The Man from Gossamer Ridge. Paula Graves
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table where they sat, their seats overlooking a moonlit garden partially obscured by their reflection bouncing back at them on the picture window. The flatware was stainless steel, but clean and shiny, free of nicks and stains.
At least the menu was unpretentious. Home cooking, plenty of options. Gabe selected a steak and vegetable plate, though he wasn’t feeling particularly hungry at the moment, thanks to Cissy’s ambush.
Cissy ordered cheese fries.
“As the apparent stand-in for your father, I have to tell you that cheese fries are almost completely lacking in nutritional value,” he said after the waitress departed.
“Cheese has protein,” she defended. “Besides, I’m feeling strangely in need of comfort food.”
Reaching across the table, he patted her hand. “That’s my fault, isn’t it?”
Her brow wrinkled. “Not everything’s your fault, you know.”
But it was, he thought. More than she realized. “You want to go back there tonight?” he asked. “Finish what we started?”
“Yes,” she answered simply.
“What do you know about this Alicia person, anyway? What’s her deal?”
Cissy gave him an odd look. “Her deal?”
“What made her decide to look into cold cases in the first place?”
“I don’t know, exactly. She was already working on her thesis when I took my first lab with her.”
“What kind of labs does she teach?” When Gabe had been in school, the labs he’d attended were usually limited to either the hard sciences or language classes. Of course, he had pretty much avoided the social sciences like the plague. His major had been marine biology, with a focus on freshwater ecosystems. Gave him a head start on figuring out where to find the bass when he was fishing a tournament.
“She’s helping the head of the psychology department develop research labs for criminal investigations. For instance, she and another grad student, Marlon, are spending a lot of their time working up a set of protocols to quantify the likelihood of a violence-prone individual to escalate to sadistic murder.”
Gabe grimaced. “Tell me you’re not helping with that one.”
“I’m not. You have to be a senior or a grad student to participate.” The waitress arrived with Cissy’s cheese fries, assuring Gabe his steak was on the way. Gabe took notice of her this time. She was tall, on the curvy side, with a wide, smiling mouth and eyes the color of dark chocolate. She didn’t look like Brenda, but there was something about her that reminded Gabe of his sister-in-law.
What little appetite he’d had fled.
“What’s the matter?” Cissy asked after the waitress left.
“Nothing.”
Cissy followed his gaze as he tracked the waitress’ departure. “She’s pretty. A little old for you, though. And I think she was wearing a wedding ring—”
Gabe looked across the table at his niece. “She reminded me of someone.”
“Mom?”
“A little,” he admitted.
“Not that much. She’s just on your mind. She’s on mine, too.” Cissy picked at the plate of cheese fries in front of her, swirling one thin strip of potato in the gooey sauce. “Some days, I barely remember her, and others, it’s like I’m right there, curled up in my bed, listening to her read me a story.” A hint of a smile curved her pink lips. “Our favorite was Sam, Bangs and Moonshine. So mysterious and adventurous. A good lesson about the consequences of lies, too.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. You shouldn’t have had to go through life without your mama.” I shouldn’t have let it happen, he added silently.
Cissy pushed her plate of cheese fries across the table, an unconscious echo of her mother’s habit of offering comfort through the distraction of food. In a family that included five active males under the age of thirty at the time, it had often proved a successful ploy. “I know this may seem like a long shot to you—”
“I just don’t know if your father can bear another let-down.” Gabe gently pushed the plate back toward her. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You may have to.” Cissy met his gaze directly, her expression deadly serious. Gabe realized, in that instant, that his little niece had grown up without his realizing it. How had that happened?
“Why’s that?” he asked aloud.
Cissy leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Because the murders are still happening.”
THE MOON EMERGED FROM BEHIND a wispy cloud, casting a pale blue glow across the front lawn of the Bellewood Manor Apartments. The real estate website was right—it did look like history come to life. He could almost imagine a parade of silly Southern belles strolling along the length of the porch, flirting and flitting and behaving generally like the weak little sheep they were.
He was safely across the street now, hidden by the limber fronds of a willow tree. He’d taken a chance earlier, walking right up to her front door. He’d been careful to stay out of range of the security peephole, though she would have seen him easily enough had she looked out the window.
But she wouldn’t look. For all her hardheaded determination to solve the mystery she’d uncovered, Alicia Solano was scared. Scared she fit the victim profile.
Scared she would be next.
Well, she did fit the profile. She was a curvy brunette with a strong, independent streak just screaming for a take down. Hell, sometimes, he wanted to do it himself.
But that wasn’t his job. He was the scout, not the hunter. That was Alex’s job.
And Alex didn’t take foolish chances.
Alicia wouldn’t be the next victim. Not here, surrounded by people who could hear or see something and share it with the cops. The next victim worked at a convenience store on Route 7, a cashier who could go a whole six-hour evening shift without seeing a soul now that the bypass to the interstate was completed, diverting traffic away from the dying store.
She would close up at eleven, no doubt relieved to be done with the mind-numbing shift. Her only thought would be of heading home, her mind already full of the things she had to do before she could finally go to bed and get a well-earned night of sleep before dragging herself to her first morning class.
Useless ponderings, of course. She’d never make it to bed.
She’d never even make it out of the store.
By midnight, she’d be dead.
Chapter Three
She heard footsteps on the front porch.
Alicia looked up from the files spread out in front of her, reaching for the aluminum softball bat she’d fetched from the bedroom. Unlike the previous time, these steps were swift and strong. Two sets, moving at a determined pace.
She rose, her heart pounding. She tightened her grip on the bat until her fingers ached.
The steps were almost at her door.
Stop. Just stop. You live in an apartment building, you hyper-excitable idiot. This isn’t where he does his work.
She put the bat down beside the sofa and forced her feet toward the front door, looking through the security peephole. Her body buzzed with relief at the sight of Gabe Cooper’s impossibly broad shoulders and stubborn chin distorted by the fish-eye lens.
She waited for his knock before opening the door. He blinked, as if surprised by her quick response.
“Is it all right that we’re back?” he asked, not bothering with any sort of customary greeting.
They