He stormed away. Daleigh glanced over at Ryan. Maybe that boy was hiding something. The question was: What?
***
Daleigh pivoted in the truck seat as Ryan pulled to a stop in front of her temporary home. She paused with her hand on the door handle as she glanced over at Ryan. His easy profile brought her an unreasonable amount of comfort. Funny how she felt like she’d known him for weeks instead of mere days. “Thanks for coming along for the ride today.”
“My pleasure, Daleigh.”
The sun had set now and darkness had fallen over the peaceful little town. I didn’t make it home before dark, Daleigh mused. How quickly her mind went back to her father’s advice. How quickly she shuddered at the thoughts of everything the darkness could hide . . . including evidence of murder.
“If I can ever repay you, let me know.”
He leaned forward, his eyes sparkling. “There is one thing you could do.”
“What’s that?”
“My nephew is a huge fan. He’s been through some really tough times lately. I would love to surprise him and have him meet you.”
“I think that sounds great. I can even bring my guitar and play a few tunes for him, if you’d like.”
“He would love that.”
“When’s a good time?”
“You free tomorrow, early evening?”
“Not a plan in the world.”
He grinned and straightened. “Okay, then. How about if I swing by around five?”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Ryan nodded toward her cottage. “Mind if I walk you up?”
Half her lip curled with pleasure. She had to admit that a part of her was filled with ominous dread that the place had been broken into again. “Aren’t you a southern gentleman?”
“What can I say? I try.”
“I would love it if you walked me to the door, Ryan.” Her voice took on an unexpected husky tone. Ryan made her feel so . . . cherished, she supposed was the right word. She hadn’t felt like that in a long time.
A grin stretched across his face. He ran around to her door and helped her out before taking her elbow to navigate over the broken sidewalk and various roots that snaked through the uneven landscape. Crickets chanted around them and, somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted.
“I should have left the light on, but I didn’t think about it earlier.”
Suddenly, Ryan’s grip on her elbow tightened and he grunted.
Daleigh jerked to a stop. “What—?”
She followed Ryan’s gaze to the porch. Across the wood plank exterior were the words “I’m watching you” in red spray paint.
Her heart stopped at the sight.
Who was watching her? And why?
***
Ryan pushed down the anger that threatened to rise in him as he stared at the threatening words staining the cottage with blood-like essence. Who would have done this? Hannah had mentioned that Daleigh had a restraining order against someone in Nashville. Had that person followed her here?
He put a protective arm around her and turned her until she dragged her gaze away from the letters. “I think we should call the police.”
She nodded. “I think that’s a good idea.”
When the police cruiser arrived five minutes later, it seemed like everyone on the street came out of the woodwork to see what was going on. Several neighbors gathered around the cottage to stare.
A police officer named RJ had questioned the neighbors and gawkers, and no one had seen anything.
If not the Thin Man, then who would have done this? Danny Harris wouldn’t have had time to leave the bakery and get here to do this. The only other people who even knew that Daleigh was investigating were Dr. McDermott’s graduate assistant Patricia and Chief Rollins. At least, as far as Ryan knew, those were the only people.
It was obvious that someone knew Daleigh was asking questions, and they didn’t like it. But how far would they go? Would they leave it at idle threats . . . or would this become more? Was Daleigh’s life in danger?
“Daleigh?” A high-pitched voice cut through the crowds. Everyone quieted and stared.
Ryan glanced at Daleigh and saw her muscles go rigid. It was Hannah. The woman broke through the crowd until she reached Daleigh. “What happened?”
Daleigh pointed to the words on her cottage. “That happened.”
Hannah’s eyes widened. “Who would do such a thing?”
Daleigh shook her head. “I have no idea.”
“I saw the police cars . . . I thought . . .” She shook her head. “I just don’t understand.”
“Hannah, have you ever considered that Dad’s death wasn’t an accident?” Daleigh whispered.
“Are you crazy? Are you out of your mind? Of course it was an accident.” Her voice rose with each word.
“Keep your voice down!” Daleigh hissed. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“I don’t ever want to hear you suggest that ever again! Do you understand? Do you understand?”
“Hannah—” Daleigh stopped abruptly and shook her head. “You know what? I’m not going to argue with you. I wish I had never said anything.”
Hannah stalked back to her house, fumes still coming from her ears. Before Daleigh came back into town, Hannah had always seemed a bit emotional, but never rude. He could feel the strain between the two sisters as if it was a physical thing.
Finally, the police and most of the neighbors cleared away.
“You okay?” He wanted to step closer, wanted to rub her arm and offer some comfort. But he had to remember that she was taken. Even if she did make him feel like he was the only man who made her smile. Even if she did make his heart race like a stallion. The fact remained that she wasn’t his to hold.
She pulled her arms around herself. “I guess. I wasn’t expecting this.”
“You should stay with your sister tonight.”
Her eyes narrowed. “No way. I’d rather take my chances that a crazy person might find me.”
“You don’t mean that.”
