FIFTEEN
Mallory felt her stomach twist into a knot as Brock’s tanned face filled the big-screen TV. How had she ever thought him attractive? Right now he looked like evil in a fancy facade. She wondered that others couldn’t see it, too. As he attempted some light humor about a dog event taking place at the River Park on Saturday, she wanted to scream—can’t you all see this man is a murderer? Instead, she pressed her lips together and hugged the throw cushion even more tightly to her chest. It would do no good for all for Logan’s firefighter friends to see her acting like a crazy woman. For his sake, she needed to keep herself together.
To her relief, Abby Kingston’s pretty face replaced Brock’s. She’d never been a huge Abby fan, but compared to Brock, this woman felt like a breath of fresh air. “We’ve got breaking news coming from the other side of the mountain tonight,” Abby said suddenly. “It seems that in the small town of Clover, just three hours from Portland, there’s been a shooting incident. It happened earlier this evening and facts are still coming in, but at this time we know two people were hurt.”
The firehouse got very quiet now—and Mallory’s full attention was on the screen where a photo of downtown Clover was being shown. She knew this was the story derived from the tip she’d given Alex. Bless him for throwing it together so quickly. The camera returned to Abby Kingston as she described the sleepy little town. But suddenly Mallory wished it would pull back to show Brock, as well. She longed to see his reaction when he heard that his nasty plans had gone awry.
“In tonight’s skirmish a local firefighter—a young woman named Winnie Halston—was injured in a shoot-out that involved a Portland man named Antonio Perez. Details of Ms. Halston’s injuries are sketchy, but sources say that Perez suffered a gunshot wound that is not life threatening. He’s listed in serious condition. And both are hospitalized in a local facility. Authorities say that Perez is also a suspect in an arson incident that occurred the previous night.
“According to our sources, Perez may also become a suspect in a recent Portland murder case. Kestra Williams was brutally slain in Portland just last Wednesday. This unsolved case is of special interest to this particular news station because the apartment where Williams was murdered belongs to one of our own news writers. Mallory Myers, on temporary leave of absence, was considered a suspect in the Williams murder case early on and continues to be of interest. What possibly links these crimes together is that tonight’s shootings occurred on a rural piece of property owned by Ms. Myers’s parents.” She paused, turning to Brock. “The plot thickens.”
Without missing a beat, Brock jumped in. “On the topic of the Williams murder case, police authorities have revealed that the article of clothing used to cover the surveillance camera at Mallory Myers’s apartment did, in fact, belong to Ms. Myers.” Now a picture of a Blazers T-shirt was shown on the screen. And although Mallory had owned a T-shirt similar to that, she felt certain it wasn’t the same shirt and that this was simply a shirt the news team had borrowed for this piece.
“Authorities are currently investigating whether anyone suspicious was spotted at the time the surveillance cam was obscured,” Abby added.
“I know for a fact that the security cam is located in a place where few people can see it,” Brock said. “And it was obstructed shortly before Ms. Williams was murdered in Myers’s apartment, a little while before Ms. Myers came home.”
“That sure doesn’t bode well for Mallory Myers.” Abby sounded worried.
“I still have difficulty believing that Ms. Myers could be responsible for such a heinous crime.” Brock’s forehead creased. “But this breaking news—tonight’s shootings, and on the Myers’ property—well, it does seem to cast additional suspicion on our young news writer.” He grimly shook his head. “It certainly does not look good.”
“Very sad,” Abby added.
Brock looked directly into the camera. “Our hearts go out to Kestra Williams’s family and friends. They have asked that we keep them in our prayers. Ms. Williams’s memorial service is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon.” He turned to Abby with a very somber expression. “I’ve been asked by the family to deliver her eulogy.” He let out a sad-sounding sigh. “I am honored by this invitation, and it was with great sadness that I accepted. Tomorrow is going to be rough.”
Abby reached over to pat Brock’s hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss, too, Brock. I know Ms. Williams was a close personal friend.”
He just nodded. “And now for weather. Candy Bowman, what can we expect for our upcoming weekend? Hopefully not another scorcher.”
Mallory quickly stood and, without saying a word, hurried from the overly warm and crowded room. She needed air and she needed it now. Finding the nearest exit, she burst out of the firehouse and into the cool night air. Just seeing and hearing Brock made her feel sick to her stomach.
“You okay?”
She turned in surprise to see Logan had followed her out. “I—uh—I don’t know.”
“That was pretty rough.”
“I cannot believe Brock!” she exclaimed. “It’s like he’s out to get me on every level. He doesn’t just want me dead and buried, he wants to completely smear my reputation, too.”
“And he does it so innocently.”
Mallory did not appreciate that comment—even if it was true—but decided to keep her thoughts to herself.
“What about that surveillance cam?” Logan asked. “Was that really your shirt?”
“Apparently.” She pressed her lips together.
“Are there other security cameras?”
“My apartment is in an old house that was remodeled into four apartments. Just the one cam. Out by the alley.”
“Interesting that Brock was aware of it.”
