“Great . . . and Ben, don’t mention this to anyone.”
“Come on, Taylor. It’s me you’re talking to.”
“Right. Sorry.”
Taylor ended the call. Half an hour seemed like an eternity. Using a tissue, she stacked the photos with the envelope and put them in her briefcase. Maybe she needed to invest in latex gloves.
Downstairs she found a note from her mother on the table. Gone to town. Be back by three. Good. Maybe by then, she and Ben would have a plan in place. Taylor left her own note telling her mom where she’d be and grabbed her car keys.
As Taylor slid into her rental, she glanced toward the barn and noticed Pete getting into a black pickup. He drove toward the house and gave her a half salute as he passed, then continued on to Coley Road and turned toward town.
In high school, Pete had floated on the periphery, always hanging around. She had to admit to more than a little curiosity about what he’d been doing since graduation. He’d gone away to college, or so she’d heard, so why was he working as a flunky for her uncle and his partner? Maybe Livy or Chase would know. She fastened her seat belt and followed the same path as Pete, only at the end of the drive, she turned the opposite way.
A wooden sign caught her eye as she approached the Adams’s drive. The Potter’s House Bed and Breakfast. A bed and breakfast? Kate had been a potter for as long as Taylor could remember, and now she ran a B and B? Questions buzzed her mind. When did this happen? As she drove the winding, tree-lined drive to the hundred-year-old house, she had to admit the two-story Victorian looked like a bed and breakfast with its three-gabled roof and wraparound porch.
Taylor followed the drive to the rear of the house and the pottery studio. Kate’s husband had transformed an old carriage house into a place for Kate to work. Taylor pulled into the parking area that had been added since she left.
She stopped to admire the array of vases and bowls in the display window. An impossibly thin bowl caught her eye. Porcelain. She bet that was the piece Ben’s mom wanted. The soft whirring from a potter’s wheel caught her ear, and Taylor walked toward the sound.
Kate leaned over her potter’s wheel and coaxed a cylinder higher and higher. She was so focused on pulling up the sides of a vase she didn’t see her, giving Taylor time to study the woman who’d been like a second mother. Only the silver streaking her French-braided hair indicated she was in her early sixties.
Kate looked up and broke into a smile that stretched to her dark eyes. Eyes that missed nothing when Taylor was a teen and could stare the truth out of anyone in their path.
“Taylor! I thought I heard the buzzer.” She waved a muddy hand. “Come on in. I’ll have this vase off the wheel in a jiffy.”
Her own hands itched to touch the clay as Kate made one last pull from the bottom of the pot and then compressed the rim with her fingers. The cylinder had to be at least twenty inches high. “Is that porcelain?”
Kate grunted an affirmative as she pushed from the inside, stroking out the belly of the cylinder in slow, even pulls. Then, she trimmed the base and lifted the bat off the wheel, balancing it on the tips of her fingers.
“Very good!” Porcelain was probably the most difficult medium for a potter to work in. Taylor knew—she’d tried it. And failed.
“You ought to come and work in the clay while you’re here.”
It’d been years since she fooled around with the wheel, not since she was a freshman in college. Taylor could almost feel the cool clay in her hands. “I will, if you have some stoneware.”
“You know I do.” Kate washed up before wrapping Taylor in a hug. “Allison told me about the broken engagement. I’m sorry.”
With Kate’s arms around her, Taylor was sixteen again and crying over the quarterback who broke her heart. She blinked away the tears that stung her eyelids. “Thanks,” she squeaked out. Then she straightened and shook her head. “He was a rat. Didn’t even care enough to tell me in person. Just left a note on the seat of my car. And then he up and married that . . .” She pressed her hand against her mouth. “That woman.” Taylor spit the word out.
“Do you know how blessed you are, child? God was protecting you from the wrong man.” Kate folded her into another embrace. “You just rant and rave all you want.”
“She’s pregnant, Kate.”
