Don't Trust Me (Hamlet Book 1)

by Jessica Lynch

  Ducking her head, staring blindly at the notepad she clutched in trembling hands, she tried to conceal that panic that overwhelmed her.

  It was one thing when it was an outsider. Turner. Sullivan. She could keep a cool, level head when dealing with their deaths. But to imagine Luc—her Luc… she gulped and forced herself to push it to the side. He came to her for help and, goddammit, she was going to do her job if it killed her.

  Rick rose to his considerable height when he realized he had company. He lumbered over to Caitlin, towering over her petite form as he moved closer to her.

  Very close, Lucas noticed. The newly-made deputy bent down, murmuring something under his breath. Whatever it was, Rick had meant it only for Caitlin’s ears. She brushed his concerns back with a flippant wave of her hand.

  “Yes, I know he’s here. I let him come with me,” she said. “Lucas was the one they shot at. I thought he might have a better idea where the shots were fired from, or what they hit.”

  With a small nod, Rick greeted Lucas with a curt, “Doc.”

  “Hart. How’s the search going? Did you find anything?”

  Caitlin’s eyes flashed angrily as she bobbed her head up from her notepad, glaring at him. He was well aware that she absolutely hated it when he tried to butt in on any of her investigations; it didn’t matter that he was actually involved in this one. She pointed at him, then flung her arm out wide. He got the drift and, his hands held up in front of him in a silent apology, backed off.

  “I’ll just watch. That better, Cait?”

  As if he hadn’t said anything, Caitlin flipped her notebook shut and tilted her head back so that she was looking up at Rick. “Tell me you found something.”

  “Yeah. I was gonna buzz you, tell you not to waste time making the trip. Then I figured you might want to check out the scene yourself. I’m still looking for the slug in the bushes, but I got something alright.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a sandwich bag with two spent shell casings. “I saw the chip on the brick and realized that the shot had to come from this direction. Since the doctor would’ve seen anyone shooting at him, it made sense to me that the shooter was in the trees. It didn’t take much searching to find these.”

  Caitlin took the bag from Rick, holding it up so that she got a better look at its contents. She recognized the casings at once. Hoping she was wrong—praying she was wrong—she glanced up at Rick again, this time in confirmation.

  He nodded. “Definitely a .40 caliber. You’re gonna want to send it out for ballistics to be sure, but I don’t think I’m wrong. Best guess, eyeballing it, is that it’s a Glock 22.”

  Her hand went right to her holster.

  A Glock 22. Her preferred carry, and the same model worn by everyone in the sheriff’s department. She closed her eyes and huffed.

  Fan-fucking-tastic.

  20

  At half past two the next afternoon, the intercom chimed.

  Tessa was sitting in the armchair in her rented room, absently flipping through the pages of a magazine three months old. As soon as she heard the soft tinkling sound, she closed the magazine and rested it on top of the chair’s arm. She’d been waiting for this call.

  Truth be told, she expected it to come last night. As soon as Lucas dropped her off, making her promise that she wouldn’t tell Maria about the shooting because he knew it would only upset his sister, she thought someone from the sheriff’s department would want to talk to her.

  She knew the doctor was only protecting her by leaving her locked in the bed and breakfast, but she already had a good idea how Sheriff De Angelis saw her. It would be a damn miracle if the red-haired she-demon didn’t immediately book Tess for attempted murder of her beloved ex-husband.

  Tess was well aware she was being bitter. A threatening note one night, being shot at another, all on top of the sudden shock of losing her husband so violently… Tess decided she was owed a little bitterness. If she wasn’t the temptress trying to seduce the local men, then she was a black widow who was leaving bodies in her wake. Whatever happened to the kindhearted former kindergarten teacher just trying to have a little love in her life?

  The intercom chimed again. It sounded more impatient this time.

  With a huff, Tess pulled herself out of the armchair and shuffled over to the bed. Her slippers were crusted with dirt, leaving a trail of flakes of dried mud behind her. Maria offered to wash her slippers after her sprint through the trees. Tess told her no. She needed the visual reminder that, no matter what she thought, she wasn’t really safe here.

