Scene Of The Crime: Means And Motive. Carla Cassidy
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He held the coffee cup out to her and she took it with a murmured thanks. Then he returned to the chair next to her. “I don’t know how much you know about what’s going on here.”
“No real specifics. I was only told that there have been three murders here, the most recent victim discovered yesterday morning.”
He nodded. “Sandy Peters. She was thirty-four years old and a mystery writer. According to the owners of the resort, she came here every year in January to spend a couple of weeks holed up and writing.”
“Married? Divorced?”
“Single, and according to everyone I spoke to yesterday who was close to her, she wasn’t dating anyone,” he replied. “Besides, she was killed in the same manner as the other two victims.”
“Stabbed to death,” Jordon said.
“That’s right. My investigation hasn’t turned up anything the three victims have in common other than they were all guests here at Diamond Cove at the time of their deaths. In fact, they were the only guests here at the time when they were killed.”
Jordon took a sip of the coffee and leaned back in the chair. The warmth and scent of the fire combined with the deep smooth tone of his voice would make it easy to be lulled into a semicoma if they weren’t talking about murder.
She leaned forward and caught a whiff of his pleasant, woodsy-scented cologne. “So, this doesn’t sound like it’s about any specific victimology, but tell me about the other victims anyway.”
“The first one was twenty-five-year-old Samantha Kent. She and her husband had rented a suite just before Thanksgiving to celebrate their first wedding anniversary. She was stabbed to death on a trail near their cabin on a Tuesday morning.”
He grimaced and then continued. “The second victim, Rick Sanders, booked a room a week before Christmas. He was found stabbed in the guest shed. Samantha was a schoolteacher from Kansas City. Rick was a restaurant owner from Dallas who had come here to check out some of the local food. Sandy was from St. Louis.”
Jordon was impressed by how easily he rattled off the pertinent information of each victim without any notes. It meant he’d embraced the victims. They weren’t just dead bodies to him... They were people. She liked that.
She took another sip of her coffee as he continued. “When Samantha was found on the trail, the first person we looked at hard was her husband, Eric. But he had a solid alibi. He’d been here having breakfast with the owners when she was killed and I could find no motive for him wanting her dead.”
“What was she doing outside all alone?” Jordon asked, mentally taking notes of all the information he was giving to her.
“She was an amateur photographer...a nature buff, and according to her husband, she’d decided to skip breakfast on that particular morning to take some photographs. She had a quick cup of coffee here with the owners and her husband to start the day and then she left by herself.”
“Who found her body?”
“Billy Bond, the groundskeeper. When he found her she was still breathing but unconscious and bleeding out. She died on the way to the hospital. According to the doctor, she had been attacked only minutes before she was discovered.”
“So, the killer is probably local and you have no clue as to the motive,” Jordon said.
Gabriel’s lips thinned slightly. “No clue as to who or why. I guess that’s why Mayor Stoddard thought it was important to bring in the big guns.”
A small laugh escaped her despite the obvious displeasure on his face. “Don’t worry, Chief Walters. This gun doesn’t intend to get in your way. You’re the big Uzi and I’m just a little backup handgun.”
She held back a sigh. She’d been here only half an hour and already the very hot chief of police appeared to be attempting to engage her in a spitting match.
* * *
SHE DIDN’T INTEND to get in his way.
But something about FBI Special Agent Jordon James was already under his skin.
As Gabriel led her out of the main cabin and toward the smaller cabins so that she could see each of the crime scenes, his gut twisted tight in frustration.
He hadn’t been happy when the mayor had insisted they get help from the FBI, even in just an advisory position. He’d taken it as a vote of no confidence from the man who was his boss.
Jordon James had said nothing out of line. She’d been a complete professional so far, but while they’d talked he’d had some very unprofessional thoughts roll through his head.
She was strikingly pretty with her short curly dark hair and green eyes that sparked not only a keen intelligence, but with what he sensed was also a glimmer of humor.
When she’d shrugged out of her coat it had been impossible not to notice the length of her legs encased in the tight black slacks and the thrust of her full breasts against the white cotton of her blouse. Even the holster around her waist didn’t detract from her innate femininity.
He’d been living and breathing murder since the first body had been found here almost three months ago. His instant, sharp physical attraction to Jordon had momentarily shaken him.
He now followed her up the wooden stairs that led to the ridge where the cabins were located. At least out here in the cold air he couldn’t smell the enticing flowery perfume that had permeated the air the moment she’d sat next to him in the dining room.
She reached the top of the ridge and turned back to wait for him. When he joined her he pointed to a small structure just to the right.
“That’s the guest shed where Rick Sanders was found.” She fell into step next to him as they approached the building where a cheerful hand-painted Welcome sign hung over the door.
They stepped inside to the tinkle of a little bell, and even though he’d been in the shed at least twenty times since the night that Rick’s body had been found, his gaze took everything in as if it was the very first time he’d been inside the small building.
A bifold door to the left hid a stackable washer and dryer. A round table and chairs to the right invited the guests to sit and relax. Beyond that was another closed door that led to a small storage room.
A counter held a fancy coffeemaker with a carousel of little flavored coffees, and beneath the counter, a glass-doored refrigerator displayed a variety of sodas and bottled water for the guests to enjoy at no cost.
“What a nice idea for the people staying here,” Jordon said.
Gabriel nodded, although his head filled with the vision of Rick Sanders dead on the floor, his back riddled with stab wounds. “He never saw what was coming. It appeared that he was standing in front of the coffeemaker waiting for a hot chocolate when he was attacked from behind.”
She looked up at the bell hanging over the doorway. “He didn’t hear it coming?”
“The bell wasn’t hung there until after his murder,” Gabriel explained. He watched Jordon closely as her narrowed gaze once again swept the room. He couldn’t help but notice the long length of her dark eyelashes and the slightly pouty fullness of her lips.
She opened the door to the storage room, where Gabriel knew the space held only cases of soda, boxes of the little coffee pods, paper napkins and other supplies.
“Okay,” she said and gazed at him with eyes that gave away nothing.
“See anything me and my men might have missed?”
“Yes. In fact, I think I’ve solved the case. It was Colonel Mustard in the library with a wrench,” she replied flippantly. He stared at her in stunned surprise. “Where to next?” she asked before he could even begin to formulate a response.
They exited the guest shed and he led her down a path