Sidearms and Songbirds (Hearts of Nashville Book 3)

by Amelia C. Adams

  Tammy, the waitress, called his number, and he stepped forward to claim his large Hawaiian. “Listen, can you slide this in a box for me? I don’t think we’ll be staying after all.”

  Tammy flicked her eyes over to where Carly stood. “Are you really going to let her get away with that, Sam?”

  He shrugged. “She hasn’t done anything wrong—she’s just wound super tight. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  “Well, she shouldn’t be rude even if she is famous. Of course, around here, you can’t throw a rock without hitting a famous person, but still.”

  Sam wanted to ask Tammy what she meant, but he was starving, and decided it wasn’t worth the time it would take to get the answer.

  Two and a half minutes later, driving home with a hot pizza on the seat beside him and his very excited, newly best-friended daughter chattering away behind him, he wondered just what Carly’s problem was, anyway. It seemed to be something more than just not wanting to be in a relationship—he thought he saw real fear in her eyes, and that made alarm bells go off in his head. He wondered what he could find out about her. If Sophie and Tillie were going to spend time together, he’d better figure out what was going on—he didn’t want his daughter messed up in something weird.

  On the other hand, Carly was obviously one of those women who spent way too much time caring about her appearance and not enough time with both feet planted in reality. Maybe he shouldn’t even bother to check into it—it might be best for him and for Tillie to stay far, far away. They didn’t need that kind of drama.

  ***

  The first thing Carly noticed as they walked up the steps to their rental house was a large box of chocolates leaning up against the front door, tied with a red ribbon. She loved chocolates, and these were her favorite brand—they were made right there in town, and she’d fallen in love with them at first bite.

  When she picked up the box, she saw something nestled in the bow. Gold glinted in the porch light. It couldn’t be . . . it couldn’t be.

  She glanced around to see if anything looked out of place, then unlocked the door slowly and peered in to see that everything was just fine.

  “What’s the matter, Mommy?” Sophie asked.

  “Nothing, honey. Let’s wash up and get ready for bed.”

  While Sophie brushed her teeth, Carly untied the ribbon and slid the ring off the end. Just as she’d thought, it was her wedding ring, the one she’d pawned in Denver last year. Tucked behind the ribbon was a note.

  Karen,

  I’ve missed you and Sophie more than you’ll ever know. But now that I’ve found you, I can come see you whenever I want.

  Kisses until then,

  Mick

  Chapter Three

  Carly placed a quick call to Julia the next morning and told her she wouldn’t make it in that day after all. Then she drove Sophie to school, being very careful to use the drop-off lane properly this time, and headed to the police station. She’d barely slept the night before, and had really struggled to be cheerful for Sophie’s sake. She didn’t want her daughter to suspect there was anything wrong—after all, she had promised her a new life, a safe life. She couldn’t let it slip that their fresh start was over before it had really begun.

  The receptionist at the front desk apparently also acted as the dispatcher. Carly waited while the woman took a call, then flipped a switch and told Officer Grant to head over to Maple. “Can I help you, hon?” she asked, finally turning to Carly.

  “I need to speak to an officer about a restraining order violation.”

  The woman glanced at the clock. “Chief’s running a little late, but he’ll be here in a second. Have a seat. Can I get you anything, hon?” She rattled off a list of possibilities, but Carly shook her head. She just wanted to get this over with.

  “I don’t need to talk to the chief himself—any officer will do.”

  The woman laughed. “Honey, we’ve only got two officers on duty right now, and Officer Grant’s out on a call. So you get the big man himself.”

  “Only two officers?”

  “This is a small town, and we don’t see much crime. When we have an emergency or something big going down, we call in the whole department—all six of ’em—and we’ve been known to borrow from other counties. Most days, two at a time works fine.”

  A few minutes later, the door opened, and Carly looked up to see Sam walking in the building wearing a long dark trench coat—as if that wasn’t suspicious. Did he think she wouldn’t notice him? Enough was enough. The guy was good-looking and all that, but who did he think he was?

  She stood up and faced him as he approached the desk. “Do I need to get a restraining order on you, too?”

  He stopped and looked at her, then turned on his heel. He didn’t even have the decency to speak to her, to offer another one of his lame excuses or stammering replies?

  “Hon, you can go back now,” the receptionist said. “It’s the first door on the right.” She indicated the main hallway that extended straight from the lobby.

  Carly picked up her tote bag from the chair where she’d left it and marched down the hall. She’d report Mick, and then she’d ask the chief to deal with the Sam situation.

  ***

  Sam walked through the back door of his office, took off his overcoat, and hung it on the rack in the corner. Then he checked to be doubly sure his gun was loaded. He didn’t think he’d need it, but if there was one thing he’d learned, it was that you can never assume anything.

  He heard angry footsteps in the hall, the kind that can only be made by a woman in high heels who has something to prove. He leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers, and waited.

  A tap sounded at the door.

  “Come in,” he called.

  The door opened a crack. “Chief, I’m Carly Wayne—” She froze when she saw him.

  “Yes, Ms. Wayne?”

  “I’m—um, sorry.” She took a step through the doorway. “You’re the chief?”

