Jenna fist-pumped air. “What do you need me to do?”
“Unlock the door.” I moved between the beds and hammered on the thin partition wall between our adjacent rooms, loud enough to rustle skeletons from their graves. Then I tossed a blanket at Jenna. “Lose the coat and huddle in. We’re about to have company.”
Nate came through first, one sharp knuckle-rap and then the door flew open without waiting for a response. His hair was the usual sinful mess, his jaw darkly shadowed, feet bare, his body practically rippling beneath sweatpants and a short tee.
He scanned the room, then pinned me with a scowl. “Where’s the damn fire?”
Seated on the end of the bed, I curled in on myself, going for the small, pathetic look. I didn’t have to fake the shiver. “The heating went off.”
Jenna went into more detail. “We’ve been up half the night, freezing our asses off.”
“You should have called me,” Nate said as he walked over to inspect the AC unit, but before I could worry about it, Joe finally put in an appearance. More appropriately attired, might I add, in a proper winter robe and moccasins.
“What’s going on?” he mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
Jenna ramped up her ire. “The stupid heating blinked out, that’s what’s going on! This place is a death trap.”
Joe closed the door behind him.
“Don’t bother,” I said. “It’s warmer out there than in here.”
Jenna stabbed a finger at him. “You’re lucky Maddie didn’t go hypothermic while she slept. Look at her.”
“I think my toes are frost-bitten,” I whimpered. “I can’t feel them.”
Joe rushed up to me. “Let me see.”
I pushed my feet as far under the bed as they could go. “You’ve done enough, thanks.”
Nate, meanwhile, had put his detective skills to good use. He held up the loose end of a wire and raised a brow at me.
I’d like to think I glared him into submission, but to be fair, Sallymon Peke and this bleak motel had probably done all the hard work. He stuffed the wire out of sight and stood with his back covering the AC unit, arms folded, guarding our little secret.
“Maddie, should we get you to a doctor?” Joe said, sounding truly gut-stricken. “Just tell me what you need.”
Well, since he’d asked so nicely…
Nate made the call, securing us a cabin at Loyal Lodge for the night.
As retribution for our deceitful trickery, Jenna and I were model students to Joe’s conspiracy theory for the rest of the day. He dragged us through towns far and wide, anything within sniffing distance of a water tower was game, and we didn’t mutter a single word of protest.
The snow clouds had rolled off during the night without shedding their load, leaving us with a crisp, sunny day to stalk strangers in the streets and ramble through the snow dusted fields.
I have this to say about water towers. They are majestic creations of mankind, steel sentinels rising to the sky, but once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. So let’s call it boredom, but I spent way more time staring at Nate than was healthy, especially when he caught me out. And being Nate, he didn’t blink away and pretend it was nothing. He stared right back, grin half-cocked and ready to do battle.
That grin packed enough heat to melt the snowy tracks between us and strip the edges from my firm resolve. Seriously, how did he even do that?
“This is where you flutter your lashes.” Jenna nudged me hard. “And a smile wouldn’t hurt.”
I wasn’t totally opposed to the idea, so it was just as well Nate’s cell phone rang just then. He took the call and by the time he was done, Joe was dragging us from the field and onto the next town to harass some new innocent bystander. He’d developed an annoying habit in that regard, seeing Killer Max in random strangers who bore the misfortune of a familiar hairstyle or gait.
But then it happened for real, according to Joe at least.
We were at an ice-cream parlor in Wellington, winding down the day with tall glasses of hot chocolate. We’d toured five towns twice around and hit Wellington for a third time since it was on the route back up to Loyalsock Creek. The sliding sun had already bleached the sky to a pinkish grey and I was looking forward to my Loyal Lodge treat.
“I know that guy,” Joe whispered loudly, eyes glued to the window. “The one in the white and blue letterman jacket. He’s just climbed out of the silver Mercedes.”
