was surprised when he came back and you weren’t in your truck, waiting for him. And worried. He tried to call you on your phone, but you didn’t answer. Then he started literally calling out for you, all around the exhibition hall, where you’d been located, and then outside.
“He got event security out searching for you. And then one of the searchers heard gunshots from this direction. Several people called in, reporting they’d heard gunfire, and I got here as quickly as I could.”
Melanie stared at him, trying to take in everything he was telling her. None of it seemed the slightest bit familiar. Moving slowly and feeling a little bit queasy, she once again reached her hand up to her head. “Have I been shot?”
Luke looked to the medic who’d been taking her initial assessment.
“Melanie, we need to roll you onto this backboard,” the medic said in response. “Once we get you checked out at the hospital, we’ll have all the facts.”
“I can probably walk,” she said.
“No, we don’t want you to do that,” he responded. “We don’t want you walking until we know the extent of your injuries.”
She turned to Luke as he slowly let go of her hand. “I need to get to work on finding out exactly what happened to you,” he said. “But first I have to ask, do you have any enemies? Anyone you think could have done this?”
“No.”
“Has anyone ever threatened to harm you? Kill you?”
“No.”
His questions seemed ridiculous. But then the seriousness of his line of reasoning began to sink in. Was it really possible someone had wanted to kill her? Why?
And if so she had no idea who that person might be. Which meant they could walk right up to her and try to kill her again. And the next time she might not be able to get away.
* * *
“Is this all you have for security footage of the parking lot?” Luke asked impatiently. “It’s not much help.”
“That’s all there is, Lieutenant.” Don Chastain, the chief of event security for the fairgrounds, rubbed his hand over the sprinkling of gray stubble on his chin. They were standing in his office.
“Luke, you’ve responded to calls here before,” Don added. “You know our biggest problem is geniuses trying to break into the exhibition halls or the main office, in the middle of the night, because they apparently think we store chests full of gold in there.” He shook his head. “Normally we just deal with your garden-variety foolishness. And drunk and disorderly, of course. We’ve never had to worry about people getting shot at before.”
Biting back his impatience Luke once again watched the shadowy, low-quality video of the parking lot. Just in case he’d missed something the other three times he’d watched it.
He hadn’t. The single fixed camera was focused on a section of the parking lot, far from the spot where Melanie Graham was seen standing beside the cab of her pickup truck, prior to the attack. The images didn’t show anything notable. Just people walking to their vehicles and leaving.
All right, that was a dead end. Time to try something different. Luke turned to the rail-thin eighteen-year-old kid standing a couple of feet away from him. Technically being eighteen made the guy a man. But dressed in an oversize green-and-white plaid flannel shirt and sharply creased blue jeans, sporting a big silver belt buckle, he really did look like a six-foot-tall boy.
“Peter, did you see anybody walking up to Ms. Graham when you left to get something to eat?”
“No, sir.”
“Any odd behavior on her part? Did she seem worried or nervous?”
Peter shook his head.
Luke was hoping to get some kind of lead quickly. Right now one team of deputies was searching through the woods, trying to pick up any trail of a fleeing perpetrator. A second team, together with two forensic specialists, was combing the area where Melanie Graham had been found.
Once Melanie had been driven away in the ambulance, Luke had gone looking for Peter. So far he was the closest thing Luke had to a witness. But the kid was understandably shaken up. Hoping he’d be able to offer some useful information once he’d calmed down, Luke had asked him to hang around for a bit.
“I guess the guy got away with all Ms. Graham’s money,” Peter said, shaking his head sadly.
“It wasn’t a robbery,” Luke said. Or if it was meant to be a robbery, it wasn’t successful. Melanie’s purse had been recovered from her truck, complete with her wallet, phone and about forty dollars in cash. He’d seen it for himself, and he’d tucked the purse beside her, on the backboard, after she’d been loaded into the ambulance.
“So, I guess that means you found the lockbox?” Peter asked, raising his eyebrows hopefully.
“What lockbox?”
“A blue metal box she had on the front seat of the truck.”
Luke had looked through the truck and arranged for both the truck and trailer to be securely stored at the fairgrounds until Melanie could have someone come get them. The trailer had been closed up, with padlocks threaded through the door latches, and there was no sign that anyone had tried to break into it.
“What did she keep in the lockbox?” Luke asked. “Money? Her receipts for the day’s sales?”
“Yes,” Peter said. “She also put some of her more expensive jewelry in there. The things she made out of gold. There’s not very much of that. Most of it is silver.”
If the thief tried to pawn the stolen jewelry, that would give them the start of a lead on who they were looking for.
Maybe what happened to Melanie Graham tonight was a simple strong-arm robbery, but it seemed odd. There were several other vendors who would have pulled in a lot more money, particularly the food-and-drink sellers, who typically dealt in cash.
There was that small window of opportunity when Peter went to get food and Melanie was left alone, but who would have known she’d have cash and be by herself at that exact moment?
So, what might have happened? Somebody walked by at just the right time, saw their opportunity and tried to rob her? She grabbed the box and ran, and they chased her and then shot at her? For an unknown amount of money? With witnesses around?
That was hard to believe. But anything was possible. And he really wanted to catch whoever had done this.
Luke had spent a few years in the military. He’d been injured several times. Been knocked unconscious twice. He knew what it was like to open your eyes and be disoriented. It was a hollow, lonely feeling. He’d recognized that lost feeling in her eyes. He’d been relatively fortunate with his own injuries, and his disorientation hadn’t lasted for long. He hoped the same was true for her.
He pulled out his phone and punched in the number for a deputy working the crime scene in the woods. “Any chance you’ve found a blue metal lockbox?” he asked when the deputy answered.
“No.
