they want, bid each other up.”
Again he said, “That makes sense.”
“My problem right now is that I don’t even know how many items we have, never mind the values. Plus, I’ll probably package some things. Dinner with an overnight stay, a scarf with a pair of earrings, and so on. I can’t assign sections and numbers until I can form an overall picture in my mind. Which means that, when I’m done with this go-through, I’ll have to come back, finish my packaging and then, finally, label everything in here with catalog numbers for easy set-up auction day. That’s why I’m going to make sure I know what’s inside,” she indicated the masking tape and felt-tip markers, “so I don’t have to open anything a second time.”
His grin made her heart bump. “I always enjoy watching an expert at work.”
Wow. She so didn’t want to be attracted to any resident of Cape Trouble, Oregon. And the cop who, whatever he said to the contrary, had to still be wondering if she’d had some reason to dispose of her aunt? Really not.
She said briskly, “Why don’t you start opening boxes – the scissors are right there. That’ll speed me up, and you can get a look at items as we go.”
His presence did not speed up her work. She kept making typos or would find herself staring blankly at some item – a garden stake, a set of wineglasses or a piece of art glass without quite being able to take it in. She was too conscious of him, sometimes crouched beside her slitting open a box – which drew the fabric of his trousers tight across the long muscles of his thighs – or simply standing there looking over her shoulder, breathing. She could feel him, even when he was behind her and out of sight. It was unnerving, distracting and irritating.
When he pointed out that it was one o’clock and suggested lunch, she closed her laptop with alacrity. “How about Naomi Kendrick’s café?” he said.
“Sure. Should I drive myself?” Oh, please.
“Yeah, fascinating though this is, I’ll have to assign someone else to you for the afternoon.”
“You mean you didn’t see anything you’re desperate to buy at the auction?”
He snorted, and she laughed. She couldn’t quite picture Daniel Colburn beautifying his living space with a stoneware bowl, buying a trendy Tom Bihn bag to carry files or going for the basket of spa goodies. The donations she’d handled so far were nice enough, but none were worth over a few hundred dollars. She certainly hadn’t seen anything she could imagine as a justification for killing.
After they’d locked up, Daniel followed close behind during the drive, exiting the facility without having to enter a code, she couldn’t help noticing.
Mid-week like this, street parking in charming downtown Cape Trouble wasn’t impossible to find, although after she backed into a slot, he had to continue on in his SUV. He still managed to be waiting for her in front of Sea Watch Café, however. Sophie paused to admire the handsome wooden sign with a hand-painted flower beside the words. Wasn’t there a flower with the common name of Sea Watch? Her mother had liked identifying the flora and fauna. Sophie remembered another flower called Sea Blush. The bloom had been faintly tinted pink, but was nowhere near as pretty as the name. She blinked, startled by the happy memory. When she thought about her mother, she tended not to choose memories linked with this place.
The café was tiny, she saw when they walked in, with only about ten tables and no actual view of the ocean or river. Specials were scrawled on a blackboard by the door and the sturdy, middle-aged waitress smiled from where she was taking an order from a couple of tourists. “Chief Colburn, take whatever table you’d like.”
He liked, apparently, the one in the back corner rather than up front by the window, although over half the tables were available. He took the seat with his back to the wall so he could see the whole room and the door as well as passing traffic on Schooner Street. Sophie didn’t object, although she’d have preferred one of the larger tables instead of this small one for two. It felt awfully intimate here in the corner, their knees bumping. He had a way of dominating any space. It would have been nice if they’d been by the window, too, so she could have an excuse to look away from him.
He’d grabbed two menus on the way, and now handed her one but didn’t open his. “I’m going to have one of the specials,” he explained, when he saw her looking at him.
“Oh. Which one?”
“Macaroni and cheese. I’ll bet it’ll be out of the ordinary.”
She made a humming noise of agreement, but decided on black bean soup and bread. When the waitress came to take their order, Daniel asked if Naomi was here and whether she’d be able to take a minute to come out and talk to them.
“I’ll let her know you’re here,” the waitress said. Anita, he’d called her.
“You know her?” Sophie asked in a low voice as Anita hurried away with their order slip.
“I know everyone.” He sounded wry. “Close enough, anyway. Anita’s husband is an insurance agent. The couple sitting by the window sneaking peeks at us are Linda and Palmer Ellenbogen. He’s retired, was some kind of money manager, serves on the city council. She whips out pictures of their grandkids at the slightest excuse. The woman coming in now is Louella Shoop, a busybody second to none, including Elaine Terwilliger, who is no s
louch, by the way. Don’t know why Louella didn’t wriggle her way onto the auction committee so she could stay in the know.” He went on like that, Sophie listening in amazement as he told her about a couple passersby on the street and two men eating lunch and talking intensely and quietly.
