Gingerbread Man

by Maggie Shayne

  And he was right. There wasn't much to find. One decent footprint in the soft ground underneath the rear window that probably belonged to Holly. It was too damned small to be a man's. And there wasn't anything else.

  The chief glanced back at the cabin. "You working on anything that might make someone nervous, Detective?"

  Vince shook his head slowly. "I told you, I'm here on vacation."

  "Right. And this library book connection ... ?"

  "It's probably nothing."

  "Right," the chief said. "And you say Holly didn't actually see anything?"

  Vince shook his head. "Does she ... um ... have a history of this sort of thing?"

  "What sort of thing is that?"

  Now the man sounded slightly defensive.

  "Well, seeing things that aren't there."

  "No. She's honest as the day is long. But... delicate."

  "Delicate in what way?"

  The chief sent him a look that told him that was none of his business. "What I want to know is, what was Holly doin' out here in the first place?"

  "Don't know. She never really said."

  The man was too sharp for Vince's comfort, but he supposed he was going to have to tell him the truth sooner or later. He just hoped it would be later. He wasn't altogether sure he even trusted the man yet.

  Finally, the chief realized he wasn't going to get any more information, and took Holly home.

  It was a relief to be alone. For a long moment, Vince just stood on the small porch, arms braced on the railing, staring out at the water and trying to get a grip on his blood pressure. If he'd needed a warning, this had been it. He hadn't talked a woman through a panic attack since the runaway teen he'd tried to help last year. He'd known better than to get too involved, but he had let the kid hole up at his place until he could get her into a good halfway house. Why? Because she was needy. Homeless, unstable, and had the crap beat out of her the night she stumbled onto his path. He did not do well with needy women. He'd put his heart and soul into seeing Shelly through her crises, and he thought he'd helped. He really did.

  Until she turned up on a restroom floor with her wrists slashed.

  And here was another one—maybe not just like Shelly. None of them were just alike. But he'd been around long enough to know damaged goods when he saw them. Red was on shaky ground, and there were deep secrets haunting her eyes.

  He had a weakness for needy women. A tendency to get involved, to try to fix things for them. He knew it, recognized it as a character flaw, and recently had managed to walk the other way every time a needy woman had crossed his path. Up until he met Sara Prague.

  He wasn't going to make that mistake again. No more playing the hero. No more promises that would haunt his nights when he couldn't keep them.

  Cute or otherwise, Holly Newman was strictly off-limits. It was important that he acknowledge this up front. It would save complications later on. He hated complications.

  What he needed to do was analyze the woman's behavior from a purely objective point of view. She was obviously nervous about him being in town. She'd come out here to snoop and apparently had interrupted someone else who was also nervous about him being here, and snooping. Or she'd imagined the intruder, which seemed just as likely. There was no evidence anyone had been inside the cabin. The lock hadn't been broken, but it wasn't much of a lock. He supposed Holly could get hold of a key easily enough, since her uncle owned the place. He wondered if she had been inside rummaging through his stuff. Nothing too revealing in here. Not yet anyway.

  Her fear had been real, though. Whether she was lying, imagining, or had really seen someone, she had been scared into a panic attack. And it seemed unlikely a shadow and a snapping twig were enough to bring that on all by themselves. No, they'd probably acted as a trigger for something else. Something old. She told him as much when she admitted she hadn't had an attack in years.

  He wondered briefly about the source of her fear—the kind of fear that could come back to knock her flat on her ass, years later, at the slightest scare. Then he reminded himself that was beyond his strictly defined area of interest. Back on track.

  Just suppose there actually had been someone in the cabin. Who could it have been? Hell, he'd only been in town just over a day. Who could know what he was up to? He headed out to his car, unlocked it, and slid his laptop case out from under the passenger seat. He noticed his groceries still scattered in the dying grass out by the side of the cabin. A bag of coffee. Coffee filters. A six-pack of beer and a few other essentials. They would have to wait.

