Giving Up the Ghost (20 page)

Tessa chuckled. "Surely you don't imagine she pushed Cam off the bluff."

"No, I don't," Terry answered. "But she might know something." He lowered his voice.
"If we were betting on who did it, I'd put my money on hubby, Fred."

"Why? Do you think he killed Cam?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. That guy has one hell of a temper. I saw him yelling at Jill in the
diner parking lot two days before Cam died. He shoved her into a parked car and off he went, not
bothering to see if she was okay."

"Do you think he knew about Cam and Jill?" Gabbie said.

Don let out a loud guffaw. "He'd have to have been blind not to see what everyone in
town knew was going on."

Reese frowned. "Sometimes Cam picked her up from work at my place. I told Jill it
wasn't smart, that people would talk, but she paid me no mind."

Tessa looked pointedly at Terry. "Fred's not a wife beater like someone I could name.
He's one man who focuses on his work, so there's a good chance he didn't know about Jill and Cam.
Could be he was so riled up that time you saw him because he'd just found out."

"Maybe you're right, hon," Don agreed. "Since that was two days before Cam was killed,
it's more reason to say it was Fred who did Cam in. Darren must think so, too. He questioned the
Leverettes on Sunday, before he got to any of us."

Reese gave a snort. "I wonder if he questioned those rotten kids while he had them in
the station. After all, they found Cam's body on the beach."

Jack pursed his lips. "They're bad ones, all right. Too bad we can't ship them off to the
army. A sergeant would drill them into shape."

"Right," Adele said in a teasing voice. "Just like they did you, Jack honey. And trained you
to keep yourself nice and neat."

Everyone but Gabbie burst out laughing. She looked over at Jack, noticed that the second
button down on his plaid flannel shirt was missing.

"Those two boys are skunks, all right, but they're not murderers. Not yet, anyhow."

Gabbie felt compelled to say something. Anything. "The police have to find cold, hard
evidence before they can arrest anyone."

"Right!" Don agreed. "And so far Darren doesn't have one lead, one shred of proof that
points to a murderer."

"That you know about," Reese said scornfully. "He must have something, or the DA
wouldn't have agreed to an exhumation."

Don shrugged, clearly embarrassed. "I guess you're right. It makes sense when you think
about it. And there's the mystery of who took--" He stopped dead and looked at Gabbie. "Well," he
finished off lamely, "Cam knew how to piss everyone off."

Terry turned to Gabbie. "Don't be surprised if Darren comes to search the cottage. He
must be desperate for clues."

"He's looked around," Gabbie said in what she hoped passed for an off-hand
manner.

"What's left there for him to find?" Reese demanded. "The cleaners went through it
months ago. Believe me, they're damn thorough. I recommended them to Mary. And whatever they
missed would have been picked up by that packing company that sent Cam's things to Rolly."

"Still," Terry said, half mocking, "could the murderer have lost something like a cufflink,
and it rolled under the radiator."

Don laughed. "Oh, sure. Right. Just like in the movies. Besides, who wears cufflinks these
days?"

Tessa yawned and tapped her hand to her mouth. "Time for this working girl to go
beddy-bye." She winked at Gabbie as she rose. "Your hair's looking great. Stop in soon for some
highlights."

Suddenly the men were figuring out the bill. Gabbie tossed in a few singles and followed
the others out the door. She chimed in her good-byes, hoping they now regarded her as a regular
and hadn't the slightest inkling she'd come for information. She chuckled. Tonight had been a total
washout. The only thing she'd learned was that Adele McMahon must have had a crush on Cam--like
Sonia and half the women in town.

The frigid air made her teeth chatter. She ran to the Volvo. After turning up the heater,
she drove slowly, admiring the white-edged trees standing out against the clear sky. Fresh snow
made everything look new and clean. But not safe. She parked as close to the cottage as possible
and looked around before dashing to the front door, which she double-locked behind her. Upstairs,
she undressed quickly and slipped under her quilt. She fell asleep almost immediately.