  “That is correct.”

  “The chief of police?”

  “That’s what the sign on my door says.”

  She sank down into the chair across from his desk. “Oh, wow. Okay. Um . . . I think you and I got off on the wrong foot yesterday.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “It might have had something to do with me misunderstanding some things you said—”

  “Could have been.” He was enjoying watching her squirm.

  “Like, the way you were checking me out . . .”

  “Which I do to every newcomer in town, male or female, so I can be aware of what’s going on in my jurisdiction and compare you to any notices that have come through the Amber Alert system.”

  “And I realize that now.” Carly pressed her fingers to her temples. “You were just doing your job, and I was being completely out of control.” She pointed at his suit. “You didn’t look like a police chief yesterday.”

  “It was my day off.”

  “I really don’t know what to say.”

  Sam leaned forward, making his desk chair squeak. “How about we start over? Hi, I’m Sam Bolton. I’m the chief of police. I have no intention whatsoever of pursuing you for a romantic interlude, and I would like to know what brings you to my office today.”

  She smiled, visibly relieved. “Hi. I’m Carly Wayne, I’m recently divorced, I have a restraining order on my ex-husband, and he’s threatening to violate that order.” She slid the note across the table, and Sam read it over twice.

  “Do you have a copy of the restraining order?”

  Carly pulled some papers from her bag and handed them over.

  “He was violent?”

  “Yes.”

  Sam waited for her to say more, but she didn’t, and he decided to get police records from her hometown for the details rather than pressing her for them. She looked about ready to crack as it was.

  “This order states that he’s not allowed to come within fifty feet of you
or your daughter.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And how was this note delivered?”

  “It was tucked into some chocolates I found on my porch when we got home from the pizza parlor. Listen, about that—”

  Sam raised a hand, and she fell silent. He was in no mood to go through another round of red-faced apologies. “So, this note was left on your porch. This guy likes to play with fire.”

  “Yes, he does. He always has—he seems to think he can get away with anything.”

  Sam flipped the envelope over. On the back was the emblem of House of Blooms, the floral shop on Main Street. “I’ll go talk to the florist and see what they have to say. Is this card in Mick’s handwriting?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “So we know it wasn’t a phone-in order.” Sam tucked the envelope into a plastic evidence bag from his desk drawer. “I’ll see what I can find out. Keep in mind—he was on your porch, but you weren’t home, so technically, he didn’t violate his restraining order. I don’t see anything in here about contacting you, which is what this amounts to.” He tapped on the card. “If I were you, I’d go back to the judge who issued this order and asked that a no-contact clause be added. Otherwise, we have to wait until he actually comes closer to fifty feet before we can arrest him.”

  “You can’t do anything right now? Anything at all?”

  He held up a hand again. “Hold on there, Ms. Wayne. I can do plenty, but I can’t arrest him.” A thought crossed Sam’s mind, and he picked up the order. “The name on this paperwork is Karen Clark.”

  “I had it legally changed after the divorce. It was recommended for my career.” She fished in her oversized bag again. “Here are the papers for that. Sophie goes by Wayne now too.”

  Sam nodded. That made sense. He still wanted to do some checking around, but her story seemed plausible enough. “All right, Ms. Wayne, I’ll respect that. I’ll be in touch shortly.”

  “There’s one more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “We used to live in Denver, and when we left, I pawned my wedding ring for some cash. We didn’t know for sure where we were going, or how much bouncing around we’d have to do . . . Anyway, I pawned the ring in Denver, but it was tied in the bow on the box of chocolates.” She reached in her bag yet again. Sam was starting to wonder if she carried her entire life around in that thing—it was certainly big enough. She handed him a small plastic bag containing a gold band. “I didn’t know if you needed this for evidence or anything.”

  “I’ll take it for now, but I’ll return it as soon as I can.”

  “I don’t want it back. I never want to see it again.”

  “You never know—you might want to pawn it again.”

  She gave a faint smile. “Twice the cash for one item—I could go for that.”

  Sam rose and indicated the door. “I’ll be in touch shortly. Leave your address and phone number with Rose, the receptionist.”

  “Is that all you needed?”

  “It’s all for now.”

  “Thank you, Chief Bolton. I appreciate your help.”

  Sam leaned back in his chair after she left, thinking. She was hard to get a read on, that was for sure. One minute, she was in his face threatening him, and the next, she was embarrassed and stammering. Well, that part was kind of funny, he had to admit. If he’d been able to take her picture the moment she realized her mistake . . . but he could see why she’d be so edgy. If she’d been in an abusive marriage and had to move clear across the country just to get out of the situation, of course she’d be on the defensive where men were concerned. He’d certainly seen this sort of thing often enough, even in their quiet town.

  The wedding ring indicated that Mick had been following her for a while. How long had it taken him to track her to Cherry Creek? The note said he could see her whenever he wanted to—so he must be staying in a hotel nearby, or perhaps he’d rented a place.

  Sam punched the intercom button on his phone. “Rose?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Can you please call all the hotels in the area and see if they have a guest by the name of Mick Clark?” Of course, he could be using an assumed name, but they had to start somewhere.

  “How far of a radius?”

