Читать книгу Marked for Murder - Lauren Nichols - Страница 11

Cole Blackburn sat in the dark on the second-floor turret porch, listening to the party going on a quarter mile away in a clearing local teens had named and claimed. The inn was the last building on the block, so he could even see the faint glow of a fire against the night sky. When he’d worn a badge here, he’d shagged kids out of the “party place” on more than one occasion.

But that wasn’t the reason he couldn’t sleep tonight.

His gut clenched as his thoughts spun back to Margo. She was a good cop, and more than qualified to handle the top position. But she was a woman, and no matter how Stone Age his thinking was, he didn’t want her involved in this mess. Not that he was still in love with her. She’d taken a veritable scalpel to that emotion when she’d given back his ring.

Frowning, he sipped from a bottle of cranberry something-or-other that he’d found in the small fridge in his room.

He’d known she’d needed to be with her mother after her dad died. That was a given; she was a devoted daughter—probably because Frank and Charlotte McBride had been one of the most devoted couples he’d ever met. Love grows from love. Frank had been the head of the family, making decisions, taking care of the bills, single-handedly managing their finances. Charlotte had created a warm, loving home. When Frank’s death threw her into a world she wasn’t prepared for, Margo became her fiscal and emotional lifeline. He’d understood and agreed to postpone their wedding and Margo’s move to Pittsburgh until Charlotte had a handle on her grief.

Cole stared out at the dark sky alive with stars.

But when months passed with Charlotte making no attempt to stand on her own two feet, he’d had to say something. He’d done it badly, but the words had had to be said.

He’d told Margo she was enabling her mother, and nothing was going to change until she stopped being a crutch. He’d wanted to can the big, fancy wedding, find Reverend Landers and start their married life together. He was tired of being last on her list. First she chose to stay on the job, then she balked at the move to Pittsburgh, then her dad died and she wanted to postpone the wedding again. He deserved better, he’d told her. She’d cried and handed back his ring. That’s when he found out what all the excuses and delays really meant.

Cole took a long swig of his cranberry-whatever to combat the dull ache in his chest.

She’d wanted out.

Down the road, heavy metal gave way to moody saxophone tones and stirring lyrics. And against Cole’s will, Richard Marx’s “Endless Summer Nights” took him back to another night like this one. One clear, moonlit mid-July night, after he’d moved to Charity. They’d gone to Payton’s Rocks, a huge tumble of boulders and high grasses two miles from the town limits.

Far from the lights of town, they’d sat on his truck’s tailgate, and gazed in awe at the heavens. He’d never seen stars like that before—billions upon billions of them shimmering in an ink-black sky that stretched farther than his mind could ever comprehend. He’d felt small and insignificant that night, humbled in the presence of God’s universe.

That’s how large his love for her had been back then. Back when he was first in her life, not last in a long string of other people and other commitments.

Suddenly a police cruiser with lights flashing sped up the street and appeared to swerve into Margo’s driveway down the block. Bolting to his feet, Cole craned his neck past the weeping willow tree in the B&B’s front yard to be certain. His heartbeat skyrocketed. An officer was getting out of the prowl car and rushing up Margo’s front steps.

Her motion lights went on, followed by her porch light.

There was only one reason for a patrolman with lights flashing to go to his chief in the middle of the night, and it wasn’t because a bunch of kids were partying. There’d been more trouble.

Cole flew pell-mell downstairs and out the door. He raced for that porch light, glad he’d had the presence of mind to pack a small duffel. If he looked like an idiot wearing gray sweats with cowboy boots, he didn’t care.

He could see the two of them now, through the screen door. The interior door had been left open.

He slowed as he reached the sidewalk, knowing that Margo wasn’t going to like this, knowing that he was overstepping. But the need to know what had happened was strong, and he climbed the porch steps. Hopefully by midday tomorrow, he’d have official standing in the investigation.

His leather soles scraped on the gritty concrete. Apparently, they heard it, too.

Margo’s eyes widened for a second and then, lips thinning, she excused herself and stepped out on the porch. She spoke in an undertone. “Sometime you’ll have to tell me how you knew about this.”

“Are you asking me to leave?” he replied in the same low voice.

