glanced at his wristwatch. It was almost four. School let out at three forty-five so if they came right back, they should be here anytime.
“I heard we lost Dorothy.” Rusty frowned. “Any leads?” He asked the question without enthusiasm, as if knowing what Cameron would reply.
“Not yet. It’s early in the investigation. Do you know if Mary has heard about Dorothy?”
“Doubtful, but you can ask her yourself.” He nodded toward the door. “She and Matt just walked in.”
Cameron turned around to see Mary and her ten-year-old son Matt entering the café. The beautiful smile that curved her lips, the sparkle that lit her eyes let him know that she hadn’t heard the latest news and he hated the fact that he would be the one to snatch away her smile, to darken her eyes with pain.
“Hey, Sheriff Evans,” Matt greeted with a friendly grin.
“Hey, yourself,” Cameron replied affectionately. He’d told Matt a dozen times that he could call him Cameron, but Mary had insisted her son use Cameron’s official title. “I just heard that your mom spent the day at school with you. That must have been weird.”
Mary laughed, the sound twisting softness around Cameron’s heart. “I think embarrassing would be first on the page if we were listing adjectives.”
“Nah, you didn’t embarrass me,” Matt replied. “At least you didn’t call me honey pie like Billy Morton’s mom did.” Matt stifled a snicker.
“True, although I did consider calling you honey pooh bear a couple of times.”
Matt looked horrified at the very thought, and Mary laughed.
“You wouldn’t do that to me,” Matt said.
“Probably not,” Mary agreed.
At that moment Jimmy Rosario flew through the front door. “Mom, Jimmy’s here,” Matt said, stating the obvious. “We’re going to play some catch in the back, okay?”
“You have one hour and then it’s dinner and homework time,” Mary replied. “And stay away from the cabins.” Her intense love for her son shone from her eyes as she watched him and his best friend disappear out the door.
She turned back to Cameron and must have seen something in his features that stole some of the light from her eyes. “What are you doing here at this time of the day?”
Normally Cameron came by at the end of the night, just before the restaurant closed to have a cup of coffee and share some friendly talk with her. Aware that the restaurant was filling quickly for the dinner rush, he was reluctant to share his information with her here in the middle of the gathering crowd.
“Can we go someplace private to talk?”
She gazed up at him for a long moment, biting her full lower lip in a gesture of anxiety. With a quick bob of her head she gestured for him to follow her through the kitchen and to the doorway that led to her and Matt’s living quarters behind kitchen.
He walked into a large living room that not only had a sofa, chairs and a television, but also had a small table and chairs in one corner. In all the years he’d known her, he’d never been in these rooms in the back of the café. As far as he knew, few people were invited into this private space that she and her son called home.
“Nice place,” he observed. The blue overstuffed sofa looked broken in and inviting, and the entertainment center held a television with the latest video game system and an array of paperback novels.
“Thanks. There are two bedrooms. Matt’s is there,” she pointed at a doorway to the left of the room. “And mine is there,” she said, this time pointing in the opposite direction of the living room. “We also have a full bath. The only thing we don’t have is a kitchen, but of course we have the café kitchen at our disposal any time we want anything.”
She stopped talking and tucked a tendril of her shoulder-length, light blond hair behind one ear. “But, you aren’t here to talk about my living arrangements. Something has happened.” She said the words as a statement, not as a question.
He nodded and fought against the release of a deep, weary sigh. “There’s been another one.”
* * *
Mary didn’t just sit on the sofa, she crumpled into it, her legs unable to hold her upright as the horror of his words echoed in her head.
There’s been another one. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that somebody else she’d considered her café family had been murdered. If it wasn’t one of her waitresses from the café, then Cameron wouldn’t be here now.
“Who?” The word whispered out of her on an edge of dread.
“Dorothy Blake.”
Pain shattered through Mary and her vision blurred with tears as she thought of the older woman who’d always come in with a bright smile, who despite enjoying her job was looking forward to retirement and planting a big vegetable garden beside her stupendous flower garden in her backyard.
Lowering her face into her hands as she realized she had no control over her tears, she was vaguely aware of Cameron standing next to the sofa, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Overwhelmed by the pain of loss, Mary began to weep in earnest. It wasn’t just the tragic death of Dorothy that caused her heart to swell with agony, but also the recent loss of two other waitresses, both of them murdered, as well.
She wasn’t sure how long she cried before she felt the weight of Cameron sitting down beside her, smelled the familiar spicy scent of his cologne, and in the very depths of her soul she wanted to throw herself into his arms, feel his strength surrounding her. For just a minute, for just an agonizing second, she wanted to be wrapped in his arms and feel his heart beating against her own.
But she couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t do that. Instead she drew a deep shuddery breath and sat back, summoning the inner strength that had gotten her through most of her entire life.
“Why? Why is somebody killing the women who work for me?” she asked miserably. Once again she caught her lower lip and reached up to twist a strand of her hair.
Cameron frowned, the gesture doing nothing to detract from his handsomeness. His face was all angles and planes that radiated strength. His warm hazel eyes were now deeper in hues of brown than usual. “I don’t know. But I can tell you that two dead waitresses was a coincidence, three is a definite pattern. There’s no question in my mind now that we have a serial killer targeting your waitresses.”
“But that’s crazy. What on earth could these women have done wrong that would warrant their deaths? Serve cold coffee?” A faint hysterical laughter attempted to escape her lips, but was instantly swallowed as she gazed at Cameron for answers.
“I wish I could tell you why, and I definitely wish I could tell you who.” His jaw clenched tight and, for a moment, his eyes were cold and hard. “I’m just hoping Dorothy’s murder can give us something, anything that might provide a lead. This guy has been so damned careful and so damned lucky.” Frustration drifted from him in waves.
Mary dropped her hand