  Inside the cabin he dialed his cell phone while he waited for the laptop to boot up. A woman picked up on the fourth ring.

  "Katie? It's Vince, I need to talk to Jerry." He could hear his partner making motor sounds in the background, his four-year-old twins mimicking him and squealing with delight.

  "Nice to hear from you, too, Vince," Kate muttered.

  Chagrined, he said, "Sorry. How are you, hon? How are the kids?"

  "Molly wants her ears pierced, and Sydney is arguing her case for her," she replied. "I figure I have a fashion model and a litigator on my hands."

  "Just as long as they don't grow up to be cops," he said. "I really need to talk to Jerry."

  He heard the phone shift hands, heard Katie call to her husband, and then Jerry's voice came. "Vince? Where the hell are you, anyway?"

  "I'm fine, lounging in a nice little rustic cabin on a lake. It's freaking paradise, pal."

  "So what's wrong, Vince?"

  Vince frowned at the phone. "What makes you think anything's wrong?"

  "You called me."

  Vince drew a breath. His partner knew him too well. "I need a favor."

  "I knew it."

  "A discreet favor, Jerry."

  "You're working the Prague case, aren't you? Dammit, Vince—"

  "I have a name I want you to run for me. Not just for a criminal record—I really don't think you'll find anything there. But check anyway. And newspapers, too, old files. I'll take anything you can come up with, going back..."—he paused to flip open a notebook, for the date he'd found stamped on the library book—"go all the way back to eighty-three, just for the hell of it."

  Jerry sighed and said nothing.

  "You want to put away the creep who murdered those kids or not, partner?"

  "You know damn well I do. I'd also like to keep my job long enough to collect my pension, you know what I mean?" Another sigh. "What's the name?"

  "Newman," Vince said. "Holly. Mother's name is Doris. They lived in Syracuse until five years ago. That's about all I have."

  He heard Jerry scribbling. Then, "Vince, you know most of these types of crimes are committed by men."

  "I know. But this woman knows something, I'd lay money on it."

  Silence, long and drawn out. Then, finally, Jerry said, "Tell you what. I'll run the info if you'll tell me where the hell you are."

  "Place called Dilmun, on Cayuga Lake," he said. "That's between you and me."

  "For now, it is," Jerry replied. "What are you doing there, Vince?"

  "I told you," Vince said. "I'm on vacation." He hung up the phone, and told himself he wasn't interested in Holly Newman's background for any other reason than how it might tie in with his case. He couldn't care less what kinds of demons haunted her. It was no concern of his.

  * * *

  "SO JUST WHAT happened out there, Holly?"

  Looking sideways at the chief as he drove, Holly shook her head. "I was just walking." She tried to keep her voice from trembling, and giving away her true state. She was shaken, right to the core. She was scared on so many levels she couldn't begin to take stock. And her sense of security, which she'd built so carefully and so strongly here in this town, was shattered. Something was happening. Something was bringing it all back, and it seemed as if she had no control over it whatsover.

  That was what shook her most of all. That feeling of things moving beyond her control.

&nb
sp; "You don't go walking. You go straight home, every day, same route. You know it and I know it."

  Holly sighed and faced him. "I'm trying to get over that," she said, and she knew damned good and well it was a lie. She didn't want to get over it. She needed it. "I'm trying new things, breaking old habits. It's good for me. "

  "I wouldn't say it was all that good for you today."

  He was almost pouting. Big, strong Chief Mallory, looking like a scared kid. She forced a smile that was far from genuine. "You sure did get there in a hurry," she said, trying to change the subject. "What did you do, fly?"

  "I was on my way home. When O'Mally called I was just around the corner. I called Bill and told him to meet me here." He shook his head slowly. "Your mother is going have kittens over this, Holly."

  "Not if you don't make a big deal about it, she won't."

  He pursed his lips, turned the car onto Lakeview and slowed to a crawl. "I'm not gonna say a word. It's your call. You're an adult." Finally, he stopped in front of Holly's house. She saw her mother part the curtains and look out at them, and she waved.