“No, but you need to give me a few minutes.” She nodded at the padded redwood chairs on her lattice-trimmed porch. “Pick one.”

Then she went back inside and shut both doors.

They opened again a few minutes later, and she beckoned him inside. The familiar second set of eyes he encountered didn’t look pleased to see him.

“Steve,” she said to her officer, “I think you remember Cole.”

O’Dell should remember him, Cole thought, though they’d never been formally introduced. O’Dell had taken his place two years ago, after Wilcox gave him the ax.

The husky patrolman with the ruddy complexion nodded, but the lips beneath his red brush of a mustache didn’t smile, even when he offered his hand.

Cole shook it, guessing O’Dell’s age at somewhere around forty. He had a strong grip and thick fingers, and though his stiff expression had cracked a little, Cole knew he and O’Dell weren’t going to hit it off—probably because he saw Cole as the intruder he was.

If Margo had picked up on the tension, she didn’t react to it. “Since Cole worked the original Gold Star case, he’ll be coming aboard tomorrow as a consultant. I spoke to Bernice a little while ago,” she added when Cole raised a questioning brow. “She doesn’t see a problem.”

She turned to O’Dell again. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s back up and start again for Cole’s benefit.”

O’Dell pulled a plastic evidence bag from his pocket. It contained a folded sheet of typing paper with a piece of masking tape attached to it.

“As I said, I’d just finished some paperwork and was heading out to shut down the party place when I saw the note. Charlie had told the kids earlier that it was lights and fire out by midnight.” He indicated the evidence bag. “Someone taped it to the door while I was occupied.” O’Dell’s lips thinned. “Looks like it was meant for you.”

Cole studied Margo’s face. She never flinched. She just led them to the kitchen table, opened the bag, grasped the note by the very tip of one corner and eased it out. She shook it open on the table.

Shock and anger splintered through him as words in colorful crayon leaped from the page.

BACK OFF, LADY, OR YOU’RE NEXT.

It was signed with a gold star.

Cole’s gaze darted to Margo again. She still looked detached and unaffected—just a police officer assessing evidence. But at the base of her throat, her pulse was throbbing.

She tucked the note back in the evidence bag just as cautiously as she’d retrieved it, then turned to O’Dell. “Okay. Photograph it, make a detailed note for our files, then run this over to the state-police barracks. Their lab will take it from here.”

Cole trailed behind them as she walked O’Dell to the front door. “He probably wore gloves when he wrote it, but if we’re lucky, maybe he got sloppy and left a print on the masking tape. Did you dust the door?”

“I will when I get back. I thought it was more important to get this to you.”

She nodded. “I’ll call and let them know you’re coming. See you in a few hours.”

When the prowl car had pulled out and Margo had spoken to the PSP, she hung up the phone and walked back to Cole. She was dressed in her sweats and pink T-shirt again, and that pulse in her throat was still moving along at a steady clip. Her hair hung long and silky around her shoulders.

“Now,” she said wearily. “What are you doing here? Are you stalking me?”

He guessed that depended on her definition of stalking. He preferred to think of it as watching over her. “No, I was sitting on the porch when O’Dell flew up the road and pulled into your driveway. Obviously, there’d been some trouble.”

He tried to ignore the ball of fear in his stomach. “That was pretty bold of our friend, taping that note to the door. You need to take a few precautions. Is there a chance Sarah could move in with you for a while?”

She looked at him as though he’d suddenly grown two heads. “I’m not going to ask Sarah to move in. I’m a police officer and I carry a gun. Guns trump scarves. I don’t need a babysitter, Cole.”

“All right, but at least admit you’re scared. Don’t pretend with me.”

His statement seemed to release a rash of goose bumps, and Margo chafed her hands over her arms. “Okay, I’m a little unnerved. I wouldn’t be human if I weren’t. But I’m not going to run around like Henny Penny screaming that the sky is falling. Besides,” she went on, “there’s a chance that note could be a prank. From the level of news coverage we’ve been getting, half the state knows what’s going on here.”

She locked her pretty green gaze on his. “But if the note was from the killer, he might’ve given us a partial print or enough DNA evidence for an arrest. In fact,” she said, her voice gaining conviction, “if I press the issue he might get ticked off enough to write again. We both know that an angry criminal is a careless criminal.”

