Scene Of The Crime: Means And Motive. Carla Cassidy
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“A few people come to mind.”
She set the suitcase she carried down and retrieved the room key from her pocket. Although she was intrigued by any suspects he might have in mind, at the moment all she wanted to do was get out of the frigid night air.
She sighed in relief as she stepped into the warm room. Gabriel followed her just inside the door and set her suitcase on the floor. She shrugged out of her coat, flipped the switch that made the flames in the fireplace jump to life and then turned back to look at him. “So who are these people who come to mind?”
“Actually, I’d rather not get into all that tonight. It’s getting late and I’ll just let you get settled in. Why don’t I meet you in the dining room at seven tomorrow morning and we can discuss it more then.”
It was only eight o’clock, hardly a late night, but it was obvious by the rigid set of his shoulders and how close he stood to the door that he wasn’t comfortable having a long conversation in the intimacy of the room.
Maybe he had a wife to get home to, she thought, although there was no wedding ring on his finger. She pegged him in his midthirties, certainly not only old enough to be married, but also to have some children running around.
“Okay, then I guess I’ll see you in the morning,” she said. “Oh, and one more thing. If it’s possible, I’d like to have a car at my disposal while I’m here.”
He gave a curt nod. “I’ll see to it that you have one first thing in the morning. And we should exchange cell phone numbers.” He pulled his phone from his pocket.
With her number in his phone and his in hers, Gabriel stared at her for a long moment. “You know I don’t approve of you staying here. You need to call me immediately if you feel uncomfortable here or believe you’re in any kind of danger.”
The only danger at the moment was the possibility of getting lost in the simmering depths of his eyes. She’d watched those blue eyes through the course of the evening. She wondered if he had any idea how expressive they were.
As she’d spoken to the Overtons, his eyes had alternately radiated with a soft sympathy and a deep frustration. It was only when he gazed at her that they became utterly shuttered and unfathomable.
“Jordon?” he said, pulling her from her momentary contemplation.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine.” Her hand fell to the butt of her gun to emphasize her point. “Good night, Chief Walters. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He gave her a curt nod and then left the room. Jordon locked the door behind him. There was no dead bolt, only the simple lock in the doorknob. Apparently security had never been a real issue before the murders. She was vaguely surprised dead bolts hadn’t been installed since then.
She sank down on the chair next to the fireplace, her thoughts consumed by the man who had just taken his bedroom eyes and his heady woodsy scent with him.
She had no idea how well they were going to work together. She wasn’t sure yet how open he was to hearing anything she might have to say about the cases. But the bottom line was she had a job to do and she would do her best with or without his cooperation.
She pulled herself up off the chair and opened one of the suitcases on the bed. It took her only minutes to unpack and then place her toiletries in the bathroom.
She set up her laptop computer on the small coffee table in front of the fireplace and for the next half hour typed in notes and impressions while things were still fresh in her mind.
By the time she finished, she was still too wound up even to think about going to sleep. She should just pull her nightgown on and go to bed, but she had a feeling she would just stare at the dark ceiling while sleep remained elusive.
Although the idea of going outside in the cold night air was abhorrent, she pulled on her coat and snow boots with the intention of retrieving one of the flavored coffees that tasted like dessert from the guest shed.
The path to the shed was lit by small solar lights in the ground, and despite the frosty air, she kept her coat open and her hand on the butt of her gun. The night was soundless, the eerie quiet that thick snow cover always brought.
All of her senses went on high alert. There was no way she intended to be careless on her first night or any other night she stayed here.
A faint scent of pine lingered in the air and she noticed through the bare trees that the main building was dark. She was all alone on the Diamond Cove grounds.
When she reached the guest shed and stepped inside, a light blinked on and the bell tinkled overhead. She made sure the door was closed firmly behind her and then checked behind the door that hid the washer and dryer to make sure nobody was hiding there. She then moved to the storage room. With her gun in her hand, she threw open the door and breathed a small sigh of relief.
Assured that she was alone, she picked out a chocolate-flavored coffee, placed it in the coffee machine and then faced the door as she waited for the foam cup to fill.
This was what poor Rick Sanders had done. He’d come in here seeking a nice cup of hot chocolate and instead had ended up stabbed viciously in the back.
When the coffeemaker whooshed the last of the liquid into the foam cup, she turned and grabbed it and went back out into the quiet of the night.
She was halfway to her cabin when the center of her back began to burn and she had the wild sense that somebody was watching her.
She whirled around, her sudden movement sloshing hot coffee onto her hand as she gripped the butt of her gun with the other. Nobody. There was nobody on the path behind her.
There was no sound, no sign of anyone sharing the night with her. She hurried the rest of the way to her room, unlocked her door and went back inside. She set her coffee on the low table in front of the fireplace and then moved the curtain at the window aside to peer out.
Despite the fact that she saw nothing to cause her concern, she couldn’t shake the feeling that somebody had been out there, somebody who had been watching her...waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.
* * *
GABRIEL WAS UP before dawn, his thoughts shooting a hundred different directions and making any further sleep impossible. He got out of bed, pulled a thick black robe around him and then padded into the kitchen to make coffee.
As it began to brew he took a quick shower, dressed for the day and then sank down at the kitchen table with a cup of hot coffee before him.
He should be thinking about murder. He should be thinking about the interviews he’d set up for the day, but instead his head was filled with questions about the long-legged, green-eyed woman who had blown into his case...into his town on a gust of cold air.
Could she accomplish what he hadn’t been able to do? Could she somehow identify the killer, who had remained elusive so far to him, and get him behind bars? If she could, then it would be worth whatever he had to put up with to work with her.
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