by Debra Webb
She fell silent for long enough to make him start to feel anxious.
“He was watching me.” Her voice cracked when she said the words.
“You think Pope pushed you?” That was seriously outrageous but if that was her perception, Kale needed to know right now.
“No. He never left his house.”
“Explain,” he ordered.
“I noticed him watching me from his window.” She shrugged. “I guess he saw my flashlight and wondered what I was doing. Or maybe he was worried there was trouble at the chapel again.” As if she’d just had a thought she asked, “No one called in about someone snooping around at the chapel?”
Kale shook his head. “I doubt it. If anyone had called it in, the chief would have called me first.” It seemed both the chief and the mayor were expecting him, and him alone, to keep her out of trouble.
Newton looked unsettled by that answer.
“I’ll take you to meet Mr. Pope tomorrow if you’d like,” Kale offered, in hopes of making her feel more comfortable. “You can ask him if he saw you.”
“I have a list of people I want to interview,” she informed him as she snuggled deeper into her covers. She was exhausted and it was catching up with her.
Great. He couldn’t wait. “We’ll start first thing in the morning after I check in at my office.” He stood. “You let me know if you need anything.”
“You locked the door, right?”
“Believe it or not,” he said, surmising that her question was a jab at life in Maine, “we don’t lock our doors because there are no robberies in Youngstown.”
“Only murders,” she reminded.
Right.
Only murders.
Chapter 13
Saturday, February 28, 7:30 A.M.
Sarah’s nose wiggled.
She inhaled more deeply.
Bacon.
Another deep draw of the sweet smell.
She opened her eyes and looked around.
Shelves lined with books, some haphazardly placed. A comfortable, however slightly wear-worn chair. White walls. She sat up, pushed the thick layer of covers away.
Conner’s place.
Memories of rushing through the woods broadsided her. Her body ached from more than one full frontal confrontation with solid wood trunks. Her pulse reacted to an adrenaline dump.
Someone had pushed her over that ledge...
Her palms burned. She opened her hands and stared at the angry red marks there.
That certainly hadn’t been a dream.
Nor had running through the woods in the dark.
She shuddered. This had to be a new record. She’d scarcely settled into town and already someone wanted her dead or, at least, out of the way.
The aroma of fresh brewed coffee abruptly distracted her senses.
She turned toward the kitchen, then scanned the room for the time. An antiquated clock sat on the mantel, its arms reaching toward the numbers stenciled on its face.
Seven thirty-five.
She’d slept at least five hours. And no dreams.
Another record.
Sarah pushed up from the couch, grimaced as pain radiated up her torso and across her shoulders. Swinging from vines and intimate contact with trees clearly weren’t in her best interests.
Righting her clothes, she shuffled sock-footed to the kitchen door. Sprawled at her master’s feet, Angie swished her tail across the wood floor but she didn’t bother raising her head. The dog had slept on the sofa with Sarah as if she’d needed a guard. Considering last night’s jaunt through the woods, maybe she did.
Sarah’s host moved his spatula round and round in a pan of scrambled eggs. Crisp slices of bacon lined a nearby plate. The coffeepot had filled. As she took in the scene, two slices of browned bread popped up in the toaster.
But it was the man that held her attention. He wore jeans as he had yesterday. The same wooly kind of socks he’d lent her covered his feet. Her gaze traced a path back up those long legs. His shirttail hung loose and his hair curled around his neck.
He looked damned good.
But...this was not good.
She knew better and, yet, here she was. She should have gone back to the inn last night.
Just another dumb decision she would live to regret.
Might as well get the initial awkward moment over with. She couldn’t loiter in the doorway all morning. She had places to go and people to see.
“Isn’t this quite the domestic scene,” she announced, moving away from the door and toward the coffeepot. The smell had her taste buds crackling with anticipation.
He glanced over his shoulder. “What’s the matter, New York guys don’t cook?”
She ignored the question. While she poured a cup of coffee, he scraped eggs onto the plate next to the bacon. He placed the toast alongside the eggs and dropped two more slices of bread into the toaster.
As good as his efforts smelled, she never ate breakfast. Maybe she would savor her coffee before breaking the news to him.
His long-fingered hands gathered two plates, two forks, and napkins. She watched with interest as he set the table. His shirt remained unbuttoned, the long-johns-style undershirt beneath molded to his chest. He had a nice profile. Strong jaw. Symmetrical nose. Nice eyes. She’d noticed them before. She’d noticed a lot of things about him before. Those dark eyes, for instance, likely hid a man with far more depth than he preferred to reveal.
Her instincts went on point. Where was the wedding ring? What was a guy like him, at age thirty, doing single in a small town like this?
What else was there to do?
Except—Sarah glanced at the animal on the floor—walk his dog?
“Let’s try restarting the conversation,” Conner suggested as his gaze met hers. “Good morning.”
She managed a halfhearted smile. “Morning.”
“One of my employees picked up your car and dropped it off at the inn.” He jerked his head toward the counter. “Keys are over there. You left them in the car.”
