by Gail Oust
“It was an emergency. I don’t plan on making it a habit.”
“Good to know.” He held the flash drive in the palm of his hand and studied it. “Have you checked to see what’s on it?”
I huffed out a breath. “Of course, I did. It’s password protected, or maybe even encrypted. I’m not computer savvy enough to be able to tell the difference. But I do know that whatever’s on it must be pretty darn important for Shirley to go to those lengths.”
Our eyes met for a long moment; then McBride nodded slowly. “I agree that you’re on the right track. We might’ve been going at this all wrong.”
“What do you mean?” I asked even though I’d already guessed the direction this conversation was heading.
“It’s possible we’ve been mistaken about Shirley being killed by a lover, an enraged wife, or an irate client. What if her death was related to something else entirely?”
“Such as her job?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “In spite of my initial misgivings, you might could have the makings a first-rate detective.”
“Aw shucks, Chief.” I gave him a saucy smile. “You sure know how to turn a girl’s head.”
He chuckled, then turned serious. “Piper, promise me you’ll be extracareful. Whoever killed Shirley knows your reputation as an amateur sleuth. Your ransacked apartment was his or her way of letting you know they’re watching.”
At hearing this, I felt as though an icy-cold finger trailed down my spine. Maybe the unease I’d experienced when I returned the shoes hadn’t been the result of an overactive imagination. I decided against telling McBride about the incident—or the messy pile of shoes—but vowed to be increasingly vigilant.
I drew concentric circles on the frosty can of soda with a fingertip. “We still need to rule out Elaine Dixon. She’s got a short fuse and viewed Shirley as a threat. Who knows what she’s capable of?”
“Keep your pretty nose out of it.” He held up his hand to forestall the protest he saw forming. “Beau Tucker can’t see beyond me as a suspect, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll have Gary Moyer question the woman. See if he can find out whether the Dixons have an alibi for the time of the murder. In the meantime, I know a computer hacker who might be able to help us with the flash drive, but it’ll take time.”
“Good,” I said, getting to my feet. “I really have to go home.”
McBride walked me to my car. Without waiting for an invitation, Casey jumped inside and curled up on the passenger seat. As I half turned to bid McBride good night, he rested his hands lightly on either side of my neck. I’m certain he could feel my pulse leap beneath his touch. “Look, Piper, with me being under suspicion for murder, this … us … is the worst possible timing.”
My breath caught in my throat. I tried, and failed, to read his expression in the moonlight. “Are you trying to say what happened between us was nothing more than a one-night stand?”
“That would be the wisest course of action, except…”
“… except?”
His mouth hovered over mine. “Except I care about you more than I should.”
“Being wise is overrated.” I rose on tiptoe, and our lips met in a kiss that spoke more eloquently than words.
On the ride home, I couldn’t stop smiling. It wasn’t until I’d driven several miles down the winding county road that I glanced into the rearview mirror and was nearly blinded by the bright headlights of the car behind me.
A car followed too close for comfort.
Had I been daydreaming, driving at a snail’s pace, and irritated another driver? Stories of road rage flashed through my brain. I pressed on the accelerator to put more distance between the two vehicles. The driver of the car behind me did the same. That’s when I knew I was in trouble.
CHAPTER 28
“WHAT THE…?”
My grip tightened on the steering wheel. Casey snapped to attention, his little body so tense it fairly vibrated. I took a deep breath and ordered myself to remain calm.
The first tap on my rear bumper was almost gentle—a teasing, taunting kind of tap.
Catching my lower lip between my teeth, I darted a nervous look into the rearview mirror but couldn’t see beyond the glare of the headlights.
I knew this stretch of road well. It was narrow and curvy with almost no shoulder and no guardrails. Steep ditches ran parallel to the roadway before the land slanted upward to the tree line. The few homes along this stretch were widely spaced on lots that boasted acreage such as McBride’s. I reached for my purse, which was on the seat next to Casey, and fumbled for my cell phone just as my Beetle was struck again—much harder this time. My purse tumbled to the floor, its contents scattered.