“And you’ve been here less than a year?”
“Yeah, imagine living here as long as Louella has. She probably knows what brand of toilet paper everyone in town buys.”
“Eww.”
His eyes lit with laughter as he leaned across the table and whispered in a stagy, horror film voice, “They are watching. Nothing you do is unseen. Beware, Ms. Sophie Thomsen.”
She, too, laughed although she was conscious of shame that she should feel even a bubble of amusement so soon. She hadn’t dealt with her feelings when Naomi appeared from the kitchen and made her way with obvious unease to their table.
Wiping her hands on an enveloping white apron, Naomi greeted Sophie but didn’t seem to want to meet Daniel’s eyes. “I understand you wanted to speak to me?” she said to him.
“Just wanted to meet you. I’m Chief Colburn.” He held out a hand, and after a noticeable pause she extended hers and they shook. “You have great food here.”
She smiled shyly, seeming to relax. “Thank you. I’ve noticed you in here before.”
“I thought I knew everyone in town,” he said easily, and they chatted for a minute about the restaurant business, the auction and the tragedy of Doreen Stedmann’s death.
It occurred to Sophie, listening to them and murmuring a few comments, that Naomi might have been going out of her way not to meet Daniel. When Naomi told them to enjoy their lunches and returned to the kitchen, he watched her go with an intensity that Sophie didn’t like.
“Why are you looking at her like that?” She was pretty sure there was nothing sexual in his appraisal.
His gaze snapped to her face. “Just curious.”
“You aren’t going to do anything about it, are you?”
His gaze flicked toward the kitchen, then back to Sophie’s face. It was a moment before he said, “No.”
“But you were thinking about it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” she burst out.
“She’s hiding something,” he said flatly.
That made her go cold inside. “Aren’t plenty of people?” she finally asked, so low her voice was barely above a whisper.
“Sure, but most of us aren’t afraid.”
Then I was right, Sophie thought. I wasn’t imagining those shadows in Naomi’s eyes. “You think she is.”
“I’ve been on more than my share of domestic violence calls. I know that look on a woman’s face.” His head turned. “Ah, here comes lunch.”
Sophie let the subject go. She was glad to let it go, since he was going to respect Naomi’s privacy. If he hadn’t been…well, that would have worried her.
He spread the napkin on his lap, his navy blue eyes meeting hers. “What about you, Sophie Thomsen? Do you have secrets?”
She managed, almost lightly, to say, “Like I said, most people do. But nothing relevant to my aunt’s death, I promise you.”
He kept looking, seeing deeper than she liked, and she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away until he smiled. Faintly, only one corner of his mouth lifting, but he said then, “Good enough,” and forked up a bite of his macaroni and cheese. “Man,” he said a minute later, “that woman sure can cook.”
Around a mouthful of the soup she couldn’t even seem to taste, Sophie murmured agreement.
Thank goodness somebody else would be hovering over her this afternoon. She wasn’t sure she could have taken three or four hours more of Police Chief Daniel Colburn.
*****
Daniel was somehow not surprised to arrive at the police station and spot a sheriff’s department car parked in the small lot. When he strolled in, the city’s combination dispatcher/receptionist/secretary, a woman named Ellie Fitzpatrick, glanced up and said, “Sheriff Mackay is here to see you.”
He nodded. “Thanks, Ellie. Saw his car.”
The other man was in Daniel’s office, sprawled in one of the visitors’ chairs facing the desk, his long legs extended. He often sat that way. Daniel wasn’t sure how well his damaged left leg bent. Alexander Mackay was a little older than Daniel, nudging forty if not over the hump already. He was a bigger man than Daniel, heftier although the bulk was muscle and not fat, and a few strands of silver glinted in his dark hair. He was a refugee from metropolitan policing, too, but for a different reason than Daniel’s. He’d obviously been badly injured. He walked stiffly and with a significant limp. Some scarring showed above the collar of his uniform shirt, and he tended to move his left arm awkwardly, too. Daniel had speculated that he had suffered burns, but he might have been in a major car accident, or had a number of gunshot wounds. Although the two of them were moving slowly toward something that might be friendship, they hadn’t discussed Mackay’s issues anymore than they’d discussed Daniel’s. It was obvious, however, that in a big city police department, Mackay’s physical problems would have put him out of his job on disability or stuck forever more on desk work. He’d chosen another alternative; he could handle his duties as sheriff of a small, isolated, rural county without needing to be able to chase down a suspect or break down doors with a SWAT team.
