It took him all of ten seconds to decide nothing of interest was taking place among the teenagers near the fountain, or the young mothers watching their children in the play area. He wasn’t looking for diversion, anyway. He wasn’t even looking for a story. Between his regular police and fire beats, a staff meeting and follow-ups on yesterday’s stories, he had plenty to keep himself out of trouble today. Any spare time he could scrape up, he’d spend on the cabin he was building near Two Falls Lake. He just wanted to make sure he hadn’t missed Eve. She was the final name on his list of people known to have been in contact with Olivia Stuart that last day. If he couldn’t get a lead out of her, he had no idea where to go.
Stifling his frustration on that score, he scowled at his watch. After the hurry Eve had been in to get rid of him yesterday, he had to wonder if she’d show up at all. Just because she’d seemed willing to talk didn’t mean anything. He’d misjudged her before. He’d once believed she was different from the other people he’d let himself care about. He’d believed that he could trust her, count on her. But he’d never been more wrong.
He hadn’t been wrong about her reaction when she’d opened the door to him yesterday, though. There hadn’t been a hint of welcome in her expression. Not that he’d expected it. He’d seen caution. He’d sensed wariness. He’d even caught a fairly satisfying jolt of anxiety. What he would liked to have seen was regret.
One must never wish for another, what he would not wish twofold for himself.
Unexpected, unwanted, the elders’ ancient teaching reared from the depths of his memory. Rio gave a snort, dismissing it, then closed his eyes against the automatic rebellion. He’d abandoned so many of the old teachings over the years that tossing out one more shouldn’t matter.
The thought had scarcely nudged his conscience when his head came up. Eve was there. He knew it even before he saw her walking toward him. Though the reminder wasn’t particularly welcome, he’d always had an odd, almost feral awareness where she was concerned.
The gentle morning breeze lifted her hair away from her face, the bright sunlight turning pale gold to platinum. Small gold earrings flashed with the turn of her head. Another discreet flash caught her watch when she lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. The motion drew the short, sleeveless shift she wore higher, drawing attention to her slender legs, until she lowered her hand and his glance moved upward once again. The crisp white fabric that skimmed her hips and small breasts didn’t define her shape. Rather, it gave subtle, intriguing hints of the enticing, feminine curves hidden beneath.
Sweetness and seduction, he thought, pushing his hands into his pockets as he watched her move closer. Innocence and sophistication. The combination was as appealing as it was dangerous.
She stopped an arm’s length away. Eyes the clear, hypnotic blue of a summer sky met his.
“Before you say anything,” she said, “I need to apologize. I’m sorry I was such a basket case yesterday. You caught me at a bad time.”
He’d been well aware of that. He’d also spent half the night trying to forget everything else he’d noticed about her after he’d made it past the wariness and anxiety. The sadness in her eyes. Her bewilderment. The brave little smile that had caught him like a punch in the gut.
The way she’d practically pushed him out the door.
“Don’t worry about it.”
There was a hint of nerves behind the expression, but she smiled now at the reassurance. “So,” she began, sounding as if she were determined to get things off to a better start this time. “When did you go to work for the Herald?”
“Checking my credentials?”
Her slender shoulder lifted in a tight little shrug. “Curious. I thought you would have moved to a bigger city. You always talked about working for a big paper.”
“Still plan to.” Determined to be objective, he motioned toward the gray concrete bench and pulled a small digital recorder from his pocket. “Do you mind if I record this?”
She wasn’t interested in him or his plans. He was sure of that. She was just trying to be civil by making conversation. All he wanted was to get this over with.
She got the hint. Her smile dying, she pulled her glance from his.
“You can record it if you want,” she told him, leaving three feet of space between them when she sat down. “But I don’t know what I can tell you that I haven’t already told the police. And that wasn’t very much. I wasn’t there when it happened.”
He knew that. He’d read her statements.
He punched a button on the small silver recorder he’d set between them and angled himself to face her. He would remain objective if it killed him. “Some of this might be hard for you,” he told her, refusing to deny her the understanding he would give anyone else under the circumstances. “We can stop anytime. Okay?”
That seemed to make her relax a little. “Okay.”
“Just tell me when you last saw your mother.”
The wind had blown a bit of twig onto the bench. He watched her pick it up, her attention following the motions of her fingers as she drew a deep breath, then quietly told him that the last time she’d seen her had been about an hour before her brother’s wedding had been scheduled to start.
“We’d gone ahead to Squaw Creek,” she explained, speaking of the ski lodge where her brother’s wedding was to have been held. “I hadn’t seen Hal yet and I wanted to wish him well before the ceremony. But Mom couldn’t find one of the earrings she wanted to wear. She told us to go on and that she’d be right behind us.”
“Who’s us?” Rio watched Eve’s hands, wondering if she had any idea how they gave her away. Though she appeared outwardly calm, when she was nervous or upset she couldn’t keep her hands still. Yesterday, it had been the scarf she’d pulled, twisted and strangled. Now it was the twig. The motions were small, barely noticeable, but she was methodically annihilating the bit of broken branch. “You and your daughter?”
He saw those lovely hands go still.
“Several people mentioned her being with you,” he explained, since she seemed surprised by his knowledge of the child. Darling girl, one of them had said. So exotic, claimed another. And tiny, like her mother. Poor thing was scared to death when the lights went out. “Is that who you mean?”
Eve cleared her throat. “Yes, it is.”
“What’s her name?”
“Molly. But she doesn’t know anything that would be of help,” she added hurriedly. “She was with me the whole time.”
“How old is she?”
The question was automatic. Person at scene. Get name, age, occupation. The presence of Eve’s daughter had just been one of those extraneous details he’d picked up during his interviews, along with dozens of others. Like the fact that the woman in charge of catering at the lodge was the minister’s cousin. And that Eve didn’t have a husband.
Not caring to consider why that latter detail should matter to him, he dismissed it. What he couldn’t dismiss was how Eve pushed past the subject.
“She’s too young to be interviewed,” she replied, sounding as if she figured that was what he was after. “Really, Rio, she won’t be any help at all. What else did you want to know about that night?”
He might have thought she was just being protective. Mothers of small children tended to be that way, after all. But there was something about the way Eve’s glance faltered before she started in again on the twig that seemed vaguely familiar. She almost seemed as uneasy now as she had yesterday when she’d been