Her sharp glance told him that she did. “Hannah and I have a strange relationship, I know. But I should be okay. The police checked out the cottage. Everything is fine. I’ll lock my doors and keep the phone close by, just in case I hear anything.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Can I see your phone?”
She squeezed her eyebrows together but pulled out the phone anyway and placed it in his outstretched hand. Ryan pulled up the screen, trying to ignore the text messages that came up from Vince. He had a hard time overlooking them, though. Had a hard time ignoring the man’s insistence that Daleigh call him. Instead, Ryan found the keypad and typed something in before handing it back to her.
“What was that about?”
“My number’s in there. Call if you need me. Promise?”
Her eyes held some swirling emotion in their depths as she looked up at him. “I promise. And thank you.”
Ryan stepped back toward his truck, wishing there was something more he could offer. Wishing Daleigh was his to protect.
Since she wasn’t, he’d have to watch out for her . . . but only from a distance.
Chapter Eleven
Daleigh woke up the next morning, curled into a ball on her bed, her phone clutched in one hand.
Was everything just a nightmare? She remembered the blood-red words scrawled on the front of her cottage, her father’s death, her sagging career, her relationship with Vince. All of that was real. Too real.
She shoved her head into the pillow. What she wouldn’t do to be able to bury her head in the sand and ignore the overwhelming issues circling her. But she had to find some answers first. She had to clear up the mystery surrounding her father’s death here before she returned to Nashville and cleared up the mess she’d left there.
Last night, she’d spent some time reading her Bible and crying out to God for answers, for comfort. God had a
lways been a part of her life, though lately he’d been a very distant part. From an early age, her dad had taken the family to church—even when in Africa. Funny how she’d gradually slipped away from doing things like reading her Bible and praying. Eventually, she hadn’t even realized what happened or that she’d slipped so far. What a shame that it had taken her dad’s death to put things in perspective.
Now that she was older, she marveled that her dad had been so grounded in his faith, especially since he’d been surrounded by academia so much. He’d always told Daleigh that the things he’d seen in other countries had only confirmed that God was real. Daleigh had never forgotten that.
Nor had she forgotten the missionaries they’d met overseas, people who’d given up everything to serve the Lord. When she’d started in the music business, she’d been determined to be a “missionary” to those around her by singing songs with the pure, underlying—though subtle—message of God’s love. When had that faded? How exactly did she go about restoring it?
She had to get her focus back. That was all there was to it. She had to turn off all these outside voices that taunted she wasn’t good enough and focus on finding God’s approval. He was the only one who really mattered.
Her day with Ryan flashed into her mind. Spending time with the mechanic had been surprisingly refreshing. Talking with Ryan had also made her realize that her relationship with Vince had been anything but healthy. Healthy relationships didn’t make you feel like crying all the time. They didn’t make you feel like you constantly had to change in order to be accepted.
She pulled the covers up around her shoulders, tempted to stay in bed all day. That’s when she heard someone outside her house. Her entire body tensed, went rigid, at the noise. Who was outside? Had the person who’d killed her father come back to finish her off?
She pulled a robe on over her T-shirt and pajama shorts. She crept from her bedroom toward the front of her house. There was more than one voice, she realized. And neither sounded threatening. In fact, they were laughing.
What was going on?
She approached the window when she saw two men she’d met at the funeral. They wore splattered coveralls and brandished . . . paintbrushes. Paintbrushes?
She cracked the door open and stuck her head out. “Good morning.”
One of the men, the one with a round belly and face, paused mid-stroke and grinned. “Sorry to wake you, ma’am. We heard what happened and knew that was no way to welcome you to town. Your sister gave us permission to come over and paint over this junk someone spray-painted on the place. It’s a shame, I tell you, that someone would do this. A crying shame.”
“This ain’t no way to treat Ray McDermott’s daughter,” the second man said, easing his paintbrush back and forth against the house. He was tall and thin with a pointy nose and a friendly voice.
“Wow, I really appreciate that you’d do this for me.”
“We like to take care of each other here,” said the chubbier of the two men.
She pulled her robe closer, realizing just how different life was here in small town America. “Can I do anything?”
“You can promise not to hold this against the town. How about that?”
She grinned. “It’s a deal.” She paused, wondering if this was her chance to ask more questions. She jutted her hip against the doorframe and crossed her arms. “By the way, did either of you notice anything strange on the day my father died?”
The round man paused and tapped his brush against the house. “I did see a burgundy sedan parked outside your house here. I normally wouldn’t notice, but it looked just like a model I checked out myself.”
“Can you tell me anything else about it? License plate maybe?” She tried to keep her voice even in an effort not to raise their suspicions any more than necessary.
The chubby man shook his head and dunked his brush back into the canister of white paint. “No, honey, I can’t tell you that. I can tell you it was a Civic. Probably ten years old. Painted burgundy.” He raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”
She nodded. “It’s just fine. Thank you for the information.”
It wasn’t much, but it was something.
She needed to look for a burgundy Civic.
