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He shook his head. “Not a good idea. You need to stay here in town.”
“I could stay at the hotel.”
“The walls would start to close in on you in a day.” He studied her thoughtfully. “I suppose I could call Anna-Louise. She’d probably take you in.”
“Your minister? I don’t think so. Besides, isn’t she married to the editor of the Trinity Harbor Weekly?”
Tucker feigned an innocent expression. “Would that be a problem?”
“I suppose that depends on whether he’s likely to bug the guest room when a suspected murderer is in residence,” she said irritably.
“You have a better suggestion?”
“No,” she conceded, then added grudgingly, “Okay, I’ll stay at your place.”
Tucker didn’t like the little chorus of hallelujahs that ran through his head at her response. Right up until that instant, he’d been able to convince himself that he was doing his duty as a police officer, his good deed as a human being. That little flaring of excitement was definitely about something else, something that was supposed to be over and dead. Talk about inappropriate, to say nothing of stupid and self-destructive. He shook his head.
When he glanced at Mary Elizabeth, there was no mistaking her amusement.
“Second thoughts already?” she inquired.
He frowned at the question. “I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do—we’re clear on that, right?”
“Of course,” she said dutifully.
“It has nothing at all to do with…” He couldn’t even bring himself to say the word.
“Sex?”
“Us, dammit. It has nothing to do with us. That’s in the past.”
“Of course,” she soothed.
“Your husband just died,” he reminded both of them.
“The marriage had been over for a long time. I told you that.”
“But you didn’t tell me why.”
“Do we have to get into that now?”
Tucker glanced over and saw the exhaustion and strain in her eyes, around her mouth. But despite that, despite all she’d been through in the past twenty-four hours, she was beautiful. “No, it can wait,” he told her.
She met his gaze. “King’s going to go ballistic when he finds out about this. You know that, don’t you?”
“I can take it. Besides, what good are old friends if you can’t call ’em when you need ’em?”
“We were more than friends, Tucker. And it ended badly. I’m sorrier for that than I can ever tell you. I never meant to hurt you.”
He looked into her eyes, then shook his head. “Let’s not go there. We just agreed that I’m just helping out an old friend. Don’t turn it into anything more.”
“Other people will.”
“Let them. I can handle that, too.”
“But you shouldn’t have to defend yourself on my account. I know how it works around here. At the first whiff of scandal, the vultures will start circling.”
“I’m not worried.”
She gave him a wry look. “You tired of being sheriff?”
“My job’s not at risk, as long as I steer clear of this case.”
“Completely, or in your professional capacity?”
“Both,” he said firmly. “You have an attorney. He’ll be more help than I could be from here on out.”
“But you’re a cop, a trained investigator.”
His gaze narrowed. He was pretty sure he could see right where she was heading with this. “So?” he asked cautiously.
“I need to find out who killed Larry. I won’t be able to rest until I know. Since you insist on letting me stay with you, I might as well take advantage of your expertise.”
“Walker will figure out what happened here yesterday. Your husband was an important man. The sheriff’s department will be highly motivated with or without my involvement.”
She regarded him with a wry expression. “So highly motivated that they’ll want to wrap up the case by arresting the first decent suspect that comes along?”
To Tucker’s everlasting regret, she had a point. Even if he stayed on Walker’s back, it was possible that the quickest solution would be the one people would grab onto. “If it comes to that…”
“It’ll be too late. Don’t they say trails go cold very quickly?”
“Mary Elizabeth, I already have a job. If you want someone besides the police looking into this on your behalf, hire an investigator. I’m sure Powell can recommend a good one.”
“He could, but I trust you.”
He sighed heavily. “I thought you regretted drawing me into this. And I am absolutely certain I heard Powell tell you not to trust me.”
She regarded him solemnly. “He did. And I do regret getting you involved, but you’re in it now. And it was your choice to keep me underfoot where I can pester you. I might as well take advantage of that fact.”
“And my job? What do you propose I do about that?”
“You said yourself you haven’t taken any time off in forever. Since you need to avoid this case and I doubt there’s much else going on in Trinity Harbor, take a vacation or a leave of absence, whatever makes you comfortable. I’ll pay you the going rate to work for me as an investigator.”
“Liz—”
“Two weeks,” she pleaded. “If nothing turns up in two weeks, you can turn it over to another investigator.”
Tucker had weeks of vacation time coming to him, but talk about a busman’s holiday. This was hardly the kind of relaxing break he needed. A couple of weeks doing nothing but fishing, that was a vacation. This…this was a disaster waiting to happen. Add in Walker’s reaction to having him poking around in his investigation, to say nothing of the personal complications from working closely with Mary Elizabeth, and it was asking for the kind of trouble any sensible man shunned.
“Please,” she coaxed. “I need you, and you know I would never say that unless I was desperate.”
That was certainly true. Mary Elizabeth had always prided herself on needing no one. The fact that she’d been shedding tears all day like Niagara Falls was testimony to her level of stress and panic.
