initial flutter of apprehension at facing Kathy evaporated in a flash of anger. She held her badge in front of Kathy’s face.
“Sorry, Kathy. FBI. Please step back.”
“Who the hell are you?” Kathy nervously flicked ash off her cigarette.
“Special Agent Laurel Gillespie.” She met Kathy’s hard green gaze and was rewarded by a look of frank shock.
Just as Fred Evans walked up, Kathy recovered.
“You have got to be kidding.” She tried to sidestep Laurel.
“Hold it, Kathy,” Officer Evans said, taking her arm.
Kathy looked down at his hand. “You don’t want to do that, Fred.”
Laurel frowned. Were Kathy’s words slurred? She’d smelled the booze on her breath. But was she really drunk at just after eight in the evening?
“One word to Harrison and you—” Kathy pointed her cigarette at Fred, “will be facing assault charges.” That came out as ashault sharges.
“Right.” His brown eyes twinkled as he glanced at Laurel. “Your husband’s a real estate attorney. Come on, let’s take you home. All the excitement’s over. I’ll tell Harrison to get you into bed.” He gestured to Officer Phillips.
“Oh, please, Fred. Harrison hasn’t gotten me into bed in two years.”
“Shelton, walk Mrs. Adler home and make sure Harrison’s there. I’ll stay here in case the chief needs anything else.”
Phillips led Kathy away.
Laurel didn’t have any more trouble, although several more people she’d known in high school showed up. Obviously, word still spread as fast as it always had in Dusty Springs.
Within a couple of minutes, the EMTs rolled Misty out on a gurney. Fred and Phillips and a couple of guys they’d recruited kept the rubberneckers at bay as the EMTs loaded Misty into the ambulance.
Static erupted from Fred’s radio. He listened, said something, and then walked up the steps.
“I’ve got everything under control out here, Agent Gillespie,” Fred said. “Chief Dupree wants you inside.”
“Thanks. But please call me Laurel. It’s good to see you. So you’re working with Cade now.”
He chuckled and nodded. “Yep. Worked for his dad and now for him. Kind of a tradition in Dusty Springs I guess.”
“How is Debra?”
His chuckle faded. “She’s fine. Cade’s waiting for you.”
Laurel thanked him again and went inside. The living room’s overhead light was on. It spotlighted the scrapbooks and photo albums that were torn and tossed all over the floor amidst dozens of loose photos and piles of books.
Somebody had been looking for something, and Laurel was afraid she knew what it was. The question was, had they found it?
Cade’s head turned a few degrees. “I guess you’re here for the reunion. You were in Misty’s class, right? How’d you happen to turn up just in time?”
He faced the back of the couch, looking down at the spot where Misty had lain. Laurel had her first fully lighted view of him.
Her mouth went dry and her throat fluttered, just like in high school. Most of the girls in Dusty Springs would have given their eyeteeth for a smile from his brother James, but it was Cade who’d always been able to stop her heart.
He filled up the room, just like he always had. He’d never been as big or tall as James. And while James’s sparkling personality and talent in sports made him the envy of every guy and the heartthrob of every girl in town, Laurel had always preferred Cade’s quiet good looks and shy smile.
She blinked, and the image of the boy turned into the reality of the man.
He stood, legs hip-width apart. Worn, perfectly fitting jeans emphasized his buttocks and muscled thighs. His fists were propped on his hips, which pulled the cotton of his Ole Miss T-shirt tight across his back. Under his baseball cap, his brown hair was dark with sweat.
He was surveying the crime scene, which was what she should be doing.
She forced her gaze away from him and looked at the floor where Misty had lain. Her brain queued up a stop-action movie of the crime, based on Misty’s position, the blood spatter and the condition of the house.
She put herself into the head of the attacker. I sneak up behind Misty and hit her while she’s sitting on the couch.
No. If Misty had been sitting, she’d have slumped over onto the couch, not fallen on the floor in front of it.
Cade turned his head and pinned her with his electric-blue gaze. “My question wasn’t rhetorical.”
She forced herself not to look away. “I didn’t think it was. What do you think about her position on the floor?”
“I asked you first.”
“Fair enough.” She stepped closer. “Yes, I’m here for the reunion. I flew in to Memphis this afternoon and drove straight here.”
“Flew in from where?”
“D.C. I work at FBI Headquarters. I’m a criminologist with the Division of Unsolved Mysteries.”
His gaze sharpened, but all he did was nod.
“Misty invited me to stay with her. I tried to call her several times, on her cell and her home phone, but she never answered, which was odd since she’d made me promise to call. I pulled into her driveway at 8:03 p.m. Rang her bell, knocked on the door, then drew my weapon and turned the knob. It was unlocked.”
Cade turned around and crossed his arms. “You said that. Do you know how unlikely that is? Misty’s—”
“Borderline agoraphobic. I know.” She nodded. “Not to mention a tad obsessive-compulsive. Even in grade school she couldn’t stand to be inside a house alone with the doors unlocked.”
“Which means either she let someone in or they picked the lock.”
“That lock’s at least sixty years old. It could probably be opened with a credit card.”
“So you walked into a dark house that you knew shouldn’t be unlocked, not knowing whether you’d find a burglar, a murderer or a rapist?”
“Or my best friend from high school.” Laurel kept her expression neutral, but it was an effort. “I’m a trained agent with field and crime-scene experience. I know how to enter a suspicious dwelling.”
His face darkened. “Without backup?”
Laurel shrugged. She knew he was right to question her, but she wasn’t wrong. Not totally. She let it drop. “So what do you think about her position?”
“Someone
