Scene of the Crime: Bachelor Moon. Carla Cassidy
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needed not only a vacation but a brain adjustment, as well. He definitely needed to get some distance from Daniella Butler, who made him think of rumpled bedsheets and sweet feminine curves and mindless, soul-searing sex.
He quickly drained his coffee mug and got up to carry it to the sink. He should be catching fish instead of fishing for information about a woman who he would never allow to matter to him.
He turned away from the sink and saw Daniella reentering the room, followed closely by a grim-looking Sheriff Jim Thompson.
“Jim has some more questions for me,” she said to Sam. The sparkle that had lit her eyes earlier was gone, replaced by dark worry. She sank down in a chair at the table, but both men remained standing.
“Several things have come up between last night and this morning that I find troubling,” Jim said. He directed a harsh gaze at Daniella. “I think maybe you haven’t been completely honest with me.”
“About what?” Daniella looked shocked.
Jim waved a hand toward Sam, as if to dismiss him. “I don’t think we need you here, Mr. Connelly.”
Sam didn’t like the way the sheriff stood too close to her chair, as if in an effort to intimidate her. He didn’t know what exactly was going on, but he wasn’t going to leave Daniella alone with the man.
“Consider my interest a professional one,” he said. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, opened it and laid it in the center of the table, his FBI identity card exposed.
He was aware of Daniella’s look of surprise, but Jim looked none too happy at this new information. “This isn’t an FBI matter,” he said stiffly. “It’s a local one and we handle our own.”
“I understand that,” Sam said smoothly. “But Daniella wants me here while you speak to her, and so I have no intention of leaving at the moment.”
“The way I see it she doesn’t need an FBI man, although before this is all over she might need a good defense attorney,” Jim replied.
Daniella gasped. “Jim, dear God, what are you talking about?”
“I found out last night about Samantha’s plans…plans that would have put her in direct competition with you,” he said.
“What plans?” Daniella’s face had gone pale, and Sam fought the impulse to step closer to her, to touch her shoulder or pull her into his arms for support.
He’d known her for only twenty-four hours, but his gut instinct told him there was no way in hell she had anything to do with the murder of Samantha Walker, and his gut was rarely wrong.
“Samantha was planning on opening her own bed-and-breakfast. For the last couple of weeks she’s been going around town telling everyone the town wasn’t big enough for two of you and she intended to be top dog.”
Sam knew the shock on Daniella’s face was genuine. “I…I didn’t know,” she finally managed to say. “I hadn’t heard about her plans to open a bed-and-breakfast.”
“She would have been a tough competitor. She had plenty of money, and I figure it wouldn’t have been long before she put you right out of business,” Jim replied.
“Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with her murder?” Daniella jumped up out of her chair and faced the sheriff. “This is crazy. I had nothing to do with it. How could you even think such a thing?” She trembled with the force of her emotions, and her face paled even more.
“I’m sure the sheriff has other suspects,” Sam said, as he stepped closer to her.
“There have to be other suspects,” Daniella exclaimed. “Because I had nothing to do with this.”
“I’m just at the beginning of this investigation,” Jim said. “I just wanted to talk to you about this whole competing bed-and-breakfast thing.”
“You’d better be talking to somebody else because you’re wasting time talking to me,” Daniella replied. “I didn’t know about any plans Samantha had, and even if I did I wouldn’t have killed her.”
“I’ll see myself out,” Jim said. “I guess I don’t have to tell you not to leave town.” He didn’t wait for a reply but left the kitchen, and a moment later the front door slammed shut.
Daniella looked at Sam, her beautiful eyes filled with tears. She looked fragile, like she might fly into a million pieces, and before Sam recognized his intent he stepped forward and drew her into his arms.
She leaned into him, a trembling mass of tantalizing curves. Her hair smelled like a floral-scented summer breeze and he instantly realized his mistake in holding her so close.
She buried her face in the front of his T-shirt and released a deep, tremulous sigh as he patted her back awkwardly and tried to pretend he wasn’t aroused by her very nearness.
Finally she raised her head and looked up at him, her eyes dark with emotion. “I had nothing to do with this,” she said, her voice a half whisper.
“I know.” He dropped his arms from around her and took a step backward. Two words thundered in his brain.
For you.
For you.
He shoved his hands in his pockets as he held her gaze. “But I think it’s possible somebody you know did have something to do with it.” He didn’t think it was possible for blue eyes to go so dark, but hers were nearly black as she returned his gaze.
“The phone call,” she whispered, as if afraid to say the words out loud. She reached out and took his hands in hers. “Oh, Sam, what am I going to do?”
She squeezed his hands, and he felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach as he wondered how in the hell he was going to keep himself uninvolved from this crime and from this woman.
THIS WAS HER FAVORITE time of the day, when dinner was finished and the dishes were done and Daniella had a little downtime to enjoy.
As the day had worn on Daniella had almost managed to convince herself that she’d misunderstood the words the anonymous caller had said to her.
The voice had been strange and she’d had to strain to hear what he’d said. It was possible he’d only said something that sounded like for you.
She now sat on the front porch and watched Macy doing cartwheels across the lawn. The sun rode low in the sky, and the heat of the day had eased to a pleasant temperature, but her mind was far away from her daughter’s acrobatic skills and the weather.
She’d called Jim earlier in the day to tell him about the phone call, and as she’d explained it to him she’d thought she’d heard the sound of nails being driven into her coffin.
How could Jim believe that she had anything to do with Samantha’s murder? And how could she possibly believe that anyone close to her was capable of such a thing? It was too awful to even consider.
Most of the afternoon she’d thought about the supportive people in her life, and there was no way she could imagine any of them doing something so heinous. She’d known Frank and Jeff for years, and they’d never shown any hint that they were capable of such violence.
She smelled him before she saw him, that crisp, clean scent that tightened something in the pit of her stomach. She turned her head and smiled as Sam stepped out on the porch.
“How are you doing?” he asked, as he eased down into the wicker chair next to hers.
“Okay. I’ve spent most of the day thinking about everything, about who might be responsible for Samantha’s murder.”
“Did you come up with any answers?”
“No, but I can tell you this—Samantha wasn’t a popular woman in town. She had more money than she knew what to do with and never let anyone forget it. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but Samantha was a petty, mean