“Alex.” Daniel shook his head when Mackay started to push himself to his feet. “Don’t get up.” He dropped into his desk chair. “What brings you by?”
The other man’s eyebrows rose. “Heard about Doreen. We don’t get much like that hereabouts.”
“Not since I got here,” Daniel agreed. “I’ve only had one murder, and that was a domestic.”
“I remember it. I haven’t had a single one this year.”
They both pondered the unlikelihood of a nice, older lady, a long-time resident, being struck down in a brutal crime.
Their very first conversation, Daniel remembered, had involved planning for a different kind of disaster – a tsunami. Since Daniel was from San Francisco and Mackay from Portland, their former disaster preparedness training had been primarily geared toward earthquakes even though San Francisco was coastal. Mackay had diverted Daniel with a description of the problems police departments had suffered in the wake of the Mount St. Helens eruption, when ash, sucked into the filtration systems, had crippled patrol cars.
The two men hadn’t discussed murder, because it was commonplace for both. This murder, though, was far from commonplace.
“Just wanted to say, anything we can do,” Mackay added. “Doubt you need backup, but in case.”
“Thanks.” Daniel nodded. “You never know. None of my officers have any experience as investigators. And this one is a puzzler. I haven’t seen many of those. You know about the auction.” When Alex Mackay agreed he did, Daniel described the scene and the many perplexing questions it raised. He told him about Sophie and about the other avenues he would be pursuing, half-hoping for a brilliant idea, but his counterpart from the sheriff’s department only said, “Let me think about it. It sure as hell sounds like it has to be related to the auction. Who’d have predicted anything like this?”
Daniel grunted.
“I suppose I’d better let you get to work.” Mackay pushed himself to his feet, the effort Daniel suspected it cost him well hidden. “Really I come by because Ellie makes better coffee than I get at my office.”
“Yeah, she does.” Daniel chuckled. “Don’t try to steal her.”
“I tried before you came. She turned me down flat. Heard you were young and sexy, she said.” There was amusement in the sheriff’s brown eyes. “Guess she was right.”
“Women always think so,” Daniel agreed smugly, then thought fleetingly about Sophie and wondered if she thought he was sexy.
He and Mackay were both laughing when he walked the other man out to his car.
Alone again, Daniel mulled over his next move. Go back out to the storage facility to vie
w more video footage? Start interviewing the people most closely connected to the auction to save Misty Beach?
Damn, but he hoped Sophie worked fast. He had an itch under his skin. Whoever had killed Doreen Stedmann was desperate. He might not be a danger to anyone else if he – or she – had found what he’d been looking for. But if he hadn’t… If he hadn’t, that desperation would be tightened a notch or two, and now he knew he could kill if he had to.
CHAPTER FOUR
“We did all wonder that, without consulting any of us, Doreen invited her…well, she isn’t really a niece at all, is she?” Joyce Ervin’s small, tight smile never faltered, but the delicate pause conveyed her opinion of trusting someone who wasn’t really a relative at all. “Miss…Thomsen, I believe her name is. But, oh! You know that. Wasn’t she the one to find poor Doreen’s body?”
“Yes, she was,” Daniel said with what he considered remarkable restraint. He was unsettled by the power of his outraged instinct to defend a woman he didn’t really know. “She was concerned when Ms. Stedmann failed to show up as promised and wasn’t answering her phone.”
When he mentally ranked the busybodies in town, Joyce came up number three. He’d already liked her the least of the group; both Elaine and Louella had more redeeming qualities than Joyce did, in his opinion. They liked to know everything, but were more inclined to step up to help when they discovered someone had suffered a misfortune. Funny, too, because they were both kind of wizened and pruny looking, while Joyce was pleasantly plump with an ample bosom that suggested a big heart beating beneath it. Her permed, steel-gray curls were as tight as her smile, though.
“Supposedly this Miss Thomsen can accomplish things none of us can.” Joyce sniffed to express her opinion of that. “It was just like Doreen, though. Not wanting to say anything bad about the dead, you understand, but she did tend to take over any project and do exactly as she pleased no matter what anyone else said.”
Shroud of Fog: (A Cape Trouble Romantic Suspense Novel) Page 5