“Ohhh.” The older woman rubbed her hand up and down Taylor’s back, then held her at arm’s length. “Your time will come, Taylor. God will bring the right man to you. Then you’ll have those babies you want.”
Kate and her mom must subscribe to the same advice columnist. Taylor swallowed the lump in her throat. “Enough about me. You look good. Your pottery”—she swept her arm around—“is so beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Kate acknowledged the compliment with a nod. “Now, why don’t you tell me what you’re doing here your first day home.”
Kate always did know how to cut to the chase.
“I have a little problem. Actually, a big problem. And I’ve asked Ben to meet me here since I don’t want Mom to know about it yet.”
“Then you and our sheriff need a cool place to talk. Why don’t we go to the house?”
Taylor stopped at her car to retrieve her briefcase and caught sight of the sign again. “What’s with the bed and breakfast?”
A blush crept up Kate’s neck. “It’s something I always wanted to do, and with the girls gone, this old house is too quiet with just me and Charlie, so I decided to give it a whirl. Don’t have that many guests, usually only when Memphis has an overflow, but word’s getting around.”
Taylor had never known Kate wanted a B and B. “If you still cook like you used to, the food alone will bring them.”
They entered through the kitchen door, and it was like stepping back in time. Sun-yellow walls, white cabinets, blue gingham on the windows. Taylor pulled out a ladder-back chair and sat at the oak table Kate’s husband had made. “How are Charlie . . . and Bailey?” She didn’t ask about Robyn.
“Charlie is as contrary as ever.” Kate’s voice held affection for her husband. “He and your uncle were supposed to go over to the casinos today, but I think the tractor repair took care of that little excursion.”
“Casinos? Jonathan?” It didn’t surprise Taylor that Charlie went, but her uncle? A memory of an argument with her dad and uncle scratched at her mind. If Jonathan was gambling and losing . . . Suddenly pieces of the land deal puzzle clicked into place. “Does Mom know?”
Kate nodded. “And probably everyone else in Logan Point. I think they go several times a month. It bothers me, just like it bothers me that none of you girls wanted to stay in Logan Point. But you and Livy have done well, and Bailey is thriving as a teacher in Mexico.”
It was plain she was proud of her oldest daughter.
Kate cleared her throat. “And let’s get rid of the elephant in the room. I don’t know why Robyn left or where she is, but every day since she left—for two years—I’ve asked God to return our daughter to us. I believe he will.”
Taylor hoped Kate had better results with God than she’d had. She had sense enough not to voice her opinion, though. And evidently Livy hadn’t shared with her aunt her suspicion that Robyn was dead. “I know Chase and Abby would be happy if she came home.”
“Chase can take care of himself. It’s my granddaughter that concerns me,” Kate said.
“Chase says she’s doing okay.”
“Hmph. She’s hurting for her mama. That’s something else that bothers me, because there’s nothing I can do about it.” Kate set a plate of biscotti on the table. “How about a glass of iced tea?”
Taylor laughed. “I had forgotten how everything a person does in the South revolves around food and iced tea. I’ve had at least three glasses already today.”
“Then one more won’t hurt you.”
As Kate rattled ice into glasses, Taylor’s gaze travelled around the familiar walls and rested on one of Kate’s cross-stitched pieces. I can do all things
through him who gives me strength. One of Kate’s favorite verses to quote. Another one . . . “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
Taylor had decided long ago she was the only person who determined her future. She alone was the master of her fate, the captain of her soul.
Could that be why she felt so empty?
The screen door swung open. “Anybody home?”
Ben.
“Come on in. I have a glass of tea waiting.” Kate pointed toward the table.
Ben Logan set a bag on the floor and enveloped Taylor in a hug. He released her, and she stepped back.
“You’ve grown a beard!”
He rubbed his hand over the trim beard covering his jaw. “It’ll probably come off with the hot weather,” he said with a chuckle.