  She engaged the intercom button. “Yes?”

  “Tess, sweetie, I hate to bother you, but Sly is at the door. He’s in uniform so it’s gotta be police business. He says to make sure you’re decent because he’s here to pick you up.” Maria’s confusion became even more obvious as she blurted out, “Were you expecting him?”

  “Not him, no,” she admitted, plucking at the belt poking through the nearest loop on her cozy robe. “I actually thought she might send Deputy Walsh over.”

  “She? Caity? Oh, no.” Maria’s trill of a laugh seemed even higher through the tinny speaker of the intercom. “She wouldn’t do that. She’s convinced you have poor Mase wrapped around your finger. No wonder she sent Sly. Mase would just coddle you, and we both know Caity wouldn’t like that. Not after the way he hid the story of the note you got from her.”

  As if she wasn’t feeling bad enough that Deputy Collins was here to take her to see the sheriff. The last thing she wanted was a reminder that Mason seemed convinced that there was something between them—and that Sheriff De Angelis was all too aware of that fact.

  “Hey, um, I was kinda hoping they’d forgotten about me. I’m still wearing my pajamas and a robe. Do you think you could tell Deputy Collins that I’ll be right out as soon as I get changed?”

  “Of course. No worries, sweetie.” Her chuckle turned husky. “I’ll keep the deputy company until you’re ready.”

  After thanking Maria, she stripped off her robe and tossed it on her rumpled bed. As she pulled on the dresser drawers, looking for something clean to change into, she thought about how Maria’s whole mood changed when Tess told her she wasn’t exactly expecting Deputy Collins.

  Maria sure sounded happy to spend some time with the tall, dark, and handsome deputy, she realized.

  For the first time since Lucas got grazed by that bullet, Tess grinned. And maybe she took a little bit longer than necessary to get dressed.

  Having experienced the sheriff’s interviewing style, Tess thought she knew what to expect this time around. Like Sunday, the deputy brought her into the only room with a closed door. She assumed it was an office of some sort for the sheriff, since both times she was told to sit in the plastic chair opposite of a solid oak desk. Sheriff De Angelis sat on the other side, an open notepad in front of her.

  Deputy Collins offered her a glass of water, waited for her to refuse, then left the two women alone. At a nod from the sheriff, Collins closed the door behind him.

  De Angelis picked up her pen, poised it against the blank sheet of paper and, with a no-nonsense tone, said, “Starting from when you left Ophelia, tell me what happened yesterday afternoon.”

  Tess did. Going into detail, she explained how Maria needed to take a trip out of Hamlet and, because she didn’t want to stay in the bed and breakfast by herself after her fright from the night before, she asked Maria to show her where Dr. De Angelis’s office was.

  Since she couldn’t admit that she just wanted to see the doctor—especially not to his very jealous ex-wife—she made it seem like she was only interested in getting another dose of sleeping pills. Fully aware that the sheriff now thought of her as a pill-popper, she quickly continued. Better a lush and a drug addict than the outsider with her eye on the sheriff’s former husband.

  Sheriff De Angelis didn’t interrupt once. Tilting her notepad toward her so that Tess couldn’t see what she was writing, she jotted down whatever interes
ted her. At one point she made a notation, underlined and then circled it. Twice. Tess wished she could remember what it was she had said but she was already three thoughts ahead.

  She gamely finished. “—as soon as we got him bandaged up, the doctor drove us back to the B&B. I tried to get him to let me drive—”

  The sheriff snorted.

  “—yeah, I tried, but now I know that no one is allowed to drive his car except him. Anyway, after he dropped me off, he said he was going to see the sheriff… see you… and tell you all about the freak shooting. At least, I have to believe it was some kind of accident. He didn’t say it or anything, but I got the feeling that Dr. De Angelis thought they were shooting at me. I mean, that’s impossible. Why would anyone shoot at me?”

  Sheriff De Angelis set her pen aside. Then, opening her desk drawer, she slipped her notepad inside before pulling out a manila folder. She tossed it on her desk where it landed with a soft thump.

