“Chief Graves? Michael Graves?” She asked, not bothering to hide her revulsion.
“Yes. Mike made police chief the same year I became sheriff.” Luke repressed a snort of derision. “Plans to run against me for the job in the fall.”
“I remember him. He was a squirrelly man who always struck me as rather lazy and fairly dull. Barney Fife without the intestinal fortitude.”
The accurate description startled a laugh from Luke. “No comment.” He caught her elbow and steered them both toward the steps. “This is an active crime scene, Kell. I can’t have civilians tramping around down here until we’ve completed our investigation.”
“I understand.” Grateful for the reprieve, Kell started up the steps. On the third step, she stumbled. Luckily, Luke was tight on her heels and caught her easily. Kell found herself wrapped against him, his arm braced on the banister to steady them both. “I’m okay.”
“Okay.”
Kell, for once, stood eye to eye with him. Mouth to mouth. Unable, unwilling to resist, she leaned in, closing the distance. “Just once more. For the road.”
Softly, her mouth brushed his, and Luke accepted the caress, frozen. Her lips captured his lower one, her tongue slicking across the captive flesh. Murmuring to herself, she traced the contours of his mouth, a slow, tortuous exploration. When his arms closed around her, she slipped hers around his neck and dove. Tongue, lips, teeth met and mated, a frenzied kiss that shot sparks along heated skin. Luke reeled beneath the assault, desperate and eager. Her taste speared through him. Going under, he fisted his hands in her hair, needing an anchor.
Too soon, she pulled away. “Luke.”
“Kell.”
“I need to go. Now.”
With effort, he forced his hands to open and she turned away. They reached the first floor where rubble from the demolition made maneuvering tricky. He clasped her elbow and guided her out to her car.
“What was that?” he asked.
“An experiment.”
“And?”
“And I need to go.” She continued walking, head down. Kissing him had been an error in judgment, but one she couldn’t regret. Not when her mouth still tingled with excitement. It was definitely time to go.
Beside her, Luke asked, “Did you know Louis Pippin?”
Kell barely avoided a stumble and, head still down, she pretended to consider the question. She shook her head in regret. “I don’t recall the name.”
Luke pulled her to a halt. “Really?” He watched as she answered, not her eyes but her hands. They lay still. A lie. Disappointed, he pressed, “Were you at the warehouse the night it burned down?”
Kell noted his attention to her hands and clasped them together. She tended to gesture when she got nervous, so she’d learned to control their movements in court. And for conversations like this. Interlacing her fingers, she replied calmly, “No. We were at the park, having a farewell picnic. Fin and I planned to leave that weekend. We took Julia out for a celebration.” Don’t answer too much, keep it short.
“Can anyone vouch for you?”
“That was sixteen years ago. I doubt anyone remembers what they did that long ago.”
“Clay Griffin did.”
“Or so he said.”
“Why would he lie, Kell? Of all the people to blame, why did he pick you and your friends?”
Kell removed the keys from her pocket, signaling her intention to leave. “Because he was disturbed. Vindictive. Clay was angry with anyone who remained at the Center after Eliza made him leave. I’m not surprised he would concoct a story to the police about seeing us that night. But it simply isn’t true.”
Luke detested liars, especially the good ones. His job was to find the truth, theirs to hide it. Yet, he had no choice but to place Kell in that category. Which left one final question. “Where were you last Monday night?”
“On national television giving an interview for CourtWatch TV. During the rest of the week, I was gutting the prosecution. On Thursday, I was delivering a closing argument in front of a judge and twelve jurors and approximately seven million viewers. Where were you?”
“Calling a bingo game at the senior center.” Hearing the belligerence, Luke understood he wouldn’t get any more from her today. Instead, he plucked her keys from her clenched fist and opened the driver’s door. “You should get that dent fixed soon. And next time you’re in town, I’ll have to convince you to let me drive this machine.”
Kell sidled past him and turned in the space created by the open door. “I’m fairly particular about who gets behind her wheel. I tend to decline those who think I’m a murderer.”
