Читать книгу The Lawman - Martha Shields - Страница 10

Molly unlocked the main doors of the library and went inside, flicking on the overhead lights as she went. She refused to look over her shoulder at the building across the street that housed the city offices, including the sheriff’s department and the mayor’s office.

You are in control.

She snorted softly as she pushed aside a book cart that one of the volunteers had left sitting in the aisle between the circulation desk and the administrative offices behind it. “Control? What a joke.”

She slapped the light switch on the wall just inside the main office and stared at Harriet’s office. There was a large, ancient desk that took up most of the space. Edwardian, Harriet had once told Molly. But pretty much ruined for its antique value when some owner along the way had added the “custom” sidepiece to use as a typewriter return. Harriet had purchased it secondhand for a song. It was big and it was ugly. And without Harriet behind it, it looked sad. It was also still piled with work that Harriet had never had a chance to attend to.

Several boxes of old-looking, dusty books were stacked on the floor against the wall. And a small stack of hardcover books sat on the sidepiece of her desk right next to the typewriter that looked to be as old as Molly was. The library did possess a computer system. There was a terminal at the circulation desk, one in the reference section and one in Molly’s office that also tied into an international interlibrary system. But Harriet had flatly refused to have one in her office despite the convenience it offered.

“I loathe the things. Making people smarter on one hand and dumber than dirt on the other.”

Molly smiled sadly, easily imagining Harriet’s brusque tones. “You saved my life once already, Harriet,” she whispered to the empty office. “Tell me what to do now.”

Only silence greeted her.

Sighing again, Molly went to the smaller office next door and tucked away her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk. She flipped open her calendar, glancing over the activities scheduled for the day. Her attention was barely on it, though. Not when she half expected Holt Tanner to come striding through the library doors at any moment.

When he hadn’t done so by closing time that evening, Molly’s tension had reached new heights.

“Could we have a little quiet here?” Her voice was sharper than she intended, and the group of teenagers sitting around one of the study tables looked up at her in shock. D. J. Reingard stopped tapping his oversize pencil against the table and frowned a little. “Sorry, Ms. Brewster. We’re just finishing the plans for the fund-raisers.”

Molly knew that. She pressed her fingertips to the cool wooden table, silently cursing her bad mood on Holt Tanner. “I’m sorry, D.J. You guys are fine. I guess the heat is getting to me.”

D.J. looked at her even more oddly, as it was cool as a spring evening inside the new library facility. She certainly wasn’t going to tell him that the newest deputy his father, the sheriff of Rumor, had hired was driving her right around the bend. “So, what did you all decide on? A rummage sale or a bake sale?”

The group of teens was conducting a summer project to help raise funds to reestablish a bookmobile program that would help serve the children and families in some of the more remote ranching areas around Rumor. Molly was all for the program and, with Harriet’s blessing, had been working with this particular group of honor students for the better part of the year. So far they’d raised thousands of dollars through a Halloween carnival, holiday crafts and baked goods, Christmas wreaths and a half dozen other, smaller projects.

“Both,” Becky Reed answered with a grin. She was a petite redhead with a spray of freckles across her nose and a crush for D.J. the size of Montana. D.J., however, seemed to only have eyes for one of the other girls in the group—a statuesque sixteen-going-on-thirty blonde named Tiffany.

“We want to do it in two weeks,” D.J. said, pulling his brilliant blue gaze from Tiffany to focus on Molly. “We can still use the parking lot here at the library, right?”

Molly nodded. “Are you sure you’ll be able to gather up enough donations in that short amount of time, though? School will be starting right after that, too.”

The kids—ten in all—around the table nodded. D.J. grinned, and Molly could easily see why Becky was smitten. He was seventeen, smart, athletic, blond and about as good-looking as a male could be.

Rob had been blond and blue-eyed, too. As handsome as a movie star, and as cold as the dark side of the moon.

She pushed aside the unwelcome thought. Ever since Harriet’s death, Molly’s memories of Rob had been stirred up. Nightmares in which Rob was the killer and Molly the victim, sleepless nights, near panic attacks. She was almost as much a wreck as she had been when she’d first escaped to Rumor.

She realized the kids were all chattering, and forced herself to focus.

“My mom has been nagging us to clean out the attic and the garage,” D.J. was saying. “There’s enough junk there to supply five rummage sales.” He rolled his eyes and grinned. “It’s a win-win situation. Mom gets off our case about the stuff, and we get a few more bucks for the bookmobile project.”

“I’ll bet we can get Libby Adler to donate some brownies or cookies or something, too.”

“Jessup,” Becky corrected the other girl who’d spoken. “She and Marcus Jessup got married during the Crazy Moon Festival, remember? In a double-wedding ceremony with Nick Sullivan and Callie Griffin.”

“Nick Sullivan is a hunk.” Tiffany spoke up for the first time. “But that Mr. Jessup is totally creepy if you ask me. I bet Libby Adler married him just ’cause of his oodles of money. It definitely wasn’t for his looks. Those scars on his face? Totally scary.”

Becky’s eyes narrowed. “I cannot believe even you are so stupid, Tiffany. I swear, you may be on the honor roll, but you don’t have the sense God gave a stump.”