Casey growled deep in his throat but other than that could offer little help.
“Hold on, pal,” I said through clenched teeth. Not knowing what else to do, I jammed the pedal to the metal. My valiant VW surged forward, but it was no match for the more powerful car that was on my tail.
Bam! My skull slammed against the headrest from the force of the next blow. Before I had a chance to recover, the driver switched tactics. He veered sharply to the left, gunned the engine, and pulled up beside me, running me off the road.
Standing on the brakes, I clung to the steering wheel for dear life. Stop! Stop, please stop! This was a crazy carnival ride to end all crazy carnival rides. I caromed down a grassy slope, bounced across a muddy ditch, then up an embankment. For one terrified moment I feared the little car would flip on its side. The VW jolted over the uneven terrain. Bushes scraped the undercarriage. Metal screeched as we sideswiped a veritable stockade of pine and hardwood. Finally, the Beetle rolled to a halt, but not before a massive oak crumpled my fender as easily as an empty water bottle.
I sat stunned. I was quaking like an aspen, my pulse racing. What had just happened? The entire incident seemed surreal. It had taken only minutes from start to finish. Minutes from the first love tap to heartlessly being forced off the road, hurtling across a gulley and into the woods. I barely had time for more than a glimpse of the driver, who appeared to be wearing a hoodie pulled low to conceal his features.
“Casey…?” I called, a tremor in my voice.
My furry sidekick let out a frightened yelp as he crawled out from beneath the dash. Casey leaped into my lap, narrowly avoiding impaling his small body on the gearshift in his frantic scramble to comfort—and be comforted.
I felt something warm and wet trickle down the side of my face. Raising a trembling hand, I touched my forehead. My fingers came away sticky from where I must’ve gashed my head on the edge of the mirror. Since I hadn’t hit any objects head-on, the airbags hadn’t deployed. I didn’t know if this was a good or bad thing. The VW’s headlights speared through a copse of trees. A deer appeared out of nowhere, stood spotlighted, then just as quickly vanished.
Slowly, my racing heart returned to normal, and brain cells woke from their stupor. Unfastening my seat belt, I clutched Casey under one arm, then used the other arm to grope the floor on the passenger side for my cell phone. My fingers curled around it and held on tight. The adrenaline coursing through me ebbed, leaving me drained and shaky. It took several tries before I succeeded in punching in 911.
I almost sobbed with relief at hearing Precious Blessing’s voice on the line. “Hey, Precious.…” After I gave a jumbled explanation of what had happened, she assured me help was on the way.
“Sure you’re okay?” Precious asked. “You don’t sound okay. Should I call EMS? Or the chief? The real chief—not the lazy-ass imposter we got now.”
I smothered a hysterical giggle at her description of Beau Tucker. “Thanks, but the danger’s over. There’s nothing McBride can do. Besides, he has enough on his plate without worrying about me.”
“Change your mind, hon, give me a holler. In the meantime, tow truck’s on its way.”
After disconnecting, I leaned back to await the arrival of Brandywine Creek’s finest and Caleb Johnson�
��s tow truck. I resisted the urge to phone McBride and have him come to the rescue of a damsel in distress. I didn’t want to be viewed as a weak, needy female, who yearned for a big strong man to bail her out of trouble. I was woman, hear me roar. I could bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan. Song lyrics and TV commercials summed up the philosophy I’d embraced since my divorce. I didn’t need a man to take care of me. I could take care of myself. But who was I kidding? I’d love having McBride here this instant.
* * *
News about my “accident” spread faster than kudzu over a parked car. Except for a Band-Aid on my forehead and being stiff and sore, I was still standing. My poor Beetle, however, had suffered more serious injuries. Caleb had reassured me the damage was nothing a good mechanic and skilled body repairman couldn’t fix. My car would soon be as good as new. In the meantime, he’d given me a loaner, a 2005 Ford Focus with a stick shift. I hadn’t driven a stick shift in years, but Caleb assured me it was like riding a bike. Once mastered, forever remembered.