When she’d left Logan Point, the great-grandson of the town’s founder was a skinny college sophomore bent on becoming a lawyer. Skinny had turned into lean, and he’d changed his degree from law to criminal justice and become a deputy. After his dad’s shooting, he’d been appointed acting sheriff.
She glanced at the third finger on Ben’s left hand. Still no ring. It surprised Taylor that some ambitious mother hadn’t snapped up this rugged lawman for her daughter. She gave him another quick hug. Her childhood friend didn’t always play by the rules, but his quiet strength reassured her. “Thanks for coming.”
He picked up the glass of tea, then turned to Taylor. “What’s going on?”
“Drink your tea first.” Now that Ben was here, Taylor needed a minute. “I’m sorry about your dad. How is he?”
He ran a hand through unruly black hair. “Not much progress. Still can’t communicate.”
Mom had told her that Tom Logan had been shot on a back road in Southeast Bradford County, then suffered a stroke while the doctors operated to remove bullet fragments from his head.
“I hope he recovers soon. Are you going to run for the office?”
“Haven’t decided yet.” Ben turned a chair around and straddled it. “Congrats to you. You’re the only person I’ve ever known who got published in the American Journal of Criminal Psychology.”
“You read my paper?”
“Yep, and you’re absolutely right about the importance of profiling the victim. But you didn’t call me over to talk shop. Fill me in.”
Kate rose from the table. “I think I’ll check on my pots and leave you two alone. Be outside if you need anything.”
After the door closed behind Kate, Taylor used a napkin to pull the envelope and photos from her briefcase. “I have a stalker back in Washington, and this came in the mail today. It wasn’t forwarded from Newton—it’s from Memphis. I’m afraid he’s followed me here. And is taunting me about knowing where I live.”
“Any suspects?”
“Until today, I believed it was a former student. Scott Sinclair. I haven’t completely ruled him out.”
Her circled image jumped out at her. Maybe she wasn’t such a great profiler. If she was wrong about Scott, what else had she been wrong about?
Ben pulled a pair of latex gloves from his back pocket and slipped them on before taking the packet from her. His mouth tightened as he perused the photo and poem.
“I take it you’ve received something similar in the past.”
“A diamond bracelet, the poem, several photos, and a few inexpensive gifts. The crime scene photograph is new, as is the wording ‘I know where you are.’”
There was no longer any question of when that note had been put in her pocket. Her skin crawled, thinking how close her stalker had been in those woods. “I don’t know what this has to do with anything, but I smelled Old Spice on the first note, and another time at my house.”
“Tell me everything.” Ben took out a notepad.
She explained what had happened in Newton, ending with the message Dale had relayed earlier. “So, what seemed fairly straightforward is now quite tangled. We had assumed the kidnapper—his name was Ralph Jenkins—killed himself at the scene.”
Different possibilities whirled through her mind, one thought chasing another. “It always bothered me that Jenkins waited twenty-two years to exact revenge and then committed suicide. Now it appears someone manipulated Jenkins into kidnapping Coleman’s wife and daughter, then killed him. My gut tells me it’s because he knew I would be profiling the case, and he could photograph me at the crime scene.”
Who would go to that much trouble, and why toy with her? The answer to why came quickly. Power.
“Scott Sinclair was a former student? How old is he?”
“Nineteen.”
“Any priors?”
“None.”
He shook his head. “It sounds awfully sophisticated for a nineteen-year-old with no history of this type of crime.”
“I know, but he seemed very knowledgeable when he took my class on criminal psychology last year. On the other hand, anyone as smart as Scott wouldn’t charge the bracelet to his credit card, except . . . he has a drug and alcohol problem, which can mess with a person’s decision-making process.”
“Tell me a little more about this student.”
“He started attending the university where I teach last September, took my introduction to criminal psychology and was an excellent student. No evidence of alcohol or drug addiction at that time. In January, he took my victim profiling class.” Taylor massaged her temples. How did Scott creep back onto her list of suspects? She’d thought she’d put that to rest. This seesawing back and forth was driving her crazy.
