by Debra Webb
Didn’t bother Sarah. She was used to being analyzed.
Down the hall, Karen cleared a couple of chairs in her office. “Have a seat.” She shed her coat and hat then settled into the chair behind her desk. “Where would you like to start, Sarah?”
This was certainly original. A cooperative cop?
Yeah, right.
More like a cordial cop who had been given a strict script.
“I’d like to be brought up to speed on whatever your investigation has uncovered. Particularly the parts not released to the press.”
Surprise flared in the deputy’s eyes.
Well, she’d asked.
If Sarah got even a fraction of that she’d be overjoyed. But, she knew from experience what she would get was what they wanted her to know. No matter how cooperative the deputy appeared, she wouldn’t be any different than all the rest.
“Good deal.” Karen leaned over her desk and shuffled through the files there. “Here we go.” She opened a folder and spread it on the desktop between her and Sarah. “We got copies of the reports made by the chief and the other folks involved in the investigation. Interviews with family members and friends, Valerie Gerard’s as well as Alicia Appleton’s.” She shuffled through a couple more pages. “Forensic reports from the scene and possible related cases from the surrounding area. Though, so far, none seem even remotely similar.” She leaned back in her chair and gestured to the pile. “That’s what we’ve got.”
Sarah shuffled through the reports, skimmed the neatly typed accounts of what each investigating officer had seen and/or discovered that day and since. Just as Sarah had suspected. Whitewashed just for her. “Where are the crime-scene photos?” She watched the deputy’s eyes and expression for signs of the lie she was very likely about to pass off as the God’s honest truth.
The deputy made one of those faces that said she didn’t understand why the question had been posed. “I haven’t been authorized to show those to you just yet.” She gestured to the file again. “This is, as I’m sure you know, a good deal more than we’re required to share in the middle of an ongoing investigation.”
Not an outright lie, but nothing Sarah hadn’t expected. “That’s a shame. I was really hoping to get a feel for the scene as it was when the victim was discovered.”
“If the chief gets here before you leave,” Karen offered, “we can ask him for authorization. I got no problem with it. The sooner we get this ugly mess solved, the happier I’ll be. But I will warn you, that level of cooperation isn’t likely to happen.”
Deputy Karen Brighton gave every appearance of being sincere about wanting to share more were she not restricted by the rules. Sarah didn’t buy it for a second. “Why don’t you walk me through what’s been going on in the community for the past week or so, since the first girl went missing.”
Confusion lined Deputy Brighton’s forehead but her eyes gave her away. She’d just locked down like the Pentagon during an unexpected alert. “I’m not sure what you mean. I think you’ll find everything you need in the reports there.”
The proverbial Mexican standoff.
Conner repositioned in his chair twice in the ensuing silence.
This was going to take a while. “Let’s see...” Sarah plopped her bag on the floor by her chair, then unzipped her coat and shrugged it off, letting it drop onto the back of her chair. “Talk in the village is that this case is related to the one twenty years ago. One reporter interviewed five Youngstown citizens and got the same story. The new property development coming to town awakened a curse the village founder predicted would befall anyone who desecrated sacred ground. Sacred, apparently, primarily translating into whatever he held dear.”
Karen glanced at Conner. Sarah waited patiently for her to decide how she intended to evade giving an answer.
“It’s true,” she said finally. “Thomas Young, Youngstown’s founder, warned the settlers some two hundred fifty years ago that a horrible fate would befall the village if its history was disregarded or otherwise disrespected.” She shrugged noncommittally. “Some believe the development going in on the Young estate has spurred that curse. They point to the out-of-season storm we experienced a few weeks ago as the first warning.”
“Like twenty years ago,” Sarah suggested. “The unearthing of a cemetery set off a chain of events that culminated in murder.”
“That was a mistake,” Conner chimed in. “The cemetery wasn’t recorded. No one knew it was there. The high school expansion was well under way before the problem was discovered. What happened after that was no curse, Ms. Newton. It was just a run of nasty weather and bad luck that ended in tragedy.”
