Читать книгу Perilous Homecoming - Sarah Varland - Страница 14

FIVE

She dreamed about the gunshots that night, and woke with a feeling of pressure on her chest that made it hard to breathe, almost like a physical weight that reminded her of the truth that weighed on her mind—someone had threated to kill her. He’d made it clear that he would make good on those threats if she wouldn’t be bullied into leaving.

And Kelsey had no intention of going anywhere. If she left town with her work undone, she’d lose her job. Not to mention, she’d lose her self-respect if she let this town make her run away again. Logically, she knew that leaving would be the smart choice...but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Which meant today, tomorrow, as many days as this took...things were only going to get worse.

She climbed out of her car—the officers had processed it for evidence and then Clay had brought it home for her—after parking in front of the museum, and stopped to look up when she heard a noise. Her whole body tensed, ready to run or fight or whatever she needed to do. She put her hand on her hip where she could feel the reassuring lump of the gun concealed inside her waistband.

But there was no need for alarm. It was a truck pulling into the parking lot, one she recognized immediately from all the time she’d spent in it last night.

What was Sawyer Hamilton doing here?

She tried not to watch him as he parked the truck and stepped out, but like it or not, her eyes were drawn to him. He reached back into the truck for something. Sawyer stepped back out with coffee.

“What are you doing here?” She voiced the question that she hadn’t stopped mentally asking since she saw him.

“I figured you’d be here and thought you might have had a rough night.”

She stared, understanding not dawning until he reached out with the coffee cup. That was for her?

“You used to get cappuccinos in high school. I hope that’s still okay.”

“In high school?” She reached for the coffee, feeling like she could use the caffeine to get her out of this fog that seemed to have descended with Sawyer’s presence. This concern for her was the last thing she would have expected from him.

“Thank you,” she said, allowing herself a small smile. “And cappuccinos...yes, that’s still my favorite.” They hadn’t spent time together outside of their classes in high school that she could remember. Ever. So how had he...?

“I saw you order it more than once when you’d study at the bookstore.”

The old bookstore had been the only place to get coffee in Treasure Point all those years ago, and the fancy espresso machine had only lasted five years or so before the owners of the bookstore had sold it, since it wasn’t making them much of a profit. At the time, Treasure Point—with the exception of Kelsey—seemed to prefer its coffee plain. It was only recently, when Claire Phillips had returned to town after college, that more people had accepted the idea of “fancy” coffee.

“Well...thanks, then,” she repeated, then shook her head and took a long sip of that cappuccino. She closed her eyes for a second. So good.

Unfortunately, after a second, Kelsey acknowledged she had to open her eyes and get to work.

She turned away from Sawyer and walked toward the front door of the museum. She’d been scheduled to work with Michael Wingate. With him dead... Kelsey wasn’t sure how this was supposed to work anymore. The rules had changed. Would she even be allowed to work today, or was the museum still being treated as a crime scene?

The door of the museum opened just then, and a dark-haired woman stepped out. Gemma O’Dell, the marketing manager for the museum. Kelsey had met with her briefly when she’d first arrived back in town.

“Kelsey, you came.”

“Were you doubting that I would?”

“We weren’t sure with...” she shot a glance at the two police cars parked at the edge of the lot “...with everything that happened yesterday,” she finished. “Matt almost didn’t let me come to work today.” She said the last part with a grin and Kelsey knew she didn’t really mind the overprotectiveness of her husband, Matt O’Dell.

“So, will I be working with you today?”

Gemma shook her head and moved her hand to the baby bump that was quite obvious. “Even though I don’t officially go on maternity leave until the baby comes—”

“You’re due any day?” Kelsey guessed. She didn’t have much experience with babies or childbirth, but she was fairly certain that Gemma’s stomach had no more room for expansion, so she figured it must be close.

Gemma nodded. “Yes, and Matt wants me to do as much work from home as I can these last couple of weeks. Or days. I’m voting days.”

Kelsey laughed. “I’m sure you are.”

“Anyway, especially with the murder, here at the museum is not somewhere he wants me spending a lot of time. Not that there’s any reason to assume there will be more crimes. You shouldn’t be worried.”

Oh, if only Gemma knew.

“I’m not going to let it stop me from doing my job,” Kelsey reassured the other woman.

