Scene Of The Crime: The Deputy's Proof. Carla Cassidy
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had possessed the nerve to go down there and explore on her own. It must have been frightening the first time she’d decided to drop down that hole and follow the tunnel.
When they came back up in her backyard, the July sun and humidity were relentless. He hadn’t realized how much cooler the tunnels had been until now.
“Come on inside and I’ll get us something cold to drink,” she said without enthusiasm.
It wasn’t the best invitation he’d ever gotten from a woman, but he was hot and thirsty, and they weren’t finished with their business yet.
Once inside, he sat in the same chair at the table where he’d sat the night before. She went to the cabinet and pulled down two glasses.
She turned to look at him, her eyes dull and lifeless. “Sweet tea okay?”
“Anything cold is fine,” he replied.
She opened the refrigerator and poured the tea. She then carried the glasses to the table and sat across from him. Her eyes were now dark pools of aching sadness, so aching that he couldn’t stand to look at them.
He took a sip of the cold tea and then stared down into the glass. “You know I can’t keep this a secret,” he finally said.
“I know you can’t keep it a secret forever,” she replied.
He gazed at her, and this time in her eyes he saw a tiny spark of life, of hope. He steeled himself for the argument he had a feeling was about to happen.
God, it just took that single spark in her eyes for him to remember the woman she’d been, and he couldn’t help the swift curl of heat that warmed his belly. It was a heat of the visceral attraction he’d forgotten had once existed where she was concerned.
“Give me one more night,” she said. “Just let me have one more walk before you tell anyone about the tunnels.” She leaned forward, her eyes now positively glowing with focus. “One final walk, Josh. At least let me have that before it all blows up.”
“Savannah...”
“Those tunnels have been a secret for who knows how long,” she said, interrupting him. “Can’t you just keep them a secret for another week or so?”
He told himself it was too big, that he should report on what he’d found out immediately. He sat up straighter in his chair, determined to do the right thing, and then she surprised him. She reached across the table and covered one of his hands with hers.
“Please, Josh, all I’m asking for is a week. I can do a final ghost walk next Friday night, and then you can tell whoever you want about the tunnels.”
Her hand was warm, almost fevered over his, and for just a moment, as he stared into the dark pools of her eyes, he forgot what they’d been talking about.
He mentally shook himself and pulled his hand from beneath hers. Duty battled with the desire to do something for her, something to make up for letting her down two years before when he should have chosen real justice over his job.
He took another drink of tea and then stood. He needed to think, and at the moment he was finding it difficult to think rationally.
“I assume you’re working your usual shift tonight at the inn?” He moved toward the back door. He needed to get away from her winsome eyes, the floral scent of her that filled his head.
“Eleven to seven,” she replied. “Why?”
“I need to think about everything. I won’t say anything to anyone today, and I’ll stop by the Pirate’s Inn tonight sometime during my shift and let you know what I’ve decided to do.”
She opened her mouth as if to make one more plea, but closed it and nodded. “Then I guess I’ll see you sometime tonight.”
He left her house and walked around to his car. No patrol car today, just a nice red convertible sports car that most women would definitely consider a boy toy.
He’d bought the car a year ago, and the day he signed the ownership papers, his head had been filled with the memory of his twin brother, Jacob.
When the two boys had been growing up, they’d dreamed of owning a car like this...flashy and fast and nothing like the old family car their parents had driven. That old car had been held together by string and hope because new cars cost money the Griffin family didn’t have.
Driving to his house, he once again thought about the surprising discovery of the tunnels. The presence of them had been such a shock. Had they been made by pirates who were rumored to have used the Lost Lagoon town as a base camp? Would there be treasures and artifacts in one of those passageways that would identify who had made them and why?
It was much easier to think about the tunnels than about the woman he’d just left. But thoughts of Savannah intruded. Of the two sisters, he’d always thought she was the prettiest. She was softer, a little bit shyer than Shelly, but she’d drawn Josh to her.
She’d had a smile that lit up her face and made it impossible not to smile back at her. He wondered if she had smiled at all in the last two years.
He pulled into the driveway of his three-bedroom ranch house. He’d bought the house when it was just a shell and had added amenities like an extra-long whirlpool tub for a tall man to relax in and a walkout door from the bedroom to a private patio. He’d also put in all the bells and whistles in the kitchen area. He’d been told by the builder that it would be good for resale value.
The cost of living in Lost Lagoon was relatively low, and his salary was good, as few lawmen would choose to spend their careers in a small swamp town.
When he got inside, he sat at his kitchen table with a bottle of cold beer, and once again his head filled with visions of Savannah.
One week. That was all she’d asked for. Just seven days. But was it even right for him to indulge her in one more ghost walk? Wasn’t it better just to end it all now and hope that she got some sort of help for the grief that had obviously held her in its grip for far too long?
And what if Sheriff Trey Walker found out that he’d known about the tunnels and hadn’t come forward immediately? Trey was a tough guy who demanded 100 percent loyalty from his men. Would Josh be putting his job on the line to give Savannah what she’d asked for?
He took a long sip of his beer and reviewed his options—none of which he liked.
Savannah stood behind the reception desk in the large quiet lobby of the Pirate’s Inn. The inn had two stories, and the centerpiece of the lobby was a huge, tacky treasure chest that the inn’s owner, Donnie Albright, had been repainting for the last couple of weeks.
He’d finished the six-foot-tall chest itself, painting it a bright gold, but he still had to spruce up the oversized papier-mâché and Styrofoam jewels and strings of pearls that filled the chest.
He was also in the process of re-carpeting the guest rooms, all in anticipation of the amusement park that had bought land and was building on a ridge above the small city.
Most of the businesses were eager for the park to be done, knowing that it would bring in tourists who would shop and spend their money in town. There were plenty of people in town who wanted Lost Lagoon to be “found” and hoped that would happen with the large amusement park under construction nearby.
At the moment, the last thing on Savannah’s mind was the new pirate-themed park. It was a little after 2:00 a.m., and Josh hadn’t come in yet to tell her his decision about giving her one final walk before telling other people about the tunnels.
She sat in a raised chair and began to doodle on a notepad. There was only one couple staying in the inn tonight. Beth and Greg Hemming stayed in a room at the inn once a month. They had four children, all under the age of six, and Savannah suspected the