by Jodi Thomas
Tannon let her pull onto the street first and followed her to her place. When she disappeared into the underground parking, he circled the block and parked on the street. By the time he made it up to her place, she’d already pulled off her coat and had the coffee on.
They cooked breakfast together and ate at the little table by the windows. The space was so small his knees bumped hers as they ate, but he didn’t complain.
As soon as she took her last bite, she stood. “I have to get to work.”
She was halfway to the door, pulling on her coat as she ran when he caught up with her. “No,” he said as he stopped her. “Kiss me good-bye before you go.”
Laughing, she put her hands on the sides of his whiskery face and kissed him quickly on the mouth. “Good-bye and don’t forget to do the dishes.”
She was gone before he thought to react. If he had, he could have held her tightly and kissed her until she kissed him back. Really kissed him. He stood in her cluttered little apartment for a long time, letting one fact settle into his logical mind.
Tannon Parker was in love with Emily. He always had been and he always would be. There was not one thing he could do about it. The only problem was getting her to love him, not as a friend, but as a lover.
But would she allow herself to love him once she found out what he’d never told her or anyone else about the night she’d been hurt?
What if she turned away?
Could he let her go? Would he?
Chapter 37
THURSDAY
RICK MATHESON WALKED OUT ON THE PORCH OF WINTER’S Inn. The morning was gray, with huge boiling clouds hanging so low he felt like he could throw a rock and hit one.
For the first time since he’d fallen through the steps almost three weeks ago, he felt whole. The wounds were healing, but it was more than that. Maybe because of the threat on his life, he’d known fear for the first time. Real fear. Not just for himself but for someone else as well. He and Trace could have been killed when the car blazed into the diner. She’d been laughing and for once not watching every movement. He’d seen the car coming and reacted, not with his brain but with his gut. Somehow that one second he’d lived through had made him stronger. He’d discovered something inside himself. A warrior, maybe. Or maybe a bit of the pioneer blood that made his great-great-grandparents leave settled lives and come to Texas where they had to fight to survive.
“You shouldn’t be out here in the open,” Trace said from just behind him.
“I was thinking about how every time I think this guy has given up on stalking me, something happens. I’ve checked my files and gone through every memory since birth and I still can’t come up with one reason why someone wants to kill me.”
“Me neither.” He heard the frustration in her tone. “You’re a nice guy, Matheson.”
“That’s the first compliment you’ve ever given me. I’m touched.”
“Don’t be. Things would be so much simpler if you’d cheated a man or ruined his life or stole his girlfriend. Then, at least, we’d have a suspect.”
Rick leaned against the railing like he always did. He liked being half in the shadow of the porch and half in the day. “If we had a suspect, you could go back home or ride off on your bike and forget about this town.”
“I’ll never forget this place. There’s an odd kind of peace here. I can see why people live in small towns.”
“What about me, Marshal? Will you remember me?”
“You saved my life. That’s the second time lately that I’ve come a breath away from death. I’m starting to think my number’s up.”
“Oh, great. You think the Grim Reaper’s trailing you, so you come hang out with the Matheson most likely to die in this town.”
“Sounded logical at the time, but now I see your point.”
He studied her while she watched the world beyond the porch, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she ever relaxed. “If I make it through this and come up to Chicago sometime, is there a chance you might go out with me, like on a date?”
Trace shook her head. “Don’t complicate this, Matheson. You’re not my type. Nice guys never have been.”
Her gaze met his for the first time. He saw it in her eyes. She was lying. For a second, he thought she might move toward him, but she stiffened. Maybe what he’d gone through the past few weeks made him reckless, but he spoke his mind. “When this is over, Trace, I’m climbing the stairs. We can climb on the roof or in bed, but for a few hours we’re going to be together, just me and you.”
She shook her head. “When this is over, I’ll be gone. I don’t do roots or relationships. Never have. In my line of work, it doesn’t pay.”
Before he could answer, his cell rang. “What’s up, Alex?”
After listening for a minute, he turned off the phone and said, “The sheriff wants to meet us at the library. Says she’s got something interesting to show us. It better be important if we’re missing one of Mrs. Biggs’s breakfast.”
Trace reached inside for her coat. “I’ll tell Mrs. Biggs to keep it warm and maybe we can eat it tonight.“
“There won’t be anything to keep warm. Border and Beau will have finished it off.”
Ten minutes later they were all in the children’s section of the Harmony County Library looking at a children’s book.
“It appears,” Alex said as she pointed, “all the words were cut from this one book. Whoever did it shoved the book to the back of the shelf and must have thought that no one would find it. But one of the volunteers was checking it out yesterday and noticed one of the pages sticking out. Emily thought it was just a prank until she heard about the note you got. She called me.”
“Anyone could have done it.” Emily looked over the desk at the book. Tears were in her eyes. “Not anyone,” she corrected herself. “A monster. Who else would cut up a children’s book? This wasn’t a page a child accidentally tore. This was done on purpose.”
“Do you keep a record of who comes in here? I don’t think we’d have to go back more than a few weeks.” Alex waited.
