by Cindi Myers
Travis shifted his gaze to the dark blue Aircast that encased Nate’s left ankle. “How long are you off duty?” he asked.
“Until the doctor clears me to return. He says that could be as long as six weeks, but I’m going to be back before then.”
Sure you are. Travis had the grace not to say the words out loud, but Nate could read his friend well enough. “Look,” he said. “My ankle is busted, not my brain. Haven’t you got data that needs crunching, or investigation notes that need reviewing? You need help, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Travis shoved back his chair and stood. He motioned for Nate to follow him and led the way to a room that was apparently dedicated to the investigation. Photographs of the victims and their crime scenes filled the walls, two long tables contained tagged evidence, and another table held a computer terminal and stacks of paperwork.
Jamie looked up from her seat at this table. Her face paled, then reddened as she stared at Nate. With her cheeks flushed and several tendrils of hair escaping from the knot at the base of her neck, she struck Nate as incredibly desirable—a thought he immediately shoved to the back of his mind. “Nate’s going to help you with that witness database,” Travis said, then left them.
The sound of the door closing behind Travis echoed in the still room. The plastic chair Nate grabbed from a row against the wall protested loudly as he dragged it to the table. He sat opposite Jamie, who focused on the computer screen. He waited, deciding he’d let her speak first.
“I’m compiling a database of every witness we’ve interviewed so far,” she said after a long, uncomfortable moment. “We need to review their statements, look for similarities, or anything that stands out, and decide if we want to interview them again. You can start reading over their statements while I input the data.” She nodded to the stack of file folders at her elbow.
“All right.” He took a couple of inches of folders off the top of the pile and placed them in front of him but didn’t open one, his eyes steady on her.
After another long moment, she looked over at him. “What?” she asked.
“We need to clear the air between us,” he said.
She looked back at the computer, though her hands remained motionless on the keyboard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. Ever since I came back to town, you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder.”
She started to shake her head, but he continued. He hadn’t really planned to say all this, but now that he was talking, it felt good to get his feelings out in the open. “I get that you were hurt when I broke things off when I went to college,” he said. “I’m sorry about that. I really am. But that was seven years ago. We’re both adults now. I can’t believe you’re still holding a stupid thing I did back then over my head.”
“I’m not!” She put both hands to her head, as if she wanted to yank out her hair, then lowered them to the table, fists clenched. Her eyes met his and he saw again the pain there, and felt the corresponding ache in his own chest. “You think because we were...involved before, we can be again,” she said. “And that’s not going to happen.”
“You say that—but when you kissed me last night, I wasn’t getting that message at all.”
Now she looked as if she wanted to throw something at him. He prepared to duck. She glanced toward the door, as if to reassure herself they were still alone. She shifted her gaze back to him. “That kiss last night wasn’t about any emotional attachment,” she said. “You want me to admit I’m attracted to you—all right, I will. I’m sure that makes you very happy. But you were right when you said we’re both adults now. I’m mature enough to know that a relationship between the two of us would be a bad idea.”
“Why do you say that?” He leaned across the table toward her, his hands inches from hers, though not touching. “I was serious when I said I care about you,” he said. “There was a time when you were the best friend I had. You probably know me better than most people. Why would it be so horrible if we got together?”
“It might be wonderful, for a while.” She sounded wistful. “But it wouldn’t last. There’s no point putting myself through all that.”
How do you know it won’t last? he started to ask, but couldn’t get the words out. Because really, she was right. He had dated at least a dozen women since he had moved away. None seriously. And he wasn’t looking for serious with her. At least he didn’t think so. She really did know him better than anyone else, didn’t she?
He slid his hands away and sat back. “Then we don’t have to be lovers,” he said. “If I agree to respect that boundary, can we at least be friends? Can we work as a team on this case without this—this coldness between us?”
She hesitated, then looked him in the eye. “Yes. We can do that.”
He was a little embarrassed at how much he wanted to whoop and celebrate over such a simple thing. He settled for nodding and opened the file folder on the top of his pile. “All right,” he said. “Glad we got that settled. Let’s get to work.”
* * *
JAMIE WAS SURPRISED to find she missed Nate after he left at two for a doctor’s appointment. After their awkward—but she could admit now, probably necessary—conversation, they had settled into an efficient and, yes, friendly, work pattern. She was reminded of how smart he was—organized and quick to winnow out nonessential information and grasp patterns, traits that probably helped him with wildlife research. She couldn’t help but be reminded of all those afternoons they had spent studying together—he coaching her through chemistry and advanced algebra, she helping him with English and history. They each brought different strengths to the table, and it was the same this afternoon. With his help, she was able to get every witness into the database, and had almost completed summarizing what each one had to say by the time she clocked out at six. Tomorrow she’d finish up and begin indexing by keyword, and focus on people they needed to interview again.
Donna also worked until six today, so Jamie swung by the grocery store and picked her up. She was waiting out front with Henry, the two holding hands. Jamie smiled in spite of herself. They really were a cute couple, and they looked so happy. There was something to be said for the naivety of first love—before you knew how much it hurt when things turned sour.