Frustrated, Cole released a blast of air. “Are you listening to yourself? Putting yourself at risk to prove you can do the job just as well as a man—”

“I’m not doing that!”

“Aren’t you? It sure looks that way to me.”

They glared through a dozen ticks of the living room’s wall clock, both of them refusing to look away. Then something unfathomable happened. The room seemed to shrink, and the air in it seemed to thin, taking Cole to the point of light-headedness. Memories he’d been trying to keep at bay filled his mind and heart. And if his cop’s instincts were working even a little, he saw those same memories cloud Margo’s eyes.

Lifting his hand, he moved a long auburn strand that had become caught in her eyelashes…tucked it aside. Then his voice dropped so low he barely recognized it. “I know I don’t always choose my words wisely. But we meant something to each other once, Margo. Even though we messed it up, that still counts with me. I’m afraid for you. Can’t you see that?”

“Yes,” she returned in a whisper that just about put him away. “Yes, I can.”

“Then you’re not mad?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m not mad.”

And they were lost.

The kiss was warm and soft and bittersweet, and so full of memories and yearning for what might’ve been that it broke Margo’s heart. Once they’d had a love so special, her every prayer had included her thanks to God for bringing them together. Back then there had been no sadness in their kisses, only love, and laughter and a boundless faith in their future. But as the kiss went on, a smidgen of hope filtered through the hopelessness, and Margo’s rock-bottom spirits began to lift a little. Maybe it wasn’t too late for them. Maybe he was ready to forgive—

Cole broke the kiss and retreated to the opposite corner of her tiny living room, his expression a mixture of self-derision and apology. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that. I guess we’re both a little unhinged tonight.”

Margo fought for balance, fought to hide her disappointment, grappled for her dignity. It took her a full moment to speak. The warm sensation of his lips on hers was fading now, replaced by cool air and regret.

“It’s just the case,” she replied quietly. “Apparently, old habits do die hard.” She took them back to the conversation that had precipitated that kiss. “Thank you for caring, though. I won’t hire a nanny, but I will be cautious.”

Cole’s somber reply made her feel even worse. “I’ve always cared, Margo.”

Maybe he had, she thought. He just hadn’t cared enough. If he had, he would’ve believed her when she’d told him she loved him.

“Well,” he said, casting about before turning toward the door. “I’d better get back and let you get some sleep. Are your doors and windows locked?”

She nodded. All except the inside and screen doors, and they soon would be. How quickly they’d leaped from tenderness to all-business again.

“He won’t bother me tonight. He wants me to think about the note for a while, otherwise it defeats the purpose of sending it. What I don’t understand is, why did he write it? Do I make him nervous? Do I have information I’m not aware of?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been wondering the same thing.” Cole stepped out on the porch, where a squadron of moths bumped and fluttered against her porch light. “I won’t go to the station in the morning. I know you’ll need time to let everyone know I’m coming aboard. But I’d appreciate sitting down with you soon, so you can fill me in.”

She eased against the door frame. “We’ll do it tomorrow.” But there was something she needed to get straight with him. Steve O’Dell had accepted the fact that an ex-officer with more experience than he had would be helping out. But he wasn’t happy. “Cole, I need to say something, and I hope you won’t misunderstand.”

“Go ahead.”

“I know how important this is to you. But I also know how you act when you get up a full head of steam. Especially when you know you’re right. Promise me that you’ll remember you’re only consulting. I don’t want you trampling some very competent officers on your way to an arrest.”

From the expression on his face, he knew she was referring to his clash with John Wilcox.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll deal only with you, and you’ll call the shots.” Sending her an overly polite smile, he turned to leave. “It’ll be your way or the highway.”

It was a clichéd, overused quip, but it was also a subtle nod to their past. At least he hadn’t added, You know. The way it’s always been.

Margo said good-night and closed the door. So much for her hope that they could let sleeping dogs lie.

The dogs were up and they were barking up a storm.

By 5:00 a.m., after four hours of tossing and turning and hearing every chirping bird in the neighborhood greet the dawn, Margo showered and drove to the station. Steve O’Dell was just climbing into the prowl car, preparing to make his final rounds before his shift ended.

