Reclaim My Life (11 page)

Lorraine breezed past. “Hey, sugar! There’s a place open at the counter if you don’t want to wait.”

“Thanks.” She slid onto a stool at the far end of the countertop. When a teen whose name she didn’t know offered her coffee, she shook her head. “Hot tea, please.”

The high schooler gave her name, Tiffany, and said, “Comin’ right up.” She seemed to be tending the counter and booths while Lorraine waited tables during the breakfast rush.

Behind the counter, a small TV tuned to The Weather Channel showed a map of the Atlantic with a tropical storm’s projected path. One forecast model predicted a hit at northeast Florida, reminding Elizabeth of Wilson’s disaster preparedness meeting.

Of course, most of her thoughts led to Wilson.

Last night she’d invited him in for another Coke because she hadn’t wanted their time together to end. She’d had the most ridiculous urge to kiss him good night when he’d left. What would he have thought about that? Probably that she’d lost her mind, which was true. Months of keeping her emotional distance from him had worn down her self-control. Sullivan’s contract on her life still endangered her, but she’d underestimated the overpowering loneliness of her new life.

“Don’t get careless,” her handler had told her more than once. She tried not to whine to him. After all, WitSec kept her safe and at considerable government expense. She appreciated the marshals and their dedication to protecting her. Could she maintain a relationship with Wilson without jeopardizing her cover? Casual, not intimate, of course. She couldn’t be close to a man she couldn’t confide in.

“Here’s your tea.” Tiffany slid a cup of hot water holding a submerged tea bag toward Elizabeth. A slice of lemon and packet of honey crowded the saucer. “Know what you want to order, or do you need to see a menu?”

She’d eaten so many breakfasts at Boyd’s Diner she didn’t need to look at the choices. “Western omelet with home fries.”

“That sounds good. Can you bring me one, too?” Wilson grabbed the seat next to her before Tiffany had a chance to clean up from the previous customer. “And some black coffee, darlin’.”

Tiffany flashed him an adoring grin, even though the handsome sheriff was at least twice her age. Was any female immune to that dimpled smile? “Sure thing, Sheriff.”

“Good morning.” Elizabeth took a sip of her tea to hide her sudden case of awkwardness. What was that about? It wasn’t as if he knew she’d wanted to kiss him last night, but what if he read minds?

“This is late for you, isn’t it?”

“Hey, it’s Saturday. I slept in. And you?”

“Darlin’, I’ve been on the job since seven.” He leaned away from the counter while Tiffany wiped it clean. She then poured him a steaming cup of coffee. “Thanks.”

Elizabeth nodded toward the television set. “Because of that new tropical storm?”

He blinked, squinted, then stared at the screen just as it switched to a commercial. “No. The homicide. I’ve been combing through personal effects looking for clues.”

Realizing the need for discretion in the crowded diner, she nodded but didn’t pursue the subject other than to say, “Good luck.”

“Yeah.” He downed half his coffee before speaking again. “I know this is short notice, but are you busy tonight?”

“I’m alphabetizing my canned goods. Why?”

He guffawed. “Alphabetizing—”

She tried to fight a smile, but it escaped. “Hey, I’m serious. I took Lorraine’s advice and went over that emergency supply list. I want to have a minimum of three days’ worth of canned and nonperishable foods, so I need to take inventory.”

“I see. Do you think you could squeeze in a movie date?” His mischievous grin reminded her of Dennis Quaid in
Undercover Blues
. “It’s a cheap date with a chaperone.”

The noise level in the busy diner provided a bit of privacy, but she lowered her voice and leaned closer, close enough to breathe in the woodsy scent of his aftershave. “A cheap date with a chaperone? How could I resist as charming an offer as that?”

Tiffany placed identical plates in front of them. “Anything else?”

“Maybe a refill on coffee,” Wilson said. Tiffany filled his cup, then moved along the counter topping off coffees for her other customers. “Like I told you, I often watch a movie with Dad, and it’s Saturday night. I thought you’d like to join us. I promise to pop up a bunch of hot, buttered popcorn, and you could pick the movie.”

Should she believe the town’s most eligible bachelor spent his Saturday nights with his father? “Popcorn and movies. Two of my weaknesses.” Or maybe three, counting Wilson. “What time?”

“I’ll come by as soon as I wrap up things at the station. Could be as late as five.”