By now I was a hardened veteran. No palpitating heart. No stomach-flipped dread that Joe had been right all along and we were about to come face-to-face with a killer. I dipped my head to see past Joe’s shoulder to the street outside. My gaze rolled over the mother with a kid hanging on her arm to a teenage couple holding hands and onto the Mercedes pulled up alongside the opposite curb.
The man in the letterman jacket rounded the car, looking up and down the street before he crossed.
Joe whipped his head away from the window and ducked. “I think he saw me.”
“Impossible to miss,” Jenna pointed out. “Your face was plastered to the window.”
I peered harder as the man drew closer, and nothing twanged my spidery senses. He was rather average looking, probably mid-thirties, dark hair, medium build, maybe on the short side for a guy.
“Is he still looking at me?” Joe said.
The man glanced around as he stepped onto our side of the curb, and sure, his gaze swept slowly over our window table, but didn’t linger.
“You’re the only one acting suspicious,” I informed Joe. Then, as the man disappeared into the flow of light pedestrian traffic that marked the storefronts, “He’s gone.”
Joe straightened in his chair, checked for himself before turning to me. “You recognized him, right?”
“No, not really.” I shrugged. “Should I?”
“Remember that storm at the beginning of September?”
“How could I forget?” Gale force winds had uprooted an ancient elm on the shoreline and splashed it all over the boathouse.
Joe nodded vigorously. “This man was one of the contractors Burns hired to clean up and restore the damage.”
“I don’t think so, Joe, that was a local company—”
“Not the guys from the Build Yard,” Joe interrupted. “This guy was on his own, he brought that wood chomper to hack the tree up so they could take it away.”
“Yeah, I do remember that, but I didn’t get a good look at the guy working the machine.”
“I did,” Joe stated. “I stopped to chat when I set out on a walk by the lake that morning.”
“Are you sure?”
“Dead sure.”
I looked at Nate, not surprised to find a cynical brow raised on me. This was somewhat too convenient, a lone-wolf contractor operating the kind of machine I naturally wouldn’t go near. Have you ever seen a wood chomper in action? Giant metal jaws snapping, the entire contraption shuddering and crunching like a monstrous creature on a fragile leash.
Which was all fine and well for Nate, he had his fake murder angle to feed. But I didn’t believe Joe would do anything like that, not for a second, and therefore he had no reason to lie now. I wouldn’t go so far as to suggest the letterman jacket man was Killer Max, but either this was a case of mistaken identity or another overwhelming coincidence, and I intended to find out.
“Burns should recognize him.” I tucked my phone into my coat pocket and stood. “I’m going to get a photo.”
“Paparazzi style?” Jenna popped up from the table. “I’m not missing this. We really need a Vespa, but I guess our feet will have to do.”
“We’re not chasing after anyone.” I indicated toward the canopied hardware store across the street, Benjamin & Sons. “We’ll hide in there and snap him when he returns to his car.”
“From inside the store?” Joe said doubtfully.
The windows were latticed and glazed, not ideal. “We’ll step outside,” I decided, “and take a pretend selfie. Without the camera re
versed, of course.”
Jenna was not convinced. “Why would anyone want a selfie on Wellington’s main road?”
I thought that through. “Because we’re having so much fun. We can hang on each other and act all giggly and girlish.”
A smile lit Jenna’s eyes. I assumed she was prepping for the fun, but the next moment she dropped down into her chair, yelping, “Ouch, I twisted my ankle.”
“From doing what?” Joe sniped. “You were just standing there.”
“I don’t know, Joe, maybe my bones are still brittle from last night’s deep-freeze,” she shot back, then sweetened her tone for me. “You’ll have to take Nate, and improvise. Act the romantic couple all caught up in each other. Different kind of fun, same result.”
Oh, brother.
Nate was already on his feet. He held out a hand to me, his grin thick with devilish humor. “I can do smitten for a good cause.”
I kept my hand to myself and stomped off ahead of him. “Don’t take advantage of Jenna’s idiocy.” I sent him a sidelong glare. “What if Burns does know this guy? What then?”
