Breaker's Reef (7 page)

“Never mind,” Cade said. “When something happens, you’ll be the first to know.”

“I want to know before,” Jonathan teased. “Come on, Cade. You’ve got it bad. The question is, what do you plan to do about it?”

“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

Jonathan laughed. “So you do have plans?”

“I have plans. But you’re not exactly confidant material, since you’re married to her sister.”

“Hey, my lips are sealed, man.”

They heard the back screen door slam, heard Sadie’s voice talking to Caleb on the porch.

“Go ahead, she can’t hear you.”

Cade just stared at Jonathan for a moment. Finally, he caved. “All right. But if word gets out, I know where you live.”

Jonathan moved closer to hear Cade’s secret.

M
arcus Gibson wasn’t home to greet Sheila when she reported for work the next morning, but he hadn’t forgotten her. He’d left a note taped to the door, addressed to
Sharon.

Since it gave her instructions on what to type today, she assumed the note was for her. She hoped he’d get her name right when he wrote out her paycheck.

The note directed her to the key hidden under the mat. Why hadn’t he just left the door unlocked? Did he think there was more security in a note and a doormat?

Amused, she went in, found the latest tapes among the clutter on his desk. As she began to type, his dictation threatened to put her to sleep. He spoke in a rumbling monotone, with less inflection than Ben Stein in
The Wonder Years.
How he’d managed to teach college students was beyond her. They must have had to pop caffeine pills just to keep their eyes open.

Background noise of chirping crickets and squawking birds broke up the monotony, along with the occasional
sound of a car engine or the ocean. Finally—thankfully—she got to the end of the tapes and decided she would go ahead and start typing the old, out-of-print book he’d given her to enter into the computer.

Thank heaven she could type it from printed copy rather than the drone of his voice. As she did so, she found herself getting involved in the story. The protagonist was a teenage girl who had a stalker following her, watching her through windows, recording her every step. His obsession grew more threatening on every page, building to the climax, when he captured her. After a significant struggle that lasted three chapters, he shot her, then dumped her body in a boat, and set it free to float downriver—

She stopped typing and picked up the book, read that scene again.

I arranged her carefully in the bottom of the boat, her knees bent, her feet crossed. Her fingers lay curled against her face, as if she’d lain down there for a nap, and bled out while she dreamed.

I launched the boat downriver, knowing that someone would find her soon. It was important that they knew. Part of the thrill.

It was just the way Emily Lawrence’s killer had disposed of her, right there in the pages of Gibson’s book!

“You’re still here, are you?”

The writer’s voice from the doorway startled her, and she yelped and swung around. He stood there, dripping with sweat again, but this time instead of camouflage, he wore a gray pair of sweatpants and a white threadbare tank top, with a towel around his neck.

“I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Did you finish the dictation?”

“Yes. It’s all done.” She touched her chest, trying to calm her breathing. Her heart was racing. “I was starting on the out-of-print books.”

“Start on them tomorrow. I need to work and I want to be alone.”

Relief flooded her. “All right. Just let me save what I’ve been doing.”

She made a mental note of the incriminating book, then said a nervous good-bye.

He gave a vague nod. “I may not be here when you arrive tomorrow. I haven’t been sleeping at home. I’ll leave the key under the mat again.”

She didn’t want to ask where he
had
been sleeping. “All right,” she managed to choke out.

She got out of there as fast as she could and practically ran until she was off of his street and back on the main thoroughfare. She hurried along Ocean Boulevard, until she came to the police station.

She wished she looked a little better as she stepped into the air-conditioned building and looked around for Cade.

He wasn’t in the small squad room, but she saw his detective, Joe McCormick, sitting at his desk, glued to his computer.

“Hey, Joe.”

He looked up, then got to his feet and tucked his shirt in better. “Sheila, what brings you here?”

“I wanted to talk to Cade.”

He looked a little disappointed, which surprised her. Had he hoped she’d come here to see him?

“I’ll get him.” He headed to Cade’s office, and she watched him until he was gone. He wasn’t a bad-looking man. His shaved head had put her off at first, but now that she knew him, she thought it looked kind of suave. She wondered if he did it to hide baldness, or if he simply liked the Bruce Willis look.