“Sounds fine. That gives me time to organize the pantry, do my shopping, and still make us dinner by that time.”

“You’re cooking me dinner?”

“Don’t look so shocked. Oh, wait. What about your father?”

“Someone stays with him until the evenings, so he’ll get fed. Although that doesn’t keep him from wanting to eat again when I get there.” He smiled, shaking his head. “He likes to snack at night, and I don’t mean a few crackers and milk.”

She pictured a warm relationship between father and son. How sweet Wil was to spend time with his father on a Saturday night when he could be hanging with friends. “All right. I’ll have dinner ready for us around five, but don’t expect much. I’m no gourmet chef.”

He lowered his voice and leaned close enough that his breath warmed her ear. “If it’s a bologna sandwich, darlin’, it’ll be great, just as long as
you
fix it.”

“Bologna.” She pouted. “How’d you guess? I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Wilson chuckled. Between bites of omelet, they debated ordering a movie from Pay Per View or selecting one from her collection. “What movie do you have that you think the three of us could enjoy?”

“Cars?”
She cringed, waiting for him to ridicule an animated film. “It’s cute, light, and not too long.”

“Cars
. I wanted to see that when it came out years ago but never got the chance. Is it good?”

“Owen Wilson.” She batted her eyes again, which earned her another laugh.

“Anything about it to interest Dad?”

“A Hudson Hornet.”

Wilson frowned. “What’s that?”

Her real father—not her fake-biography one— owned an automobile dealership and collected classic automobiles, including a 1953 Hudson Hornet. But Elizabeth Stevens would know little about old cars. “I gather it’s a neat car from the fifties. You’ll see.”

“All right, we’ll go with
Cars
. It beats one of those romantic movies—”

“Oh, there’s romance in
Cars.”

Was there romance in tonight’s movie date? Wilson’s invitation to spend the evening with his father seemed more personal and intimate than going as a couple to Tinseltown, not that there was a Tinseltown in Drake Springs. But still.

Maybe she’d make an exception to her dowdy-look routine and tweeze her eyebrows. Surely a little grooming wouldn’t alter her appearance to the point of putting her life at risk. She chose to ignore the other danger—the one Wilson Drake posed to her heart.

Elizabeth’s words “seventeen months, three weeks, and one day ago” preyed on Wil’s mind all morning. He spent too much time searching Google for “tragic fires” for that time period in the Atlanta area. After finding nothing in Atlanta, he widened his search criteria to Georgia, the Southeast, and finally the United States. If multiple deaths resulted from a tragic fire approximately a year and a half ago, it hadn’t made the news. Without more to go on, he’d have to wait for Elizabeth to tell him more. He abandoned his internet searches and returned to his homicide case.

He read through Deputy Jamie Peterson’s report, which included an impressive list of contacts pulled from the homicide victim’s office computer files. Jamie had the day off, but he wouldn’t need to consult with her. Her thoroughness made up for her lack of experience. She had identified all of the names, including Jamie’s and his, as those of pet owners in the area who’d been customers of Hodges Animal Clinic. Every name checked out.

She’d also pulled e-mail messages, matching addresses with suppliers and other business contacts on file. Addresses for personal e-mails matched family and friends—including Sunny Davis, Kris Knight, and Elizabeth Stevens. No mysterious or unidentifiable contacts.

Wil had given Jamie the laptop to go through, which yielded more of the same. She found no references to the mysterious abusive ex-boyfriend, although she had a reasonable explanation. The laptop was the latest model, most likely purchased after moving to Drake Springs. Jamie viewed the browser history, finding no evidence of chat room use or community forums. Cathleen Hodges had used her laptop primarily for internet shopping, and none of her purchases raised a red flag.

Jamie’s next move would be to pull deleted files from the hard drives, something beyond Wil’s own expertise. With a bit of training, she would be ready to go into computer forensics.

What held talented people in a small community with low pay and inadequate amenities had baffled Wil at eighteen. Now he understood. Aside from a low cost of living, Foster County offered a peaceful, friendly home to its residents. A beautiful, scenic haven from the pollution and crime of city life.

The Cathleen Hodges homicide shouldn’t have happened here. Brady Newcomb’s tall shadow filled his doorway. “Wil, I talked to the mother again like you asked.”

Wil motioned him to sit. “Did you get anywhere?”