“Two weeks,” he agreed finally. “And not a minute longer.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said, shifting to meet her gaze. “Just figure out how we’re going to keep my father from finding out about this and killing us both.”
6
I t was two hours after his encounter with Daisy by the time King tore into the sheriff’s office. He’d missed Tucker by minutes everywhere he looked…and he had pretty much covered the whole blasted county.
Walker had been downright evasive when King had demanded to know where his son had gone when he’d left Swan Ridge.
“You just tell me one thing,” King had demanded when he arrived at the neighboring estate. “Is he with that woman?”
“Can’t say,” Walker said, annoyingly poker-faced.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Why are you here?” Walker countered. “Or do I even need to ask? Daisy’s behind it, right? Tucker said you two were going to get all worked up over him having any contact with Mrs. Chandler.”
“Well, do you blame us?” King had retorted indignantly. “Not five minutes after her husband dies, she’s sniffing around Tucker again.”
“I don’t think it’s like that,” Walker said, defending Tucker with brotherly loyalty. “She turned to a friend for a little help.”
King snorted. “Then you’re as blind as my son where that she-devil is concerned.”
Walker didn’t take the bait. “You got any other questions? I have a whole lot of things I could be doing around here, like helping the forensics guys gather hard evidence.”
“You ought to start with locking up the prime suspect,” King had groused.
“I would if I had one,” Walker countered. “Anything else?”
“Where’s she staying?”
Walker looked him directly in the eye and said with a perfectly straight face, “I don’t know.”
King regarded his son-in-law with disbelief. “You’re in charge of this investigation, am I right? Tucker is sensible enough to leave it to you?”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t know where in the hell your prime suspect is staying?”
“I repeat, nobody has said she’s a suspect,” Walker shot back.
“If she’s not, then you’re a fool,” King declared. “A woman who would cut the heart right out of a man like my son is capable of anything.”
“That’s not the kind of thing you need to be running around town saying to just anybody,” Walker admonished him.
“Why not?”
“You ever heard of slander?”
“Last I heard, you can’t accuse somebody of slander when they’re speaking the truth.”
“As you see it. Unless you’ve got investigative skills I know nothing about, you don’t actually know a damn thing.”
“Facts are facts,” King had said stubbornly.
“Go home,” Walker advised. “Have a mint julep or something else that’ll settle your nerves. Talking to Tucker when you’re all riled up like this will be counterproductive.”
“I’ll talk to my own son when I damn well please.”
“First you have to find him, and my hunch is he won’t be anywhere you’re likely to think to look.”
Walker had certainly been right about that. King had checked Tucker’s place as well as the boardwalk, and now he was going to the most obvious place of all, the sheriff’s office. Maybe Tucker had come to his senses and locked Mary Elizabeth away behind bars. King could always dream.
“Where is he?” he asked Michele, already pushing open the door to Tucker’s office.
“Not in,” Michele told him. “He’s on vacation.”
King stared at her, mouth agape. “Since when?”
“Since an hour ago. He called in early this morning to take the day off, then called back to say he was taking two weeks off. Walker’s in charge, but he’s not here, either, in case you’re wondering.”
King sank down on a chair beside the dispatcher. “What the devil is my son thinking?”
“He was overdue for a vacation,” Michele pointed out. “He’d been getting downright cranky lately. I, for one, am relieved.”
King frowned at her. Either she was completely unaware of the reason for King’s sour mood, or she was deliberately choosing to ignore it and play dumb by acting as if this vacation were nothing out of the ordinary.
“Maybe so, but something tells me he’s not on a beach in the Caribbean,” he snapped.
In fact, King was one hundred and ten percent certain he would find Tucker somewhere in the vicinity of the widow Chandler. When he was calm enough to think rationally, a part of him couldn’t blame Tucker. The boy had been raised with a sense of decency and honor. The woman he’d once loved was in big trouble, and she’d come to him for help. What kind of man would turn his back on her at a time like that, no matter how devastated he’d been years ago when she’d walked out on him?
And, to be honest, there had been a time when King had liked Mary Elizabeth just fine, a time when he’d hoped for a union between her and his son, but every bit of sentiment he’d felt toward her had died the day she’d rejected Tucker so she could marry that weasel Chandler. King was not inclined to welcome her back into the family fold, especially not when she was caught up in a murder investigation that could wind up with mud being slung at anyone around her.
He shot a sly look at Michele, a big woman with a bigger heart. She was every bit as protective of Tucker as he was, the only difference being that she was willing to protect him against King. In fact, she considered it her solemn duty.
“Do me a favor. Try that beeper thing of his,” he suggested casually.
“I told you, he’s on vacation.”
“Darlin’, you and I both know that man hasn’t spent a day in years without that beeper turned on. If it’s with him, he’ll answer you.”
“And then?” she asked suspiciously.