Emily shook her head. “We do a count, but we don’t take names.”
Trace’s voice was cold and matter-of-fact as she said, “Did Beau Yates come in here within the past few weeks?”
“Yes,” Emily answered as if she were on the stand and being forced to testify.
“Why Beau?” Alex snapped, trying to follow some invisible thread Trace had tossed out.
“Because when we found the note on the car yesterday morning, Beau Yates and Border Biggs were with us. Both saw Rick open the note. When I commented that I didn’t know where to look for the next clue, he suggested looking for a cut-up children’s book.”
No one wanted to believe Beau could be involved. Rick told himself it had to be just a coincidence, but Beau had been in the bar the night he’d been stabbed with the darts and he could have easily slipped through the dried-up creek bed behind the office. It was almost a direct path from his duplex. Of course, the creek bed was the most direct path to half the old homes in the original part of town.
Sam had stopped sweeping the aisle a few feet away. He took advantage of their silence to add his two cents. “That Yates boy’s got long hair. That’s always a sign folks should be concerned. I’ve seen him circling by the library the past few days as if he’s looking for something, or maybe he’s just afraid someone would find that book. He don’t work all day. There’s no telling what kind of trouble he’s getting into. No wonder everyone thought he kidnapped Ronny Logan. His type is always the kind who do strange things.”
Emily opened her mouth to correct Sam, but Alex got words out first. “No one thinks Beau kidnapped Ronny. If you have facts, I’d love to hear them, Sam. If not, please keep your opinions to yourself.”
Sam huffed and moved on. Rick had the feeling that women sheriffs ranked right down there next to long-haired men.
Alex asked Emily to make a list of every person who walked into the library that she
could remember. She also wanted to check every name who checked out a book. Whoever did this had to have time to cut the letters out, then put the book back on the shelf. With someone always at the front desk, it wouldn’t have been an easy chore. Even Darla, the children’s librarian, would need to be questioned again just in case she saw something, anything that might help.
She doubted the stalker had checked out the book or even hung around the children’s section. More than likely, he walked by and picked up the book, then moved to another part of the library. There were corners and boxed windows where anyone could disappear for a while.
Rick walked up the stairs and stood in the little alcove where the writers met. The realization that he could have been in the library at the same time as the person trying to kill him bothered him. It had taken him a long time but Rick was finally mad. No, not mad, furious.
In a few days, Martha Q would be back and his job of watching over Winter’s Inn would be over. Trace would probably leave. After all, she’d reminded him this morning that she wasn’t attracted to nice guys. But she was attracted to him, he thought—he’d seen it in her eyes, and the one time he’d kissed her, she’d taken her time pulling away.
Rick heard the janitor rattling his way up the stairs before he saw Sam appear in the doorway. He looked bothered to find Rick taking up space, but he set his broom down and asked, “Heard any word of Martha Q Patterson coming back to town?” He cleared his throat and added, “Some of the writers’ group asked about her.”
“She’s due in tomorrow, I think.”
Sam nodded like he didn’t care one way or the other. “You gonna move out when she gets back?”
This was one of the times Rick wished he lived in a bigger town. Everyone, even the library janitor apparently, kept up with him.
“Yeah,” he answered, wondering just where he would go.
Thanks to Martha Q’s hundred dollars a day and the Peterses’ long visit, he now had enough money to rent a decent apartment. His mother told him he could come home, but Rick knew that if he did she’d make it hard to leave. He knew her—she’d nail the way out shut, one good deed after another. She’d do his laundry, cook his favorite meals, change his sheets. Before long, he’d be forty and still living with his mother. By then, she’d be so old people would look at him as thoughtless and ungrateful if he moved out.
Rick noticed Trace standing just behind Sam. He hadn’t seen her come up.
“You know, Matheson, I think you’re taking advantage of Martha Q. It ain’t right, you staying there free while she’s gone and it sure ain’t right if you stay once she gets back.”
“Thanks for the judgment.” Rick tried to keep his voice calm, but the old man was butting in where he didn’t belong. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
“Rick.” Trace made the old man jump. “We’d better get going.”
He walked past Sam before he said something he’d regret.
Halfway down the stairs, Sam called, “I don’t guess you’ll be coming to the writers’ group anymore since she’s coming back.”
“I’ll be there,” Rick answered without slowing. Until that moment he hadn’t thought he’d come, but something about the old guy bothered him just enough to change his plans.
Trace dropped him off at his office and said she wanted to talk to Alex. He didn’t ask about what. He needed to be alone. The cut-up note, the possibility that Beau was involved, the nosy janitor—all were winds making the storm of his bad mood worsen.
He was halfway up the front stairs to his office when George Hatcher came running out of the bookstore.
Rick wasn’t up for another ghost theory. He thought of bolting up the steps before the chubby little man could stop him, but he didn’t; after all, he was a nice guy. “Morning, George.”
“Don’t have time to talk. Got three customers. Just wanted to hand you these notes. I wrote down the names of folks who dropped by your office.” He shoved several cards toward Rick and headed back to his store.
Rick carried them into his office and tossed them on his desk. As they scattered, he was relieved to see that no square envelope was among them.