With a smile that belied his words, Luke cajoled, “It’s my job to ask the tough questions. Surely you can understand that.”
“I can. And you can understand if I don’t believe you.”
“Oh, you can trust me, Kell. With your car at least. I’m a very safe driver. I tend to take things nice and easy.”
The conversation had shifted from alibis and cars to the attraction that arced between them. Determined to resist, Kell countered. “Nice and easy can be as dangerous as speed. Lulls you into complacency.”
“You don’t strike me as the type that has to worry. Anyone who drives a car like this recognizes the need to find a healthy balance. Otherwise, with this much power beneath your hands, you could forget yourself.” Luke moved closer, caging her in. “But I always remember what I’m doing and with whom. It’s one of my talents.”
Kell lifted a brow. “One of? You have a high opinion of yourself.”
“So do you. It seems we’re well matched.”
“But only one of us has the keys.” Kell snagged them and ducked inside the car. She tugged the door shut, and a few seconds later, the window slid open. “Good luck with your investigations, Sheriff.”
“Travel safe, Counselor.” Luke stepped away from the car, remembering her kiss, knowing he’d see her again soon. Which is the only reason he let her go.
As soon as she reached the highway, she dialed.
“Julia Warner speaking.”
“Jules, it’s Kell.” She heard the sudden intake of breath, realizing how she’d reacted to a similar phone call a couple of days ago. “Everyone is fine. Nothing’s wrong,” she rushed to add.
“If everything was fine, you wouldn’t be calling,” Julia corrected. In her living room, she sank onto the floor, clutching the receiver. “You’re months ahead of schedule.”
“There’s been a development. Clay Griffin is dead.”
“Clay? That’s tragic, but I don’t understand why this warrants breaking your sacred protocol.”
“Mrs. F may be arrested for his murder.”
“Preposterous.”
Leave it to Julia to sum up the case in a single word. “I had to go to Hallden to check on her and find out what happened.” Kell ran through her time in Hallden, skipping over her more personal encounters.
“So the sheriff knows about the warehouse?”
“He believes he does. But there’s no way he can put it all together.”
“What about Clay? We didn’t see him that night.”
“No, but apparently he saw us. I’m sure he gave an embellished report to Sheriff Patmos. Which means that we have to assume he also knew what happened.”
“Oh, God.”
“Right now, Luke has pieces but no real theory. We might have been at the warehouse. Clay might have seen us. The dead men might be connected to Clay somehow. It’s all speculation.”
“What should we do?”
“Nothing for now. The sheriff is waiting on the autopsy for Clay, and then we’ll know if Mrs. F will be in danger.”
“If she is, Kell, what do we do?”
“I don’t know.” Now came the question she dreaded asking. “Julia, did you ever tell her?”
“I swore I wouldn’t.”
“But you were young and alone. Frightened. I’d completely understand if you told Mrs. F. But I need to
know.”
“I didn’t tell her. I swore I wouldn’t and I didn’t. Do you need anything else?”
“Don’t be mad, Jules. I had to ask. I may be there for a while, and I have to know what I’m facing.”
“Fine,” she answered stiffly.
Ashamed, Kell wheedled, “I believe you. And I’m sorry I doubted you.”
Julia sniffed loudly. “You should be. After all these years, how could you think I’d have told?”
“Because I’m a moron. So how long are you going to be mad at me?”
“At least for the next hour.”
Kell grinned, knowing the crisis had passed. “Fin says hello.”
“Got a postcard from her in February. Aruba.”
“Which means she was probably in the South of France.”
“Probably.”
“We might have to meet, Jules. If Luke begins to figure it out, we won’t have much time.”
“And how well do you know this Sheriff Luke?”
Kell flushed. “I met him Friday.”
“And you’re already on a first-name basis.”
“It’s a small town, and I’m very friendly.”
Julia scoffed at the description. “Since when?”
“Since Friday.”
“Kell?”