Joe came back out, Cade following. As attractive as Joe was, Cade was more so. He looked like a calendar model of a hero in uniform. It was a shame that he belonged to Blair.

“Sheila, what are you doing here?”

“Can I talk to you, Cade? Actually, maybe I should tell Joe too.”

Joe’s eyebrows came up. “Sure, let’s go in here.”

He led her into the interview room, Cade following behind them. Once again, she wished she’d gone home to fix herself up before coming here. A little perfume wouldn’t have hurt, or even
a little deodorant after walking here in the heat. She finger-combed her hair.

Cade sat on the table. “What is it, Sheila?”

“I think I might know who killed that girl.” There. She had their full attention.

Joe pulled out a chair, dropped into it. “Go on.”

“I don’t know if Blair told you or not, Cade, but Marcus Gibson—the writer—hired me to do some typing for him.”

“No, she didn’t mention it.”

“Well, he did. I’ve been typing his dictation and also entering some of his older books into his computer. And as I was typing today, I found a description of a murder that is really similar to Emily Lawrence’s murder.”

Cade and Joe exchanged looks. “Similar in what way?”

“A girl was shot, and her body was put into a boat to float down the river so someone would find her.”

Joe shot Cade another look, and Sheila knew she’d brought them important information. “We need the name of that book, Sheila.”

“It was
Crescent Hill.
I probably should have brought it with me, but he was there, and he’s so creepy. Sleeping out all night in the woods, swimming fully dressed, sneaking up on me when I least expect it …”

“Sleeping in the woods?” Joe stood back up. “He told you that?”

“Yes. He’s trying to get into the head of his character. But his main characters seem to always be the killers, so that in itself is creepy. I’ll tell you, I don’t know if I can go back there tomorrow. I’m starting to be afraid of him. But I know where his key is, and I can go if you need me to help you with the investigation …” She smiled, trying to work a smile out of Cade, as well. “If you promised me some personal protection, I might be willing to go back and try to see what I could find.”

Joe shook his head. “Not a good idea. Maybe you’d better stay away until we have time to look into this. We don’t want you to be in danger.”

Warmth flushed through her. “Well, thank you, Joe. I appreciate that.”

“He’s right,” Cade said. “We need to look into this before you go back. We’ll take it from here, Sheila. Thanks for coming by.”

Cade opened the door for her—the perfect gentleman—and she stepped out into the squad room. Blair stood just inside the front door.

The smile Sheila had been trying to get out of Cade blossomed on his face, and her own heart took a nosedive.

Sheila recognized the look on Blair’s face too. Her expression held a combination of jealousy, anger, insecurity, and fear—at least that was how Sheila saw it. Blair’s usual self-confidence seemed to slip a couple notches whenever Sheila was around Cade. She should tell Blair she had just come on police business, but she kind of liked the idea of having someone think of her as a threat.

“Hey, babe.”

At Cade’s warm greeting, Blair lost that threatened look and smiled up at him. He was a good head taller than she. Like it or not, they looked really cute together. “Bad time?” Blair asked.

“No, actually. It’s a good time. I need you to go somewhere with me.”

Sheila’s chest tightened. Cade had forgotten she was there.

“Where?” Blair asked.

“The library. I have a book I need to check out, and you’ll know right where it is.”

“That’s me—” Blair grinned—“Marion, the former Librarian. I’ll help if the Ladies’ Auxiliary hasn’t recataloged everything. They’re liable to have revamped the whole system.”

Sheila followed them out. “I’ll see you later. Cade, call if you need to ask me anything.”

“I will,” he said. “Thanks, Sheila.”

She stood there and watched as they got into Cade’s truck.

“Are you walking?”

She looked back at Joe, standing in the doorway. He was tall too, even a little taller than Cade. Sheila had always had a weakness for tall men. “Yeah, trying to get my exercise.”

“You don’t need it.” He smiled almost awkwardly.

She grinned. “Joe, are you flirting with me?” She’d known the comment would hook him—she had lots of experience, after all.

