Letters and Lace (The Ronan's Harbor Series) (13 page)

She took a breath, let it out. “Benny, are you thinking this has something to do with the notes I’ve gotten? Is that why you’re here now?”

He raked his fingers through his dark mass of hair, waves of ebony folding over his fingertips. “It’s worth a second look. Trust me; this is the last thing I want to get involved in. But, I came here this morning to mention this to you. You might want to go back down to the town hall and chat with the officer from last night.”

Now worry rushed through her veins, charging into her body.
If this big toughie has concerns, well shit, mine are intensified now.

But, what was in it for him? “I don’t understand why you came here, Benny. I’d think you’d be all for somebody
else
sabotaging me.”

He ran a hand through his hair again, casting his eyes downward as he did. He raised his face to meet her eyes. “I feel like I have to.”

“But why?” Her heart stammered in her chest. Why was he affecting her?

“Look, I was a cop for twenty-five years.” His statement was casual, but his eyes shone with something that stirred her. “If someone came to me in those days with a tip or an idea, I appreciated it. That’s why I think you should head down to talk with the local PD,” he said. He took a deliberate breath. “But, it’s your call.”

How on earth was she supposed to trust this guy’s advice? Her head spun. His intentions have been nothing but self-serving. So why was she entertaining his suggestion? Better yet, why the hell had she even let him in?

“It’ll be worth it just to, you know, ease our minds.”

Ease
our
minds?
When did Benny and I form a partnership in this?

All she wanted was to host a gorgeous, memorable wedding for her daughter. Now here she was with two big fat secrets she needed to keep from Hannah; anonymous warnings randomly appearing under her door and a trouble-making ex-cop looking to join forces.

And this guy reeked of spice and sex and enough charisma to twist her nerves into an intricate braid. Her ex, Gary, would laugh like a hyena if he knew what was happening. Who wouldn’t?

Benny looked at her with anticipation in his eyes.

The phone rang, startling Sarah. She went to the counter and picked up the handset. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Grayson, this is Officer Carr calling. We’ve recovered the wallet from the victim of the beach incident. We’d like you to stop down here at the police station with those notes you received, if you will. Anytime today is fine.”

“Can I ask why? Is there a connection with the incident and whoever’s written the notes?” She turned to Benny who was looking at her with dark, shiny, questioning eyes.

“We’re checking into everything, Mrs. Grayson. We’ll talk when you come down. I’ll be here until four.”

She hung up the phone and faced Benny.
Now what? Can this be good news or bad? Or will it turn out to be a big fat nothing?
“I guess you heard. The police want me to bring the notes down.”

She looked down at her robe. “I need to get dressed.” She walked Benny toward the front door.

“Sarah, I’m thinking of going down to town hall with you.”

“What? Why?”

He shrugged as if it was news to him, too. “I might be able to help.”

“If you want to help me at town hall, Benny, withdraw your complaint.”

****

Something was up. Sarah was more and more convinced of this as the seconds ticked by in the police station’s small interior office. She sat in a worn vinyl chair facing a small laminate desk. A jumble of paper snips and little notes taped onto the sides of the computer screen fanned like fringe.

Finally, Officer Carr entered the room, quickly positioning himself behind the desk. “Thank you for coming.”

Sarah’s clasped hands on her lap squeezed tightly. The idea of Benny joining her shot into her head. What the hell was wrong with her? Why was she suddenly wishing he was there?

She liked it better when the whole world had been telling her to ignore the notes because they were just a prank.

Although there was no smile in his eyes, Officer Carr’s mouth flashed an elastic grin.

“May I see the notes again, Mrs. Grayson?”

Sarah handed him the two envelopes. He flipped open a file folder on the desk and compared the originals to the copies he’d made. Silence hung in the air like fog. Sarah found it tough to breathe.

He lifted his gaze to meet her eyes. “The mugging victim’s wallet, as well as his jacket, was recovered in a beach trash receptacle less than a half hour down the main drag, near Normandy.”

“Well, that’s good, at least—that they found his belongings so quickly,” Sarah offered.

“Minus the money, of course, but his credentials were all in place. The reason I wanted to speak with you”—Carr paused, making Sarah’s heart stall—”is we located a hand-written list of local realty lots in his jacket pocket. The list is titled “Prospective Properties.” The Cornelia Inn is on that list.

“What?”

“What piqued our interest, however, was the paper this list is written on. It’s the same shell-patterned stationary as those notes you received.”

“That’s ridiculous.” She startled herself with her sharp tone. “The Cornelia’s not for sale.”

The officer gave his shoulders a nonchalant lift. “People prospect all the time. No crime in that. But the same stationary? In all probability it’s a coincidence. But, we’re going to be thorough and send it out for analysis. It doesn’t appear to be the same handwriting, but we’d like to have somebody knowledgeable tell us that for sure.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll send the notes up to Bricktown. They have a guy there that can give us an analysis. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of days.”

Officer Carr stood and reached across the desk, offering his hand. “We’ll contact you as soon as we get the report. Trust me; I’m sure this is just a formality. Really.”

“But it was the
same
stationary,” Sarah added.

“That particular brand of stationary is probably available everywhere from Sandy Hook right on down the shore. It’s probably in national distribution as well. He could have picked it up anywhere.”

“It does seem a close coincidence to me.”

He smiled. “Let’s wait for the expert’s opinion.”

Outside, Sarah blinked at the sunshine in her eyes. Her mind couldn’t process what was going on.
Was
this just a formality? Should she be concerned that this guy was in some way dangerous?

“Hi.”

She came to attention. Benny leaned, arms folded, against a black Jeep. Suddenly the fear brewing in her system changed to frustration. She stormed toward him.

“Are you kidding me?”