  “I’m not so sure they did.”

  Tess blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  “You just told me how, when I met you outside of the doc’s office, you were in the woods. Looking for a stray cat, right?”

  “Yes. I thought I heard meowing so I went to check it out. I told you that yesterday, too. And then you told me that Hamlet doesn’t have strays.”

  “We don’t, Mrs. Sullivan. And that makes me wonder what you really were doing in the woods.” The sheriff paused, either for effect or because she thought Tess might actually answer her. Her lips pressed tight together, Tess didn’t say a word. “We found shells a few feet into the trees, not too far from where I saw you. So I'm going to ask again, in case you want to change your mind. What were you doing in the woods?”

  Her answer was slow, deliberate. “I heard a cat.”

  “Maybe you did. But I think it's more likely you were in there checking out the sightlines, maybe loading a gun—or helping someone else do it.”

  It took Tess a second to understand what De Angelis was actually saying to her. She couldn’t believe it. The sheriff was actually accusing her of somehow orchestrating the shooting with… with some accomplice in the woods. That was absolutely crazy.

  “Why would I do that?” she demanded. “Why would I want Lucas to get shot?”

  De Angelis frowned at Tess’s slip. Lucas. She called him Lucas. “I don’t know. Why did you strangle your husband?”

  “I didn’t!”

  “Maybe you didn’t. But, let me tell you, I’m one step closer to finding out who did. Dollars to donuts, same man took a shot at our doc. And I think you know who it was.” The sheriff tapped her nail on the top of the manila folder. She was a biter, Tess noticed, the nail chewed down to the quick. Thud. Thud. Thud. “Who do you know around here?”

  She didn’t like the direction Sheriff De Angelis’s questions were veering off into. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Big city girl, bet you never figured that the sticks has some fine detectives of its own. I don’t like to leave Hamlet, Mrs. Sullivan. Doesn’t mean that I don’t. In fact, I have friends high up in the county. Look what they got for me.”

  De Angelis opened the file on her desk. Inside was a stack of paper close to a half inch thick. A row of numbers ran down the page. There were about four lines highlighted.

  She slammed her palm flat on the top of the paper, covering the numbers. “These are your phone records.”

  Deep inside her coat pockets, Tess clenched her hands into fists. She kept her expression neutral. “You can’t do that.”

  “Can. Did.”

  The sheriff offered her a meaningless grin. At least, she bared her teeth. Tess decided it counted. De Angelis looked like she was suddenly enjoying herself.

  That made one of them.

  “Warrant I got let me go back a year,” De Angelis said. “And you know what I noticed?”

  “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

  “You either loved your husband a great deal, or you were very lonely.” Lifting her hand, she pointed down the row of numbers, skipping over the ones in yellow. “Same two numbers over and over. One was Jack Sullivan’s cellphone, the other his work number. That’s it. Until a couple of weeks ago.”

  Thud. Thud. De Angelis tapped on the first highlighted number. She rattled it off.

  “That’s a local number,” she said. “No trace on it that I can find, so it must be a burner. In fact, I bet it is. And you know what else? Every Monday, like clockwork, there’s a new number to replace the last one. Same area code, though. So one more time, Mrs. Sullivan: who do you know here?”

  Sheriff De Angelis kept repeating herself, just like she did during the other interview. As if she could badger a confession out of Tess. But Tess was prepared this time around.

  She fought to relax, reminding herself that she didn’t do anything wrong. And she wasn’t about to let De Angelis bully her into admitting anything that might get her in trouble. With a shrug, she said, “Nobody. Our car got a flat. It was pure chance we ended up in Hamlet.”

  The sheriff obviously didn’t buy it. “Who are you talking to?” Thud. Thud. Thud. “Whose number is this?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, sometimes my phone gets weird numbers calling it. I don’t know who they are. I might answer them. That’s all. Look, you said it yourself. All the other numbers are the same. Jack’s cell, his work phone. I really don’t know anyone else. He wouldn’t let me.”

  De Angelis ran her finger across a different number. She had drawn a large star next to it. “This conversation is from two weeks ago. It lasted more than thirty-four minutes. Who did you talk to?”

