poles, a paper bag and a cup of coffee. His white pants and sweatshirt were both covered with flecks of paint in assorted colors, and a red scarf patterned with black moose and bears was wrapped around his neck.
It encouraged her that she could see so clearly, considering the way her eyes burned. Spots had been floating in and out of her vision, but they were gone now. Still, she felt vaguely nauseated.
The man’s hair was dark blond and slightly curly, his eyes brown and calm. He apparently didn’t consider her a threat. Well, she’d show him! Nobody killed people she knew and got away with it.
But what did she do with him, now that she had him at bay? Gordon had said no police. She could only conclude that meant someone in the police department was involved in his death. But did he mean in Boston or in Maple Hill? Oh God.
“You murdered Gordon Hathaway!” she accused sternly, hoping she looked like a controlled woman with a plan, even though she didn’t have one. “Did you think you’d get away with that?”
Those calm brown eyes looked blank, then he blinked and said, “Pardon me?”
“You killed Gordon Hathaway!” she shrieked at him. The spots were back and she was starting to feel as though she was about to explode. All effort to remain calm disintegrated. “And you’ve been after me ever since!”
“Why do you think that?” he asked.
“Because I saw you! I saw your red SUV in the parking garage when that guy leaned out and shot Gordon! I saw you come into my apartment building, looking for me!”
“You didn’t see me.”
“I did! And just now, I watched you pull up here!”
“Look,” he said in that patronizing tone. “I’m just going to put this stuff down, okay?”
“Don’t think I won’t smash you.”
“It’s okay,” he said, easing the poles into the corner near the door.
She watched him as he placed the small bag and cup of coffee on the edge of the desk beside him. He looked up at her and noticed her licking her dry lips. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
He reached slowly for the bag and tossed it to the love seat near where she stood. “There’s a maple bar, a cinnamon twist and a caramel-nut roll in there. Help yourself.”
Without moving her eyes from him, she pointed the bat with one hand and unrolled the top of the bag with the other. She reached inside and withdrew the first thing her fingers touched. It was the maple bar. With a shaky hand she brought it to her mouth and took a large bite.
It tasted like ambrosia.
Fortified by that single bite, she indicated the coffee cup with the bat, which was getting heavy. “Move the coffee to the edge of the desk.”
Certain she had him at least concerned, if not intimidated, she was surprised and dismayed when he grinned.
“Sorry. That’s only my second cup this morning, and I’ve got a big day ahead of me. If you want it, you have to take it from me.”
Beazie figured she must have looked disappointed, because his grin widened and he said, “Oh, all right.” Reaching for a pottery cup on the desk, he poured half of the coffee into it, then held the paper cup out to her. “Here you go.”
She’d never wanted anything more in her life, but she didn’t trust him. Apparently aware of that, he put it on the edge of the desk nearest her and took several steps back.
She put the maple bar down, reached for the cup and took a careful swallow. The coffee was hot, rich and absolutely delicious.
“I’m driving a Jeep on loan from the garage that’s fixing my van,” he said, sitting on the desk and drinking from his pottery cup. “Not an SUV.”
As she lowered her own cup, she felt an instant’s uncertainty.
“Where did this murder take place?” he asked.
She sidled toward the window near his desk, so that she could see the parking area. “In Boston,” she replied.
“Well, I haven’t been to Boston in almost a year. In fact, I’ve hardly left Maple Hill. So you have me confused with someone else.”
Rising up on tiptoe, she spotted the top of the red car, but couldn’t see enough to be sure it was the SUV. She’d watched him pull in, she reminded herself, and she’d been sure then. Of course, she’d been dealing with those spots.
He took a cordless phone from the top of the desk and tried to hand it to her. “Call the police,” he said. “They can tell you who I am.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” she said with new resolve, polishing off the last of the coffee. “Gordon told me no police. Did you buy them off?”
He put a hand to his face and took a deep breath. “Why don’t we call you a doctor?” he asked finally, preparing to stab out a telephone number. “You look as though you’re on the verge of collapse. Sit down and I’ll—”
She made a desperate grab for the phone, thinking that he’d probably just get a doctor to sedate her or something, then they’d throw her in that beautiful lake behind the…
She couldn’t quite round out the thought.
Everything went red. Not black, but a sort of rosy red. She felt hot suddenly, as though a prickly woollen blanket were inching up her body. With a strange sort of detachment, she watched as the coffee cup fell out of her hands and the bat dangled from her fingers.
The man sprang off the desk to take the bat from her, and as she sank into a warm, fuzzy stupor, she expected him to hit her with it.
But he put it aside and reached out for her as her knees buckled. She expected a collision with the floor, but the last thing she knew was the cradle of a strong pair of arms.
CHAPTER TWO
EVAN CARRIED THE YOUNG WOMAN to the love seat, put two fingertips to her throat, and felt great relief when he sensed the tap of a steady pulse. He retrieved a ratty but clean blanket he kept in the closet. Her skin was icy to the touch. It certainly lent credence to her story that she’d been on the run all night.
Then he reached for the phone to dial 911. But remembering her fear, and her odd remark about the police being in collusion with the killer, he changed his mind.
He couldn’t imagine what had happened to her, but she seemed more genuinely fearful than crazy. Something or someone had driven her to this state. Someone with a red SUV.
He called Randy Sanford, who was an EMT and worked on Whitcomb’s Wonders’ janitorial crew in his spare time. Evan explained briefly about not wanting to call an ambulance.
“My bag’s at Medics Rescue,” Randy said. “You should call—”
“Just come!” Evan demanded. He’d pressed the speaker button so that he had his hands free to make a pot of coffee for the woman. “I don’t