***
Daleigh got dressed and headed to the police department. Chief Rollins welcomed her into the office with a warm smile and an inquiry on how she was doing.
“I’ve been better,” Daleigh answered, leaning back in her chair.
“They say time heals all wounds.”
“I’m hoping the truth will help heal mine.” She stared at the chief’s perky features, from her upturned nose to her curly hair. Would this conversation help heal Daleigh? “Have you found out anything?”
The chief’s smile dimmed. “I have asked around, but I’m afraid I don’t have a thing to tell you. Crime has been very low around here recently. Two weeks ago we had a case of petty larceny. On the outskirts of town we had a DUI. But murder?” She chuckled. “Nothing like that going on in my city.”
Ryan’s words came back to her. The chief cared too much about her reputation. Of course she didn’t want to acknowledge the crime in the area.
Daleigh leaned back in her chair. “What should I do then?”
The chief jutted her chin out and nodded confidently. “You have to accept that your dad was working on a piece of fiction, that there was no truth in those journal entries.”
“Listen, someone stole those journals. They painted a threatening message on the side of my house. I wouldn’t call that fiction.”
“Of course,” she muttered. She met Daleigh’s eyes. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll put one of my officers on it. We’ll get to the bottom of this for you. No worries.”
“No worries,” Daleigh repeated, although in her mind she was doubtful. She had a feeling “no worries” was the chief’s mantra.
Daleigh left the police department and wandered down the street, walking off some of her frustration. She passed the garage where Ryan worked and wondered what he was doing. A smile formed just thinking about him.
The sign for the pharmacy stood on the corner, a proud reminder of this town’s history. This would be a good time to pay her father’s friend, pharmacist Henry Snelling, a visit. Maybe he could help Daleigh piece together the last days of her father’s life. As she approached the front door, she noted the sign in the window: “Snelling for Mayor.” Her father’s friend was running for office. She stored that information in the back of her mind.
Bells jangled on the door as she went inside. She instantly felt like she’d stepped back in time as she caught a panoramic view of the store. The old-fashioned register to her left boasted huge keys and loud dings. The shelves were short and well stocked. A black-and-white-checkered floor stretched down the aisles.
“If it isn’t Daleigh McDermott.”
Daleigh turned around and spotted a slight balding man wearing a white lab coat. She vaguely recognized him from the funeral. “Henry Snelling.”
He snubbed a thumb into his chest. “I was hoping you might stop by while you were in town.”
“My father mentioned you as a friend.”
“I considered him one of my closest.” The smile disappeared from his round face. “It’s such a tragedy that he’s not with us any longer. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“I’m hoping you can answer some questions for me.”
“Whatever I can do to make this easier for you. Let me fix you a float and we’ll chat.”
Daleigh smiled. She liked Mr. Snelling already. Her father had trusted him, so she felt she could also. A moment later, she sat in a corner booth, away from a family with two toddlers and other listening ears. Mr. Snelling scooped some ice cream into a mug and popped open a glass bottle of root beer.
“I assume you like root beer. Your dad did.” The liquid foamed as he filled the glass.
“It sounds great.”
He stuck a fluorescent pink straw into it and set
it in front of Daleigh with a clunk. He squeezed across from her in the booth with a glass of water in hand and rested his elbows on the table. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“I’m trying to trace my father’s last few days before he . . . passed away. I’m hoping you can help me.”
“I’ll certainly do whatever I can. What do you need to know?”
“Did you see him at all during that time?”
“I did. We had lunch at the café a week ago today, actually.”
“What did you guys talk about that day? Anything you can remember would help.”
He leaned back. “Let’s see, we talked about the high school production of The Taming of the Shrew that we both saw the weekend before. We both thought it deserved the public school version of a Tony Award. Then we talked about taking a trip to Norfolk to see a Tides baseball game. It’s probably best that we didn’t since they’ve had an abysmal season.” He shook his head. “Really, just general stuff like that. Nothing extraordinary.”
Daleigh leaned closer. “Did he seem like himself?”
“He was a bit reflective, like there was something on his mind. I didn’t think much about it, though.”
“Did he mention any projects or anything out of the ordinary?”
“He was always studying something. A lot of times he would just sit on the park bench outside the pharmacy with his notebook in hand, jotting down observations. I asked him once what he was writing about, but he just laughed and closed the notebook. Said I wouldn’t be interested.”
A smile grazed her lips. “Sounds like my dad.”
“Any reason why you’re asking?”
“I’m just trying to put some pieces together.”
He leaned closer. “You don’t think . . .” He stopped himself and chuckled. “Never mind. It was a crazy thought. It’s just that the way you’re talking, asking these questions . . .”
“Sometimes things aren’t as they seem, Mr. Snelling. I just want some answers.”
“Why would you think . . . ?” It was as if he couldn’t say the words. Daleigh’s heart leapt into her throat, pounding there like it might choke her.
Home Before Dark (Christian Romantic Suspense) (Carolina Moon Book 1) Page 9