  Tess thought about it. “Okay. I think I remember that. It was a telemarketer trying to sell me insurance or something. I don’t know. Jack worked long hours. I get lonely sometimes. And, yeah, it might be pathetic, it might be sad, but sometimes I pretend to buy into their speeches just to have someone to talk to.”

  “Except, as I said, I already ran these numbers. Not one is registered to any business, insurance or otherwise.”

  “I don’t know why!” The denial burst out of Tess. Yanking her hands out of her pockets, she gripped the edge of the sheriff’s desk. She didn’t want De Angelis to see that she was shaking. “All I wanted to do was have a second honeymoon with my husband. Now he’s dead… and everyone thinks I’m responsible.”

  She couldn’t take it anymore. Burying her face in her trembling hands, Tess started to weep.

  A soft rap at her door. Ready to snarl that she was busy, Caitlin tore her pointed gaze away from the crying woman in time to see that Wilhelmina had already entered the small office. Her hand was still folded loosely in a fist. Willie must have knocked on the inside of the door—and, most likely, overheard everything that had just passed between her and the Sullivan woman.

  One look at the disapproval on her deputy’s face confirmed it. Willie shook her head slowly, pursing her bright red lips as she folded her hands in front of her ample waist.

  Caitlin gentled her voice. It wouldn’t fool the older woman, no. She could at least try not to come off like she was attacking the outsider now that she knew her deputy was watching. “Yes?”

  “Report just came in, Sheriff. Ricky’s prelim was right on the money.”

  So the bullet was a .40 caliber, shot through the barrel of a Glock 22. The Glock was standard issue for most law enforcement officers in their state, including the four members of her department. Of course. Because why would anything about this case be easy?

  “You sure, Wil?”

  “Got the report right here if you want to read it, boss.”

  Caitlin let out a rough exhale, causing loose strands of her red hair to flutter around a face pinched with annoyance. “Yeah,” she said after a second, before pushing away from her desk. “I do.”

  As she rose from her seat, Sullivan’s soft cries seemed to echo in the close quarters. The sound was like nails scraping down a chalkboard for Caitlin. Looking past her, she caught W
ilhelmina’s eye, nodded at Sullivan’s bowed head, and pleaded silently with her.

  Willie rolled her heavily made-up eyes, a theatrical gesture that was all the more impressive since she didn’t smudge either her eyeshadow or mascara behind her glasses. Caitlin jerked her head at the weeper, throwing in a pout for good measure. Willie sighed, then nodded.

  “Mrs. Sullivan, that’s it for today’s interview,” Caitlin said, raising her voice so that she could drown out the weeping. As far as she was concerned, the sooner she didn’t have to listen to the incessant crying, the better. “You can go—just don’t go far. There’s a good chance we’ll have to revisit this matter again and soon. So long as you stay on at Maria’s place, I’ll know how to get in touch with you. If you need anything before you leave the station house, make sure to ask Willie. That’ll be all for now.”

  Then, before she felt compelled to offer the outsider a tissue, she quickly made her escape.

  Shaking her head at how quickly the sheriff ran out of the room, Wilhelmina approached Tess. Her knees creaked as she bent low enough to place her hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. “You feeling okay, sugar?”

  Her whole body tensed and tightened under the soft touch. Tess sniffled, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand before she rubbed underneath her nose. Weak and shaky from her latest crying jag—plus the revelation that she was as much a suspect as ever in the sheriff’s eyes—made the deputy’s soft question almost laughable.

  Did she feel okay? Not even a little.

  She was sitting in a police station, once again weighed down with the belief that she was responsible for a crime she couldn’t have possibly committed on her own. Where would she have gotten a gun from? And why would she want to shoot Lucas? It nearly broke her all over again to know he'd been hit. And how was she supposed to have conjured up some accomplice when she'd never even been to Hamlet before?

  Things stopped being okay the second the tire went flat. That was her fault, too. She knew deep down that, regardless of her relief and her freedom, she would never stop blaming herself for causing that.