The sense of an alien presence in the cottage jerked her awake. Gabbie sat up, totally
alert. She heard a cabinet door being opened, then another. Something fell to the floor. A muffled
curse. She reached for the telephone to call 911. Damn! She couldn't see to dial, and putting on a
light was out of the question. She slipped into her robe and felt along the top of her dresser for her
scissors. Glad she'd worn socks to bed, she slowly descended the stairs.

The intruder was in the den. She saw the long, narrow ray of his flashlight as he moved
about. Terror pierced her heart like a dagger. Cam! she called silently. Please come, I need you. But
Cam had promised to stay away. He wouldn't return until the morning.

Damn! Too late, she remembered the squeaky step, third from the bottom. She froze,
hoping whoever was there would assume the noise was merely one of the many nocturnal creaks of
the old cottage. She held her breath in the sudden darkness, sensing that he was holding his breath
as well. She heard movement, blinked as light flashed into her eyes.

A sharp pain pierced her left temple as whatever had been thrown hit its target.

Gabbie came to, heart thudding against ribs. Where was she? Why couldn't she see?
Gradually she made out objects in the dim light and realized she was lying in the hall, beside the
bottom step. The throbbing pain started at her temple and continued to the back of her head. She
shivered as cool air wafted across her legs. Was that a car driving away? Or was she remembering a
sound she'd heard minutes ago?

Tentatively she stretched out her hand, felt the round form of her paperweight beside
her. Her fear turned to fury. How dare someone turn her favorite possession against her! She
half-crawled, half-walked to the den and collapsed on the couch.

"Cam," she moaned. "Where are you? Please come. I need you." She closed her eyes,
longing for a pill that would make the pain go away.

"Gabbie! My God, what happened?"

She felt a wave of relief at the sight of his pale, concerned face hovering over her. It
wavered in and out of her vision.

"Someone broke in and threw my paperweight at me. I think I blacked out for a few
minutes."

"Dammit! We should have expected something like this to happen!"

Gabbie blinked. "Why?"

"Because," he said in exasperation, "once word got out that I was murdered, the perp
was bound to come back for the murder weapon or something he may have dropped."

She groaned. "Dropped? After all this time? Everything's been taken out or cleaned by
now."

He cursed under his breath. "I should have been on guard. I could have scared him
off."

"Must call Darren," she mumbled. "Have to find his cell number."

But she had no need to search, because Cam was rattling it off. She staggered to the
phone on the desk. But when she pushed buttons, her fingers faltered and she had to start over
again. Darren answered on the first ring.

"Police Chief Rollins," he said thickly. She'd woken him up.

"It's me, Gabbie." Her voice broke as she shivered. Of course. The sliding door was
open.

"My God, Gabbie, what's wrong?"

"Someone broke in. He struck me on the temple with my paperweight."

"Should I send an ambulance?"

"No, just come right over. As fast as you can."

"I was planning to," he said, and broke the connection.

He arrived in record time. She unlocked the front door and fell against his warm, hard
body. "We need light," he said. She winced when he switched on the hall light to examine her
wound.

"Sorry, I'll turn it off in a second." His gentle ministrations were a balm to her sore body
and soul. "Doesn't look too bad, but I'm taking you to the ER. What happened?"

Gabbie told him as he helped her to the den couch.

Darren turned to Cam. "Did you see who did this?"

"Dammit, no. I came because Gabbie called out to me."

"It's the murderer, isn't it?" Gabbie said. "He's after something he left behind."

"I should have spread the word I'd checked out the cottage and hadn't found a thing." He
walked over to the wall unit, observed the open cabinet drawers beneath the TV, the books tossed
to the floor. He stood there gnawing at his lower lip as he thought.

"Interesting that he focused on this part of the room."

"There's nothing to find," Cam said. "I haven't come across anything, and Roland would
have let you know if he'd found anything by now."

"I'll call and ask him to go through your things again." Darren pointed to a shelf. "Isn't
that where you kept your statue of a Roman soldier?"

"Of course!" Gabbie said. "That must be the murder weapon! He's probably worried
about fingerprints." She grinned at Darren. "Good thing you took it over to the lab."

"Hmm," Darren said. He turned on the outdoor floodlight and opened the sliding door.
Gabbie pulled her robe tight against the cold night air.

