Murder by the Seaside (12 page)

His mouth tipped down on the corners. “I won’t be far.”

One quick nod and he disappeared. The door burst open and Sebastian stared past me to where Adrian had vanished.

Sebastian brushed past me to my bedroom. I followed him with my heart in my throat. I didn’t want him to find Adrian.

“Were you alone a minute ago?”

“Why? Did you see someone?” I pretended to look around the room. When I glanced back to see if he bought it, his steady brown eyes leveled on me. Uh-oh.

“Miss Price?” Sheriff Murray called my name and I hurried into the living room to report a break-in.

* * *

Three hours passed before everyone left. My parents closed up shop and came running when they heard. Mom fixed lunch out of what little I had in my kitchen. Mrs. Tucker hauled milkshakes and fries over from the Tasty Cream for everyone. Dad ran for anything Mom needed to make proper sandwiches and sides. The sheriff took his time asking five thousand and twelve questions. Twice. His hands held a tremor I hadn’t noticed before. He was grayer than the other sheriffs we’d had. With all the excitement this week, maybe he should consider retirement before he had a stroke. Turned out Deputy Doofus was known as Deputy Fargas, though the former fit better than the latter in my opinion. After he examined the crime scene, he suggested I get an alarm system and better window locks. A regular Einstein.

Sebastian hovered, listened and roamed. He was trained to see things I missed, so I kept one eye on him. He made nice with my folks and mingled with the sheriff and deputy, asking questions and gauging their responses. The sheriff made it clear in severe attitude alone that he didn’t need any help closing the case. I smelled a spitting contest on the horizon.

Now that someone other than Adrian had broken in, I planned to nail every window shut. I’d call a locksmith and a security system sales rep. Annoying ex-boyfriends were one thing. Being tied to a chair and threatened by a guy with bad breath and a stun gun was something else entirely.

The moment I shut the door behind my parents, the last of my guests to leave besides Claire and Sebastian, Claire exploded. “What the hell is wrong with this place? You made it out to be a fairy-tale land of sunshine and pretty ponies. This island is a nightmare. That creepy sheriff nearly ran me over an hour after we got here, and how many times has your life been threatened since then? Patience, that was only five days ago. You need to come home. Stay with me while you look for work. You can use my closet for an office. I’ll rent the apartment next door for a closet.”

“I’m fine.” I wished I had counted every time I said that and didn’t mean it. “Wow. Only five days?”

“Yeah.” She looked heartbroken. “Please come home.”

“It’s not like this all the time. Whatever is going on right now isn’t normal. Something big is going on. Aren’t you even curious what it is?”

Her expressionless face turned left and right.

“Why do you think the sheriff’s creepy?”

“He’s got beady little eyes under those big caterpillar brows, and he’s jumpy. Shouldn’t sheriffs be calm? You know—more like Sebastian.”

“The sheriff’s old. His hands kinds of shake. Plus he hates me.”

“I noticed you didn’t tell him about your chats with Perkins or Mrs. McGee and her gorgeous accessories.”

“I didn’t want him to tell me to stop snooping. I need to talk to her some more. I don’t like her. She knew about the girlfriend and looked the other way so she could keep shopping. That’s weird.”

“I don’t know. I’m thinking those shoes smelled better than a fisherman after his shift.”

“Oh, hey, listen to this. Adrian came back here to run for mayor.” I twisted the lid off a peanut butter jar and climbed onto the couch beside her. I hadn’t been able to eat with everyone crowded around staring at me. She looked at the jar and I dug a finger in. “Politics get people pretty riled up. I wonder if Brady was involved in local politics?”

“Honey, you’re grasping at straws. I don’t know if Adrian killed that guy or not, but I do know you aren’t safe here. You need to leave with me today.”

“He didn’t do it. He’s trying to figure out what’s going on here, too. He knows this place, and he loves the people, even the crazy ones. Running for mayor proves it. Why would he mess up a dream like that?”