“Fine. I like him. A lot. But not enough to put you two in jeopardy. No man is worth that.”
“Is that the excuse you’re going to use?”
“Excuse?”
“For why you won’t let any man get closer than arm’s length. Isn’t that why you’ve kept David dangling since law school? Because you’re afraid.”
Feeling the description hit too close, Kell replied, “Leave it alone, Jules.”
Undeterred, Julia continued, “You’re one of my best friends, Kell. I want to see you happy. And you won’t be, as long as you push every man away who might make you care. This has nothing to do with Fin or me. It’s about you and your parents and being afraid to lose everything. Again.”
The second shot was dead-on, and Kell grew cold. “Jules. I’m serious. Leave it alone.”
Too soft-hearted to press, Julia relented. “I will, on one condition.”
Grateful for the reprieve, Kell exhaled. “Name it.”
“Let your guard down a little, Kell. Save Mrs. F, but let it go, just a bit.”
“I’ll try.” Hearing her protest, Kell repeated, “I’ll try. But I can’t promise, okay? Check the account in a couple of days. I’ll let you know the status.”
“Love you, Kell.”
“Love you, Jules.”
CHAPTER 10
“Autopsy’s back, Sheriff.” Cheryl halted in Luke’s doorway, folder in hand. She hesitated to enter, given the sheriff’s foul mood since Sunday. Self-preservation kept her on the threshold and close to the exit. She started her report. “Victim died of a severed femoral artery. Bled out in minutes.”
“Don’t just stand there, Cheryl. Come in.” Impatiently, Luke waved her into the office.
“You sure it’s safe?” she quipped as the door shut and she dropped into a chair. “I left my weapon in my desk.”
“Very funny.” Luke grimaced, well aware that he’d been in a bad mood. A few days that felt much longer. Ever since he watched Kell drive away. He felt like a randy teenager rather than the experienced man of thirty-eight he knew himself to be. Particularly given the brief acquaintance with a woman who had little compunction about bending the truth to suit her. Yet, he’d seen a core of loyalty in her that drew him in, found humor that held him. She was nothing like the woman he imagined himself falling for, yet he could no longer picture anyone else.
The contradiction infuriated him and hope kept him tied in knots. Every opened door had him looking for her, so he could either prove to himself he’d imagined their connection or convince her that he hadn’t.
Either way, if he didn’t curb his temper, he’d be working alone in the sheriff’s department.
“I may have been a bit difficult this week,” he offered in subdued apology, daring Cheryl to elaborate. Wisely, she remained silent, and Luke appreciated the intuition. In addition to pining for a woman he barely knew, he’d been waiting all week for a simple forensics report. Without a crime lab in Hallden, he often relied on the one in Macon, but the results didn’t usually take this long. Another irritation he could hang on Kell Jameson. Restless, he lifted a pen from the desk and flipped it over his thumb. “Weapon?”
“Preliminary report describes it as a knife with an eight-inch blade.”
“Sounds like a common kitchen knife.” Which confirmed his initial impression. A stab wound to the thigh. Griffin barely had time to scream, let alone go for help. He’d been dead the moment the knife went into his leg. “Any DNA samples other than the vic’s?”
“No, sir. No defensive wounds on the victim at all.” Cheryl leaned forward, eyes troubled by the news. “But the coroner did make a note about the murder weapon. It wasn’t made of steel.”
“What do you mean?”
“The coroner reports that knife was made of,” she referred to the report, “ceramic zirconia. The blow cracked the knife at the tip and left a fragment in the victim. Only ceramic does that. The stainless steel alloy typically used doesn’t.”
“Who uses ceramic knives? Hunters? Chefs?”
“She told me ceramic knives of this quality are hard to come by. Usually, chefs have them and maybe really advanced home cooks. Hunters would avoid them because of their tendency to chip against bone with heavy work. Plus, the blade has a unique signature too.”
“Which is?”
“Coroner indicates that the blade has a slightly raised edge that angles at a sharper degree than other knives.” She flipped the report cover shut. “We find someone with a specially made set of ceramic zirconia kitchen knives and we’ll find our killer.”
