Kelsey echoed, but she knew that as valuable as forensic evidence was, if the criminal had been extremely careful, there might not be much. Besides, there had been a number of people in and around the museum in the past few days, setting up for the event. The evidence would be difficult to find.
“As for where we go from here...tell me about what happened when you returned to the museum.”
She described the note she had found on the windshield, and the shots that had been fired shortly after. She even, grudgingly, shared Sawyer’s theory that the note might have been a ploy just to get her to stand still. She didn’t like the man, but she couldn’t deny that the suggestion made sense.
“If someone is trying to kill you, we need to take that seriously,” the chief said when she had finished.
“Sir, you know I’m capable of defending myself.”
The chief folded his arms across his barrel chest and leaned back in his chair. “You still have your Georgia concealed carry permit, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And a weapon?”
“Not on me.” Something she’d regretted most of the evening, but where was she supposed to put a holster when she was wearing a semiformal dress? Kelsey knew it could be done, but figuring out the logistics when she was a private citizen going to a party where she’d had no reason to expect trouble hadn’t been a high priority.
“Locked up at home?”
She nodded.
“Fix that. Keep it on you at all times when you go out.”
“Yes, sir.”
He was quiet for a minute, and maybe Kelsey was out of line in asking what she was about to ask, but she was tired, hungry and felt oddly chilled even though she wasn’t cold at all. The night was hot and sticky, like any June night in Treasure Point. “Is there anything else, sir?”
The chief’s heavy eyebrows did raise in surprise, but she didn’t see any judgment or anger in his eyes at her abrupt question. He’d always been very understanding.
“That’s all for tonight.”
Kelsey stood and walked toward the door.
“One more thing.”
She turned back to her old boss. “Yes?”
“Is that Hamilton boy still here?”
She laughed a little at his description. The chief was well into his sixties, though, so it made sense he’d refer to Sawyer that way.
“He’s waiting around here somewhere,” Kelsey admitted.
“If he’ll take you home, take him up on it. It’s less likely anyone will try something if there are two of you.”
“There were two of us when I was shot at.”
“I know, Kelsey, but I can’t spare anyone for a protection detail right now, so this is the best I can do.”
“I’ll ask him,” she conceded, mostly because the chief was looking at her with that protective look on his face that she recognized from her time on the force. He was a man who was never okay with one of his own getting hurt, and sexist or not, he had always seemed to be even more careful with Kelsey and Shiloh, the only two woman officers. Kelsey was afraid if she didn’t agree to ask Sawyer, the chief himself would insist on giving her a ride home.
“You do that. Good night, Kelsey. Stay safe.”
She nodded, then moved away from his door. She’d barely made it out of that hallway into the main area of the building when she spotted Sawyer. She’d half hoped he’d gone and she could find another ride, but that was apparently too much to wish for.
“Ready to go home?” he asked her.
Actually, it was about the last thing she was ready for. But she didn’t have many other options, because while running from this town, this situation, might seem unbearably tempting, it also wasn’t an option. Her job, her dreams, her life away from here depended on her sticking this out, finishing the work she’d come here to do.
“I’m ready.” She tried to sound convincing.
Thankfully, Sawyer didn’t seem to notice everything she wasn’t saying. Like the fact that she wasn’t really ready at all. The fact that she was scared.
And the fact that facing Treasure Point again, after all that had happened, was almost as scary as someone wanting her dead.
* * *
Sawyer had only just dropped Kelsey off when he heard the screams.
He turned the truck off, threw the door open and ran to where she was standing on the front porch.
“What?”
“I, uh, I thought I saw a spider.”
“You didn’t.” Sawyer didn’t believe that for a second.
“I really did. He went back in that corner.”
She motioned to a darkened corner of the porch filled with who knew what. “What is all that?” She’d always seemed so organized and attentive to little details, he was surprised she was able to live here with that mess.
“I’m not sure.”
“This is your house, right?”
“My parents’ house.”
“Where are they?”
“They moved to Savannah when I finished high school. They’ve been renting the house, but the last renters did a number on the place, as you can see, so my folks want to sell it and get out of the landlord business.”
Sawyer couldn’t stop the raising of his eyebrows. “And they’re going to sell it like this?”
“No, of course not. When I told them I would be working in the area for a few weeks, they asked if I’d start getting the place cleaned up while I was here.”
He took in the chipping blue paint—really, blue?—the unidentified mess in the corner and the general disrepair of the place. There was nothing structurally unsound as far as he could tell. It wasn’t in awful condition. But it wasn’t in great shape to sell, either. That he did know something about since, as his dad always said, “Hamiltons know real estate, son.” He decided not to comment on it, changing the subject instead. “So, what are you doing in town? You never said.”
She explained about her insurance job and the work she was doing with the museum. “I’ve got an assignment lined up in St. Simons next, so I’ll be staying in town for that, too.”
He nodded. “That explains why you were at the museum tonight—but not why someone was shooting at you. Or what happened to make you scream just now, because I know you don’t expect me to believe it was a spider.”