“Are you in contact with Adrian Davis?” Sebastian’s voice boomed from the other side of my paper-thin walls. He’d been nailing my window shut.

“What? No. No. No. Of course not. No.”

Claire’s eyes popped. I shoved a quiet finger to my lips and smudged my face with peanut butter. She dug into my jar and wiped a fingerful on my nose.

“Bad.” She mouthed the word.

“It’s very quiet out there.” Sebastian stuck his head around the corner. “Something I said?”

“Hmm?” I wiped peanut butter off my nose and jammed some in my mouth.

“What do you think, Sebastian?” Claire asked. “Do you think this could have to do with politics?”

“Doubtful. Big political scams are usually centered around money. From the research I’ve done, it looks like this island’s broke. Most businesses in Chincoteague rely on tourist season to get through the year and the draw of the wild pony swim every July makes up a good portion of that. Quite a few residents are transient, spending only half the year here. I don’t see a political scandal at the core of this.”

“Brady McGee wasn’t,” I pointed out. “How’s the window coming?”

He appraised the two of us. “I’d prefer it if you let me sleep in the bedroom tonight.”

Claire elbowed me in my ribs.

“You could take the couch,” he finished.

“What about the front door?” The couch sat under my front window, two feet away from the door.

“Too visible. If I wanted to get in here, I wouldn’t climb the steps sitting on Main Street. The bedroom window is in a shaded part of your rear yard, with tree coverage, a porch roof to climb on and it can’t be seen from the street. I’d prefer the intruder meet with me if he tries this again.”

“Me, too.” I shivered and sucked another hunk of peanut butter off my finger.

“Can you stop doing that?” He eyeballed my finger.

“Why?”

“It’s disgusting.”

Claire laughed into my new pillow, her gift to me. The shiny gold fabric was just what my sad little apartment needed. She said she saw the pillow and thought of me. When I saw it, I thought of her, too.

Sebastian went back to my room.

“Come with me to talk to the mayor,” I asked Claire.

“Uh-uh. No way, Nancy Drew. You need to stop this now.”

“Please?” I pleaded. “Pretty please? I have to know. Sebastian says this isn’t a political scheme because political schemes are about money. What if it’s a political scheme about keeping Adrian out of office? Maybe Adrian was set up? What if whatever’s going on here is related to our elected officials and they don’t want anyone new in office poking around their shady dealings? It’s not like the mayor’s going to do anything to us at his office. Let’s see if the mayor’s hiding something.”

“Sebastian? How long will you be?” I called.

“Half an hour. Why?”

“Claire and I are going for a walk to talk a little. Girl stuff.”

“Drive.”

I’d forgotten he didn’t like the idea of me walking around in broad daylight these days.

I stuck my tongue out at the wall. “My car was bombed. Want me to take the Range Rover?”

“Right.” He chuckled.

“He has a nice laugh,” I whispered.

“Thank you,” he called after us.

Man, these walls were thin.

Claire grabbed her pillow tighter and cracked up.

“Your mom left you some wheels out front. Take those.” Sebastian said.

I yanked the curtain open, praying my mom didn’t expect me to drive the hippie bus. She didn’t. “She left her golf cart?”

“Ah!” Claire popped her head up beside mine and burst into hysterics. “That is so fabulous. Please, I beg you, let me take your picture in it at the stoplight? For my desk, please?”

I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, fresh out of words. The lavender cart with Purple Pony personalized plates and deep plum seats mocked me. I closed my eyes and pretended it was an open-sided Jeep instead.

“If you’re not back in thirty minutes, I’m coming after you,” Sebastian warned.

I hurried out the door, refusing to acknowledge the way his words shuddered through me. Weirdest weeklong first date ever.

Not that it was a date.

Like most everything on the island, the town hall and mayor’s digs were packaged inside an enormous turn-of-the-century home. I drove the cart into a tiny lot behind the elaborate brick number at the center of the island. White pillars twenty feet high stood out front of the large wooden door. Inside we walked an ornate green-and-cream floral carpet runner over heavily lacquered plank flooring.