“But the murders,” Sarah countered, “were somewhat similar to Valerie Gerard’s.” Earlier Conner had argued they weren’t, but that wasn’t exactly accurate.
Again that look was exchanged between the deputy and the newest village councilman. “The similarities aren’t consistent with a repeating M.O.,” Karen allowed, “even though on initial examination they might appear to be.”
“How so?” Sarah wasn’t giving up until she knew all that the police knew. If Deputy Brighton wanted to test her staying power she could have at it.
The deputy pressed her lips together for a moment, ensuring she appeared to give ample thought to the question before responding when her real intent was to keep the unauthorized answer from popping out. “All the victims”—she looked straight at Sarah—“then and now, were mutilated. But not in the same ways. This kind of murder is never pretty, but the hack-and-slash act of killing doesn’t mean that every hack-and-slash case is related.”
Now she was patronizing. “No evidence then or now. It’s my understanding the killer didn’t leave a message last time.”
Another of those she-couldn’t-possibly-know-this shared glances. “According to what we’ve been told by the chief,” Brighton said carefully, “who was involved in the investigation twenty years ago, there was no message left by the killer back then. The files on that case were lost in a fire in the old Public Safety building.”
Sarah might have considered that rather convenient except that the timing didn’t really lend itself to a conspiracy. “But this time was different,” Sarah prompted. She resisted the urge to lean forward in her intense examination of the other woman. Karen Brighton wasn’t a very good liar; it would be easy to spot. “This time the killer left a message.”
Conner stood. “We should get you settled at the inn.” Relief flooded the deputy’s face. “I’ll let the chief know you have more questions. I’m sure he’ll make time for you.”
Sarah felt sure the chief would do exactly that. “Thank you, Deputy Brighton.” She poked her arms back into her coat and pulled it on. “I’ll look forward to meeting with Chief Willard.” Giving the appearance that she intended to let it go at that, Sarah grabbed her bag and pushed to her feet.
“You’re welcome, Ms. Newton. We want to cooperate all we can.”
Ms. Newton, not Sarah. Lines had been drawn. Before following Conner out the door of the office, Sarah hesitated.
She turned back to the deputy who immediately got that trapped-in-the-headlights look on her face. “Just one more thing.”
Conner did an about-face and towered in the open doorway.
When the deputy didn’t raise a protest Sarah said, “Your investigation doesn’t appear to be focused on any specific suspects. People have been interviewed, but—”
“Sarah.”
That he called her by her first name startled her, he’d already drawn his line as well. That he shifted that boundary now warned that he wanted her full attention. Sarah ignored him. “There seems to be this overriding assumption that the killer isn’t anyone from your community.”
All the uncertainty and apprehension vanished. Deputy Brighton leveled a stare on Sarah that could only be called categorically cold and unyielding. “That’s because the perpetrator responsible for this is not one of us. There isn’t an officer of the law in
this department who doesn’t know every single citizen in this village and most of those in the nearby communities. When this case is solved, and it will be, you’ll see that we were right to stand by that conclusion.”
“So you’re sticking with the curse theory.”
Brighton’s expression turned to stone as she pushed back from her desk and stood. “I believe you’ll need to address the rest of your questions to the chief.”
“I’ll do that.” Sarah draped the strap of her bag over her shoulder. She started to turn away but she hesitated one last time. “You know,” she said to the deputy, “considering the first girl went missing a week ago and you basically have nothing, it looks very much like we won’t ever know the truth. I guess history’s going to repeat itself.”
Deputy Brighton didn’t say good-bye or come again or even kiss my ass. Conner couldn’t get Sarah out of the building fast enough.
He didn’t say a word to her until they were in his Jeep. He was pissed.
So much for the easygoing guy.
