The Girl Who Cried Murder. Пола Грейвс
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His concerned expression had cleared completely, now that he’d gotten his way. “So I’ll pick you up about thirty minutes before class starts? I like to get there early and do some prep work, if that’s okay.”
“That’s fine,” she assured him, smiling again. “Do I need to bring anything besides me and my sparkling personality?”
He grinned. “That should be all you need. We’ll supply the rest.”
At her insistence, Mike let her pay for lunch. But he insisted on coming into her house with her instead of just dropping her off.
“You didn’t think someone was going to cut your brake line, either,” he argued when she told him he was being paranoid. “I’d like to be sure you’re not about to walk in on an intruder alone.”
Grimacing, Charlie gave in, hoping she hadn’t left the place in too much of a mess that morning. Fortunately, neither of her cats had pulled one of their insane stunts, such as trailing toilet paper around the house or dumping over all the potted plants.
The house was silent and still when they entered. No sign of intruders. And thanks to Mike’s presence, no sign of the cats, either, save for His Highness’s well-worn catnip mouse sitting in the middle of the living room floor.
“You have a pet?” Mike asked, picking up the toy.
“Two. Cats. Currently in hiding, since you’re here.”
He gave a nod of understanding.
A quick walk-through seemed to satisfy his need to play protector, and Charlie walked him to the door. “Thanks for your help this morning.”
“I’m glad I was able to help.” He looked up and down the street behind him, as if he expected trouble. But the street was as quiet and normal as the house. “See you tomorrow afternoon?”
“Yes. Thanks.”
“Lock the door behind me.” He started down the porch steps and crossed to his truck, turning as he reached the vehicle. “Lock the door, Charlie,” he repeated, nodding toward her.
She closed the door and engaged the lock as he asked.
But as the sound of the truck’s engine faded to silence, she realized she didn’t feel any safer.
* * *
MIKE PULLED OFF the road onto the gravel-paved scenic overlook and got out of the truck, pacing with restless energy to the steel railing that kept visitors from stepping off the edge of the bluff. He curled his fists around the top rail, ignoring the burn of the cold steel against his bare palms. If anything, the discomfort helped him focus his scattered thoughts.
Lunch with Charlie Winters hadn’t gone the way he’d expected. He’d figured her obvious shakiness after the near disaster with her car might have made her drop her guard. He could use her rattled state to coax a few secrets out of her, and then he’d have a better idea what her real agenda might be.
Instead, not only had she managed to keep all her secrets, he was now convinced she was hiding even more than he’d suspected.
And instead of probing her story, trying to break through her wall of protection, he’d just sat back and listened. Because he liked to hear her talk. He liked the soft twang of her Kentucky accent, the way her lips quirked when she shot him a quizzical smile. He liked the twinkle in her eyes when he said something she found amusing. He liked the way she smelled—clean and crisp, like a garden kissed by the morning sun.
And the fact that he could come up with a description as ridiculous as “a garden kissed by the morning sun” was why he felt as if he’d just walked into a booby trap and all that was left for him to do was curl up in a ball and wait for the explosion.
He took several deep breaths and gazed across the hazy blue mountains that stretched out for miles before the first sign of a town showed up in the distance. Maybe he was just making too much of the way Charlie was making him feel. It had been a while since he’d really let himself think about a woman as anything other than a fellow soldier or one of the faceless, nameless civilians his orders had required him to protect from the enemy.
After his career as a Marine had ended and he’d entered the civilian force, it had taken a while just to get back into the swing of a life that didn’t include gunfire, explosions and endless miles of dirt and sand. He hadn’t wanted to look within the walls of the academy for a woman to share his bed and he’d been so focused on his job that he hadn’t really looked outside the academy walls, either.
What he needed was a real date. A woman, a nice dinner, maybe some dancing or a movie. Ease into a love life again. No strings, no pressure. No bright hazel eyes making his stomach feel as if it were turning inside out.
Maybe Heller’s wife had a friend he could meet. Weren’t women always trying to fix up their husbands’ single friends?
He pulled out his phone to record a reminder to feel Iris Heller out about her single friends the next time he ran into her, but he saw there was a “missed call” message. It was from someone named Randall Feeney.
For a moment, he thought it must have been a wrong number. Then he remembered the phone call he’d made before he’d set out on his search for Charlie Winters. He took a chance and called Feeney back.
“Randall Feeney,” a man answered. In the background, Mike heard the low hum of voices and the ringing of phones—the sounds of a busy office.
“Mr. Feeney, this is Mike Strong from Campbell Cove Security Services. You just called my cell phone.”
“Right, because you called the campaign office wanting to talk to someone about Alice Bearden.” The man’s voice lowered a notch. “May I ask the reason for your interest?”
Mike had already prepared his answer, but he’d really hoped to talk to Craig Bearden himself. “I’d rather discuss it with Mr. Bearden.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Feeney said firmly. “However, I’m Mr. Bearden’s executive aide and a longtime friend of the family. If you have any questions about Alice or the tragedy of her death, I may be able to help you. But I’d prefer to meet in person. Can you be at the campaign headquarters in Mercerville tomorrow afternoon? Say, around three?”
“I’m sorry, I’ll be busy then. What about later today? Maybe around six?”
There was a brief pause before Feeney agreed. “Six is doable. I’ll meet you here at the campaign headquarters. Do you know where that is?”
“I do.” He’d looked up the address before he’d made the first call.
“I have to admit, however, I’m a little puzzled why someone from your company would have any interest in what happened to Alice,” Feeney added, sounding wary.
“It may have some bearing on a case we’re helping to investigate,” Mike said, keeping his tone noncommittal. “I’ll know more when we speak.”
“Very well, then. See you at six.” Feeney hung up without any further goodbye.
Mike pocketed his phone, feeling a little less rattled than before, now that he had a mission. He’d go talk to Randall Feeney, hear the story of Alice Bearden’s death from someone who, as Feeney had proclaimed, was close to the family. If anyone would know what role Charlie Winters might have had in the death of Alice, it would be Craig Bearden’s personal assistant.
Maybe Feeney could shed some much-needed light on what Charlie Winters really wanted from her self-defense classes at Campbell Cove Academy.
Then Mike could put the confounding woman out of his head for good.
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