I tapped the bell on a desk older than the house. The town librarian shuffled out to meet us. Her tightly curled white hair and signature horn-rimmed glasses on a silver chain made me smile.

“Miss Alice! What’s my favorite librarian doing at the mayor’s office?”

“Staying busy. I only volunteer now. Had a heart attack in oh-five.”

“Oh.” How much more had I missed? “I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m really glad to see you. This is my friend Claire. She’s visiting from Norfolk. We wondered if the mayor’s available?”

Alice smiled. Her skin was more translucent than I remembered. When she hugged me to her, her body felt like little more than bones beneath her simple brown dress. Claire shook her hand and we moved together toward Mayor Hayes’s study.

“Mayor Hayes, you have visitors.” Alice bowed out, leaving us to talk.

The mayor leaned his golf club against the wall and walked from the tiny green to his desk to have a seat. “What can I do for you two lovely ladies today?” His round face and sharp features announced his American Indian ancestry, even if his name didn’t.

“We wondered if you could tell us who is running against you in the election this fall.”

He looked between us. One hand stroked his shiny mahogany desktop. “I’m afraid I’ve done my terms. This election is an open book. So far as I know, Adrian Davis is in the running, as well as Beau Thompson. There could be others, but those two were the most vocal about it. Of course, now I suppose Beau’s a shoe-in.” He took a deep breath but said no more. His gaze wandered over Claire, lingering on her hands, folded primly in her lap.

“Do you think Adrian killed Brady McGee?” I asked, jumping in feet-first. What I did best.

“I don’t know what to think. It’s hard to understand why an innocent person would run. If he’d come to me, I would’ve represented him.”

His walls were covered in degrees from Stanford and Brown, surrounded by certificates and photos of him with President Reagan and a lot of others I didn’t recognize.

“I’m glad to know that,” I said. “I don’t think he’s guilty. I think he loves Chincoteague and wants to know what’s going on before anyone else gets hurt.”

“I hope you’re right. I’d be honored to see Davis take over my seat in office.”

My knee bounced a mile a minute. Small talk escaped me. The only thing on my mind now was Beau Thompson. “Thank you for seeing us. I know you’re busy.” It took effort not to look at the tiny golf green. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Anytime, ladies. Claire?”

We stopped moving.

“Yes, sir?”

“If you’re ever in need of a tour guide. I’d love to show you around our fair island.”

My jaw dropped. Her lashes fluttered. “Thank you kindly.”

He cleared his throat and smiled. “If you need anything, Patience, I’d be happy to oblige.”

I shot past Miss Alice on my way to the cart.

“Who lit a fire in your pants?” Claire ran on tiptoes behind me. Her strappy, silver stiletto sandals were much cuter than they were practical.

“What time is it?” Excitement coursed through me, raising goose bumps down both arms.

“Four ten. Why?”

“Good. We’ve got time.” I jammed my foot on the accelerator. We buzzed through town at twenty miles per hour. Outside Beau’s office, I rammed the cart into Park. If Beau Thompson planned to run against Adrian for mayor, that gave Beau motive to frame Adrian and get him out of the race. I didn’t know Beau well enough to decide if he’d kill for the position, but I planned to find out.

Claire was still in the cart when I blew through the door to Thompson’s Insurance. Eep! Karen Holsten stood sipping from a coffee mug ten feet away. Her back was to me, and the line of her simple blue sundress showed off the glow of her skin and infant-sized waist. The way she stood, head back, laughing, proud, I knew where that giant ring came from. She’d set her sight on becoming Mrs. Mayor. Poor Beau Thompson—no one deserved a lifetime chained to Karen.

“Be with you in a—” Beau called from the back office.

His voice was cut short by the door closing at my back. I’d stop by later. When my high school nemesis wasn’t around. Karen monopolized every conversation, and I was interested in what Beau had to say.

Claire met me on the sidewalk. “Have you lost your mind? What are you doing?”

“Leaving.” I pushed her toward the cart and gunned the engine to life.