He straightened his stance. “How’d it go?”

“It’s not your concern.”

“Are they at least looking into the guy?”

She blew out a long breath. Her mind was scrambled. Had the officer said anything specific about the man other than the fact that he’d put her inn on some list? Should she have brought someone along to ask the right questions? She eyed Benny.

“The guy had a list in his wallet with my inn on it. The list was written on the same stationary as the notes.”

“Same handwriting?”

“They don’t think so.”

He swore under his breath and raked his hair. “Have they done an analysis?”

“They’re sending out for that. They should get the results in a couple of days, and they’ll call me then.”

“Okay, that’s good. So, what about the guy? What’d they tell you about him?”

She shrugged. “Not much. Only that he’s not a criminal for compiling a list of prospective shore properties.”

“But who is he?”

“They didn’t say.”

“Sarah, you should know who this is in case he’s the guy leaving notes at your door.”

She took a deep breath. No matter what he’d done to screw up her life, Benny Benedetto was right about this. “I’m going back in there,” she said.

“Let me come with you.”

“No-o,” she said, groan-like. “I don’t need your input.”

“I won’t talk, okay? I promise. I’ll just come along.”

She turned on her heel and walked back across the parking lot with Benny, silent as promised, at her side.

She asked the woman at the desk for Officer Carr. He appeared quickly through the door to the front hallway approaching where she and a quiet Benny stood.
Thank goodness
—another moment in the heaviness of their silent companionship and she’d have screamed.

“Thank you for meeting with me again, Officer Carr,” she said with deliberate confidence. “I have a question. This man whose handwriting you’re sending to get analyzed—can you give me some information on him?”

Officer Carr flashed a look at Benny. Sarah knew he was thinking Benny had put her up to the inquiry. She straightened her stance, trying to appear taller. “I’d feel better knowing his name, in case he tries to contact me or something.”

“His name is Clyde Stone. He’s from Verona, up in Essex County. He’s staying down at the Pelican Motel in Ortley. He’s been scouting for a place to buy along the Barnegat Peninsula.”

He glanced between Benny and Sarah. “As I said, Mrs. Grayson, so far he’s not suspected of anything. Our sending your notes out for analysis is simply part of being thorough.”

“Anything on him?” Benny asked.

Sarah shot him a warning look, doing her best to communicate,
You said you wouldn’t talk.

He gave her an annoying yet apologetic smile—just endearing enough that she bit her lip not to react.

Officer Carr shook his head. “Clean.” He took a breath as he stretched his mouth over his teeth. “There’s nothing on him.”

“Have you questioned him?” Benny asked.

Sarah felt her teeth clamp down even harder on her lower lip and she hoped she wouldn’t draw blood. She’d tell Benny to shut up if he weren’t actually asking good questions.

“Yes.” The officer’s voice sounded clipped now, laced with indignation. “Of course.”

“What did you find out about the punks from the beach?” Benny asked.

“The injured perpetrator’s been released from the hospital. He and his accomplice live down in Atlantic County. They were up here visiting the one’s girlfriend when they decided to go find some trouble.”

The officer looked at his watch, blowing out a breath. He directed his attention to Sarah. “Most likely there’s no correlation between Mr. Stone’s and your notes. We’re just covering all our bases.” Another stretchy lip-pull came and went on his face. “We’ll contact you soon.”

“That’s it for now?” Sarah asked.

Benny cleared his throat. “Officer, let me ask you one more question. What’s your take on the fact that this guy was walking alone on a beach at night, wearing a suit and dress shoes? It’s not likely he was looking for prospective properties, dressed like a banker, in the dark.”

“He’d been in Ronan’s Harbor for dinner. He claims he wanted to walk off a large prime rib dinner. We verified he ate at The Lamplight.” He looked at Sarah again. “We’ll contact you if there’re any changes.”

She and Benny left the building with resumed silence between them. With the way her head was swimming she couldn’t even muster annoyance at him. Could this Clyde Stone guy be the one who’d written the notes? He was staying in a nearby town. Should she worry?

When they came to Benny’s vehicle in the parking lot, Benny stopped and turned to face her.

“Now, just keep your eyes open. If you get any more notes make sure you tell me…I mean,
them
.”

She groaned. “You know something, I don’t know what’s worse, these notes or your sorry-assed formal complaint against me. Why am I even talking to you? You’re the enemy.”

The pinch in his forehead gave his countenance a genuine look. It didn’t matter.

Sarah’s mind zoomed. There was no need to continue a conversation, or even any contact, with Benny. All he was, really, was a roadblock—a big kink in her plans.

The notes she’d received were not his problem, and yet it seemed that he wanted to make them his concern. His hanging around was just more trouble she didn’t need.

“So long, Benny,” she said. She heard the ring of disappointment in her own voice and for the life of her she didn’t know why.

“I’m
not
the enemy, Sarah.” Benny’s voice was subdued. “The complaint was simply a way to protect my family’s investment.”

A directive to turn away and head home roared in her head. Instead, she stared at him.

“Sarah, my brother and I were concerned about the effect of over-congestion…”

“I know, the effect on your
investment.”
Now she felt a renewed blast of energy. “This town is not an investment to me, Benny. It’s not just some pit stop on a map. Ronan’s Harbor and The Cornelia Inn have been my home for a long time.”

Conviction coursed through her veins. “I’m proud to be a part of Ronan’s
Harbor’s history. I’m sure you don’t know that
Ronan
is Dutch for ‘little seal.’ Back in the seventeen hundreds when settlers landed here they were awed by the frequent appearance of seals basking on a sedge out off the coast. That muddy slip of land, that time’s since washed away, reminded them of home, a little Dutch island called Rona. And this became their new home.”