“What kind of student was he?”
“Like I said before. An excellent student, although he seemed to deteriorate early this spring. His papers became disorganized and messy.”
“It doesn’t sound like he’s your man.”
“I know. Except . . . he is a person of interest in one of Livy’s cases.” She explained the connection between Scott and the murder victim. “I’m profiling that case for her, so I’ll let you know if I think he’s involved.”
“My brother is not capable of violence.” Nick’s words rang in her head. Taylor looked up at Ben. “He probably isn’t involved, but don’t mark him off your list. He could be a pawn in this, feeding someone else information. That’s why I’m not dismissing him completely.”
Ben looked over the poem again. “This sounds familiar. Have you googled it?”
“Yeah. Nothing turned up.”
He stared at the note. “Maybe it was in a movie or something recently.” Then he tapped the envelope. “Can I get a copy of the earlier photos and note? Maybe a copy of the sheriff’s report?”
She took out her cell. “On it.”
Taylor gave the dispatcher in Newton a brief explanation, then thanked her and hung up. “The photos and the note will be in your in-box this afternoon.”
“Good. I’ll send your sheriff a copy of what you received today.” He tapped the photos. “How many people have handled this envelope? I’ll need their prints.”
“Me, Mom . . . Jonathan. And Pete Connelly. But do you have to fingerprint them? You know how fast that’ll spread through Logan Point.”
Ben rubbed his chin. “Let’s see . . . Jonathan’s are on record already. He volunteers at the juvenile jail, but I’ll need your mom’s and Pete’s.”
Taylor wrinkled her nose. “Oh, wait a minute,” she said. “Pete drank a glass of tea earlier at the house. The glass should still be in the sink. Mom’s too.”
Ben shrugged. “It’s worth a shot, but if I don’t get clear prints, I’ll have to involve them. Let me get yours now.”
He took a small ink pad from the bag he’d brought in.
“Wow, you came prepared.”
“Did you forget I was an Eagle Scout?” He pressed her left thumb to the pad and transferred the print to an index card. “We have an electronic fingerprinting machine, but I figured you didn’t want to do this down at the jail.”
“You have that right. If someone saw me being fingerprinted, it’d be all over town in an hour.”
Ben chuckled. “Don’t know how it is out in Washington, but it’ll probably take five to ten days to get the results once I send them in. Depends on the backlog in Jackson.”
“I know. Too bad it’s not like TV,” she joked, then sobered. “So, what’s the plan? How do I protect my family? Do I need to move out?”
“I doubt they’ll let that happen. Knowing Chase and Jonathan, they’ll want you where they can see you.”
“I can take care of myself.” She scrubbed the ink from her fingers. “I’ve been doing it for over ten years now.”
Ben stood. “Let’s see if those glasses are still in the sink, and then we’ll bring your family up-to-date.”
Taylor shifted in her chair as her family stared at her. Too much information. Ben had told her family way too much about the attack, and about Scott. Now she had to downplay it. But at least they’d found the tea glasses, and Ben had gotten good prints from both.
Mom spoke first. “A stalker, an attack, concussion . . . why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to worry you.” Taylor folded her arms across her chest. She quickly dropped her arms to her side. They were not going to put her on the defensive. “You always said I had a hard head. I think it’d be a good idea if I move to a motel—”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort.” Jonathan halted his pacing long enough to give her his what-have-you-gotten-yourself-into look. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Talk about worrying.”
“It’ll be safer for you to stay here.” Chase rubbed his hand over his face. “Think about it. It’s open space from here to the road.”
“And I’ll have my deputies increase their patrols by the house,” Ben said.
Taylor had actually been thinking of Memphis. “All right. But what about Abby? I don’t want to put her in danger.”
“She won’t be home until Saturday,” Chase said. “We’ll look at the situation then and decide if she needs to stay with a friend. But it’s not like Abby will be staying here—she’ll be at my house.”
Shadows of the Past (Logan Point Book #1): A Novel Page 12