“Just don’t disappoint her.”
“I’ll try not to.” That was as much as he could promise. He didn’t know if he’d disappoint her or not since he had no idea what she’d want from him—if anything.
He gave the woman a parting smile and hurried away, taking the stairs two at a time, as he’d always done. He didn’t know what he’d say to Katrina if he found her in the garden. He’d never been good at small talk unless it involved crime, and there was no reason to suspect she’d be interested in police work.
He raced through the hotel and took the double doors to the garden. It was nearly deserted, but he passed a woman pushing her baby in an old-fashioned perambulator and a man sitting in his wheelchair reading. Neither of them made eye contact as he walked by.
Katrina wasn’t near the fountain and neither was anyone else. He was about to give up when he spotted her standing in a cluster of potted tree peonies obviously straight from the hotel greenhouse.
She looked even more beautiful than the silky blossoms, and he stood there and stared like some awkward teenager. She was dressed differently than she’d been the first time he’d seen her. The dress was not as formal, not as revealing. She looked younger, more innocent. The dazzling pendant was missing from her neck, but her eyes sparkled as brightly as the diamonds had.
No two ways about it. She got to him. He should turn around and walk away. Forget that. She was moving toward him, her full lips slightly parted, her red skirt dancing just above her shapely ankles.
“Are you looking for me?”
Her bluntness surprised him, especially when he’d expected she’d ignore him. “Yes,” he answered, thinking even his voice sounded strained since he’d taken the bullet.
“What do you want?”
He tried to think of something clever, or even accurate. Nothing came to mind. “I saw you a few nights ago in the ballroom.”
“I know.”
“I’d like to get to know you better.”
A troubled look settled in her green eyes. “It wouldn’t work.”
“I’m not trying to make something work. I just thought we could talk.”
“About what?”
He had no idea. But now that he was with her, he didn’t want to walk away. “Who are you?” he asked.
“Katrina.”
“Your last name?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Are you married?”
She looked away. When she turned to him again, her eyes were moist.
“No. I was, but no longer.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” She took a step toward him. “I’m not what you think.”
“I think you’re beautiful and that I’d like to know more about you.”
“Thanks. I’ll consider your proposition.”
He shrugged. A little conversation didn’t actually qualify as a proposition in his book. Besides, he’d never been one to chase a woman who wasn’t interested. He wouldn’t start now.
“Just forget it,” he said. “I thought we might keep each other company for a while, but it’s no big deal.”
She bent down and picked one of the blossoms, then cradled it in her hand. With little left to say, he started to turn away.
Before he could, she walked toward him, took his right hand and pressed the flower into it. The petals fell apart and caught on the wind, flying around him like drunken butterflies. He caught one between his thumb and forefinger.
“I don’t want to forget it. I’d like to see you again,” she whispered. “But don’t look for me. I’ll find you when the time is right.”
He felt lighter than air when she walked away and disappeared behind the clusters of potted blooms. He’d never met a woman who intrigued him the way Katrina did. Tough that it had to happen now when he had his work cut out for him.
Timing was everything. Ask any cop who’d ever lived and they’d tell you that.
BY ONE THAT AFTERNOON, Rich and Carrie had made five calls on people from his list and stopped for sandwiches and coffee at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant in Cedar Cove. They’d discovered absolutely nothing new and Carrie was fighting the urge to taunt “I told you so,” by the time they pulled up in front of the small white house where Selma Billings lived with her husband Owen and at least three large dogs who looked as if they might think the deputies were their afternoon snack.
Even Rich stayed in the car until a man in overalls ambled out from the far side of the house and called off the barking animals. Still wary, Carrie remained inside the vehicle until it was clear the dogs weren’t going to fly into attack mode.
“Morning, Owen,” Rich said.
Owen yanked a red mechanic’s towel from his back pocket and wiped his hands before extending his right hand to Rich. “What brings you out here? Not more trouble at the hotel, I hope.”
“Not that I know of.”
“Good. Selma took it hard when that girl was abducted and killed. She’s been having a hard time anyway since she lost the baby. She miscarried, you know?”
“I didn’t know,” Rich said, “but I can see how that would be upsetting.”
“Yeah, good thing construction work is slow this time of the year. I’ve mostly been doing mechanic work around here. If you know anyone who needs their car worked on, send him to me. I can use the money what with Selma’s doctor bills and all.”
“I guess it’s nice that you’re a man of many talents.”
“It helps,” Owen agreed. “Have you got a suspect yet?”
“Not yet, but we’re working on it. That’s why we’re here. This is Deputy Fransen,” he said, motioning toward her. “We’d like to ask you and Selma a few questions. It won’t take long.”
Owen turned to Carrie, nodded, then turned his attention back to Rich. “If I knew anything, I’d have called you.”
“Sometimes a man sees or hears something he doesn’t know is relevant, things that only add up when linked with the rest of the evidence.”
“I haven’t seen or heard anything about that night except what’s been in the papers and what folks around here are speculating. But I’ll talk to you long as you like. I just don’t want Selma dragged into this. She’s upset enough as it is. You understand, don’t you?”
He looked to Carrie as he made that last statement, as if he expected her to back him up. She did understand, but that didn’t change things. “We really need to talk to both of you,” she said.
He rubbed a work-scarred hand across his jaw, then shook his head. “She’s not in good shape, not good at all. She’s back on those pills Dr. George prescribed.”
“What kind of pills?” Carrie asked.
“They’re supposed to make her less depressed, but they don’t seem to be helping much. Besides, there’s nothing she can tell you. She hardly leaves the house anymore except to go to the grocery store or over to her mother’s.”
“Okay,” Rich said. “We’ll leave Selma out of this. We’re just trying to find something to help us get a handle on who might have committed the crime.”
“Hope I can help then. The guy needs to be locked away, whoever he is. Locked away or given a taste of his own medicine. Come on back to the garage. We can