After pulling his drapes open so he could see the town and locking his door, Rick gave the notes his full attention. Two were from people who wanted him to do their wills, one was from a man who wanted him to look over contracts, and one was from a woman who wanted to file divorce papers on a husband she hadn’t seen in six months but who was still using her credit card. All had numbers and names on the back.
It wasn’t exactly the legal-eagle kind of work he’d hoped for, but it was work. Rick smiled. It was also a way to step out of his problems for a while and climb into someone else’s.
Trace called twice to check on him and promised to be back by noon. Whatever she and the sheriff were up to didn’t include informing him. Which was fine. He was tired of talking about the stalker.
He called all his future clients back and set up times they could come in. It felt good to be working.
At about eleven o’clock, a woman dressed in what looked like scarves tapped on his door. She introduced herself as Mrs. Weatherbee and said she was a friend of George’s downstairs.
Rick offered her a seat. “How can I help you, Mrs. Weatherbee?”
She smiled. “I’m not here to ask for help, Mr. Matheson. I’m here to offer it. I’ve seen your future.”
“How much do I owe you, Mrs. Weatherbee?”
“But, sir, I haven’t told you it yet.”
Rick pulled out a ten. “It doesn’t matter, just the fact that you saw one makes my day.”
She giggled. “You’re one of those ‘fly by the seat of their pants’ people who wants to turn the pages of life one at a time to see what happens.”
“That’s me.”
The strange lady stood. “Then I’ll leave you to your adventure.”
Chapter 38
THURSDAY AFTERNOON
BORDER BIGGS HAD PULLED HIS HARLEY INTO THE FRONT yard to work on it when the sun finally showed itself. Beau leaned against the window off Ronny’s little kitchen and smiled. “Sun’s out,” he said to no one.
Ronny nodded as she cleaned her counter. Beau had always thought she was a pretty lady, but lately he swore she had a glow about her. If she’d been eight or ten years younger, she would have made him nervous, but somehow over the months she’d become a member of his new family. The knowledge that she had a secret that made her smile made Beau happy.
“Thanks for teaching me to make French toast. It wasn’t near as hard as I thought it might be.”
She smiled. “You’re welcome. How about I teach you something new to cook every Thursday afternoon? It’s my only early day off and I’m usually studying at night. I’ll leave the post office about two, pick up whatever we need, and we can be cooking by three. That too early for you?” She laughed.
“I’ll try to make it up by then.” Beau moved closer. “About the other night. It’s none of my business but how’d—”
She stopped him. “I went for a ride with an old friend. Nothing else. When I got back and saw a cop parked out front, I figured my mother had done something crazy. I panicked and went to the office. I thought I’d just work an hour or two, but the fear of what I’d find back here kept me working.” Ronny patted his hand. “I’m sorry, Beau, that she got you and Border involved.”
“It didn’t matter. Gave me some jailhouse experience I’ll write a song about one day.”
“You might get your chance to add another chapter,” Border yelled through the open window. “Looks like the sheriff pulling up.”
Beau watched the sheriff and Martha Q’s niece he’d met at Winter’s Inn climb out of the cruiser. Border already had his hands in the air, but they walked right past him.
“Beau,” Alex called as her boots tapped across the porch. “You home?”
“I’m over here,” he said as he opened Ronny’s apartment door. “We’re making French toast.” It crossed
his mind that he’d just said the dumbest thing anyone about to be arrested ever said. The only good news was that neither woman was pointing a gun at him.
“Could we talk to you in private?” the sheriff asked.
“I’m with friends,” Beau said, forcing himself not to back away. “We can talk.”
“Someone accused you of writing the note Rick Matheson found on his car,” she said point-blank.
“Not again.” Border puffed up like a bear.
To Beau’s surprise, Alex smiled. “Calm down, Border. I know he didn’t do it. How could he have when he was in my jail? Only why’d you guess the letters came from a picture book?”
Beau shrugged. “I don’t know. The library was the only place my old man would let me go alone. I must have read every book in the children’s section by the time I was ten.”
“Fair enough. Makes sense. Now, do you know someone who hates you enough to try and pin what’s happening to Rick Matheson on you?”
Beau shrugged. “No. Right now my dad hates me, but having a son play in a bar is not as bad as having one in jail.”
“Maybe it’s someone who hates our music,” Border offered.
No one acted as if they were listening to him.
“Watch your back, Beau,” the sheriff said. “Call me if anything strange happens.”
Beau had the feeling she wasn’t talking about midnight rides with a girl named Trouble.
Chapter 39
FRIDAY MORNING
TANNON WALKED IN THE COUNTY SHERIFF’S OFFICE AND removed his hat. “I’d like to see Sheriff McAllen,” he said to the first person he saw.
“I’m Deputy Phil Gentry, Mr. Parker, I’ve met you a few times at fund-raisers for the fire department. Thanks for supplying the beef for that last cookout. Your support went a long way to making us one of the best volunteer fire departments in the state.”
When Tannon didn’t say anything, the deputy continued, “Maybe I can help you. I’d be happy to if I can.”