Tiffany looked bored, but Becky wasn’t done. And frankly, Molly could hardly blame her. Tiffany was a constant trial with her snooty ways.

“Mr. Jessup’s first family died in a fire,” Becky was saying scathingly. “That’s how he got those minor scars. When he was trying to save them.”

Tiffany smirked. “Shows what you know, Becky Reed. I heard he was suspected of killing his first wife.”

Molly had heard enough. “Tiffany—”

“That’s enough,” D.J. cut in. “Mr. Jessup has donated a lot to this town. My dad says he provided the new computer system at the sheriff’s department and didn’t even want anyone to know about it. And it’s true what Bec said about him trying to save ’em.”

Tiffany’s bright blue eyes suddenly flooded with tears and she looked imploringly at D.J. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and wrapped her long fingers around his arm. “You’re right, of course, D.J.”

Most of the kids around the table looked uncomfortable. Molly caught Becky rolling her eyes the moment before she shoved back from the table. “Are we done here?” the girl asked tartly.

Whether the rest of the group figured they were or not, Molly stepped in and made sure of it as she reminded them of their next meeting and told them where they could begin storing items collected for the sale.

Then, with a cacophony of chair legs scraping against the hard floor, the group left en masse, a hoard of basically good kids dressed in everything from blue jeans to bikini tops and shorts dragging purses, backpacks, skateboards and computerized games along with them.

“I’d heard you were working with a group of kids from the high school.”

Molly whirled at the deep voice that came from behind her. “Don’t sneak up behind me.” Her voice was sharp. Shaking.

“Came right through the main doors, Molly.”

Holt walked over to the long, rectangular table and picked up one of the chairs that had been left haphazardly scattered and placed it back at the table. She watched him, torn between suspicion and irritation and something else she didn’t even want to put a name to. She knew what it was to fear a man. She didn’t fear Holt, though.

Not…exactly.

Molly began straightening the rest of the chairs surrounding the table and collecting up the various magazines and books that had been left on top of it. Familiar tasks. Soothing tasks.

Tasks that didn’t occupy her thoughts anywhere near enough to distract her from the deputy.

She kept stealing looks at him from the corner of her eye. He wasn’t wearing his typical uniform today. In fact, he wore a suit. Nothing flashy for the solemn deputy. Medium gray suit. Blinding-white shirt. The tie was a surprise, though.

“Surfboards?” The observation popped out of her mouth. He hadn’t dragged it loose at the collar the way he had his tie yesterday when he’d invaded her Sunday afternoon.

He glanced down, flipping the tie slightly between his long fingers. The pattern in the swirling gray-and-black silk was actually stylized waves complete with surfer and surfboards, something she’d only been able to pick out as she’d rounded the end of the table near where he stood.

“My partner’s wife back in L.A. had a weird sense of humor,” he said with a crooked smile, and Molly felt her nerves tighten oddly.

She turned and shoved her armful of books and magazines onto the book cart. She didn’t want to notice that his smile, faint though it was, made the intimidating man seem momentarily approachable. Human.

He gave no explanation for the reason for his suit, she noticed. Not that she expected one. Not that she wanted one. He was forcing her into helping him with his case, whether she could really be helpful or not.

She didn’t care what the man had been doing all day. She really and truly did not. “I’m surprised you weren’t here snooping the moment the doors opened this morning.” She wanted to kick herself. She began pushing the cart toward periodicals, simply to get away from the deputy and the appalling lack of sense she seemed to have around him.

“I had to be in Whitehorn for a case.”

Harriet’s? She wanted to ask, but by firmly tucking her tongue between her teeth managed to refrain. She began shelving the magazines, annoyed that he’d followed her right between the high shelves. It was dark and dim and he seemed to suck all the air right out of the area.

Okay, it wasn’t dark. It wasn’t dim, she silently acknowledged as she crouched down to reach the bottom shelf. But he still made the area seem that way. Too close. Way too close.

She shot to her feet and pushed the cart rapidly down the row. The front wheel—the one that shimmied a little—squealed loudly. “You know where Harriet’s office is, Deputy,” she said, speaking over the noise. “There’s no point following me back here. Harriet didn’t shelve materials herself. I doubt she hid any secrets of her life back here.”

She clipped the corner of the next shelf with the wheel of her book cart.

“Think maybe you need a license to drive this thing.”

He was standing right behind her, his hands nudging hers away from the push bar of the cart.

She jumped away, then flushed like the ninny she obviously was. “I—” don’t know what to say.

His dark eyes watched her. Waited.

She pressed her lips together and slid between the book cart and the shelving, moving ahead of it, and grabbed up a handful of magazines. It was fortunate that she could nearly do this particular task in her sleep.

He followed along, the book cart moving slowly behind her. Of course the wheel behaved for him.

They went up one row. Down another. From periodicals to nonfiction. From there to fiction.

If she thought waiting for his arrival had been nerve-racking, it was nearly torturous having him close on her heels, his thoughts kept close to himself, well hidden by those unreadable brown eyes.

She wondered for a moment if she’d lose her job if word got out at the way she ran, screaming madly, from the library one hot summer day. Shaking off the absurdity, she turned to the cart only to stop short in surprise.

