скачать книгу бесплатно
“Excuse me, miss, are you sure about this?” the woman called out.
The few others slouched in the lobby waiting area looked up from their cell phones. Harper ignored them, too, as she waved a hand, the phony smile still in place. She looked and felt like an utter fool. All she wanted was a quick exit and…
Oomph. She crashed into a solid object and began tumbling backward. Hands gripped her forearm.
“Whoa, there. You okay?”
Dark, amused eyes flashed before her face. Bryce Fairfax.
Harper’s face and neck heated. “Fine,” she mumbled. Maybe if she hurried, he wouldn’t recognize her. She tried to pull away, but he held fast.
“Harper Catlett, Presley’s little sister,” he said, flashing his infamous grin that had had all the girls swooning in high school, including Presley. Truth be told, Harper had secretly crushed on him, too, although he was a good nine years older than her.
His smile faded. “Sorry to hear about your mom. I imagine you’ve been busy with her estate and settling loose ends.”
“Yes, thanks.”
His grip loosened but still remained. “What brings you to my station? Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Well, no. It’s not important.”
Bryce tugged at her arm and guided her back into the station. She fell into step beside him, wishing like hell that she’d never come.
“I’d do any favor for Presley’s little sister. Did you know that in high school, she used to tutor me in algebra? If it wasn’t for her, I might have failed that class. As it was, I managed to slip by with a D-minus.”
His self-deprecating laugh eased some of her tension. Bryce was as charming as ever. He had a knack for drawing people to him, especially women. He’d kept his athletic physique, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and forehead only made him look more interesting.
“Yes, I knew about the tutoring. Presley was so smart. Wish she’d been around when I struggled with math classes.”
Bryce shot her a sympathetic nod. “Such a tragic accident.”
“If it was an accident…” Harper clamped her mouth shut. No sense reminding anyone about her so-called mystery monster.
His brows rose, but he didn’t respond as they passed through the lobby and into the bowels of the station. From here, the slamming of iron doors and loud voices emanated from the county jail connected to the back of the building. It was disquieting. Any moment, she expected an escaped convict to pop out of nowhere, looking for a hostage.
At the end of a narrow hallway, she followed Bryce into his private office. She’d expected more from the police chief’s office, although she shouldn’t have been surprised, given the rest of the station’s decor.
Bryce slid behind a massive desk constructed of dark-stained plywood. A simple nameplate on his desk displayed his name and title. “About what you said back there—” he clasped his hands on the desk and leaned forward slightly, all business “—are you saying that you believe Presley’s death wasn’t accidental?”
“Not at all. I mean, I was only a child when it happened. What do I know?”
His dark eyes pierced her, as if trying to read her mind. “I remember the rumors. You claimed to have seen something—or someone—by Presley’s body right after she fell.”
She swallowed hard. “Like I said, I was a kid. One with a vivid imagination and who had awakened from a bad dream. A bad combination.”
“Describe what you saw, again.”
Harper shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the request. “It sounds so silly now. I thought I saw a stick-thin person wearing filthy rags and staring at me with huge eyes.”
They were like the alien eyes that people drew after supposed encounters with UFO creatures, unnaturally large and black. But she didn’t elaborate on the details. Even now, the memory unnerved her. Harper rubbed the goose bumps on her arms.
Another cop entered the room and shoved a piece of paper across the desk to Bryce. The man was tall and exuded authority in the firm set of his shoulders. He shot her a curious glance, his gray eyes quickly assessing her. She had the feeling he’d overheard some of the conversation. Probably pegged her as a wacko. A nuisance taking up the boss’s time.
Bryce nodded at the cop. “I’ll call him back in a few minutes. Stay a moment while I finish up here. I have some questions for you on this matter. Harper, this is Officer Andrews.”
“Hello,” she said politely.
“Harper Catlett was born and raised here in Baysville,” Bryce told Andrews.
The chief turned his gaze back to her. “I can assure you the case was thoroughly investigated by this office and the fire department. No signs of forced entry, no evidence of foul play.”
Great. Now she’d insulted him. “I’m certain everyone here did an excellent job,” Harper hastened to agree. “I’ll never forget your father was the first firefighter to respond at the scene.”
“Must have been tough on you and your mom. And now she’s passed away, too. Lots of bad memories here for you in Baysville. I imagine you’re itching to sell the old house and get back to Atlanta.”
“You know I live in Atlanta now?”
Bryce gave an easy chuckle. “You forget how news travels in a small town. Kimber mentioned it after your mom’s funeral.”
“Oh. Of course.” She and Kimber had kept in close touch over the years.
“Sorry I missed the funeral—I had to testify in a case south of here. I did make it late to visitation one night, though. Fifty-two years old. That’s way too young to die.”
