He read it slowly, his expression unchanging. But when he looked up, his gaze was piercing. “Where were you parked?”
“Behind the administration building. Between Cork Avenue and Savannah Street.”
“Did you see anyone when you approached the car?”
“No, but I had this strange feeling someone was watching me.”
“A feeling?”
“You know, just an uneasy sensation. And I’m not usually a nervous person.”
The waitress appeared and put a plate overflowing with a hamburger and fries in front of Sam. Caroline ordered a diet soda, quite certain it was all her stomach could handle at this point.
She waited until the waitress had walked out of hearing range before she asked the question that consumed her thoughts. “Do you think this note is from the man who killed Sally Martin?”
“It’s hard to say. That’s obviously what he wants you to think.”
“But who else would write something like this?”
“Any time there’s a murder like this, it brings out the weirdos.”
“You talk as if you’ve seen a lot of murders like this one.”
“I’ve seen my share. What about you, Miss…?”
“Kimberly, but you can call me Caroline.” She hesitated, hating to admit the truth but seeing no reason to lie. “This is my first one.”
His face remained unreadable. “Are you with a newspaper or a TV station?”
“The Prentice Times.”
“I thought Doreen Guenther handled their crime beat. Not that Prentice had much of a crime beat before now.”
“Her mother’s ill. She took a family-emergency leave.” The waitress returned with Caroline’s drink. She slipped the straw between her lips and took a huge sip, needing to soothe her dry throat. “So what do I do now?”
“I’ll take the note and try to get some prints off it, but I doubt I can, since you mishandled it.”
“I didn’t know it might be from the killer when I tore it off the window.”
“If you get another, I want you to lift it by one corner and put it in a plastic bag. And call me immediately.” He took a business card from his shirt pocket and passed it across the table. “Use the cell number. And just for the record, I wouldn’t publish the fact that the killer may have contacted you.”
“Why not?”
“Whether the note’s a prank or from the killer, publicity is likely to spur him on.”
“So I may just keep getting these notes?”
“It’s hard to say.”
“Do you ever say anything definite?”
“When I have something definitive to say.”
Yeah, well, she was beginning to wonder if he had a clue what he was doing or if he was just faking the whole experience bit. Which didn’t make her feel any better, considering she was getting fan mail from a killer. “Why me?” she murmured more to herself than to Sam.
“You didn’t exactly fade into the crowd in that getup you had on last night.”
“I was at a party when my editor called and told me to head straight for Freedom Park. I didn’t have time to change into something appropriate for a murder scene.”
“No reason to get huffy with me. You asked why you were singled out. I was just answering.” Sam slid his plate in front of him and switched his attention to the loaded sesame bun. She figured that was her invitation to leave.
She took another sip of her drink, then wiped her hands on her napkin. The man was too calm. If he thought she’d heard from the killer, he should be doing something. She wasn’t sure what, but she wasn’t a detective. “Aren’t you going to ask for my phone number in case you think of something else to ask me?”
“Your number’s easy enough to get.”
“It’s unlisted.”
He took another bite of his burger.
She stood and slung her handbag over her shoulder.
“One more thing, Miss Kinnerty.”
“Kimberly. Caroline Kimberly.”
“Miss Kimberly, whoever killed Sally Martin is a very dangerous man. Don’t try to be a hero.”
“That, Detective Turner, is the farthest thing from my mind.”
“Keep it that way.”
And that was it. Not even a thank-you for coming to him with the information, though she knew there were some reporters who wouldn’t have. They’d have played along with the killer in an effort to get a really big story.
Instead, she was playing with Sam Turner. She was certain it was not going to be a fun game.
SAM WATCHED Caroline walk away, a thousand memories tramping through his mind, none of them welcome. He wasn’t sure what it was about the reporter that reminded him of Peg. They didn’t look the same. Peg’s hair had been long, whereas Caroline’s was short, and the color of wheat, whereas Caroline’s was more like café au lait.
But something about Caroline reminded him of Peg and that was enough reason to make sure he kept his distance from her. Something that might prove very difficult if she became his link with a killer.
He’d lost his taste for the burger, but he finished it, anyway. He ate from habit, the way he did a lot of things these days. Eat and sleep and breathe. Go through the motions.
Let it go, Sam, or it will eat you alive.
That had been the police psychiatrist’s advice after Peg’s death. Shows how little the shrink knew about him. Except for the motions, Sam was already dead. And there was no letting go.
IT WAS HER DAY OFF, so when Caroline left the Grille, she went home, glanced at the day’s mail and made herself a salad that she barely touched. Nothing she did took the murder or the note off her mind. Finally she took a glass of chardonnay and climbed the stairs to the second floor to tackle cleaning the huge hall closet, a task she’d put off ever since moving in. But today the thought of escaping into someone else’s old junk seemed more of a reprieve than work.
Thunder rumbled in the distance as she opened the closet door and breathed in the musty odor. No telling what skeletons might climb out when she started rummaging through the tattered boxes. The good thing was, they wouldn’t bear any of her DNA. The bad thing was, neither did any other skeletons she knew anything about.
Wrapping her arms around a large box that sat on the closet floor, she tugged until