“Thanks.” A chill slid along her spine at the memory of falling face first in the snow...then those strong, gloved fingers curling around her ankle. She shivered. At least she’d gotten in a couple of good kicks.
“Sit.” He gestured to the table, drawing her mind from last night’s strange events. “I’ll serve.”
Sarah couldn’t help herself. She laughed. “You spend too much time with your dog, Conner.”
He placed a plate in front of the chair he’d indicated, then a fork and napkin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She pulled out the chair and sat. “You give a lot of one-word commands.”
“I also have a younger brother and sister. It worked well for them.” He shot her a smile and prepared his own place setting.
Sarah’s cheeks warmed. It wasn’t like he was the first guy to smile at her in recent history, but there was something extraordinarily charming about his smile. Who knew? Maybe she wasn’t herself this morning. Maybe real sleep dulled her usual edge. Certainly made her wonder about things she had no business wondering about.
But that couldn’t happen.
No getting personally involved in cases.
Never. Ever.
No matter how tempting.
Personal could be hazardous...in more ways than one.
“Dig in,” he announced as he settled the laden serving plate in the middle of the table. “See.” He snagged himself a cup of coffee and dropped into a chair. “That was more than one word.”
Yeah, all right. Two. “I hate to break this to you, Conner, but I don’t do breakfast.”
He spooned a heaping of eggs onto her plate, then flanked it with toast and bacon. “There’s a first time for everything, Ms. Newton.”
She speared a bite of egg and lifted it to her mouth. Yes, life was filled with firsts. First steps, first kiss, first...kills. Remembered terror slithered along her skin. She pushed the memories away.
Sara
h would be curious to see how Kale Conner responded to the first currently plowing its way into his life faster than the dozens of snowplows she’d seen cruising the streets since her arrival. Learning that you were friends with or perhaps even related to a murderer definitely carried an impact.
She knew all too well.
Banishing the images that wanted to accompany the thought, she shifted her attention to the man and her curiosity about him. “So, what’s the deal, Conner? No wife? What about a girlfriend?”
He stopped mid-chew, surprise flaring in those dark eyes. Cutting to the chase saved time and energy. He would learn that she valued her time above all else.
He swallowed. “Single and thirty seems odd to you?” He scrunched his brow as if trying to recall some fact. “Wasn’t there a show about single women in New York, all of whom were over thirty?”
Yeah. Yeah. “But this isn’t New York?”
“Ah.” He took a slug of coffee. “So you think there’s nothing else to do around here but get married?”
The thought had definitely crossed her mind. “Well?” No need to be shy.
“Well.” He set his palms flat on the table. “I run a fishing company. And I’m on the village council. I stay pretty busy.”
“Let me guess, the older council members talked you into that. New blood and all that jazz.”
Another flare of surprise. “That about sums it up.”
She’d thought so. “What about college?” She picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite.
“What about it?”
Ah, she’d hit a nerve. His entire demeanor changed. “You didn’t finish.” He’d been an honor student, too. Marine engineering or something like that. Halfway through the program when he quit.
He stared at his plate, rearranged the food with his fork. “My father had an accident and my family needed me.” Now there was something she hadn’t learned in her research. “What sort of accident?”
“One of his fishing boats crashed into the dock. He tried to help.” Conner shrugged. “Got in the way and his spine was fractured in about half a dozen places.”
“Paralyzed?”
He nodded. “Now the only navigating he does is in his wheelchair from the TV to the table.”
She grimaced. “That’s tough.”
Conner nodded again. “Like I said. My family needed me.” He dug into his food, kept his attention on the plate.
And there was the first flaw. Sarah leaned back in her chair and watched the man devour his breakfast. Handsome, nice, always ready to do his part. But. He’d had to sideline his life and live his father’s. She could guess all that went along with the assignment. He’d likely played a large role in rearing his younger siblings. Ran the family business. Did whatever Daddy told him to do.
And absolutely nothing for himself.
Five years. She’d give him five years tops before the resentment and bitterness took its toll.
That was the thing about life. Whatever your reason for avoiding living it—no matter your noble motive for taking a detour—life always got the last laugh.
And the final say.
2313 Beauchamp Road, 9:00 A.M.
“The Popes are nice people,” Conner warned as he and Sarah approached the massive double doors belonging to the Pope mansion.
Enormous house, ocean-front property. Nice and seriously wealthy people. She paused at the door, peered toward the chapel on the hilltop in the woods. “And they live really close to the crime scene.”
Conner sighed and pressed the doorbell. “Just don’t do or say anything I’ll regret.”
Sarah flashed him a smile. “I can’t make any promises.” He looked miserable. She didn’t need to be able to read his mind to know he would rather be doing anything but this. Like seeing to that fishing company. He’d opted to call in rather than drop by. Business appeared to be running smoothly without him...another thorn in his side this morning, she imagined. If work had needed him, would he have used that as an excuse to beg off escorting her?
The door opened and the man Sarah had seen in the window last night looked from Conner to her and back, a broad, welcoming smile on his lips.
“Kale, what brings our newest council member out for a visit so early on a Saturday morning?”