  The chief said, "Holly, try to keep clear of this O'Mally character, will you?"

  Startled, Holly turned to face him again. "Why?" He avoided her eyes, and she caught her breath. "You know what he's really doing here, don't you?"

  "No. Not yet. But I don't have a good feeling about him. Just... be careful, all right?"

  She nodded. "I will." Then she sighed. "Stop worrying about me, will you? I'm fine."

  "You sure?"

  She nodded. "See you at the bonfire tomorrow night?"

  "You bet."

  Holly got out of the car and closed the door. The chief watched her all the way into the front door of her house before he drove away. Inside, she smelled chicken roasting in the oven, and smiled at the familiarity of it. It was Friday. They always had chicken on Fridays. She closed her eyes, her relief so intense she was near tears.

  ***

  CHIEF MALLORY DIDN'T go home, he went back into town and had Maddie Baker let him into the library's basement. He was the chief of police here; he was also one of a few remaining eligible bachelors. The other two were Dr. Ernie Graycloud, and Reginald D'Voe, the retired actor, but old Reggie didn't socialize much, and Ernie had publicly declared his intent to remain single to his dying day. Maddie Baker was a spinster whose voice always softened when she spoke to the chief. And she was only ten years his elder, so she probably held out hope, despite his relationship with Doris. It didn't take much talking, and only minimal flirting, to convince her to hand over the key, and trust him to lock up for her when he left.

  It took him three hours to find what he was looking for, but he finally did. The library had three copies of The Gingerbread Man through 1982. In 1983, one copy went missing and had to be replaced. The last person to check that book out of the Dilmun public library ...

  Mallory read the name, closed his eyes, shook his head.

  Holly Newman. Dammit straight to hell.

  FIVE

  CHIEF JIM MALLORY sat in a rocking chair on the front porch of his log cabin. A wicker table sat beside him, with a glass of iced tea and a cordless phone on it. He liked his cabin. It sat just a little bit above the town, and gave him the feeling he was watching over Dilmun, even when he wasn't in his office.

  He was troubled tonight. And he knew there were other men in this town who would be just as troubled when he let them know what was going on. There was no use stirring all this up. He needed to let them know, though. They needed to figure out how best to deal with it.

  Sighing, he picked up his cordless phone, and keyed in Ernie Graycloud's number. Ernie answered on the third ring, just about the time Mallory was beginning to wonder if he was busy with a patient or had been called in to the hospital or something.

  "Yeah, what is it?" he asked by way of a greeting. He always sounded slightly grumpy on the phone. It was his way.

  "It's Jim. Listen, we need to get together. Something's going on, and I don't like it."

  He heard Ernie's sigh. "This got anything to do with that cop who showed up in town?"

  "Yeah. He's showing way too much interest in Holly Newman. It's not good, Ernie."

  "I was afraid of that. Heard he was sniffing around her. He digging into the past?"

  "It looks that way."

  Ernie made a sound, halfway between a grunt and a clearing of his throat. "Have you talked to Marty about this?"

  "No, but I'm gonna call him next. We should get together, talk face-to-face."

  "That would be best," Ernie said. "It won't do to have this stirred up."

  "Agreed."

  "Good. Let me know when and where. I'll be there."

  "I knew I could count on you, Ernie." Mallory hung up the phone, leaned back in his rocker, and looked toward the town spread out in the distance. It was his town. Nothing bad ever happened there. It was up to him to keep it that way. And he damned well intended to do just that.

  * * *

  DORIS NEWMAN STACKED the last plate in the dishwasher, added detergent, and closed the door. "I don't like it. No, not one bit. Does your uncle Marty know about this person you thought you saw creeping around Detective O'Mally's place?"

  Holly was elbow deep in soapy water, scrubbing the roasting pan. Helping her mom with cleanup after dinner was part of her daily ritual, and she was trying hard to lose herself in it. "I have no idea. I imagine the chief called him by now. I mean, it's his cabin. He'll have to be notified." She kept on scrubbing. "Besides, like I said, I'm not even sure anyone was there. I mean, I was at first, but..." She shrugged, and sighed heavily.