“We used to date. Remember? It’s no secret.” She let out a weary sigh. “I’m really tired. I’m sure you are, too.”
“Yeah. How about I direct you to the women’s quarters? I asked someone to put your bag in there for you.”
“Thanks.”
As they went back into the firehouse, Logan pointed out some of the highlights and told her to help herself to the kitchen where a couple of men were having a late-night snack. But Mallory was not eager to engage with any of the other firefighters. She could only imagine what they were thinking of her after that newscast. Why had she even wanted to see it? She wondered if Logan had spoken in her defense after she’d run off. Perhaps there hadn’t been time. And maybe she didn’t really care. As he pointed her toward a door, all she felt was tired and beat up...and slightly hopeless. Even so, she forced a small smile. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For everything.”
He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Sleep well.”
“You, too.”
Mallory went into the room where two sets of bunk beds were against the walls, but none of the bunks were occupied and the lights were still on. Her bag was on one of the lower bunks and she assumed that was where she was supposed to sleep. She was just heading toward it when a blonde woman dressed in a uniform emerged from what appeared to be the bathroom.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said as she kicked off her shoes.
“Have we met?” Mallory couldn’t remember the woman’s name, or if she was even the same woman in the TV room earlier.
“Not officially.” The woman unbuttoned her shirt.
“I’m Mallory.” She attempted a friendly smile. “I actually grew up in Clover. My dad’s a deputy and—”
“Yeah, I know who you are.” The woman seemed to be studying her closely. “I’m Jennifer...and Winnie is a good friend of mine.”
“Oh, yeah, of course.” Mallory nodded. “That was too bad... I mean her getting hurt. But like Logan said, she was fortunate. She could’ve been killed by Perez. Any of us could’ve been killed.”
“Like your frie
nd in Portland?” Jennifer’s eyes narrowed with what seemed suspicion.
Mallory frowned. “Well, I don’t know. I mean, that was different.”
“How so?” Wearing a tank top and uniform pants, Jennifer sat down on a lower bunk, folding her arms across her front.
“Well, Kestra was, uh, she was murdered with a knife.” Mallory shuddered to remember. “Tonight the killer was armed with a gun.”
Jennifer tipped her head to one side. “I guess I should be feeling pretty scared.”
“Scared? Why?”
“It seems that wherever you go trouble follows. A girl gets killed. Another one gets hurt. And then there’s that fire. Here you are with me—should I be worried?”
Mallory didn’t know what to say...what to do. Mostly she wanted to just run...but where? A large hard lump was growing in her throat. But she was determined not to cry.
“Seriously, doesn’t it seem a little strange to you?”
“Yeah...it is strange.” Mallory’s voice grew gruff as she tried to hold back tears.
“I mean, even the newscasters are acting like you’re suspicious. If you ask me, it’s pretty weird. And then Logan insinuates that Brock Dennison is somehow involved in all this. But you saw him on the news tonight—how could he possibly be part of these crimes? He’s hours away. It makes no sense to me.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t.” Mallory looked toward the door, wanting to leave—to go anywhere to get away from this heartless young woman.
“But Logan seems to believe you.” Jennifer stood up and, coming closer, she peered curiously at Mallory. “And he must think that you’re not dangerous, otherwise he wouldn’t have brought you here.”
“I can see that my presence makes you uncomfortable.” Mallory picked up her bag. “Please, excuse me.” And before Jennifer could say another word, Mallory exited the room. And without speaking to anyone, she left the building. She had no plan...no place to go. And her car was still parked at her parents’ house. She glanced up and down the dark and deserted street and was slightly surprised to realize that she didn’t feel the least bit afraid. Perhaps it was because she was too numb to feel anything. Or maybe she had quit caring.
Looping the handle of her bag over her shoulder, she began to walk toward the center of town. She felt slightly guilty about leaving like this—but she also knew it would’ve been impossible to stay. Hopefully Logan was fast asleep by now. She would send him a text in the morning, informing him of her whereabouts.
Clover was a small town with limited choices in accommodations. She knew that several options, like the quaint B and B and a small hotel, would probably be closed by now. But the chain hotel still had its lights on and, as she got closer, the vacancy sign gave her hope. To her relief the young man at the receptionist desk didn’t appear to know her and apparently hadn’t been paying attention to the news. He didn’t even question her saying that she’d gotten into town late and was temporarily without her car.
“Have a good evening,” he said mechanically as he handed her a key.
“And I’m expecting no visitors,” she informed him. “I do not want to be disturbed.”
He nodded sleepily. “No problem. It’s been pretty quiet here tonight.”
She thanked him with a stiff smile then headed out to find her room, but as she went down the sidewalk she looked all around, trying to be sure that no one had followed her...no one was watching. The earlier numbness was fading.
But feeling somewhat assured that she was safe, she entered her room and locked the door, making sure that the sliding glass door that led to the courtyard was secure as well. Then, completely and utterly exhausted, she fell onto the bed fully dressed and cried herself to sleep.