“Morning, Jerald.” Conner gestured to Sarah. “This is Sarah Newton. I’m sure you’ve heard she’s here to help with the investigation.”
“Of course.” Jerald Pope thrust out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sarah. Won’t you come in?”
Sarah accepted the offered hand, gave it a solid shake. “I’d love to.”
Environment spoke volumes about a person. Hopes, dreams, goals, concerns...they were all there.
The Pope home certainly had plenty to say. The entry hall was every bit as grand as one would expect for a house of this magnitude. Marble floors gleamed. Wood moldings, intricately designed and glossy white, accented the bold, rich walls. Splendid art lined the walls, making Sarah think of a museum or a gallery rather than a home.
Position and power were immensely important to one or all of the Popes.
Jerald Pope led the way to a luxurious sitting room on the right. “Please make yourselves at home.” He gestured to the sofa. “Coffee? Tea?”
Conner shook his head and Sarah declined the offer of refreshments as they accepted the invitation to sit, an entire sofa cushion between them.
“Are you making progress in your investigation?” Pope asked as he settled into a silk-encased wing chair.
Nice. Someone else who liked to cut to the chase. “I’m still getting a feel for the community.”
Pope relaxed more deeply into his chair. “How may I assist your endeavor?”
Sarah liked this guy already. Straight to the point. “Last night I noticed you have a perfect view of the chapel. That’s a very nice telescope you have, by the way.”
Pope smiled knowingly. “Indeed. That was you up at the chapel last night, was it?”
“It was.” Tension rippled through Sarah as she considered that someone had stolen up behind her and given her what could have been a fatal shove. “Did you notice anyone else there last night?”
Pope moved his head from side to side. “Only you. And I probably wouldn’t have noticed your presence there if not for your flashlight. I considered reporting the activity, but then you were gone and I let it go.”
She’d concluded as much. “Do you view the comings and goings at the chapel often?”
“Not until recently.” He gestured to the soaring windows across the room. “When my wife and I commissioned this home we wanted to take in as much of the views as possible, the ocean as well as the mountains. The windows accommodate us quite well. The telescope is for watching the stars with my daughter.”
“I’m sure the police have asked you this question already,” Sarah ventured, “but I wondered if you saw anything or anyone the night Valerie Gerard was murdered?”
Regret etched across Pope’s face. “Unfortunately not. I wish I had been watching that night. Perhaps I could have helped. Since that tragedy struck...”—he closed his eyes, drew in a heavy breath—“I try to keep an eye on the chapel.” He blinked twice. “That’s why I saw you last night.”
“But then”—Sarah searched his face, his eyes, gauged the sincerity there—“you can’t watch every minute.”
He held her gaze, something like defeat in his. “So true.”
Conner cleared his throat, whether to let her know it was time to go or from the emotional impact of the moment Sarah couldn’t say.
“I’m sure the chief appreciates your efforts,” Conner offered.
“It’s the least I can do.”
Sarah had other names on her list. She’d gotten all she was going to get here...for now. She stood, giving Conner a cue to do the same. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Pope.”
He rose. “Please.” Pope smiled. “Call me Jerald.”
“Jerald. If I think of other questions...
”
“Stop by any time,” he offered. “I’m completely at your disposal.”
“I appreciate that.” Sarah surveyed the room before moving toward the hall. “Your home is magnificent.”
“We enjoy it.” He paused at the front entry. “You’ll have to visit again when my wife and daughter are home. Perhaps you’ll join us for dinner one evening.”
“Absolutely.” Sarah hesitated when he opened the door. “Your daughter,” she said to Pope, “was she close to either of the victims?” Unnecessary question actually. As Conner had pointed out repeatedly, everyone here knew everyone else.
“Not really.” Pope seemed to weigh his words before continuing. “She attended school here in Youngstown with Valerie, but they were never close friends.” He shook his head. “Such a tragedy.”
Definitely a tragedy.
In the Jeep, Conner braked at the end of the cobblestone driveway. “Where to now?”
His enthusiasm was underwhelming. “The next name on the list. Marta Hanover.”
Without comment, he pointed the Jeep in the direction of town.
Sarah found it quite abnormal that he didn’t ask why she wanted to speak with the Hanover woman. Maybe he didn’t want to open himself up to questioning. He’d been noticeably quiet since she’d questioned him about his personal life.
“In case you didn’t know,” he said abruptly, as if to defy any negative conclusions she might have reached, “Jerald Pope paid for Valerie’s funeral. Paid off the mortgage on her family’s home, too, so her father wouldn’t have to rush back to work. The Popes are good people,” Conner added without even a glance in her direction, “just like the rest of the folks around here.”
“Interesting.” Rich, powerful, and generous. A complex man. Sarah would keep that in mind as she assessed the people on her list. Each name was there as a result of having met one or more of the Big Three criteria.
Access to the victims was the primary reason Pope had made Sarah’s list. He lived closer than anyone else to the crime scene. He had a daughter near the same age as both Valerie Gerard and Alicia Appleton.