  Her mother glanced at her, a touch of worry clouding her eyes. "You mean you think you might have imagined it?'

  Holly controlled her expression. "Of course not. I saw something. I wouldn't have made Vince—Detective O'Mally—call Jim if I hadn't seen something. I'm just not sure what."

  Her mother nodded, but Holly didn't know if she was convinced or not. God, she didn't want to worry her mom. Her mother had been through enough in her life. If the scales of justice were to be balanced, her mother would know nothing but sheer bliss for the rest of her days.

  "I just don't understand," Doris continued, speaking slowly now. She came to the sink, took a sponge and dipped it in the soapy water, then she took it to the round table and wiped it off. "What in the world were you doing out at the lake anyway, Holly?"

  Holly felt herself stiffen, but kept her back to her mother. "I just decided to take the long way home for a change. There won't be any foliage at all soon, and it's always prettiest around the water."

  Doris stopped wiping. Holly heard the cessation of movement and felt her mother's eyes drilling into her back. "Please don't lie to me, Holly."

  Forcing a smile, lifting her chin, hoping her eyes appeared shadow free, Holly turned to face her mother. "It's not a lie."

  "You decided to take the long way home—something you haven't done since—"

  "Don't." Holly turned back to the sink too quickly. "Just don't, don't bring it up."

  Her mother was silent for a long moment. Then she spoke again. "You decided to look at the foliage, on the most overcast day we've had in weeks, when most of the trees are all but bare."

  Holly swallowed hard. "Fine, you don't have to believe me. Why do you think I took that route home?" She scrubbed harder on the pot.

  Her mother sighed long and slow. Then she spoke, and her voice seemed a bit lighter than before. "I think you went out there to visit Detective O'Mally."

  The relief that washed through Holly that her mother was so far from the real reason, was short-lived. Disbelief followed on its heels. "That's the most ridiculous thing you've ever said to me."

  "Is it?" her mother came closer, leaned over Holly's shoulder. "Then why are you scrubbing the finish off my best baking pan. Holly?"

  Holly stopped scrubbing. She let her mother shoulder her aside, rinse the pan, and set it upside down in the dish dr
ainer. What was she supposed to say? That she suspected the man was here for reasons he wasn't giving? That his very presence seemed to be stirring to life her most deeply buried ghosts? No. No, she wouldn't put her mother through that.

  "It's all right, hon," Doris said, pulling the plug, wiping the sink as the water ran down the drain. "To tell you the truth, I'm thrilled to see you showing some interest in a man. I was beginning to think you never would."

  She blinked and looked at her mother. "Interest?"

  "He's not exactly handsome, is he? It's more a charismatic sort of thing, I think, that makes him seem so attractive."

  "Attractive?" She thought he looked burned out and tired.

  "And he certainly returns your interest."

  She released a burst of air that was almost a snort.

  "He does, Holly. It was obvious at the cafe. You should have heard him asking me all about you while you were in the restroom. Listen, I'm going to call your uncle Marty and make sure he knows about this break-in incident. But after that—"

  "What was he asking?"

  Her mother was halfway to the telephone on the opposite wall, but she stopped and turned back with an inquiring expression.

  "What did he want to know about me?"

  "Oh, the usual kinds of things. How long you'd been working for the chief, what you like to do with your free time, whether you were seeing anyone." She smiled knowingly.

  Holly had a knot in her stomach. Why was this man asking about her? It wasn't for the reasons her mother had concocted. He was in this town for a purpose, and it had something to do with her. And maybe... maybe with Ivy, too. The idea sent her pulse racing. She felt the blood rushing in her temples, thudding there.

  "After I get off the phone with Marty, you should give that man a call," Doris went on. "Why don't you invite him to the bonfire tomorrow night?"

  Holly searched her mind for a reason. "You know the phones aren't turned on at the cabins."