“Was that necessary?” He twisted the key in the ignition and jerked into reverse. After a jarring three-point turn he rolled onto the street. “You couldn’t have been more diplomatic?”
“There’s a time for diplomacy, Conner. And this isn’t it.” Sarah snapped her seat belt into place.
He moved his head from side to side as if he couldn’t decide what to say next and maybe if he were lucky that maneuver could shake something loose.
No point in dragging out his misery. “I don’t like being lied to.” Why not put her cards on the table and get it over with? He would hate her soon enough, just like everyone else in this too-happy little town would before she was finished.
“There’s something called protocol, Newton,” he roared. “Karen can’t tell you something she isn’t authorized to tell. Bullying her, or anyone else for that matter, isn’t going to get you what you want.”
“In my experience,” Sarah countered, her tone calm and even enough to piss him off all the more, “it does exactly that. When you put someone on the defensive they speak before they think. That’s how you learn secrets.”
He fumed. Silently, but he couldn’t have proclaimed his fury any more loudly.
Any second she actually expected to see steam rolling from his ears. “If you plan to follow me around, Conner, you should know that I don’t play nice. It’s not my style.”
“Maybe it should be.”
“Been there, tried that. It doesn’t get the job done.”
He whipped into the parking lot of the municipal offices and shoved the gearshift into park. When he’d drawn in a deep breath and let it go real slow he looked at her. “I’ll follow you to the inn and see that you get settled.” His voice was lower now but still taut with frustration.
Not necessary, but whatever. “Suit yourself.” She released the seat belt and reached for the door.
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he argued, waylaying her. “Just because a tactic has worked in the past doesn’t make it the best strategy in every situation.”
Wow. A guy with a conscience. She considered this anomaly of the male species. A particularly odd reaction from a handsome specimen. Could he really be such a nice guy? One who genuinely cared about his community, wanted to do the right thing? A guy who actually didn’t want to part with anyone, even the enemy, on bad terms? Could he be as good inside as he was to look at on the outside? No way. All she had to do was hang around him long enough and she would find the flaw. There was always a flaw.
Since he waited, his gaze glued to hers, for an answer, she gave him one. “Of course it has to be this way.” He had the darkest eyes. Completely brown. The kind where the color was so dense and rich that it didn’t even reflect light. “This is what I do, Conner. I find the truth. The sooner the powers that be in this town admit there’s no curse or passerby who murdered that girl, the sooner they’ll start looking for the person who did. The person who is one of you.”
He stared at her another quarter of a minute more. She should have gotten out. Should have left it at that, but somehow she couldn’t walk away without ensuring he fully understood her position.
“You won’t save Alicia Appleton this way,” she warned. The words would only add insult to injury, but it was true. That was the saddest part. “You and all these God-fearing, compassionate people”—she gestured toward the heart of the village—“can’t pray that girl to safety. If someone doesn’t figure out why a person she knew, a citizen of Youngstown or a nearby community, wants her dead, she’s going to die.”
He looked away then. Just sat there and waited for Sarah to get out.
Whatever.
She opened the door, got out and strode to her car.
He was wrong.
They were all wrong.
Chapter 8
The Overlook
The innkeeper thrust the key at Sarah.
Not a key card. The old-fashioned kind. She accepted it. “Thank you.” Room 13. Ha-ha.
The innkeeper, Barton Harvey, glanced expectantly at the man who’d followed Sarah from the municipal offices. “I’ll show her to her room,” Conner offered.
“Thank you, Kale,” Harvey said, making no attempt to conceal his relief that he would be in Sarah’s presence no longer than absolutely necessary.
Funny. Sarah was the one paying for the room and he hadn’t thanked her.
More of that compassion Conner spoke of so ardently.
Sarah followed him up the stairs to the second floor. When Connor hadn’t driven away after seeing her to the inn, she’d been surprised. Evidently he’d decided to ensure she didn’t go off nosing around town without him. Once she’d gotten out of her rental car, she’d expected him to speed away. Instead, he’d insisted on carrying her suitcase but the show of chivalry hadn’t been needed. She’d wagged that damned thing all over the country by herself plenty of times.