Just like with her father, death had crept up sudden and silent—in the form of a heart attack. Harper would always wonder if mourning over Presley’s death had been a contributing factor in her mom’s early demise.
“So what brings you here today?” Bryce asked, cutting through her reverie.
“Right.” She removed her cell phone from her purse and punched in the password, conscious of two sets of eyes on her. “It may seem like nothing now, but I was a little concerned this morning when this email popped up on my laptop.”
“Some kind of cyberthreat?” Bryce asked. “I assure you, we take everything seriously.”
Harper’s brows knotted with worry. The threatening email was gone. Had she accidentally deleted it? Quickly, she scrolled through her email trash folder. Not there, either. “I, um, it seems to have disappeared,” she explained reluctantly.
“That’s too bad,” Bryce said smoothly. “What did it say?”
“To get out of the house.”
Silence greeted her words.
“Anything else?” Bryce asked.
“No. That’s it, except for some strange noises in the house. Probably mice,” she admitted sheepishly. “In the light of day, in front of two cops, all this doesn’t sound so bad.” Harper rose. “I’ve wasted enough of your time. Good to see you again, Bryce. Nice to meet you, Officer Andrews.”
Bryce also rose. “Come back anytime. Let us know if it happens again.”
His words were kind, but she felt as though he was impatient to return to work. With a quick nod and smile, she hurried to the door, glad to make an escape.
Halfway down the hallway, she turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. Officer Andrews bore down on her. “Would you like to file an official report?” he asked.
“No. Forget it. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
She blinked at his earnest kindness.
“Especially since you believe a family member may have been murdered in that house.”
He had overheard her conversation with Bryce. “I didn’t exactly say that,” she protested.
“Not in so many words. I don’t know if Chief Fairfax mentioned it, but there’s been a long string of unsolved murders in Baysville. Would it make you feel safer if an officer searched your house sometime this afternoon or evening?”
Harper hesitated. Yes, she wanted to scream. On the other hand, what would people say if they observed an officer in her home? The hell with appearances, she decided. She was only going to be here a short while. Might as well be able to get a sound sleep in the evenings.
“Yes, that would be great, actually. Thank you.” She withdrew a pen and paper from her purse and wrote down her address and phone number. “Whoever you send, just tell them it’s the last house on the left at the end of King Street.”
“Got it,” he said, tucking the paper in his uniform shirt pocket. “I’ll have no trouble finding your place.”
Was his kindness merely a scam to put a move on her? She rejected the suspicion immediately. Doug had really done a number on her mind for her to be so suspicious of a local cop doing a favor.
Harper made a quick exit, pausing at the lobby entrance. She turned around and caught both Bryce and Officer Andrews standing in the hallway, regarding her soberly.
A string of unsolved murders, Officer Andrews had said. They weren’t dismissive of this threat at all. Harper didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried about their concern for her safety.
Chapter Two (#ua3337c45-ed6d-56f7-8b11-1c1f0b21ec20)
Harper leaned against the pillows on her mom’s headboard and wearily brushed a hand through her tousled hair. Six cardboard boxes lay scattered on the floor, filled to brimming with her mother’s old clothes. On the bed, she’d kept out a few things she couldn’t bear to part with—a couple of Mom’s old silk scarves, the flannel night robe she’d worn for decades and several sweaters that were still stylish. The rest would be donated to charity. The sooner everything was packed up, the sooner she could hold an estate sale for the furniture. Whatever didn’t sell would also be given away.
Coffee was in order. Tonight, she wanted to finish the master bedroom and then move on to either the basement or attic in the morning. Harper kicked aside boxes and headed to the kitchen.
Twilight cast its dusky hue along the riverfront. Today had gone by much too quickly. There was so much to do before she returned to Atlanta and her normal routine. Without Doug. It wasn’t so much that she missed him, it was being alone yet again. And now, with Mom’s passing, the thought of Thanksgiving and Christmas on her own was depressing. Maybe she should book a tropical cruise and pretend the holidays weren’t even taking place. The idea lifted her spirits. Her business was successful, so why not have a little fun after this sad year?
Humming, Harper measured water into the coffeepot. Might as well fill it to the brim—Officer Andrews had called earlier, saying he’d stop by after work. Didn’t all cops love coffee and doughnuts? Tonight, cheesecake would have to do. Speaking of which, a tiny slice now would be a reward after all her hard work cleaning and packing. She got the dessert out of the fridge, then frowned at the dwindling size of the cheesecake. Had she really eaten that much of it in the past two days? Evidently, she had.