“Great. I’ll let you get started and I’ll be in my office for about an hour. After that, I’m headed home, but you can call me if you need anything. Do you need any help from me, or do you know where to get started today?”

“You can head to your office,” Kelsey assured her. “I know where to go and what to do.” As exhausted as Gemma looked already, Kelsey was relatively certain she wasn’t going to be bothering her. Gemma was one of the few full-time staff members at the museum, which meant that she was in for a day of answering worried phone calls and dealing with the public response in reaction to the murder. Clearly, she had enough on her plate, and Kelsey wouldn’t add to it.

With a relieved smile, Gemma went back inside, heading toward her office. Kelsey started to enter the building as well, but the manners her mother had drilled into her made her turn around to finish her conversation with Sawyer first.

“Are you coming in?” she asked. “Did you have some business with the museum today?”

“No, I just came by to check on you.”

Kelsey blinked. “You...what?”

He shrugged, looking uncomfortable but sincere. “I just came by to check on you,” he repeated. “And to make sure you wouldn’t be here by yourself, after those threats last night.”

That was unexpected. But she tried to brush it off. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted. She pointed to the cop cars. “I won’t be here alone.”

“Good—that’s good.” He looked awkward, as if he had something to say, but wasn’t sure how to phrase it. Finally, he blurted out, “Let me know if you’re going to be on your own later, okay?”

“Why?”

“So I can come over.”

“But why?” This wasn’t making any sense. “You don’t have to look after me. I’m not your responsibility, and I can take care of myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” he replied, taking the wind right out of her sails. “Dealing with threats and attacks isn’t something anyone should have to do on their own. I know the police will do what they can, but they have lots of responsibilities to handle, whereas I’m here in town with time on my hands. I can help. I want to help. Will you let me?”

He looked so hopeful that Kelsey couldn’t bring herself to say no—it would feel like kicking a puppy. An unwanted puppy who seemed to want nothing more than to get underfoot. So, fine, she’d agree to let him help, and then she’d just conveniently forget to contact him later. Problem solved.

Satisfied with her assurance that she’d let him know when she needed him—which would be at a quarter past never—Kelsey went inside and got to work.

She spent the day wandering the museum, estimating the value of some of the antiques that she could identify easily, and researching others to figure out comparisons that would tell her what they might be worth. She’d done the job before, many times, but always with direct supervision. It was a big vote of confidence from her employer that she was being allowed to do this, as well as another job, on her own.

Kelsey was supposed to spend tomorrow in St. Simons at the estate that was her other large project right now. At first, the Treasure Point Historical Society hadn’t been excited at the prospect of her attention being divided, but Kelsey had insisted she could handle both of the jobs. Her boss hadn’t given her a choice about the museum job, since the town had asked for her specifically, but the Medlin Estate was something that would advance her career more, and she wasn’t giving that up for anything.

Kelsey knew she could do it, but it was still overwhelming to think about, which was why—on her way back into town—she pulled her car into the parking lot that connected to the coastal trail. She exhaled even before she got out, feeling some of the tension leave her shoulders as she thought about running. It was one of the best ways she knew to relieve stress.

She’d changed into running clothes before leaving the museum, so she climbed from her car, set her phone to her running playlist and put it on her armband. Hesitating for a second, she pulled the phone back out for a second and sent a quick text to Sawyer, just to let someone know where she was. She regretted the message the moment she’d sent it. Sawyer didn’t need to know where she was, especially since the day had been quiet and it seemed like maybe...like maybe the threat from last night hadn’t been as big as she’d feared.

Then again, Michael Wingate’s body was in the McIntosh County morgue right now, so Kelsey knew that wasn’t true.

Either way, the text message was sent and Kelsey needed this run, had plenty of things in her brain that needed to be sorted out.

She started out at a comfortable pace and eased into her workout. The first thought her mind landed on was Sawyer. Nope. She wasn’t going there. She sped up a little, felt her feet pound the ground a little harder at the thought of the boy-turned-man who’d thrown her so off balance earlier in the day.

No. No matter what, she wasn’t going to think of him right now.

Instead she thought about work. Had Matt overreacted by keeping Gemma away from the museum for now? Kelsey wanted to say yes, especially since she didn’t want to believe she was truly in danger from her work there...but what other reason could someone have for killing Michael Wingate if it wasn’t connected to his job?

