Waterford Point. Alana Matthews
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you get a judge to consider revoking bail?”
“We’re working on it but there aren’t any guarantees. In the meantime, you might want to think about getting out of town for a bit.”
“Already done,” she said.
“Oh? Where are you?”
Rachel was about to respond, when Janet cut her off. “Wait, never mind. I don’t want to know. Just stay there for a while.”
That was certainly the plan.
The irony was that Rachel had booked this trip before Lattimore had become a threat. She had intended to use the time to finish writing Ladykiller, but that idea went out the window the moment he tried to wrap his hands around her throat. She couldn’t be objective about him anymore, and objectivity was her stock in trade.
Rachel may have been tough-skinned, but she was also human. And Lattimore scared the heck out of her.
“You think he’d actually try to come after me?”
“He’s a misogynist of the worst kind, Rachel, and you wounded his ego. But if he doesn’t know where you are…”
“Small comfort, believe me.”
“Don’t worry, we’re doing our best to keep an eye on him and I’ll be pushing to revoke. Even if we never find his wife, we at least have enough with the attempted assault to put him away for quite a while.”
“Promises, promises,” Rachel said quietly.
And promises were too often broken.
Chapter Three
Nick Chavaree couldn’t remember a time he’d been so frustrated.
He didn’t generally think of himself as an unhappy guy. He was usually pretty genial, as a matter of fact. But this last month in Waterford Point had been something of a nightmare. A nightmare he wouldn’t wish on any cop in the known universe.
It was bad enough that he had three murder victims in as many weeks, all with their heads bashed in. But the fact that the first one had happened right under his nose, while he was sleeping for godsakes, had him wondering about his ability to serve his community.
It wasn’t as if Nick was a stranger to violence. He’d spent five years in the Marines, running his own squad in the desert. But hunting down the Taliban in Afghanistan wasn’t quite the same as gathering evidence at a local crime scene, and he wasn’t afraid to admit that he was a little out of his depth here.
Throw Rachel Hudson into the mix and his bad month was about to get worse. He’d read all of her books—enjoyed them, as a matter of fact—but the thought that he might become the subject of one didn’t sit well. And as beautiful as she might be, he didn’t relish the idea of her sticking her cute little nose into this investigation.
Such as it was.
“You gonna eat that chicken or just stare at it all night along?”
Nick looked up from his plate at Charlie Tevis, who sat across the table from him. Charlie was one of his best deputies and they often had dinner together. They were sitting in a booth near the back of the Bayside Grill, the busiest and best of Waterford’s handful of restaurants.
Charlie was a big guy with an equally genial attitude that hadn’t been diminished by the recent turn of events.
“If you don’t want it,” he said, “slide that plate over here.”
“How do you do it, Charlie?”
“Eat so much? I guess I was just born hungry.”
“No,” Nick said. “How do you stay so cheerful in the face of what’s been going on around here?”
Charlie thought about it a moment, then leaned back. “It’s all about attitude. I learned a long time ago that it’s pointless to take life too seriously.”
“You don’t think three back-to-back murders in a town this size is serious?”
“Of course I do. Serious as a heart attack. But I don’t see any point in moping about it. We’ll catch this son of a gun sooner or later.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself.”
“Don’t you worry, he’s bound to slip up. Assuming what we’re talking about here is human.”
Nick stared at him. “Don’t tell me you’re buying into this Weeping Willow nonsense.”
Charlie shrugged. “If I were, I wouldn’t be the only one. Putting this off on a ghost might explain a whole heckuva lot of—”
“Shut your trap, Tevis.”
The voice came from behind Nick, but he didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.
He braced himself for the assault.
A moment later, Bill Burgess slid in next to him and stared pointedly at Charlie. “We don’t need that kind of talk coming from our own law enforcement officers.”
Burgess was a former Rockland County judge and a smarmy, self-important jerk who had managed to get himself elected mayor—another mystery Nick had yet to solve.
“The day I start listening to you,” Charlie told him, “is the day I turn in my gun and badge.”
“That can certainly be arranged.”
Burgess and Charlie had gone to high school together and Nick knew there was no love lost between them. Charlie had once told Nick that when he was thinking about returning to Waterford Point, after living across the country for nearly three decades, he may have reconsidered the move if he’d known that Burgess was the new mayor.
But Charlie had always had a soft spot for Maine, and Waterford Point in particular, so he figured he’d do his best to turn lemons into lemonade.
So far it wasn’t working.
“Your threats don’t scare me, Bill, so don’t even bother.”
Burgess’s eyes narrowed. “You think I wouldn’t do it?”
“I think you’re all yap and no follow-through, just like you were in—”
“Stop,” Nick said. “Both of you. This isn’t getting us anywhere.”
Burgess’s face was turning red, but he calmed himself.
“Sorry, Nick, but the last thing we need right now is your men perpetuating ridiculous rumors.” He swept an arm out, gesturing to the room. “Look at this place. Best diner in town and it’s practically empty. You start talking ghosts and that’s what Waterford Point will become. A ghost town. And we can’t afford that right now. We’re already strapped enough as it is.”
“People are scared, Bill.”
“Of course they are. That’s my point. You need to catch this guy, Nick. We can’t afford for this to go on much longer.”
“That’s easier said than done. The crime scenes are always pristine. We’ve got no evidence.”
“Then find some.”
“How? I’ve got five deputies, and we’re all stretched thin right now. We spend half our time chasing down false leads, people calling in at every little bump in the night. I’m a small-town sheriff, Bill. I don’t have the manpower or the expertise to handle a case like this.”
“So what are you suggesting?”
“I think we should invite the Maine State Police to help us out.”
Burgess shook his head, his tone adamant. “No, no, no,” he said. “We bring the staties in, we’ll only invite more publicity. We’re trying to contain this thing, not expand it.”
“I’m not a miracle worker.