When she awoke it was to the sound of the sliding glass door slowly opening. A flash of sunlight illuminated the otherwise dark room and she could hear the sound of someone pushing through the heavy drapes. Too afraid to lift her head and look, she simply remained frozen, afraid to breathe and wondering if she could grab her gun from the bedside table before this intruder could make it to her. She was about to make a fast leap for the gun when the sound of someone pounding on the door, stopped her cold. There were two of them? Trapping her in this hotel room?
SIXTEEN
“Who’s there?” she yelled. And then she screamed out at the top of her lungs. “Help!”
“It’s Logan!” he yelled loudly, still pounding on the door. “Are you okay?”
“Logan!” In one swift move, she leaped from the bed, grabbed the handgun and opened the door. Behind her she heard the slider door slam shut, but when she looked back, no one was there. “Oh, Logan!” She fell into his arms.
“What’s going on?” he demanded with a frantic expression. “Why did you—”
“Someone was in here,” she gasped, pointing to the slider door. “They’d just broken into my room and—”
He pushed her behind him, rushing over to the door to peer out, looking both ways and all around. “It looks like the door was jimmied. But I don’t see anyone out there.” He closed and locked it, pulling out his phone. “What happened?”
As she explained the moments before he got there, he put in a phone call to Stan Griggs, relaying the information to him. “I didn’t even see the guy,” she told him. “So I don’t have any description. He ran out when you were banging on the door.”
“That’s right,” Logan told Griggs. “No, I didn’t see anything. It’s room 107. First floor. Less than five minutes ago.” Then he thanked him and pocketed his phone. “He’s sending someone here to investigate.”
“I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t banged on that door. I was so scared I could barely breathe. And my gun was just out of reach. I’m so glad you showed up just now!” Tears of gratitude and relief filled her eyes. “Thank you!”
He gathered her into his arms, holding her tight and stroking her hair. “I was so worried about you, Mallory. I didn’t know where you were, or what had happened. Why did you take off like that?”
“I don’t know. I was confused. Didn’t know what to do.” She clung to him, never wanting to let go.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going?”
“I figured you were asleep. And I meant to text you first thing this morning.” She let out a ragged sigh. “I’m so sorry, Logan.”
He pushed her hair away from her face, looking down with such an intensity that her feelings of pure terror slowly melted away. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you. Please, Mallory, tell me why you left the firehouse?”
She felt more tears coming now. “It’s hard to explain,” she said as she reached for a tissue. “But Jennifer seemed upset about me being there last night.”
“What?” He looked angry. “What did she do? What did she say?”
“You can’t really blame her.” Mallory sat down on the chair, pulling her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around them. “In her eyes, I look like a dangerous person. A murder suspect. Wherever I go, someone gets hurt. I’m sure she honestly believed she was in danger with me there.”
“But that’s ridiculous.”
“No, not really.” She shook her head. “All she had to go by was the news. You have to admit it makes me look bad.”
He sighed as he sat down on the other chair. “I guess I understand that.”
“And I was certain you’d be asleep.” She waved to the rumpled queen-size bed. “And I have to admit that I just had the best night’s sleep I’ve had in days. Well, except for my rude awakening.” She glanced at the alarm clock, surprised to see it was past eight.
He exhaled loudly. “I just wish I’d known. You had me so worried.”
“I’m really sorry. I never meant to worry you.” She frowned. “How did you find me, anyway?”
“I drove around town, asking myself where I would go if I needed a bed in the middle of the night. This was the first place I looked.”
“But I told the motel clerk not to let anyone know I was here.”
“Fortunately Brian is a friend of mine. And it helps that I’m the fire chief.” He grinned. “You hungry for breakfast?”
She pushed a strand of stray hair away from her face. “Kinda. But I’d like to clean up a little first.”
“Do you want me to go wait in the lobby while you grab a shower?”
She glanced over at the recently jimmied door. “I’m not sure I feel safe.”
“Do you want me to wait here?” He looked slightly uncomfortable, too. “Or, if you like, you can come back to the firehouse and use the facilities there. That’s a safe place. And I’ll let Jennifer know she needs to keep her opinions to herself.”
She reluctantly agreed and before long, she had the women’s shower room all to herself. But as much as she wanted to relax, she still felt shaken and frightened from the intruder this morning. If it was that easy to break into her locked hotel room, how much easier would it be for a killer to just walk into the firehouse, where no doors were even locked? How hard would it be for the killer to walk into this shower room? As Mallory hurried to shower and dry and dress, she wondered if she would ever escape these fears. Was anywhere safe?
SEVENTEEN
Logan suspected that, after last night’s encounter, Mallory wouldn’t care to eat at the firehouse this morning. And she probably wouldn’t be all that comfortable in a restaurant, either. He considered taking her to his place, but after hearing about her hotel room intruder, it didn’t seem prudent to have breakfast in a fishbowl.
So, while Mallory was in the shower, he decided to call his mother. Not only did she live in a safe and secluded neighborhood, she probably wouldn’t mind letting him use her car. And driving around town in his highly visible red Jeep felt risky.
Perfect Alibi Page 14