She pushed herself a little harder. Today had been calm. Boring, even. She’d walked through most of the exhibits, accompanied by an officer. He was a younger guy, not a native of the town, but he seemed nice enough, even if his couldn’t-be-more-than-twenty-one-year-old self kept calling her “ma’am.” She loved Southern charm and manners, except when they made her feel like she was much older than pushing thirty.

Kelsey had gotten a lot accomplished as far as her insurance job, but where the investigation was concerned, she wished she could have spent time in the room where the murder had taken place. She’d remembered while she was working that Michael had acted strangely around one exhibit in there in particular, like there was something about it that made him uncomfortable. It was the most fascinating exhibit in the museum—there wasn’t any doubt about that. Many of the rooms and exhibits focused on Treasure Point’s history in general, but this particular exhibit was exclusively geared toward Treasure Point’s pirate history. Blackbeard was only one of the many pirates who had loved this corner of the Eastern Seaboard for all its barrier islands, mysterious swamps and places to hide smuggled goods.

It was Treasure Point’s little claim to fame, its most valuable asset as a town trying to grow its tourist trade, as well as its greatest liability. The last few years had seen an upswing in crime for many of the reasons pirates had frequented the area years before.

The exhibit was interesting, but she hadn’t seen anything in there worth killing over. Most of it talked about shipwrecks that had happened over a hundred years ago.

Who would kill over that?

Kelsey shook her head, picked up the pace a little. She was coming up on the parking lot. One more lap, she told herself, and then she’d jump into the water to cool off, take a swim in her workout clothes—she had a spare towel in her car she could sit on—before heading back to the house to tackle a few cleaning projects there and eat another sandwich for dinner.

She’d had more fun having that impromptu dinner with Sawyer last night than she liked to admit.

Sawyer? Where had that come from?

She ran faster. Enough of that.

The second lap went quickly, and then she was carefully picking her way along the narrow game trail through the woods that led to the beach. Not many people accessed the beach from here, but it had always been a favorite place of hers to swim. The main beach of Treasure Point wasn’t very big, and as a result it was usually crowded.

Kelsey liked having this quiet space to herself.

She narrowly avoided some thorns and pushed her way through the last bit of underbrush until she emerged onto a clearer area, where the dirt of the forest gradually gave way to sand. It was a unique area, in general and environmentally, and Kelsey loved everything about it. This was why, though she’d longed for a big city, she’d settled on Savannah rather than somewhere farther like Atlanta, or even Charleston. This place would always be home in a way, and Savannah was the most similar to Treasure Point.

Kelsey waded into the waves, the water felt good against her hot skin after the initial jolt of cold. The waves lapped against her and she let herself float on them, relax with them and even stayed there on her back for a few minutes, looking up at the blue sky dotted with cotton-ball clouds.

The sound of the waves hitting the beach was loud, but the noise relaxed her. After a few minutes of floating she moved upright again, swam a little closer to the shore since she’d drifted. Then she found the two trees in the distance she liked to use as markers for herself and swam a few laps.

Finally, exhausted, she lay on her back again, exhaled the stress of the day into the warm salty air and let herself relax.

Something snatched her arm, jerked her underwater before Kelsey could react, before she could draw in one more long breath of air to sustain her.

She kept her eyes open even though the salty ocean water stung, but her attempts to see her attacker were useless. The water here was far from clear, and though the sun was shining, all she could see were particles and a shape. Definitely human. She struggled, fought to get away, and managed to wrench her arm free before throwing herself toward the shore and kicking with every bit of strength she had left.

Was that someone on the beach? Did her attacker have an accomplice?

She kicked harder, moved her arms in the freestyle motion, only to be jerked backward again by the man—she was fairly certain that the shape was too large to be a woman—and pulled back under. This time she’d taken a breath, so she had more energy to fight.

Still, as she kicked and struggled, she knew that she didn’t have long. She couldn’t keep holding her breath, but to stop trying was to give up and die.

And Kelsey wasn’t a quitter. Never had been. Wasn’t about to start now.

“Kelsey!”

She heard the shouts from the beach. Was the person she’d seen someone on her side, not her attacker’s?

The knowledge gave her confidence to give this struggle all she had, and she landed one solid kick to her opponent’s gut.