“Trying not to rush things.”
He grabbed her hands and brought them to his lips. “That’s not the impression I got in the orchard.”
She rolled her eyes and stepped away from him. “Before I left earlier, Bridgette said something about—”
His head lolled to his chest. “Must we talk about her?”
She fought back a smile. Then she pulled on his hand and led him toward the house. “She mentioned a party?”
He wrapped his arms around her as they walked, making them wobble side to side in slow progress. She rested her hands atop his on her waist. “Ah, my party,” he said, amusement filling his tone. “If you hadn’t abandoned me here, you’d know about it already.”
“Tell me now.”
“Nothing too big, perhaps a hundred people or so.”
She slipped out of his grasp and faced him. “A hundred people? That’s a lot.”
He shrugged. “Is it?”
She lifted her brows. “You just can’t resist messing with people, can you?”
“When you’re happy, your eyes are the color of warm honey, but when you’re angry, exasperated, or worked up—” He raised his eyebrows up and down. “—they turn a deep molasses color. Did you know that?”
She rested her hands on her hips. “Oh, please. I’m a cop. If you think you’re going to divert my attention with flirtation, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
He tilted his head back and laughed. The sound was so happy, so carefree, it sent shivers up her spine, but she tamped down that feeling. First and foremost right now, she had to be a cop, especially around the man who’d sworn revenge against his wife’s killer, even if she happened to be dating the guy.
“What’s this party about?” she asked.
“I thought it’d be fun. I told you before: I like putting on a show.”
She kicked at the gravel. “Maybe you used to, but not anymore. Now you just like people, like Finley, to know you’re smarter than them. You don’t get that kind of one-on-one pleasure of seeing a person squirm in a crowd. Now, really, what’s going on?”
His smile fell a little, his expression almost sobering had he not intentionally kept an amused air. “There you go, reading me again.”
She waited.
“There’ll be twenty people at best,” he said.
“Why?”
He straightened his spine. “A memorial of sorts to honor Katelyn. That’s all.”
“That’s it? You have no other motive?”
He stepped into her personal space and lifted her chin with a gentle touch to look him in the eye. “Just one. I’m ready to move on with my life—with you. To be able to do that, this chapter must end. That’s where the party comes in.”
She blinked. “So, this is about getting closure?”
He nodded. “Exactly.”
* * *
Hours later, Elizabeth sat on her bed, staring at the many pages in Katelyn Daley’s and Dr. Newlin’s case files. Her laptop sat to her right, and the papers were lined up in order of events. Next she rearranged them in order of relevance, then to witnesses, evidence, murders, and so on. She’d rearrange them until she’d seen them from every possible angle. Her eyes blurred as she tried to make a connection, tried to see the missing piece.
She ran her hand down her face and breathed in deep. There had to be something.
Daley said he wanted his party on Friday so he could finally get some closure. She believed him … to a point. Not too long ago, he’d flat out told her he wanted revenge and cared little for justice as long as he got it. That didn’t sound like the kind of man who could let his wife’s murderer go and move on because he threw a party.
A clock started to tick down in the back of her mind. It was Sunday night now, which meant she had five days. He wanted closure then, and she’d do her utmost to help him with that.
A ding from her computer alerted her that she’d received an email. It was from Finley. Footage from the night of the murder on the small gate in the wall out in the orchard. She watched the video several times and, seeing nothing interesting, turned back to the papers.
As she looked a way, a strange flick caught her attention by the back gate. She whipped her gaze back and stared at the dark but clear image of the gate, still except for the tall grass swaying in a light breeze.
She rewound a few seconds and watched again. There was nothing. She tried it again, sure she’d seen something. Still nothing. She took it back thirty seconds and moved it forward frame by frame. Nineteen seconds in, the image appeared again, a black blur lasting half a frame. She rewound again, watching the dark blur in front of the gate in a split second over and over. She couldn’t make it out, but it was something tall enough to be a human.
How had the FBI missed this? Granted, the image went by in a blink of the eye, but they were the Feds—the best of the best. They didn’t miss things like this, did they? A chill shot through her.
She grabbed her cell, oblivious of the hour, and dialed Lee.
One ring later, a groggy voice answered, “Are you all right?”
“Who do we know at the precinct who could look at video surveillance that’s been tampered with? They’d have to keep this low-key.”
Lee cleared his throat. “How low-key are we talking?”
“The lowest.”
The line was quiet for a moment, long enough that Shea wondered if they’d disconnected and pulled her phone back to make sure they hadn’t.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” she said, ever grateful that he felt no need to pry. He simply took her call and tried to help her find a solution.
After they disconnected, she played the clip again. She grabbed her crucifix and said a prayer in her heart. Please, Lord, let this be something. Please, help me end this. For Patrick.
Chapter Thirteen
The week went by in a blur, and despite herself, she couldn’t help but count down the days. The party was tomorrow, and she hadn’t gotten any further in the case. The most she’d been able to accomplish had really been because of Lee. As promised, he’d called her the next day. He’d found a traffic cop named Melanie Harper. Apparently she was the best closet hacker in the 35th, or, if the rumors were to be believed, in the state of California.