“You’re here early,” he said through the open car door.

“I know. I couldn’t sleep.” Margo ascended the three concrete steps to the door and found the office key on her crowded ring. “How’d it go with the PSP? Any problems?”

“Nope.”

“Good.” She unlocked the door. “Any coffee left?”

His blue gaze turned to ice. So did his tone. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting you for another hour or so.”

Margo hesitated for several seconds, wondering if this was about bringing Cole into the investigation, or something else. Steve could be testy, but the two of them had always had a good working relationship. Then again, maybe he was as tired and wired as she was, and thought—rightly so—that coffee wasn’t a priority. “That’s okay,” she said. “I’ll make us a fresh pot. See you when you get back.”

“Yeah. See you in a little while.”

Margo waved as he drove off, then let herself inside, dropped her shoulder bag on her desk and went to work. She crossed to the bank of filing cabinets and pulled out the Kennicott, Morgan and Hudson folders, then headed for the copy machine at the rear of the office. Feelings of disloyalty dogged her steps as she wondered how everyone else would feel about Cole’s inclusion. But they needed to find a killer before he struck again.

Twenty minutes later, copies of the old and new Gold Star files were in an oversize envelope in her cruiser. She was ready to leave again when Steve returned at 6:10.

“I have to step out for a half hour or so,” she said, “but I glanced at your notes. Dusting the door was a waste of time, huh?”

“Unfortunately.” He went to the coffeemaker and filled his cup. “The area on and around the latch was full of prints, but they were smeared and I’m guessing that most of them were ours. As for the rest… Sorry, boss, there was nothing on the door where I found the note. Not even a smudge.”

Boss? Margo stilled. He’d called her boss. Maybe she’d been too quick to dismiss the chilly look he’d sent her. Maybe it had nothing to do with being tired, or with Cole. Maybe it had more to do with pecking order. O’Dell was forty—eight years older than she was—but he didn’t have as many years in law enforcement. Still, if he felt he deserved the acting-chief position, that could account for his testiness. She decided that now wasn’t the best time to mention that she’d copied a set of files for Cole.

Resting her hand on the doorknob, she spoke quietly. “Steve, I know things have changed around here, but I’m still Margo. Please don’t call me boss.” Until John’s death, even though she’d been the senior officer, she, Steve, Brett and part-timers Charlie Banks and “Fish” Troutman had pretty much worked at the same level and shared the same jobs. Sure, there’d been a few disagreements, but they’d been minor and easily smoothed over. Things were different now, however, and suddenly she wasn’t sure how everyone felt about it.

He seemed to read her mind. “Worried about a mutiny?” he asked, stirring cream into his coffee.

She took a second to answer. “Should I be?”

Smiling, he waved off her concerns. “Nah. We’re a team, right? Someone has to answer to the mayor and the media. You’re the senior officer. I’m just glad it’s not me.”

“You’re sure? Because if there’s a problem we need to talk about it.”

“I’m positive. Relax. We’re good.”

“Whew,” she replied jokingly, then opened the door. “Put your feet up and veg for a while. I’ll be back before Sarah and Brett come in.”

Still, that niggling feeling that things weren’t as okay as he said stayed with her.

The Blackberry Hill B&B was a busy place at 6:20 a.m. A smiling older couple was just getting into their car, while on the wraparound porch, two women sat flipping though travel brochures and sipping coffee. Margo strode inside and made her way through the hardwood foyer to the dining room.

Jenna Harper was clearing away place settings on two of her four lace-and-glass-covered round tables, the chink of silverware and the wonderful aromas of coffee and blueberry muffins riding the air.

Lovely rose swags and a variety of Victorian prints adorned the cream-and-roses wallpaper, while doilies, dolls and antiques added warmth and charm to the room.

Jenna’s welcoming smile fell like a stone. Setting a creamer down, she crossed the floor to Margo. “Are you all right?”

Jenna was five feet, seven inches of dark blond class with a slender figure, a light garden tan and—usually—a warm smile. Today, she wore white slacks topped by a white gauze tunic and turquoise-and-coral beads.

Margo winced. “Do I look that bad?”