“Maybe,” he admitted on a chuckle. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

She tossed her hair back. “You’re my hero. I’d love a ride.”

He walked her out to his unmarked car and opened the door for her. She slipped in, feeling like Cinderella stepping into her pumpkin chariot.

“Hanover House?” he asked.

“That’s right.”

As they drove, Sheila told him about Marcus Gibson’s quirks. He hung on every word, laughing at her descriptions, occasionally looking at her with a smile in his silver eyes. It had been a long time since a man had looked at her that way.

Maybe her crush on Cade had been misplaced. Maybe she should give Joe a little more consideration.

B
lair understood Cade’s reason for not wanting to check out Gibson’s book himself. His very presence in the library during a murder investigation would attract undue attention and invite a million questions he didn’t have time to answer. It might also give someone the idea that Gibson was a person of interest before Cade had time to talk to him.

She stepped into the small library, and a flood of nostalgia washed over her. She’d spent so much of her life here before her competence had been called into question by some of the City Council members. She had thrown the job back in their faces and boxed up her belongings. The Ladies Auxiliary, who was behind the complaints about her, had arrogantly agreed to “take over” the running of the library until a replacement could be found. But none had been found yet.

Blair went to the shelves of reference books and breathed in the dusty scent of those old volumes, gently running her fingers over some of their spines. The books
were like old friends, welcoming her with their riches. She’d missed this place, but she would die before she admitted it.

Her shoes clicked on the old hardwood floor as she crossed the room to the fiction section. She stopped and perused the
G
s. There, right before John Grisham’s collection, she saw the dozen books Gibson had written.

Sue Ellen Jargis must have heard her footsteps, because she emerged from the back office. “May I help you, hon?”

When Blair turned around, Sue Ellen caught her breath. “Oh, it’s you.”

Blair gave her a saccharine smile. “I’m fine, Sue Ellen. And how are you?”

The woman bristled. “What can I help you with?”

“I don’t need help.” Blair insisted she’d forgiven the woman for edging her out of her job, but now as she stood face-to-face with her, she found herself hoping Sue Ellen felt oppressed by the dimly lit room and the dust floating on the air in the rays of sunlight coming through the front windows. Did they ever dust the place? When she ran the library, she’d dusted a different area each day, and managed to keep it relatively fresh, in spite of the age of some of the volumes. “I’m assuming you haven’t reorganized the fiction section. You haven’t done anything outrageous, like categorizing it by subject matter, or the names of the characters, have you?”

The woman’s chin came up. “Of course not. They’re exactly as you left them.”

Blair decided not to respond to that, so she pulled the books off of the shelf until she had an armload. “I’ll take all twelve of these.” She dumped them into Sue Ellen’s arms.

The woman stared at her, mouth agape. “Blair, you know you can’t have twelve at a time. Ten is the limit.”

Blair sighed. “Since when? I never had a limit.”

“Well, you should have. If not, the college kids who come in here would take all kinds of advantage. They would hog all the research and reference books for themselves and keep them for who knows how long.”

“If the college kids need the books for research, then what’s the harm? I never had any problems. If they were late, I usually knew how to get in touch with them, and I reminded them to bring them back. Simple as that. And you know where I live. Right next door. If I’m late returning the books, you can cross the yard and come get them.”

Sue Ellen huffed out her distaste at the plan, but took the books to her desk and began checking them out.

“So, do you work here every day? I thought your ladies were taking turns.”

“I do Mondays and Thursdays.”

“Any closer to finding a qualified librarian?” She knew the answer already. As mayor, Jonathan had made a valiant effort to find her replacement, but the Ladies Auxiliary frightened most of the candidates away.

The woman slammed one of the back covers and jerked open the next one. “We have some things in the works.” She clearly didn’t want to talk about it, and Blair couldn’t help her amusement at the woman’s plight. Sue Ellen was a socialite and a world traveler. The last thing she probably wanted was to be stuck in a library all day. But since she was the one who’d gotten the city into this mess, Blair knew she was determined to serve whether it killed her or not.