“You’re finished.”

She looked from the empty book cart that separated them to his face. “Well, this particular task is completed, at least.”

“Molly.”

She jerked, whirling around to see one of the volunteers standing behind her with a frankly curious gaze that took in both Molly and the deputy. She needed to get a grip. “Yes, Mrs. English?”

“It’s five,” the elderly woman said gently. “I wanted to let you know I was leaving.”

Five? Molly managed a smile and thanked the woman as she left. Then she looked over her shoulder at Holt. Just as quickly she looked away. The man was too disturbing by far. “I’ve got to close up. I hadn’t realized it was so late.” She began rolling the book cart to its proper place.

“What’s the rush? You’re often here after five.”

She shoved the cart into its spot beneath a counter. “How did you know that? Spying on me?”

“This place is across from the sheriff’s department.” His voice was mild. “My desk is next to the window in the front. Simple observation makes you paranoid?”

Rob had kept track of every single thing she’d done, every single person with whom she’d had contact. She’d had no privacy, and he’d made darned sure that she knew it.

“I have plans this evening.” She had to step around him to go to her office.

He followed. “You haven’t moved your stuff into Harriet’s office.”

She leaned over to retrieve her purse from the bottom drawer in the desk. “Is there some law against that?”

“What’s with the defensiveness?”

Courtesy of her foot, the drawer shut a little harder than necessary. She straightened, hugging her purse to her. “Nothing.” Just because she’d been told more than once by the trustees that she needed to switch offices in order to make room for a new assistant librarian really was no reason to take it out on the deputy. Even if she did consider him quite responsible for making her a nervous wreck. “I’d think you’d be glad, considering everything, that Harriet’s office is still just the way she left it. Ought to ease your search for clues into her private life.”

“Her office isn’t the connection I need. It’s you. Thought we’d established that.”

“Well,” she grabbed her keys and walked past him, snapping off lights as she made her way to the entrance, “you’re just going to have to wait now. Because I’ll be busy all evening.”

He caught hold of the entrance door before she could open it. “Doing what?”

She looked above her head at his hand, the large square palm, the long, blunt-edged fingers, and swallowed down a jolt. It was just a hand. A man’s hand.

A cop’s hand.

“I have, a, uh, a reading group I meet with on Monday evenings.” It was more or less the truth and was certainly all she intended to divulge to this particular man.

“Are there a lot of reading groups?”

“A few.” She tugged at the door and relaxed some when he moved his hand, allowing her to open it. “I think it was kind of a new concept here in Rumor, but they’re getting more popular.” She waited for him to move out of the way before locking it up.

“Did Harriet meet with any groups?” He easily kept up with her as she hurried to her car.

“Not really. And none of the groups include any men yet, so if that’s where your thoughts are heading, don’t bother.” She tossed her purse across the seat and sat down, wincing a little at the hot, vinyl interior. She cranked down her window, trying not to look at the deputy.

He was standing beside the car, his expression as serious as it always was. She really didn’t want to notice the way his finely woven trousers tightened across his hips because of the hand he’d shoved in one pocket, or the way his silly tie lay against a chest that looked hard even through the severely white shirt he wore. So, of course, that was exactly what she noticed. That, and the way his eyes didn’t look quite so densely brown because the sunlight—still bright and hot even at that hour—was shining almost directly in his face.

His thick, spiky lashes were narrowed around that gleam of coffee-brown that seemed focused directly on her.

“Are you always so intense?” Her face flamed and she cursed her wayward tongue.

He closed his hands over the door, seeming oblivious to the hot metal, and leaned down a little so he could look into the car. “When I’m after something I want.”

His hair truly was black, she thought faintly. There wasn’t the least bit of gold, nor red, nor brown in the thick shock of it that looked in danger of tumbling over his forehead if not for the way it was brushed severely back from his hard face.

She needed therapy. That’s all there was to it. She absolutely, positively could not be physically attracted to this man. She could not be wondering if he brought that single-minded focus into matters of the personal kind.

The intimate kind.

She hadn’t felt a flicker of desire for anyone in so long that she wasn’t even sure that’s what she was feeling now. Only the curling in her stomach as she dragged her gaze from the very masculine hands not ten inches from her shoulder made a mockery of that particular notion.

“And you want Harriet’s killer,” she finished. It took two tries before she managed to fit her key in the ignition.

He was silent so long that she turned to look at him. Only to find that intense gaze focused on her face once more.

Her mouth ran dry and she swallowed. Reminded herself harshly that this man, Deputy Holt Tanner, represented everything that she’d left. No, that she’d been forced to flee.

“Yeah. I want her killer.” His lips twisted. “I want…a lot of things. But that’ll do for now.” He straightened and thumped the door with his palm before finally removing his hands. “Have fun with your reading group. I’ll be by the library first thing tomorrow.”

Then he was stepping away from the car, sliding off his jacket and hitching it over his shoulder with his thumb as he walked away.

She closed her eyes for a moment, willing her heart to stop racing, her stomach to stop jumping. When she opened them again, the deputy was no longer in sight.

She told herself she was glad.