She limited herself to only a couple bites, eaten over the kitchen sink. A neighbor across the street, Mrs. Henley, walked down the driveway to collect her mail, which reminded Harper to check hers as well. Outside, the air was a bit chilly for October. Harper hugged her arms as she sprinted for the mailbox. She waved at Mrs. Henley, an old friend of her mom’s, and then withdrew a handful of envelopes.
An icy finger of fear trickled down the nape of her neck. Someone was watching her. She lifted her head and caught a faint swish of the lace curtain hanging in her attic window. Harper drew a deep breath. Inhale, hold for four counts, and then a long exhale—just as her yoga teacher advised for easing stress. Nobody’s there. The house had been locked up tight ever since Mom died. A couple more therapeutic breaths and she dismissed the silly feeling of being watched. The prank email this morning had her jumpy, that was all.
Quickly, she flipped through the envelopes. Mostly junk, but a couple of utility bills were due. Call and cancel utilities for next month—Harper added the chore to her mental checklist. By then, the house would be on the market, and…
A flash of something large came toward her at breakneck speed. A whisper of tires on asphalt, the faint scent of car exhaust—Harper’s head snapped up in alarm. A black pickup truck barreled down on the wrong side of the road and aimed straight at her, its headlights blinding. Paralyzing fear kept her rooted to the spot for a couple seconds.
Get back. Her body caught up to her brain’s screaming message. Harper lunged off the curb and rolled onto the sidewalk. The truck crashed into her mailbox, and then its engine revved, increasing speed. Gaping at the truck’s fading taillights, she lay on one elbow and watched as it sped around King Street’s sharp curve, disappearing into the night as quickly as it had arrived.
“Harper! Harper, are you all right?”
Mrs. Henley’s voice seemed to come from a great distance. Harper tried to catch her breath, to let her neighbor know that she was okay, but damned if the words wouldn’t form past her numbed lips.
Pain radiated from the palms of both her hands and her right hip. Blood formed beneath the ripped knees of her jeans. She raised her hands to eye level and stared blankly at the deep abrasions marking the tender skin.
“Oh my God, Harper. Tell me you’re okay.” Mrs. Henley knelt beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “The nerve of some drivers! He could have killed you with his recklessness.”
The reality that she’d been seconds away from possible death or disfigurement finally sank in, and Harper trembled uncontrollably. Reckless? It had seemed deliberate.
She sucked in deep breaths of the crisp air and managed a wan smile. “I’m okay, thanks.”
“Let me help you up.”
“No. Wait a minute.” She needed to collect her wits.
“Of course.” Mrs. Henley nervously scanned her prone body. “Where all are you hurt?”
Good question. “I—I think just my knees and hands and hip.” She drew a deep breath and sat up. “Okay, I think I’m ready to stand now.”
Mrs. Henley placed her hands under Harper’s right forearm. “I’ll help.”
She surveyed her neighbor’s somewhat frail body. “That’s okay. I’ve got this.”
The sound of a racing motor set her heart skittering. Had the truck returned to finish her off? Harper twisted around. A Baysville Police Department sedan screeched to an abrupt halt by her fallen mailbox. Officer Andrews was halfway out of the vehicle before the motor turned off.
“What happened? Are you injured?” he called, running toward them.
He was beside her, his brow furrowed with concern, assessing the situation. Harper had the oddest sensation of falling into the warmth of those gray eyes. She wanted nothing more than to lean into the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders—to draw momentary comfort from his strength and kindness.
“Some fool driver nearly ran her over,” Mrs. Henley jumped in to explain. “He nearly gave me a heart attack! And he didn’t even stop, just kept right on going.”
“Did you get a plate number?”
“No. Sorry, Officer. It happened so fast.”
Andrews turned back to Harper. “What about you?”
“All I can tell you is that it was a large black pickup truck.”
“Catch the make and model?” he asked hopefully.
“No.” Even if it hadn’t been for the darkness and her shattered nerves, Harper couldn’t have relayed that information. Vehicles were just vehicles, and she’d never bothered learning different manufacturers’ specifications. Not that Officer Andrews needed to know all that.
“How bad are you hurt? Should I call an ambulance?”
“No, don’t. I’m fine. Was just going to stand when you drove up.”
Andrews held out his hand, and she took it without hesitation. He wouldn’t let her fall. His grasp was strong, an anchor to momentarily lean on. She winced, though, as the raw patches on her palm pressed into the hard strength of his hand. Luckily, her legs and ankles were uninjured, and she stood on her own two feet again. She gave him a nod, and he released his hold.
“Thank God, you’re okay.” Mrs. Henley held up the stack of envelopes Harper had dropped as the truck came at her. “I believe I’ve gathered all your mail.”
Harper took the envelopes and shook her head. How unimportant the mail seemed now.
“Let’s go inside, and I’ll fix you something to drink while I take your statement.”