"He came in this way, but the snow's too deep for footprints." Darren slid the door
closed. "Doesn't seem to be forced."

"A charge card could have opened one lock," Cam offered, "but not the deadbolt."

"That was in place the last time I checked," Gabbie said.

"When was that?" Darren said.

"Two, maybe three days ago. I haven't opened the sliding door since the day I came to
see the cottage with Mary Hanley."

Darren shot the deadbolt in place. "Tomorrow we get a locksmith from another town to
change all the locks."

She shivered. "You don't think someone who has the key to the cottage--"

"We'll figure that out later. Now, let's get you to the hospital."

He helped her into her parka. She leaned on him as they made their way to his Camry.
"How's Charlie?" she said.

"Coming along. The doctor told him to stay home from school for a day or two. Sonia
insisted on keeping him in her house, and Pete didn't argue."

The roads were deserted as Darren drove to the nearest hospital. He parked at the
emergency entrance and held a firm arm around her waist as he escorted her into the waiting room.
Though her head still hurt like the devil, she felt strangely at peace. Darren's here, and no one can
harm me.

The small waiting room was empty. The nurse on duty greeted Darren with a jaundiced
eye. "You again!" She gave Gabbie the once-over, and said the doctor would see her just as soon as
she filled out some forms.

Gabbie fumbled for her wallet. "Here's my insurance card. I doubt that I can fill out
forms. I have a blinding headache."

The nurse was about to give her a starched reply, when Darren said, "Come on, Abigail.
Don't be hard-assed. She's sustained a blow to the temple and can't see straight."

Abigail appeared neither surprised nor impressed by this bit of news. She pointed to the
forms on the clipboard. "In that case, you fill them out for her."

Darren sighed and started writing. The nurse handed Gabbie an ice pack. She returned
five minutes later. "You can go in now."

A young Indian doctor examined Gabbie's temple. He said she could expect a nice lump
since she hadn't applied ice immediately. His warm brown eyes settled on Gabbie and then on
Darren.

"Someone should stay with you and wake you every few hours to make sure you don't
have a concussion."

"I live alone." She giggled. "Though I sort of have a roommate."

Darren shot her a warning glance. "I'll see to it someone wakes her every few hours," he
said quickly, before she could mention Cam.

Gabbie caught the doctor's knowing smile, but was too befuddled to give him a piece of
her mind and set things straight. She and Chief Rollins were not involved that way. The moment
passed, and Gabbie listened to his instructions to rest at home for a day or two before returning to
work. She drifted off in the car and woke up because someone was stroking the back of her
hand.

"Gabbie, we're home."

She blinked a few times. "Oh." She turned her head. He meant the cottage. She shivered,
not wanting to go inside.

"Where did you go before?"

"Before?" she repeated stupidly.

"After dinner, when I left to see about Charlie. I called an hour later and got no
answer."

"Oh. You didn't leave a message on the tape."

"No, I didn't." He made no move to open his door.

His disapproval filled her with dismay. "I went to Logan's. I guess to talk to people."

"About Cam's murder, I suppose."

"Yes."

She flinched when Darren punched the steering wheel. "Dammit, Gabbie, you have to
stop playing Miss Marple. Who was there? What did you say?"

"I can't remember. Don and Jack were there with their wives. And Terry and Reese." She
tried for levity. "You know, the gang of four."

"What about Fred Leverette? Was he there?"

"I didn't see him. Why?" She did her best to gather her wits together. "Do you think he's
the one who broke in? Terry said he has a rotten temper. He saw Fred shove Jill against a parked
car two days before Cam was killed."

"Gabbie, honey, anyone's capable of violence. Which is why, until I find who murdered
Cam, I'm asking you--no, begging--that you stop going to Logan's to sniff out information like
Sherlock Holmes."

She gave him a weak smile. "I thought I was Miss Marple."

"Gabriela!" He pressed his lips against hers and kissed her soundly. When they moved
apart, he punched the wheel again.

"I had no intention of doing that--at least not tonight. I'll sleep in the lounge chair and
wake you every two hours."