Nate hadn’t even tried to deny that he wasn’t interested in a long-term romance. At least he’d been honest, and he had confirmed her instinct to avoid falling for him again. They would keep things friendly but platonic.
If Jamie had thought Donna would distract her from thoughts of the handsome wildlife officer, her hope was in vain. “Did you see Nate today?” Donna asked as Jamie drove toward home.
Jamie tightened her hands on the steering wheel. “Why would I see Nate?” she asked.
“You work together, don’t you?”
Not exactly. Of course, they had worked together today. “I saw Nate at work today,” she said.
“He’s cuuuute,” Donna said, using one of her favorite descriptions. “I like him. Is he going to come over again soon?”
“I don’t think so,” Jamie said.
“Why not? You like him, don’t you?”
“I like Nate as a friend.”
Donna giggled. “I think you like him more than that.”
“No. I do not.”
“Then why did you kiss him last night? You don’t kiss friends like that.”
“Donna!” She glanced at her sister. “What were you doing watching us?”
“I heard you come in last night. I wanted to say goodnight. Then I saw you two kissing.” She put a hand to her mouth, giggling again. “Is he a good kisser?”
Jamie groaned. She couldn’t begin to explain her complicated feelings for Nate—and how much she regretted that kiss—to her sister. “You shouldn’t spy on people,” she said. “It isn’t nice.”
“Henry kissed me.”
Jamie blinked and almost missed the turn into their driveway. At the last minute, she braked and steered the car up to the garage. She had talked to Donna about sex more than once over the years, and was confident her sister understood what was and wasn’t appropriate behavior. But how much of a defense was that understanding when it came to overheated hormones? Jamie had all but thrown herself at Nate last night in a moment of weakness. She needed to know more about how Donna felt about this new relationship with Henry.
Jamie switched off the car, took a deep breath and turned to her sister. “When did Henry kiss you?” she asked, sounding much calmer than she felt.
“In the break room last Friday. We had our break together, then he leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.” She put a hand to her cheek, a dreamy look in her eyes. “He had really soft lips.”
Jamie melted a little, from both relief and a rush of tenderness. “That’s very sweet,” she said. “Henry sounds like a real gentleman.”
“He is,” Donna said. “He said his mother told him he has to respect me.”
Thank you, Mrs. O’Keefe, Jamie silently breathed. She opened her door. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s make dinner. How does ravioli sound?”
“Ravioli sounds great!” Donna jumped out of the car and raced up the walk, all thoughts of Nate and kissing gone.
Together, the sisters made dinner. Donna’s job was to set the table and put ice in glasses, a job she did with minimal mess. When she dropped an ice cube, one of the dogs was happy to snatch it up and carry it off to chew. Over supper, Donna told Jamie about helping Mrs. Simmons fold laundry that morning, and a boy she had seen at the store who wore a knit cap made to look like a dinosaur. “I want a hat like that for Christmas,” Donna declared.
They were doing dishes when the doorbell rang, sending the dogs into a barking frenzy, toenails scrabbling on the wood floors as they raced to hurl themselves at the intruder. Jamie shouted for them to quiet as she hurried to the front door, then peered out the sidelight at their visitor.
When she opened the door, Tammy Patterson gave her a faint smile. “Hi,” she said. “Do you think I could talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure.” Jamie’s gaze shifted to the street, where a compact car idled, a man at the wheel.
“That’s my brother,” Tammy said. “He drove me over.” She waved at him and he lifted his hand, then put the car in gear and drove away. “He’ll pick me up when I call him.”
“Come on in.” Jamie held open the door. The dogs surged forward to inspect the new arrival, but Jamie shooed them away. Donna watched from the bottom of the stairs. “This is my sister, Donna,” Jamie said. “Donna, this is my friend, Tammy.”
“Hi, Donna,” Tammy said.
“Hi.” Donna nibbled her thumb. “Can I watch my show?” she asked.
“Sure. Tammy and I will talk in the kitchen.”
Donna hurried off to the living room to insert the cartoon DVD she loved, while Jamie led the way to the kitchen. “Do you want some tea?” she asked, as she filled the kettle.
“Sure.” Tammy sat at the table. “I hope you don’t mind my coming by,” she said. “I had some questions.”
“Sure.” Jamie put the kettle on, then took the chair opposite Tammy. The bruise on the reporter’s cheek had turned a sickly yellow and purple, and there were gray shadows under her eyes. “What can I help you with?” Jamie asked.
“Do you know when I’ll get my car back?” Tammy asked.
“I’m not sure. But I can check. You need your car for work, don’t you?”
“My mom said I could borrow hers. I just wondered.” She ran her thumb back and forth along the edge of the table. “Maybe it’s better if I drive my mom’s car for a while. The killers wouldn’t recognize it.”
“You’re worried those two are going to come after you, aren’t you?” Jamie asked.
Tammy raised her head, her expression bleak. “Shouldn’t I be? I’m the only person who’s seen them. Well, one of them. If they go ahead and finish the job they started, I won’t be able to identify them.”