She’d agreed to help and to keep it quiet—apparently Elizabeth and Lee were her heroes. She hoped to become a young detective just as they had.
Elizabeth had immediately forwarded the video. It hadn’t taken Harper long to figure out that the video was going to be trickier than they hoped. It was time stamped, and tampering with a time-stamped video was next to impossible. Harper wouldn’t have looked at it at all if it hadn’t been for the split-second footage Elizabeth found. And now, four days later, Harper was still on it.
To say it was disappointing didn’t quite do it justice. Regardless, the only time she had to think about it was at night when she was supposed to be sleeping. Between her work on the garden—which had picked up full force the moment Helen discovered they were having a party Friday—and her every spare moment spent keeping an eye on Patrick—which mostly consisted of being in his arms as he kissed her senseless—she just didn’t have the time.
The first morning after they’d kissed in the orchard, she found herself hesitant to leave her room. A fear had settled at the back of her mind, telling her that things would be different after he’d had time to sleep on it. Instead of giving in to that fear, however, she lifted her chin and opened her door. No matter what happened, she’d deal.
Making her way to the kitchen, she’d passed the door to the library, and without warning was yanked back and into the room. She’d thrown up her fists as the door slammed behind her and turned on her assailant. Daley had stood in front of the door, with streams of brown, blue, yellow, and red light coming through the stained glass, coloring his hair. He’d worn a wicked little smile on his ridiculously luscious lips.
“Daley?” She’d scowled and drop
ped her defensive stance. Her normal morning grumpiness came through full force. “I could’ve hurt you. What are you—”
He’d wrapped his arms fully around her waist and planted one on her. To her embarrassment, she’d moaned into his kiss as he turned her and pushed her back against the door. After a moment, he’d pulled away and rested his head against hers. “Good morning.”
She’d let out a sigh, then blinked her eyes slowly open. “Morning.”
That had been their routine every morning since then, and she hadn’t complained once. Not even when she’d left the library, and his embrace, yesterday morning to find Alice smirking at her from the kitchen doorway.
Of course, it’d been something of a nightmare when the older woman had cornered her later and told her how glad she was that Patrick had her and that she couldn’t imagine anyone better for him. Her elation scared the crap out of Elizabeth. It was too much pressure for something so new.
Every day her feelings for him grew, but this was not a normal situation, and she doubted things would ever be normal until Katelyn’s murderer was caught. Hence the countdown.
When she headed down that morning and caught the sounds of arguing from the library, she felt a momentary disappointment that she wouldn’t be getting her morning kiss today, but that fled the second she recognized the voices. She came up short halfway down the hall as Patrick’s and Finley’s voices became clear.
Since when did the two of them meet in private?
“The paper trail?” Patrick asked.
“You were right; on the surface, everything looks right, but they hated each other. It doesn’t make sense his uncle would’ve left him that money.”
What on earth? She pushed into the room, finding the two men standing by the fireplace.
Finley rubbed his forehead. “This is a dumb idea. You know that right?”
“But you’ll do it?” Patrick’s stance was calm, but there was an excitement in his gaze that made her nervous.
Finley looked him in the eyes. “Only if you’ll tell me what this is all about.”
“You’ll have to trust me,” Patrick said. “For now.”
“Why? Because you said so? I get it: you want to catch your wife’s killer. So do we. Why do you think we’re here?”
Patrick’s gaze skirted to her. “Elizabeth. Good morning.”
Finley turned around. “Shea.”
The two men exchanged quick looks. Too quick for her to read too much into it. Sure, it could have been an oh-crap-she-caught-us look, but it could also be the exasperated look of two men dealing with one another while not getting along. Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure the first idea would’ve crossed her mind had she seen the two together for more than a minute since she’d been here. It only made sense that they’d be in contact, considering one was investigating the murder of the wife of the other.
So she wasn’t sure why she found herself suspicious. “What’s going on?”
Patrick clapped Finley on the shoulder. “James was filling me in on the progress made by the FBI. It’s outstanding, really.”
Elizabeth frowned as Finley rolled his shoulder, making Patrick’s hand fall off. The little seed of hope she’d temporarily felt shoved deep down in her gut, making it twist.
“It’s a cold case,” Finley said. “We’re doing the best we can.”
Patrick raised his brows, then pointedly turned and marched away. “You want progress, you know what to do.”
“Yeah, right,” Finley muttered.
Patrick winked at her as he passed. “I must go see about my garden.”
She kind of wanted to smack Patrick—for Fin’s sake.
Finley crossed the room to her. “It must be exhausting living in the same house as him.”
“It has its moments.” A flash of the heated kiss he’d given her last night before she’d gone to bed went through her mind, and she swallowed.
“He wants me to come to his party tomorrow,” Finley said. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Not because you’re giving him an update on our progress?”