  Sam thought about that. “Let’s say twenty miles.”

  “Will do.”

  Sam nodded, even though she couldn’t see him, then swiveled to his computer. A quick search brought up Mick Clark, and Sam frowned as he read. Arrested for domestic violence. Arrested for public disturbance. Ticketed once for drunk driving. This guy looked like a real winner. Sam printed out Mick’s picture, then stood up.

  He’d go visit the florist and see what he could find out. He’d also have Rose see if she’d put a tracer on Mick’s credit card—that might be the quickest way to locate him currently. As Sam passed the front desk, he gave Rose the additional assignment. She didn’t look pleased, but she nodded. She didn’t have to like her tasks—she still did them extremely well.

  He got in his car and drove over to the floral shop, then entered and showed Vera, the florist, Mick’s picture.

  “Oh, sure,” she said. “He was here late yesterday afternoon, right before I closed. He bought a box of hand-dipped chocolates, the one Denise here in town makes. And he asked me to tie a ring into the bow—said he was going to ask his ex-wife to get back together. Isn’t that romantic?”

  Sam nodded once in a noncommittal way. “Did he pay with a credit card?”

  She shook her head. “No, cash. And that was kind of inconvenient because I had to break a hundred-dollar bill, and it’s a good thing it was toward the end of the day because I don’t usually have that kind of cash just sitting here. Everyone uses cards these days, you know? I’m almost to the point where someone hands me money and I don’t know what to do with it.”

  “So, he paid with a hundred?” Sam just wanted to be sure he was sifting through the chatter correctly.

  “Sure did. A nice crisp one, too, like it had just come from the bank.”

  “Thanks, Vera. Would you call me if you remember anything else?”

  “All right, Chief, but I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to be remembering. You’ve got his picture right there, and I’ve told you just about everything we talked about.”

  “You’ve been a big help. Have a great day.”

  Sam left just before the pollen from the lilies started making him sneeze. He’d felt the tickle the whole time he’d been talking to Vera, and getting out of the shop was a relief. He would have stayed and suffered the consequences, though, if it meant getting more information. It didn’t look like there was more information to get.

  A crisp hundred-dollar bill sounded like Mick had made a pretty substantial bank withdrawal, and maybe even closed his account. Sam pulled out his phone and texted Rose, asking her to follow up on that. She deserved a raise—he’d see if he couldn’t work it into the department budget somehow.

  He grabbed a cup of coffee at the diner on the corner, drove around the elementary school because it was recess time and he knew Tillie would be watching for the car, and then he headed over to Carly’s neighborhood. He’d knock on her neighbors’ doors and see if they’d noticed anything. Yes, he knew who had left the chocolates, but he wanted to know if Mick had done anything else, like tried to get into the house. He just hoped someone had been home who could give him that information.

  Chapter Four

  “If I could have died right in that moment to spare myself the embarrassment, I would have,” Carly said, crossing the living room floor and handing Julia a cup of coffee. “Here I was, thinking I had another creepy stalker, and the whole time, it was the chief of police.”

  “Being the chief of police doesn’t mean he’s not a creepy stalker,” Julia commented. “He could be both.”

  “He could be, but now that I’ve replayed everything that happened, I was totally overreacting. I can’t believe I accused him of renting a child to
help him pick up women.” Carly sat down on her couch and tucked a leg up beneath her. “Thank you for coming out here. I didn’t mean to pull you away from the office.”

  “Oh, trust me. I was more than willing to get pulled away, and I needed to run some things out to Quinn anyway.” Julia took a sip of her coffee and then set her mug on the end table. “BB really wants to talk about your tour, and when I told him you wouldn’t be making it in today, this was the perfect solution.”

  “My tour.” Carly sighed. “Yes. I still need to talk to Sophie’s school. It shouldn’t be hard to check her out, should it? Fill out some forms or something?”

  “I don’t think it will be hard at all. What you might want to do is go in now and tell them your plans, and then go back later and firm everything up when you have definite dates.”

  “That’s a good idea. I can also ask them if I can borrow some books, or find out what books they use so I can get my own.” A knot of worry formed in Carly’s stomach. “And then I’ll need someone to keep an eye on her while I’m performing. A really trustworthy person—I don’t think a five-year-old needs to be exposed to everything that goes on during a concert.”

  “We’ll take care of that too,” Julia assured her. “I was thinking that you might want to have Sophie stay on the bus during the concerts. It will be set up like a little apartment, with a bathroom and a fridge and a television, and that way, she’d be completely out of the environment. No crowds, no paparazzi—it would just be like hanging out with a babysitter at home.”

  “I hadn’t even thought about paparazzi.” Carly pressed her fingers to her temples. “Am I totally crazy for going after this life? What am I doing? And what am I doing to my child? I should just get a job waiting tables or something while she’s at school. That would be so much easier.”

  “It would be easier, but is it what you really want?” Julia asked.

  “No. Not at all. When I sing, it’s like my soul takes on a whole different dimension. It’s what I’m supposed to do. I just didn’t realize everything that would go into it, and how hard it would be with a little girl. I’m super tempted to wait until Sophie’s eighteen and then try again.”