have a reservation at Willow Brook Motel in Springville, since I’ll be staying until after the arraignment, probably longer. I may as well go check in.”
She caught an expression of distaste on his face. Was he really that bothered by her presence? “Something wrong?”
He shrugged. “Not if you like faux Pennsylvania Dutch tourist traps. You might be more comfortable at one of the local bed-and-breakfasts, or at the Springville Inn.”
Was that really all that was behind his reaction? She couldn’t trust anything he said, knowing he’d already lied to her once.
“I’ll be fine. After all, I’m here on business, not a vacation.”
They had reached the ground floor of the building, and Trey continued walking with her down the hall toward the parking lot in the rear where she’d left her car. They were alone, doors closed on both sides of them. This might be the best chance she’d have to confront him.
“Tell me something,” she said abruptly.
He halted, looking down at her with a quizzical expression. “What?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you own the barn where Cherry Wilson was found dead?”
If she expected an explosion in return, she didn’t get it. Trey simply looked blank for a moment.
“Didn’t I?” He frowned. “Maybe I didn’t. I suppose I didn’t think it that important.”
“Not important that the murder happened in your barn? Do you really expect me to buy that?”
His face hardened at her tone. “I’m not sure what to expect from you, Counselor. But that happens to be the truth. And it’s not exactly ‘our’ barn. Our barn is the one behind our house.”
“But you own it. The police had to have questioned you about that.”
“They did.” He bit off the words. “I didn’t even realize the crime happened on a piece of land our corporation owns until they brought it up. I told them just what I’m telling you. The barn where Cherry was found is on an abandoned farm my father bought years ago, miles from our place. Anyone could have had access to it.”
“That person would have to know it was there, and that he could get in.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Meaning Thomas? That’s what the police think, I suppose. But almost anyone in the township might know as much. Country people are aware of things like that.”
“You said it was abandoned. Doesn’t anyone use it?” Her suspicions couldn’t be allayed that easily.
“No one, much of the time. A neighboring farmer sometimes uses it for storage, but I don’t think he has anything in it right now.”
“So you just let it sit there.”
“Believe it or not, we do. The land is too cut up to be good farmland, but eventually it may be ripe for development. Look, this is not really that unusual, no matter how it might seem to you. That land is one small parcel out of hundreds of acres Morgan Enterprises owns in the county. A large part of our business is involved in real estate. I don’t necessarily know the details of every parcel. Naturally I looked it up, once the police told me.”
“I see.” Did that make sense? She supposed so. It would be like expecting her father to know instantly the status of every investment in his portfolio, she’d guess. “Does your mother know?”
“I didn’t tell her. It would just make her feel more responsible.”
“She might easily find it out. It’s been in at least one of the newspaper reports.”
“If and when she does, I’ll deal with it.” He started walking. “Look, I’m not going to keep trying to convince you. Either you accept my word or not.”
She trailed after him to the door, fighting with herself. She wanted to believe him, and the strength of that feeling dismayed her. Trey hadn’t given her much of a reason to trust him.
He held the door for her, and she went through it without speaking. She took a few steps and stopped dead.
“My car…” It sank to the pavement, both tires flat on the side facing her. Anger flickered through her. She hurried to the car, circling it. Not just two. All four tires were flat.
Her breath caught. A knife stuck out of the front tire on the driver’s side, piercing a piece of paper.
Trey grasped her arm, the warmth and strength of his hand penetrating the sleeve of her jacket. “Wait. Let me take a look.”
She shook herself free, bending to read what was scrawled on the paper. Go back where you belong. The words were followed by an ugly obscenity.
She started to reach for it, but Trey caught her hand, holding it as firmly as he’d gripped her arm. A wave of warmth went through her. She wanted to lean on him, to rely on him. But she couldn’t, because he might be the very person responsible for this.
THE POLICE HAD COME, had taken statements and photographs, and gone again. Trey leaned against his truck, watching Jessica, who in turn watched the garage mechanic now circling her car, shaking his head and clucking softly.
Jessica had surprised him a little by her seeming reluctance to call the police at their discovery. He’d done it for her, and she hadn’t liked that, either. Face it, she wasn’t going to like anything he did.
He pushed himself away from the truck, feeling a little reluctance of his own. This situation was spinning rapidly out of control. Despite the ugly crowd at the jail, he hadn’t expected outright vandalism, and the sight of that knife sticking out of the tire had twisted his stomach.
Jessica had turned to him in her shock and distress—for about half a second. Then she’d pulled away, determined to stand on her own. An admirable quality, he supposed, but in this case…well, he wasn’t sure what he thought.
The destructive act had sickened him, but looking at it in a hardheaded way, it could get him what he wanted. It could make Jessica think twice about this case.
He approached, noticing the way her shoulders stiffened as he neared. “I’ll drive you to the jail. You’ll be late if you wait until they get the tires on.”
She gave him a wary look that seemed to put him at a distance. “It might be better if I stayed with my car. Apparently it’s not safe in your municipal lot.”
“Not ‘my’ lot,” he said mildly. “Hey, Tom.” He raised his voice. “How long is this going to take?”
Tom, owner of Tom’s Garage, shoved his ball cap back and scratched his head. “I got Tom Junior bringing the tires over now. Shouldn’t be more’n an hour, I’d say.” His round, mild face puckered into a frown. “Nasty business. Gives the town a bad name, somethin’ like that.”
“It does,” he agreed. That was the attitude he hoped for from folks around here. “I need to take Ms. Langdon over to the jail on King Street for a meeting. You mind dropping the car over there when you’re done?”
“Sure