Luke processed this new twist, digesting the implications. Off hand, he could name three people who might possibly have a cutlery set like the one described in the report. Hervé Montague for one. Joel Welker, a local who prided himself on his barbequing skills and custom-designed kitchen. The third one had his neck itching in dismay.
Eliza Faraday. Her food and love of cooking was legendary. So much so that one of her former residents, an executive chef in L.A., gifted her with a set of exclusive cutlery. A bit of a gourmand himself, Luke had admired the knives last year when they arrived for Christmas.
Luke started to remind Cheryl, but held his tongue. The mention of Eliza Faraday as a suspect would create chaos in his office. Besides the fact that his chief deputy considered her family, nearly everyone in his office revered the woman—him included.
Still, her involvement would explain Kell’s unexpected appearance. If Eliza was involved, she’d be wise to bring in the best defense attorney in the state. One who could poke around for information without raising suspicion.
One who could go out to dinner with the investigating officer and pump him for information. Then kiss him and leave his knees buckled for days.
Kell Jameson had occupied too much of his thinking, keeping his temper on a brink that required little to tip him over.
For now, he decided, he’d keep Eliza’s potential involvement private. Gather as much information as he could before he brought Cheryl and the rest of the department into the investigation. His staff had been spread thin of late by a rash of break-ins. No sense in riling everyone up before he nailed his theory down. Eliza Faraday was the least likely candidate for murder, which, he knew, moved her up a notch on the suspect list.
He set his pen on the cluttered desk surface and lifted his copy of the report. “Get in touch with the coroner again and see if we can’t determine the origin of the knife set. Who might have manufactured it and where. Shouldn’t be too hard to trace. Let her know we’ll consider her help repayment for the delay.”
“I can take point on interviews,” Cheryl suggested as she took notes. “We can begin with Chef Montague. H
e’s the most obvious place to start, but I can’t see why he’d have an issue with Griffin. Doesn’t strike me as the vicious-murderer type.”
“Agreed, but we need an alibi from anyone with means. But he could give us some help on where we’d find them.” Making his plan, he instructed, “I’d like to keep this quiet for now, easy. Hervé knows me well, so I’ll take the interview with him. You track down those knives. Also, pull his credit report and Joel Welker’s.”
Cheryl frowned. “You think Mr. Welker may be involved in this? He’s eighty if he’s a day.”
“We can’t ignore any possible suspect,” Luke cautioned, as much for Cheryl as himself. “My gut says this wasn’t a crime of passion, Cheryl. The killer knew what he intended to do when he entered Griffin’s apartment. He brought the knife with him.”
“I’m just having a tough time picturing a man built like the Pillsbury Dough Boy attacking a six-foot-tall man with the musculature of Clay Griffin.”
“Fair point. What did the report say about the height and weight of the attacker?”
“Inconclusive. We’re still waiting on toxicology to send us his blood work and the results on that gunk you found on his shoes.”
“If he was under the influence, that would explain a lot. Right now, it appears that the victim knew his attacker and didn’t try to defend himself. Drugs might mean he was incapacitated first.”
“So our suspect list is Montague and Welker?” With a shrug, Cheryl capped her pen and rose. “I’ll also get phone records for both of them. Griffin had a cell phone in his name, but the team also found several disposable ones in a drawer. We can drag the numbers and see who he’d been calling.”
Luke rose and nodded in agreement. “Report to me when you’ve got something. Put the autopsy under lock and key. Engage the rest of the staff only as needed.”
“Sheriff, is there something you’re not telling me?”
He didn’t like misleading her, but he didn’t see a way around it. Sticking as close to the truth as possible, he hedged, “This is a sensitive case, Cheryl. Our suspect list is shaky and our motive is even shakier. I’d rather not start a witch-hunt or a panic until we’ve got a better handle on the facts. As much as I trust this team, information starts to travel fast. A secret between more than one person is not a secret anymore.”
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