Confessing to the Cowboy. Carla Cassidy
Читать онлайн книгу.
two women got back to work preparing for the lunch rush to come. Joe Lina, the mailman, arrived with a pile of mail for Mary. “I’ve got a fistful of things for you today,” he said as he set the pile on the counter.
“Catalogs and bills,” Mary replied. “That’s all I ever get.”
“My wife gets dozens of catalogs in the mail. She says looking through them is her favorite hobby. Sometimes she finds something she wants to order and usually has to send it back for some reason or another, but mostly she just looks.”
“Most of the catalogs I get are advertising new restaurant equipment that I either can’t afford or don’t want or need. But it is fun to thumb through them,” Mary agreed.
Joe waved a goodbye and Mary carried her mail to the coffee table in her living room and then returned to the café.
Lunchtime came and went and it was about three when Mary poured herself a cup of coffee and sank down on a stool behind the counter to rest her feet for a few minutes.
Deputy Ben Temple was the only customer in the place at the moment. He sat at a table for two against the far wall, a cup of coffee at his elbow and the morning newspaper spread out in front of him. He’d been there through breakfast and lunch and she knew he’d probably be there through dinner, as well. In fact, she had a feeling that he’d be a permanent fixture in the café until the murderer was behind bars.
He’d not only watched every person who walked through the café door, he’d also interviewed each of the three waitresses working that day, asking if they had anyone in their lives who didn’t appreciate the fact that they were waitressing. Apparently he hadn’t gotten any shocking answers from anyone, for he remained seated and hadn’t used his cell phone to contact anyone.
She sipped her coffee and thought about the customers she considered regulars. Joe Lina rarely missed a meal here, but despite his unpleasant nature there was no way she could believe the old man capable of killing anyone.
Although the theory was that Candy Bailey’s killer had walked in through the front door either invited or not invited, the killer had gotten to the other two women by climbing through windows. In Shirley Cook’s case, the window had been unlocked. She wasn’t sure if that had been the case with Dorothy.
Whoever it was had to be agile and move with an almost inhuman stealth. George Wilton was definitely on her “no way” list.
As the dinner rush began around five she wasn’t surprised to see Cameron walk back through the door. She also wasn’t surprised at how her wayward heart leaped at the sight of him.
Sometimes in the evenings when they sat alone and talked, she found herself wondering what those lips of his would feel like against her own, how they would feel trailing a slow path of kisses along her jawline and down the length of her neck. She found herself wondering what it would be to wake up in the morning and have his big, strong body curled around hers.
As he hung up his hat and then walked toward her, his eyes glimmered with a warmth that threatened to pull her in, but she steeled herself against it...against him.
“Coffee?” she asked as he slid into his usual stool.
He shook his head. “No thanks, I’m all coffeed out.” He shrugged off his thick jacket and hung it on the back of his stool. “I think we’re in for an early winter. The wind is blowing so cold and I swear I smell snow in the air.”
“Then how about a cup of hot cocoa instead?” she asked. He looked tired, dispirited and her need to comfort him was strong. The only way she knew to do that was through food or drink. She didn’t dare attempt any other way to give him comfort.
“Actually, a cup of cocoa sounds great, along with a little inside information.”
She eyed him curiously. She served his cocoa, pulled up a stool on the opposite side of the counter and watched as he drew the cup to his mouth, took a sip and then quickly licked his upper lip for any errant chocolate residue.
“Inside information?” she prompted him, not wanting to focus on his sinfully sexy lips.
He glanced around, obviously grateful that the café was just beginning to get busy and nobody had yet to sit on the stools on either side of him.
“A little earlier Adam and I worked up a list of some of the newer members of the community and a few of the locals that bounced around in our heads. I’d just like to get your general impression of them.”
She nodded, eager to help but unsure that she could. “Okay, but you understand I only have a limited time with most of the people who come in here to eat, and most of the time they are on their best behavior.”
“Understood, but it’s possible you know more about your customers than you realize.” He took another sip of his cocoa and then leaned forward. “Thomas Manning,” he said.
She frowned as she thought of the middle-aged man who came in every couple of days for dinner. “I don’t know much about him at all. He always comes in alone, he brings a book with him and reads while he eats.”
“Doesn’t visit much with anyone?” Cameron asked.
“Not really. He pretty much keeps to himself, but he’s always pleasant to anyone who speaks to him and none of the waitresses have ever complained about him.”
“John and Jeff Taylor.”
Mary couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips when she thought of the two young twins. “I know they were raised by their mother someplace back East after their mother and father divorced when they were five years old. When their father, Jonathon Taylor, died, he left them his ranch just outside of town.” She shrugged. “They seem like nice young men trying to fit into a lifestyle that’s a bit alien to them. Jeff is quieter than John, but both of them seem like good people.”
She watched him take another sip of his cocoa, aware of the growing crowd of people filling the café. “I’m assuming Brandon Williams isn’t on your list of suspects.” Brandon had moved to Grady Gulch about six months before. He was a big veteran confined to a motorized scooter. Scars marred his face and he was missing facial hair and was bald, yet his pleasant personality made him a favorite among the waitresses.
“Physically Williams is a write-off, as are several other men in town. The man or woman we’re seeking is physically fit and filled with some crazy compulsion to kill waitresses. So far we haven’t found any other solid connection between the three women other than the fact that they all worked here for you.”
“So, you’re fairly sure it’s somebody who has a personal grudge against me or the café,” Mary said, fighting off a new shiver that threatened to stalk up her back.
“Trust me, that’s something uppermost in my mind.” His eyes turned the soft golden green that made her want to both fall toward him and run away from him at the same time. “I need a list from you of every vendor, repair company or anyone else you have contact with for the café business.”
“There aren’t many, but I can have it for you by tomorrow,” she replied.
At that moment Rusty called to her from the kitchen. “This is really a bad time to have a long discussion,” she said as she got up from her stool. “The dinner rush is heating up. Will you be stopping by later tonight?”
He frowned. “Doubtful. I’ve got a meeting with Mayor Davidson at eight and I don’t know how long I’ll be with Dorothy’s sister.”
“Dell giving you a hard time?” she asked as she thought of the young mayor who had been elected two years before.
“He’s been okay until this last one, but he’s more than a little frantic right now. I just wish I had some information to let him know we’re on top of this.” He got up and grabbed his jacket. “Go on,” he said as Rusty called for her again. “I’ll catch up with you sometime tomorrow.”
Mary watched him shrug on his