needed anything and then walked over to another customer.
Heather had never felt so alone. For a few long seconds she just sat there, trying to get her bearings, and wondered what she should do next. Maybe leave Sarasota Falls? Some secrets were best left buried. Stay? Find out if she had family? Well, she didn’t have to decide tonight.
It had been a long time since breakfast. Heather stabbed a piece of chicken-fried steak and brought the fork halfway to her mouth before freezing.
Chief Tom Riley came through the restaurant’s front door, and his eyes honed in on hers. He said something to Maureen, and then made his way over to stand in front of her.
“I just lost my appetite,” she said, putting her fork down.
* * *
“MAY I SIT?” He didn’t like asking permission. He wanted to sit, question...yes, even press. Yet, he had to watch his step, do this the right way.
“I really don’t feel like company,” she said.
“And I won’t be good company,” he responded. “But, there are a few things I still need to know. This—” he looked around the diner “—is as good a place as any.”
She didn’t protest, so he sat across from her, so close he could reach out and brush a finger down her cheek if he wanted. He didn’t want to, but did struggle to accept that she wasn’t Rachel. Everything but his memory of a face proved she wasn’t Rachel.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty-seven,” she responded.
“Born?”
“In Phoenix, Arizona.”
“I mean what year.”
She responded with the year and stared at him. In all the time he’d walked a beat, driven the streets, worked the desk and finally taken the job of chief, he’d never had a suspect so obviously wrong yet so right. He couldn’t stop looking at her, but he knew he needed to be professional, go with the idea that she indeed knew nothing.
Gain her trust.
Maureen bought over a cup of coffee, shot Heather a somewhat proprietary look and sweetly said to Tom, “Freshly made. I’ve already got Cook fixing your regular.”
He needed to talk to Maureen. He’d given her a ride home from work a few times when her car didn’t start. Seemed she was reading a bit more into the gesture than he’d intended. He should have noticed before.
“Thanks.” He took a long drink, closed his eyes and counted to ten. He was too close to this case, could blow it because of the kind of emotion he realized he had with respect to it. Opening his eyes, he said, “I’ve spent the last couple of hours investigating you, Heather Graves.”
She started to sputter her indignation, but he held up a hand, expecting her to stop. Most people would have, but she wasn’t most people. Freedom and an hour spent with Father Joe seemed to have loosened her tongue. “You have no right, no—”
He placed a folder on the table, opened it and withdrew two pictures. One, not flattering, was of her just a few hours ago. The other was of a woman, much younger, with darker blond hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones and a wide mouth. All similar to what Heather looked like, except she wore her hair short.
With two fingers, she drew the photos close to her, squinting as she studied both of them side by side. She started eating again, eliminating half her meal and saying nothing. His hamburger arrived and he took a bite, watching her brow furrow and a frown distort her features.
“I see the resemblance,” she admitted. “This could have been me when I was a teenager.”
“Rachel Ramsey was sixteen when this was taken nine years ago. It was her sophomore year at Sarasota Falls High School.”
“I would have been eighteen and finishing up high school. How come you’re not showing me her police photo?”
“We don’t have one. She was never arrested or charged with anything. She spent a year in foster care, but she was only seven.”
“Father Joe said she made a few poor choices. He didn’t get the chance to tell me what they were. Why don’t you tell me?”
Poor choices? Tom cleared his throat. “Father Joe likes to sugarcoat the truth.”
“He seems like a nice man.”
“He is, but he tends to get involved in situations that hinder more than help.”
“Like mine?”
“No, not really yours. If you’ve created a false identity, you’re out of my league of expertise. Every avenue I explore turns up viable. The man who owns the dental practice in Phoenix says he’d hire you back in a heartbeat. I even managed to call one of the parents who had a little boy in your mother’s childcare. She says her son loved you, and she described you perfectly.” He put his hamburger down, wishing he was better at showing emotion. “You lost your parents such a short time ago. I cannot even imagine the pain you must be in. I’m sorry.”
She blinked, then looked out the window as if the streetlights were the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen. Finally, she said, “You’re one hundred percent sure I’m not Rachel Ramsey?”
He wanted to answer with a firm “yes.” But he couldn’t, so he admitted, “I’m getting there. Sometimes, I’m a bit slow.”
“Father Joe said I looked like Rachel, but that he could tell the difference.”
“How?” Tom asked, amazed. The only tangible piece of evidence he couldn’t seem to wish away was Heather’s height, or lack of it.
“Before we could get much further into our conversation and I could ask him, he got a phone call. Someone passed away.”
“Who?”
“Lucille Calloway.”
Tom couldn’t help the “umph” that escaped his lips. He’d wanted justice for her, just like he’d wanted justice for Max. Now it was too late for either of them.
“Father Joe was telling me about her and Richard Welborn.”
Father Joe was a talker; most ministers were. As a matter of fact, Joe had been the minister who’d married Tom and Cathy ten years ago. He took his job seriously.
“I was heading to Welborn’s place when I pulled you over,” Tom confessed.
“Where’s it at?” Heather asked.
“Two-one-six Decator.”
She blinked again, looking somewhat taken aback and slightly guilty. Every time he thought he could wrap his mind around her not being Rachel, something spooked him. “You know it?” he asked.
“I drove by it right before you pulled me over.” She pushed the photos back to him, her face wary and full of distrust. If he wasn’t careful, she’d leave, and he had so much he