A group of ladies from New Bethany Presbyterian Church in Tylerville, a small town thirty miles to the south, had no sooner departed for a guided tour of the opera house when McBride stormed in. Seeing his expression, the last straggler shot me a worried look, then hurried to catch up with her friends.
“Why didn’t you call me last night?” McBride kept his voice low, controlled, but his blue eyes shot daggers. “Instead, I had to hear about it from Reba Mae, who heard it from Clay, who heard it from Caleb, who heard it from Precious.”
“There was nothing you could’ve done.” Instinct prompted me to be a moving target rather than a stationary one. Taking the feather duster from beneath the counter, I began to circle the shelves. “I reported it to the police, and Caleb arrived with a tow truck. End of story.”
I ran the duster over an assortment of salt and pepper mills—wood and acrylic—that were a recent addition to my stock. “I’m a big girl, McBride. I’m accustomed to taking care of myself.”
A muscle ticked ominously in his jaw. “Did you get the number on the license plate? What about the make or model of the car? Can you give a description of the driver?”
“No, no, no, and no.” His rapid-fire questions were giving me a headache. “I already answered these questions when Officer Moyer took my statement.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” McBride snatched the duster from my hand and flung it to the floor, where it landed with a clatter.
Gerilee Barker chose that moment to make her entrance. She stared round-eyed at the two of us, who had squared off ready to go another round, and took a step back. “Um, I need to see Pete about a chuck roast. I’ll come back when you’re not so busy.”
I placed hands on my hips and glared at him. “See what you’ve gone and done, McBride? You ran off one of my best customers. How am I supposed to earn a living if you keep doing that?”
McBride glared back. “You could’ve been killed.”
“But I wasn’t. Except for a few aches and pains, I’m fine. Nothing Tylenol won’t fix.”
“You’ve got a tiger by the tail with whoever killed Shirley.” Frustrated, he shoveled his fingers through his hair. “Unless you solemnly swear you’ll be more careful, I’ll camp out right here in your shop.”
I sketched a cross over my heart. “Promise.”
He took my shoulders in a firm grip so I couldn’t wander off. “No more going out alone at night. Keep your cell phone handy and charged at all times. Remember to observe situational awareness. Make sure your locks have the dead bolts on. Understand?”
“Yes, I get it.”
“Stay away from Shirley’s house,” he continued. “Stop asking questions. Let the police do their job.”
“No need to be upset.”
“I’m not upset. I’m…” He pulled me into his arms and held me close. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”
I opened my mouth to reassure him, but he silenced me with a kiss that ended much too quickly. Releasing me, he turned on his heel and strode out. So much for the strong, silent type, I thought watching him leave.
* * *
I needed to work off some steam after McBride’s visit. Since it was a lovely spring afternoon, I decided to walk across the square and buy one of the chuck roasts Pete Barker advertised as a mid-week special at Meat on Main. It had been a while since Lindsey and I had pot roast. And as long as I was out and about and in need of fresh air, I’d take the long way instead of cutting across the square.
The long way encompassed walking one block down Main Street, skirting the square, and going up the other side of the street. I wouldn’t be gone more than fifteen or twenty minutes tops. I felt only the smallest twinge of guilt as I flipped the CLOSED sign.
I waved to Patti Sue as I passed Yesteryear Antiques and nearly ran over Mary Lou Lambert coming out of Second Hand Prose carrying an armload of romance novels.
“Oh, Piper!” Mary Lou exclaimed. “I heard all about your terrible accident. Shouldn’t you be home in bed restin’?”
I kept on going. “No call for alarm, Mary Lou. I’m fine.”
I was about to sail past Creekside Realty but for some reason slowed my step. I peered through the window and saw Vicki wasn’t alone. Zach VanFleet from the bank and newcomer Colin Flynn stood at her desk. Right then and there, I decided to pay them a visit.
“Hey, y’all,” I sang out as I entered. “Hope I’m not interrupting a meeting of some sort?”
Zach smoothed his necktie and gave Vicki a paternal smile. “I’ve been negligent on congratulating Vicki on her handling of the closing of Pets ’R People. She was the consummate professional. No one would have guessed she was a newbie.”