“Let’s not jump the gun, darling,” Nate drawled.
“Cut that out.”
He made a sad face. “Less than a minute as a couple and our first argument already?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much how I imagined it,” I snorted, then realized what I’d said. “As I would have imagined it, if I’d bothered. Which I haven’t,” I emphasized as we spilled out onto the street.
Being the measly coward that I was, I kept my eyes forward and off Nate as I darted across the road, coming in behind the Mercedes on the other side. On a split second flash of inspiration, I stumbled and reached into my pocket for my phone. While I was down there, I called up the camera app and snapped the number plate.
Nate took my hand, helping me up. “Are you okay?”
I showed him the photo on my screen. “I’m a genius.”
He gave a low chuckle, then sobered and tugged me forward onto the curb and into a rather intimate embrace. “He’s on his way.”
Suddenly flustered, I struggled within his grasp.
“Not yet.” Nate’s arms tightened around me. “I’ll tell you when.”
Sure, no problem, I’ll just stay here with my cheek pressed to your hard, ripped chest.
His jacket was open and I could actually hear the slow thud-thud-thud of his beating heart through the tee he wore beneath. Every breath was filled with Nate, turning me slightly weak at the knees. With no choice in the matter, I closed my eyes and stole another moment that would have to be left behind.
Nate’s chin rested on my head. “Is that why you always run from me?” he said softly. “You think we’d really be that bad together?”
I opened my eyes on a shallow sigh, was still searching for an answer when his embrace loosened on the order, “Now.”
I turned in his arms and held my phone up, my heart nearly collapsing on itself when I saw the clear headshot of the man on my screen. He was looking right at me. We were so busted.
“Smile,” Nate whispered.
Excellent reminder.
I smiled and took the shot with trembling fingers.
“Would you like me to…?” Letterman jacket man held out a hand. “I could take one of you, if you’d like.”
My jaw locked in fright, freezing the smile on my face.
“That’d be great, right, honey?” Nate took the phone from me. “Let me just change the camera mode.”
“You folks holidaying here?” the man asked.
“Meeting the parents.” Nate shoulder bumped me, chuckled. “It’s going better than I expected, not nearly as good as I’d hoped.” He handed the phone over and wrapped me into his side.
The man grimaced in mock sympathy.
“What about you?” Nate asked casually.
“Business.” He lifted the phone and aimed. “Smile.”
I’d never stopped. I hadn’t moved a muscle or uttered a single word either, not until he climbed behind the wheel of the Mercedes and pulled away from the curb.
Then I slapped my palm to Nate’s chest. “What was that? He could have seen the other photos. That’d be great, honey. Have you seriously lost your mind?”
“It’s called being friendly,” Nate said.
“It’s called being stupid.” I slapped his chest again.
He caught my hand in his, tilted his head to look into my eyes. “Hey, what’s going on?”
I gulped down air, couldn’t seem to get enough. It wasn’t just the scare, though. “I’m a terrible person. What on earth was I thinking, snooping around his car and sneaking photos? I’m going to die and go to hell.”
“Maddox.” That grin slid out, fed into the creases of his amusement. “You’re not going to die, not on my watch.”
“This isn’t funny, Nate,” I said crossly. “He was a perfectly nice guy.”
“You also thought Principal Limly was nice,” Nate reminded me. “And you no doubt found Charles Sitter charming.”
“I found him odd, not charming,” I groused.
I had known Principal Limly all my life, though, and I had thought him nice, right up until the day he kidnapped me and staged my suicide. The cluster of panic eased from my breast. It wasn’t so much the photos as the intention behind them that made me feel dirty. But what if letterman jacket man wasn’t as innocent as he seemed?
SEVEN
Every great plan has a great flaw.
Okay, maybe that wasn’t a universal truth, but it certainly seemed to hold true in my life of late.
After all the effort we’d gone to, the photos on my phone weren’t going anywhere. Neither Burns nor Mr Hollow had cell phones, or computers, and I couldn’t send a digital image down a telephone wire.