She gave the inn’s high ceilings and intricate architectural details a cursory survey. Nice place. As long as there was hot water and a comfortable bed, she would be happy.
At the door marked 13, he moved aside for her to unlock it. She hadn’t used a hotel room key like this since Charlotte, North Carolina. Once the door was open, he took two steps inside and set her bag on the floor. He was ready to split. As it was, he’d lasted longer than she’d estimated.
“Call me...”—he looked anywhere but at her—“in the morning.”
“I don’t have your number.”
“I’ll give you my cell number.”
Monotone, uninspired. Yep, still ticked off. She dug out her phone and entered the number he recited.
“If you need anything, you can...let me know.”
He turned to the open door.
She should say something. It wasn’t like she’d wanted his company today. She hadn’t asked for it. But she couldn’t deny that he’d made things marginally more interesting. Even if the way in which he’d made them interesting wasn’t in her best interest.
Say the words. “Thank you.”
He hesitated but didn’t turn around.
What now? She glanced around the room, didn’t find the answer. To hell with it. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
He walked out, closed the door behind him.
For one long moment she stood there staring at the closed door. “That was weird.”
Why?
She had no reason to feel guilty about disappointing this guy. She’d done pretty well today. She’d only pissed off two people. Not counting the innkeeper. In all fairness, the mere fact that she’d shown up appeared to have pissed him off.
Whatever.
Sarah picked up her bag and tossed it on the bed. Then did the same with her shoulder bag. She set her hands on her hips and turned all the way around to view her room. She hadn’t been surprised that she’d been given room 13. What did surprise her, however, was that it turned out to be quite nice. Generally, when she met with
the kind of hostility she’d sensed in the innkeeper she wound up with the worst room in the place. Bad plumbing, drafty windows, no air-conditioning, she’d had it all. If this was the worst, then it was no wonder the inn was the most popular one in the county.
Four-poster bed with a lace canopy. Lots of big fluffy pillows and lush bedding. Antique furnishings. Cable television. High-speed Internet service. Her own private bath and a nice big bowl of fruit.
She sat on the mattress and bounced.
“Not too bad.”
’Course, a good mattress didn’t guarantee she would sleep.
She pushed up and wandered over to the massive window. Kale Conner strode down the front steps and across the parking area to his Jeep. Long, confident strides. She felt a prick of disappointment that he didn’t spare a glance back at the inn as he got into the vehicle.
There it was. The most fundamental reason she should avoid him at all costs.
Attraction.
He really did have nice eyes. She didn’t usually pay attention to eyes other than for assessing intent and emotion. As good-looking as Kale Conner was his best assets were definitely his eyes. Looking at him from a purely physical perspective, she had to confess that he fell into the hot category. He had a good voice, too. Low and deep, and he was obviously intelligent.
As his Jeep moved down the twisted road leading back to town she wondered if he really believed that sales pitch he’d given her about the citizens of Youngstown. Was he really that naive?
Then again, his life didn’t revolve around murder.
Whatever he thought, the fact was that a murderer could crop up anywhere. Their reason for becoming a killer could be environmental, could be genetic.
Yet this whole village appeared to be convinced that their troubles were not related to a local. At least not one from this century. Give them a curse or a stranger, but not one of their own.
When Conner’s taillights disappeared, she shifted her attention to the village and harbor. It was dark now but the collage of lights around the waterfront twinkled in the clear night. The sailboats drifted like ghosts with their white covers shimmering in the moonlight. Squares of light glowed from the homes that clung to the hillside flanking the inlet. She could only assume that the lack of sun in the winter prompted the owners to forgo curtains or blinds on their windows. She couldn’t imagine, even on the fourth floor, leaving her windows naked for anyone’s viewing pleasure.