He started to lock Twinkie back up in the laundry room and then changed his mind and decided to give her the run of the house. He almost felt guilty leaving the little pooch alone again, but his day was far from over.
Twinkie needed a home where somebody could spend time with her, he thought as he headed toward the café. She was definitely a social butterfly and would thrive where there were people to appreciate her friendly nature.
It was late, almost ten, and he knew that on Wednesday nights ten was closing time at the café. Mary would probably be waiting for him with a last cup of coffee ready to pour. She’d have questions he couldn’t answer and he had questions for her, as well.
With three Cowboy Café waitresses dead, he couldn’t help but believe in the possibility that Mary was somehow in the center of the storm.
* * *
Minutes before ten, with the café empty and Mary ready to call it a night, Cameron walked in the front door. He flipped the sign on the door to Closed and then hung his hat on a hook.
She hadn’t been sure he’d make his usual stop given the fact that he had a fresh murder to investigate, but she couldn’t help the way her heart beat just a little more rapidly at the sight of his handsome face. And she couldn’t help but recognize her beating heart was a combination of pleasure and a faint edge of dread as she studied his grim features.
“Bad day?” she asked.
“Bad life,” he replied and sat on one of the stools at the counter.
She turned to pour him a cup of coffee and tried to ignore his spicy cologne scent that always shot a hint of warmth through her. It wasn’t a particularly unusual fragrance. She’d smelled it on other men, but it didn’t affect her in the same way when worn by anyone else.
“No leads?” she asked as she placed the cup of strong hot brew in front of him.
“Nothing to brag about. Dorothy’s sister is flying in sometime tomorrow from back East.”
Mary looked at him in surprise. “I didn’t know Dorothy had a sister. She never mentioned having any family.”
Cameron took a sip of his coffee, his hazel eyes more brown than green. “Younger sister. Apparently the two weren’t close, so I doubt that she’ll have any information that would be helpful to the case.”
The weary lines that creased his forehead did nothing to take away from his sexy features. Mary had been drawn to him since the first day she’d met him, like a moth to a flame that would quickly burn her to death.
“Did you talk to Winneta Baker? She and Dorothy were close friends,” she said, trying to stay focused on the conversation rather than her desire to stroke her hand across his brow to somehow ease those lines of stress.
He nodded and raked a hand through his thick hat-tousled dark brown hair. “Adam spoke with her. She provided the only information that might prove to be a clue. Apparently the night before her murder Dorothy saw somebody skulking around in her yard.”
Mary leaned forward, her heart beginning a new rapid beat. “Casing the place?”
“Possibly. Unfortunately Dorothy couldn’t tell who it was in the dark. All she told Winneta was that she thought it was a big man.”
“Gee, that narrows the suspect pool,” Mary said wryly. “You-all grow them big here in Grady Gulch. At least half the men around here would be considered big.”
He took another drink of his coffee, his eyes narrowed above the cup as he looked at her. Something in that gaze clenched a knot in her stomach.
He doesn’t know, she told herself. He can’t know. I covered my tracks too well. It’s been too many years. Still the intensity of his gaze made her feel as if he could see right through her, straight through to her soul and all the secrets she’d kept there for so long.
He lowered the cup once again, his gaze still holding hers. “I think we have to talk about the possibility that somehow these murders are related to you.”
A gasp escaped Mary. Even though in her darkest nightmares she’d worried that somehow she was a part of the madness that had been taking place, that somehow she was responsible for the deaths of the three women, hearing her fears spoken aloud by him horrified her.
“Me? You mean the café. It’s obvious the murders are tied to the café,” she replied.
“No, I mean you personally.” He leaned forward, as if aware of the impact his words had on her, as if he wanted to somehow touch her, to reassure her that everything was going to be all right. “We have to consider it, Mary,” he said softly.
“I know.” She pulled up a stool on the opposite side of the counter and sat. “I’d already considered the possibility when Shirley Cook was murdered. Now, with Dorothy’s murder, the possibility that somebody is killing my waitresses in an attempt to hurt me and the café is even stronger.” She was aware of the slight tremble of her voice.
“Has somebody given you any trouble over the last couple of months? Have you fired somebody who might have a grudge against you? Have you sensed any ill feelings coming from any of your customers or friends or even the people you’re working with now? Has anyone expressed interest in buying the café?” He was all lawman now, the questions firing from him like bullets from a gun.
She held up a hand to stop the questions as her brain felt as if it might explode. “Trust me, I’ve racked my brain all day, Cameron, trying to come up with a name, the face of anybody who would want to hurt me, but I’ve come up completely empty. Since I’ve owned this place nobody has ever mentioned anything about wanting to buy the café and I haven’t had problems with anyone.” The only person who’d ever wanted to hurt her was gone forever. She’d seen to that personally.
There was no way she could believe this attack on the waitresses had anything to do with the life she’d lived before the one she’d built here in Grady Gulch. There was no reason for her to tell him anything about the horrors she’d suffered in that previous lifetime, the sins that she’d committed to protect all that she held dear. It was history and that particular part of her history couldn’t ever hurt her again unless somehow Cameron discovered what she’d done.
Cameron sighed, the lines across his forehead cutting deeper than usual. “I figured that would be your answer. I’ve tried and tried to think about who might hold a grudge against you, but I can’t think of anyone, either. As far as I know you’ve only made friends here in town, no enemies that I’m aware of.”
Before he could say anything more, the back door of the café opened and Junior Lempke came running in. “Junior!” Mary said in stunned surprise. She’d given the mentally challenged man a key to the back door six months before, but he’d never used it before.
“Mary, Mary.” He raced toward her, his moon-shaped face radiating happiness. “Look, look what I have.” He held out a cell phone. “Mom got it for me as a surprise. It’s just for me.”
“That’s wonderful, Junior,” Mary replied. Junior was thirty-two years old but had the capabilities of a twelve-year-old. A lack of oxygen at birth had resulted in his diminished capacities. Mary had hired him as a busboy over a year ago and now had him doing some of the prep work and cooking.
“Sheriff Cameron, it’s my very own phone,” Junior said as he turned his attention from Mary. “My mom programmed it for me. If I punch one I call home. If I punch two I call Mary.” He flashed her a bright smile. “And if I punch three I call 911.”
“That’s great, Junior. Your mother must think you’re very responsible,” Cameron said with a smile at him.
“I am responsible. I am, aren’t I, Mary?”
“You’re one of the most responsible workers I’ve ever had,” Mary agreed with