My mother would have been the natural choice to act as intermediary, but Dad had finally gotten around to buying that used Airstream and they’d taken it up to Lake Ontario. Jenna’s parents had never met Burns, and besides, Joe refused to get Jenna more involved than absolutely necessary, and this didn’t count as necessary because he didn’t need Burns to confirm what he already knew: the letterman jacket man was the tree chomper man was Killer Max.
The debate went around and around the table while the sun blinked out completely and I could feel the promise of Loyal Lodge slipping through my fingers.
“We need to find that Mercedes and not let Killer Max out of our sight,” Joe insisted stubbornly.
“Don’t let’s make assumptions,” I said. “I’d really like Burns to get a look at this guy first.”
Joe planted his elbows on the table and leant in. “Why would I lie to you, Maddie?”
“You wouldn’t,” I said, and I meant it. “But you could be mistaken.”
“I’m not.”
Nate cut in. “I could get Sam to stop by Hollow House.”
“No,” I said sharply.
“Who’s Sam?” Joe and Jenna asked together.
“Some detective that works with Nate.”
“My partner,” Nate supplied. “She won’t dig deeper behind my back and she won’t ask questions. I trust her with my life.”
“No more cops,” Joe stated.
I backed him one hundred percent. “Keep Sam out of this.”
Nate threw a hand up. “It was only a suggestion.”
“What about Miss Crawley?” said Jenna.
My better judgement shuddered at the thought. She would definitely ask questions and dig behind our backs, and then she’d make something up out of nothing and scatter it all over social media.
I sighed. “We won’t rule her out, but I don’t think we’re that desperate yet.”
“Okay,” Nate said after a prolonged silence, “let’s bring some perspective to the table.” He gave Joe a hard look. “Do you actually know anything about copycat murders?”
Joe didn’t respond well to the derisive tone. “Is that why you tagged along? To offer your underwhelming support?”
“I’m here because I have plenty of vacation days racked up and a light case load on my desk.” Nate shrugged. “My point is, copycat killers copy the murder, not the life of the original killer. Say there really is a Killer Max, he wouldn’t care about retracing the exact footsteps of your Max Wilder, visiting the same town or eating from the same damn burger joint.”
“I realize that,” Joe snapped.
“Then what are we doing here?”
“If you’d read the book, you’d know.”
Nate got that look of endless patience in his eyes. “Enlighten me.”
Joe’s favorite topic. “Max Wilder does research while he’s in Sallymon Peke and finds the canning factory outside Wellington. I’ve already explained this! He stops there to scout out the viability on his way to Brackenport. So there’s a good chance Killer Max will be in this area to check it out, too.”
“Is there a real canning factory around here?” I had to ask.
“There are a couple,” Joe told me. “Smaller factories that service the area for specialized local produce.” He looked at Nate. “Killer Max has already proved that he’s copying the locations as well as the murder. Is that enlightened enough for you?”
“Oh, God,” Jenna groaned. “Does this mean we’re trawling canning factories tomorrow?”
“No,” I said firmly. Joe still had my undivided support, but if I didn’t step in strong, this road trip would end in roadkill. “We’ll stay at Loyal Lodge tonight and head for Brackenport in the morning. That’s exactly where Killer Max will be, definitely by Tuesday night, maybe earlier. One of two rodeo bars in Brackenport. Tracking down the Mercedes now doesn’t help us, Joe. It’s not like Nate can arrest the guy even if he wanted to.”
“Which he doesn’t,” Joe muttered.
“Precisely.” My smile blossomed. “But here’s the deal. If we spot letterman jacket man in Brackenport, then Nate has to take you seriously. Right?” I added to Nate.
Nate shoved a hand irritably through his hair, but he said, “If that happens, I guess I could haul his butt in for questioning.”
“See?” I said to Joe. “Letterman jacket man’s presence here means nothing except a little coincidence. The proof lies in Brackenport.”
Words That Kill (A Maddox Storm Mystery Book 3) Page 6