“No, but your dark circles are getting dark circles. Let me get you some breakfast. Some coffee, at least.”

“Thanks, but I’m really pressed for time this morning. I need to see one of your guests.”

Jenna tipped her head curiously. “Well, since you had to have passed four of them on your way in, and I only had five guests last night, I guess you mean your ex.”

When Jenna had returned to Charity eight months ago, they’d each shared bits of their pasts, but she’d never shown Jenna a snapshot of Cole, and she doubted she’d ever mentioned his last name. Then again, as she and Cole had agreed yesterday, people in small towns loved to talk.

“How did you—”

“Easy. How many Cole Blackburns could there possibly be? Especially one who looks like he does. Besides…” she said with a touch of worried hesitance, “you know how I feel about renting to single men. No references, no room. He had a good one.”

“Me.”

“Yes.” Folding her arms across her chest, Jenna went on quietly. “So, are you two on again?”

Margo expelled a flat laugh. “No. Not the way you mean, anyhow. As they say in every film I’ve seen lately, it’s complicated. Can you buzz his room?”

“I could, but he wouldn’t answer. He left a few minutes ago. I’m surprised you didn’t pass him on the way.”

“Oh? Did he say where he was going?”

“Yes, back to his place.”

Margo felt her jaw drop. After all his persistence— “He went back to Pittsburgh?”

“Yes, but only to grab fresh clothes and finish up some work.”

“Then…you’re holding his room?”

“Uh-huh. He asked about WiFi, and I told him that yes, we’re set up for the Internet, so I guess he’s planning to do some work from here.” Jenna paused, her head tilting curiously. “You’re disappointed.”

“No, not really. I’m just—” Margo released a breath, frustrated. “The truth is, I have no idea how I feel, and right now I don’t have time to sort it out.”

Jenna snagged Margo’s hand and led her to a corner table where white carafes and pots of strawberry and peach preserves were clustered. “Sit. Let’s talk.”

Margo shook her head. “You don’t know how badly I want to, but I have to go.”

“Not until seven, which means you can stay for at least a half hour. Three of my guests are gone, and the two women on the porch have already eaten. If they want croissants or more coffee, there’s a cordial table out there.”

“I really can’t,” Margo returned. “It would take me a week to explain, and unfortunately… Well, you know what’s going on.”

Jenna spoke softly. “The Hudson girl. How tragic.”

“Yes. Can we get together in a day or two? Hopefully, I’ll have some time by then.”

“Of course,” Jenna replied, her concern deepening. “Just give me a call. Or show up. I’m always here.”

Yes, she was—day in, night out. “We need to talk about that, too, sometime. You should get out more.”

“I do. I go to the grocery store, I go to church and occasionally I even have lunch with my good friend Margo or take in a movie.”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Margo returned gently.

Jenna smiled. “I know. But it’s all I can handle right now.”

They were a pair, Margo thought as she left that manila envelope in Cole’s room, then drove off. If things didn’t change, neither of them would ever again have a life that included the male of the species.

Seven hours later, she’d finished an enlightening phone conversation with an officer from a neighboring county, and was preparing to leave when Cole strode into the office. He was all broad shoulders and narrow hips in faded jeans and a navy polo shirt. Margo drew a stabilizing breath.

“Can you get away for a few minutes?” he asked.

“Actually, I’m on my way out the door right now,” she replied. Part-timer Charlie Banks, who was now racking up full-time hours, was talking on the phone trying to track down a man Leanne Hudson had been seeing, but so far, no luck. Chase Merritt—whom Hudson’s roommate, Ellie Cortino, had identified—seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth. They’d questioned the volleyball team yesterday, and now Brett was at the park, interviewing two teenage employees who’d been out of town when the murder occurred. And dear Sarah was handling yet another call from the media. The office was covered.

Margo came around her desk. “You found my gift?” Everyone knew about Cole’s involvement now. And like always, supportive Sarah, Charlie and Brett, who’d also worked with him, were all for it.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Good. Just let me grab my sunglasses and let the troops know where I’ll be for the next few hours. Then I’ll see you outside.”

Cole narrowed his gaze. “Where will you be?”

She started to say she’d tell him later when the door opened again and an angry young man blew inside.