Tammy had a legitimate concern. Under other circumstances, Jamie might have advised the reporter to take a vacation somewhere else until the killers were caught, but that wasn’t possible with the roads closed. “I think the best thing you can do right now is to not go anywhere alone,” Jamie said. “You were smart to have your brother drive you tonight.”
“Yeah, well, that might make it tough to do my job. Of course, I haven’t gone back to work yet, though I’ll need to soon.”
The teakettle whistled and Jamie got up and made the tea. As she poured the water, the smell of apples and cinnamon wafted up on the steam. She hoped the homey smell would help comfort Tammy.
“Do you have any leads in the case?” Tammy asked when Jamie joined her again. “I’m not asking as a reporter.”
“You’ve given us our best lead so far,” Jamie said. “But we haven’t identified a suspect yet.”
“The sheriff has set up a teleconference with a police artist tomorrow,” Tammy said. She smoothed her hands down the thighs of her jeans. “I’m really nervous about getting it wrong. I mean, everything happened so fast.”
“Police artists are used to working with nervous people,” Jamie said. “He—or she—will help you provide the details they need. You probably remember more than you think.”
“That’s something else that worries me. I know you’ll probably think I’m being stupid. I mean, of course I want to find out who is doing this and stop them from killing anyone else. But all along, I’ve told myself it had to be someone from outside—a stranger to Eagle Mountain who got trapped here by the weather and for whatever reason decided to go on a killing spree.”
Jamie nodded. “I think that’s a perfectly natural reaction. This seems like such a safe place.”
“Right.” She bit her lip and looked down at her lap.
“What is it?” Jamie leaned toward the other woman. “Do you know something—have you remembered something—about the killers that might help us catch them?”
Tammy shrugged. “It’s nothing, really. Not anything helpful. It’s just, well, ever since it happened, I can’t shake the feeling that the man in that wig was someone I know. There was something familiar about him. I’ve tried and tried to think who it could be, but I can’t even imagine. But I can’t shake the idea that the killer really isn’t a stranger. He’s someone who lives here. Someone I might even be friends with.”
Jamie nodded, an icy knot in the pit of her stomach. “It’s always been a possibility—a probability, even. And it would be horrible to find out these two are people we all like, even admire. It’s the kind of thing that makes you question your judgment about everyone.”
Tammy sighed. “So you don’t think I’m crazy?”
“Of course not.”
“I promise, I’d tell you if I remembered anything definite,” Tammy said.
“You may remember more when you talk to the artist,” Jamie said. She pushed the tea toward Tammy. “Drink up.”
Tammy took a long sip of tea, then set the cup down. “I already feel better, talking to you,” she said. “Though I don’t see how you do the job you do. I mean, I see enough nasty stuff as a reporter, but I only have to take pictures and report. I don’t have to wade right into the awful, dangerous stuff or deal with truly horrible people.”
“Most of the time the job isn’t like that,” Jamie said. “The work is interesting, and I believe it’s important.”
“Good for you.” Tammy picked up her cup and smiled at Jamie over its rim. “When this is over, maybe I’ll interview you for the paper.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“Eagle Mountain’s first female deputy—that’s newsworthy, don’t you think?”
“Only if we were in the 1950s. I really don’t
want to call attention to myself.”
“I’ll keep asking, until you change your mind.”
“Right. So what else can we talk about?”
Tammy laughed. “Fair enough. Are you going to the charity masquerade tomorrow night?”
Jamie had already forgotten about the party. “I promised I would. I have to figure out some kind of costume. Will you be there?”
“You bet. I’m even looking forward to it. I mean, if no one else can recognize me in my costume, that means the killers can’t, either. I’m hoping I can relax and have a good time.”
The two chatted about possible costumes and the weather forecast while they finished their tea, then Tammy phoned her brother. When he arrived, Jamie walked her to the door, but the gist of their conversation kept replaying in her mind. Jamie hadn’t thought about the killers being at the party. But if they were locals, why wouldn’t they attend and mingle?
And maybe even pick out their next victim.
Chapter Eleven
“Now you remember what I told you?” Jamie adjusted the cat ears atop Donna’s head, then looked her sister in the eye. “Tell me.”
“I’m to stay with Henry and his mom and not talk to strangers.” Donna smoothed the end of the long tail attached to the back of her leggings. “But if everyone is in costume, how will I know if they’re a stranger or not?”
Donna had a point. Jamie figured most people would recognize her and Donna, despite Donna’s painted-on whiskers and pink nose, and the feathered mask Jamie had added to her own jester’s getup. But if someone went all out with a full mask or a furry suit or something, identification might be difficult. “If you’re not sure you know someone, ask their name,” she said. “If they won’t tell you, or you don’t recognize the name, walk away. But the best thing is to stay with Henry and Mrs. O’Keefe.” Henry’s mom had volunteered to chaperone the couple, for which Jamie was deeply grateful. Though she and Donna were attending the charity ball to support those in need, Jamie planned on working, too, trying to spot a killer or killers among the partygoers.