Vicki beamed at the praise. “Zach has been extremely helpful. I don’t know what I would have done without his guidance.”
Since Vicki and Zach were basking in mutual admiration, I turned to Colin Flynn. I wondered if he bore me any ill will after the pepper spray incident. “What about you, Mr. Flynn? Has Vicki found you a place to live while writing the great American novel?”
“Finding the perfect property is often quite difficult,” Vicki replied. “Mr. Flynn has a very specific list of must-haves.”
Colin smiled thinly. “Ms. Lamont was about to show me a place that has possibilities.”
“Becca Dapkins’ children are tired of renting out their mother’s place and are eager to sell.”
Zach nodded knowingly. “Renting property from afar is risky business.”
“Anyhow”—Vicki shuffled a stack of papers—“I just finished showing Colin comps in the area.”
Taking off his eyeglasses, Colin polished the lenses with a handkerchief. “If the price is right, it’s worth taking a look.”
I still didn’t trust the man. And it was more than the brand-new jeans or the unconvincing lines about him being a wannabe novelist. Ignoring McBride’s advice, I asked, “Have you been bunking with relatives while you search for the perfect house?”
“I’ve a room at the Beaver Dam Motel.”
“The no-tell motel?” I asked, the picture of innocence. “I understand they finally have the roach problem under control.”
Zach turned his head to hide a smile at seeing the younger man wince.
I started to leave but paused. “By the way, Vicki, did Beau Tucker ask you to identify the computer that some kids found in a field? I think it might’ve belonged to Shirley.”
Rising from her desk, Vicki placed the comps in a leather portfolio and zipped it shut. “I told him it looked like hers, but it was too beat-up to be certain.”
We stopped chatting as Kirby and Elaine Dixon, tanned and fit, breezed into Creekside Realty. Vicki quickly walked over to greet the well-heeled newcomers. It might have been my imagination, but I thought I saw dollar signs flash on her eyeballs. “Kirby, Elaine, what a nice surprise!”
When Kirby slid his arm around his wife’s waist, Elaine smiled, looking pleased as the Cheshire cat. �
��Is this a bad time?” she inquired sweetly.
Vicki frowned. “Did I forget we had an appointment?”
Elaine and Kirby laughed as though she’d just cracked a joke. “No,” Kirby said, “but Elaine and I thought it only fair that we give you our news in person.”
News? What news? I stayed rooted to the spot. Zach and Colin, I noted, suffered from the same temporary paralysis.
Vicki nearly clapped her hands in joy. The woman was practically salivating at the prospect of a hefty commission. “I knew you’d come around. You’re here because you want me to present a written offer to Mavis. And what about the Granger house? It would be perfect, absolutely perfect, for the two of you.”
Kirby had the grace to stare at the floor. His wife, however, didn’t share his reticence. “That’s just it, Vicki. We made an offer, but it’s not on Gray’s Hardware. We decided to purchase a condo on Hilton Head Island instead.”
“We visited old friends on Hilton Head a couple weeks ago—the weekend of Cot and Melly’s wedding, actually. A property we saw then has recently become available.”
“And the buyers accepted our offer.”
Vicki seemed on the verge of tears. “I see.”
The weekend of Melly and Cot’s wedding? My stomach dropped to my toes at hearing this. That was the weekend that Shirley had been killed. It meant the Dixons were hundreds of miles away at the time. They couldn’t possibly have been in two places at once. It had happened again. Another suspect bit the dust.
“A condo with an ocean view suits our lifestyle much better than life as a hardware store owner in a town most people have never heard of,” Kirby explained.
“We’re absolutely thrilled at the prospect of moving to Hilton Head permanently!” Elaine gushed. “First-class shopping, fine dining, and even a center for the performing arts.”
“You forgot to mention the championship golf.” Kirby chuckled.
“After all the work I’ve done?” Vicki whined. “What will I tell Mavis?”
“That’s not our problem, dear,” Elaine informed her with a cold smile.