“He likes to give the FBI a hard time. And since I’m the face of the FBI here, I’m the punching bag.” Finley stared at the carpet, made a fist, then stretched his fingers out. “I can’t really blame him. With Newlin’s murder, we have fresh leads, but we still can’t figure out who killed the man’s wife.”
She smiled. “You’re a good guy, Fin.”
He glanced up. “Thanks for saying so.”
“Are you coming, then?”
“To the party?”
She nodded.
“It’s the least I can do,” Fin said.
The two men hadn’t gotten along at the car show. It made no sort of sense that Patrick would invite him or that Finley would accept. She kept her thoughts to herself, though. “What were you just talking about? Who wouldn’t have left money to whom?”
Fin ran a hand over his hair as he breathed out. “Police Chief Shaw.”
Right, he’d inherited money a year after Katelyn’s death and moved to Wyoming. His story had never sat right with her, but they had no reason to doubt him. “His inheritance is a fake?”
“No, it’s real. His uncle left him everything. There’s just no precedent for it. They didn’t get along, and his uncle was married at the time of his death. Of course, the wife was his fourth wife and nearly thirty years younger, but she’s adamant his will included her and not Benson Shaw.”
Yeah, that was suspicious, and if the implication was that the will had been messed with, it could potentially be damning. That said, despite looking suspicious, there wasn’t anything there that could link that situation to Katelyn Daley’s. “How does it connect?”
“As of now, it doesn’t.” He shrugged. “I’ve got to go.”
They stepped into the hall.
“Listen, I’m going out of town—”
She stood tall. “Why, what happened?”
He smiled and shook his head. “Nothing to worry about. I’ll be back tomorrow morning. If you need me, call.”
He hadn’t said anything about going out of town before. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“To be honest with you, I’m not sure I really know, but I’m potentially making connections.”
She placed her hands on her hips.
“See you tomorrow?” he asked.
She nodded. He took a left toward the front entrance, and she turned right and headed to the back door. The sun had yet to rise, but the sky was as clear as she’d ever seen it here and a white glow was starting to light the horizon.
She stepped outside, took a deep breath, and came up sharp. Patrick stood in front of Helen; her face was red and she threw her hands up. “No, no way.” She tried to step by him, but he blocked her way. “I couldn’t possibly.”
“You could possibly, and you will,” Patrick said.
“There is still a ton of work to be done. Some people coming tomorrow could be potential clients—your garden is my showcase, and as of now, I’m not happy with it,” she said.
Coming from around the house, the sounds of gravel kicking up under feet headed their way. Elizabeth shot a quick glance in the direction, and when she saw nothing, she returned her attention to Daley and Helen.
Daley stepped forward and took Helen’s shoulders in his hands. “Helen. You work hard enough as it is. You’re not working tomorrow. Do you hear me? Whatever you manage to get done today will have to be enough. I want you to have plenty of time to get ready before the party, and I know that I’m not your only job in town. I’m not asking. You come into work tomorrow and I’ll fire you.”
Helen crossed her arms and huffed.
Just then, a group of five people came around the house and into view: two women and three men, all dressed in work clothes. One of the men called out a morning salute, and Daley turned.
“Morning. Thank you for coming,” he said.
Elizabeth stared back and forth between Daley a
nd the newcomers.
Helen’s mouth fell open. “What is this?”
“Help,” Patrick said. “You have a lot to do, and you can’t work tomorrow, so I brought in help. You can yell at me later if you must, but this was the only solution.”
“I thought we agreed that I could make all the decisions regarding this,” Helen said.
She made a good point. Helen had been downright testy when Daley had suggested she needed a man around here to help do the heavy lifting. But she’d also mentioned to Elizabeth that she’d had to put her other jobs on hold this week so that she could get this done in time.
Helen glanced between Patrick and the new workers, then dropped her head to her hands in exasperation. She scrubbed her fingers down her face, then looked up again. “You’re right. I could use the help. Thank you.”
“And I’m taking you to lunch today,” he said.
Helen perked up, her spine straightening as a smile spread across her face. “Why?”
“We have things we need to discuss.” He looked at his watch. “Let’s say twelve?”
She nodded.
Like with Finley, Patrick patted her on the shoulder, only this time it wasn’t condescending. Helen wiped at her eye and waved for the group to follow her as Patrick headed back to where Elizabeth stood by the door.
Elizabeth raised her brow. “You certainly have a way of riling people.”
He slowed as he approached her, then reached out and took her hand for a split second, squeezing it lightly. “Only Alice to go.” He winked at her. “And keep your schedule open tonight. I have plans for you.”
Her stomach flip-flopped as he marched past and into the house with renewed enthusiasm. One thing was for certain: the man enjoyed wreaking havoc.
Chapter Fourteen
Despite the heavy workload, the day passed slowly, especially when Patrick and Helen left for lunch. Helen had left her in charge, and the experience had given Elizabeth a whole new respect for her. There was so much to being the groundskeeper. Elizabeth had managed, but when they returned, she’d been thrilled to see Helen.
The Heir of Thornfield Manor Page 10