“I got a name. Cathleen Hodges lived with a guy named Michael Moore for three years in Pine Bluff. Do you know how common a name that is?”

“Yeah. I guess it’s too much to hope she knew his middle name or initial.”

Brady shook his head. “But she does have a photograph of the two of them. She’s taking it to one of those places like Kinko’s or the UPS store and having it scanned and e-mailed to us. I figure that’d be better than faxing it. It’ll probably be a lousy image, but it’s all we’ve got on the dude.”

“Michael Moore. Elizabeth Stevens said she thought Cathleen Hodges had a restraining order against him, so there may have been domestic violence charges. Do a check with the Arkansas police to see if he has any priors.”

“Already did. I’m waiting for an e-mail.”

Pride filled his chest. Jamie Peterson wasn’t the only thorough cop on his force. Wil had developed a good team over the past two years, even for so small a department. “Good work, Brady. Keep me posted.”

“Will do. Have you heard from FDLE yet?”

“They recommend we call in Ronda Lou Buckner, which tells me they don’t have much in the way of evidence,” Wil said. No surprise there.

“The profiler?” Brady asked. “What’s to profile?”

“She might be able to offer insight from her experiences with other cases. We need to come up with characteristics of a likely offender so we have some idea what to look for. JSO uses profilers—”

“That’s
Jacksonville’s
Sheriff’s Office. We can solve this case without outside help, Wil.”

Although Wil appreciated Brady’s enthusiasm, he knew passion didn’t solve crimes. “Let’s not kid ourselves. We have no eyewitnesses, no apparent motive, and very little evidence.”

“My money’s on the Michael Moore dude,” Brady said. “He has motive.”

“I’d love to solve this case on our own, but I’d be a fool to turn down the opportunity to work with Buckner. She’s not just any profiler. Rumor has it truTV wants her for a series of programs, like Dayle Hinman’s
Body of Evidence.”

“I remember that show.”

“Buckner lacks Hinman’s years of experience, but she has similar training and expertise. I think she can help us.”

“I saw her bio picture on the Web site. She’s cute.”

Brady shrugged. “I mean, for an older woman.”

Funny, but when Wil thought of a cute woman, the only face he envisioned was Elizabeth’s. Yep, he’d fallen for her, and he hadn’t even kissed her yet. “I don’t care what she looks like as long as she helps us solve this case.”

“Amen to that. So when will she get here?”

“Unfortunately, she’s not available until next week. I’m hoping Monday.”

“Any theories of your own about the offender?”

“Just one,” Wil said. “He doesn’t belong here. I have a strong feeling he’s an outsider.”

No, a killer didn’t belong in their community. Wil hated to think one of his own citizens was capable of murder. “Now that the college students have returned, you’re talking about half the county.”

Wil nodded. “I know. I need something else to go on—a weapon, an eye witness …”

“We interviewed everyone along the river. You’d think somebody would’ve seen something, with all the holiday river traffic.”

“My gut says she wasn’t shot on the river.”

“Whoever dumped the body probably dumped the weapon, too,” Brady said.

“Good thinking, Brady.” Wil snapped his fingers. “With the drought, there’s not much water to search. I’ll get Geraldo on it.” He picked up the telephone and buzzed Zelda. “Get Deputy Blanco for me.”

“I thought FDLE searched the river,” Brady said.

“They searched right around Reesor’s property, treating it as a crime scene. We’re going to take out our boat and broaden the search. That weapon could lead us to the shooter.”

“It’s worth a try,” Brady said. “Let me know if you need me to work the search with Geraldo.”

“Thanks. We’re all going to have to pull extra duty until we solve this case.”

“Contrary to what the editor printed in this week’s
Drake Springs Democrat
. She seems to think we’re a bunch of losers.”

Wil expected nothing better from Phyllis Gillespie. She’d do her best to discredit Wil and his family. “She shouldn’t underestimate us,” Wil said. “We’re a small county, and we’re short on homicide investigation experience, but I’m staffed with smart, dedicated deputies.”

“Thanks. With an endorsement like that, how can we fail?”

“That’s the idea.”

Brady stood. “I’d better let you get back to the computer stuff and check my e-mail.”

Wil leaned back and stretched. “Nah, I’ve been sitting here too long. Let’s grab a Coke. I’ll tell Zelda where to find me when Geraldo shows.”