Deputy Fargas’s SUV flew past us before Claire drew her legs inside the cart. No lights. No siren. No warning.

“For crying out loud!” she screamed, annoyed by another close shave with a police vehicle. A black town car pulled up beside us five seconds later and powered down the window. Mayor Hayes leaned out.

“What’s he doing, chasing you down for that tour?” I muttered softly.

She shushed me.

“Hi, Mayor Hayes.” I waved, eager to leave before Karen noticed me out front of Beau’s office.

The mayor’s expression was grim. “Ladies, they think Brady McGee’s wife committed suicide.”

Chapter Twelve

I spun onto the road with a bark of the tires. My little golf cart rocked into a full U-turn down the center of Main Street. Claire’s eyes widened, but she kept them on the road. A good thing. There was no time to argue traffic laws or my inability to be ticketed if local law enforcement was already at a crime scene.

With one hand braced on the tiny dashboard before her, Claire dared a glance my way. “Where are we going? The deputy went the other way.”

“Shortcut. We can cut through the old ball field.”

“You don’t think Mrs. McGee killed herself.”

“Not a chance. She just got paid. Didn’t care he had a mistress.” I shook my head. “Nope. No way.” I cut down the closest alleyway and then jumped a curb onto the sidewalk. The cement broke into gravel ten yards farther and launched us onto the grass of a ball field.

“Look out!” Claire covered her eyes.

I banged my hand against the steering wheel, praying the cart had a horn.

Arroooga!
Figured.

I caught a glimpse of horror on Claire’s face as I bounced the cart over a row of aluminum baseball bats. The field I remembered as perpetually empty was speckled with tiny ball players clad in red and white uniforms. A spattering of moms in lawn chairs turned in our direction, their mouths hanging open. I gawked back a second too long. Our cart nicked the side of a card table, sending Gatorade and fruit snacks splashing down the front of us before sailing over the back of the cart and rolling in the field.

“Can this thing go any faster?” Covered in kiddie snacks, Claire pointed at the maternal mob forming behind us. Half ran onto the field to comfort screaming ballplayers; the other half glared, red-faced.

I gunned it around second base and a man wearing polyester shorts with tube socks. He puffed his whistle and waved his arms. The angry moms gave chase, fussing and screaming about snacks and respect. As I ran out of field and into a bordering yard, I cornered the cart on two wheels, deftly avoiding a pristine flower bed. We were losing the moms until lawn sprinklers doused us in ice water, setting the cart on a hydroplane path of destruction.

“Hold on.” I turned the wheel into the slide. We banked a tiny hill and turned on water-slicked grass until we faced the women. “Uh-oh.”

Weighing the options, I did the only thing I could and headed right for them, steering one-handed while shading my face with the other. With any luck, I could pretend later it wasn’t me scaring children and destroying property. Wisely the crowd parted, and I escaped a vehicular homicide charge.

Crossing another backyard, the cart shot between two houses at the edge of the field. We picked up speed on the asphalt driveway. Thirty seconds later I parked the cart behind a shiny silver Range Rover.

“You’re in trouble,” Claire teased, enunciating each syllable.

“Shoot.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Across the street, Sebastian stood tight-lipped in a group of EMTs and rubberneckers. His arms crossed over his chest and he nodded at the sight of me. Mirrored aviators hid his full expression. I hoped it was amused and not agitated. If he was agitated, he needed to take a number and get in line. In the distance behind me, muffled complaints erupted and at least one child cried. We hadn’t hit anyone, so the snack situation must’ve been the problem.

“What happened with Sebastian’s bust?” I asked. “He said he has mandatory time off. The FBI never gave him time off for anything before. In fact, they called him first most of the time.”

Claire looked conflicted. “The bust didn’t go as planned.”

“I gathered. Would you like to expound on that?”

She looked at Sebastian for several seconds. “A lot of people got dead.”

“Oh. Oh no. I had no idea. He didn’t say.” How much did he hide behind those glasses?

“No one from our team, but Sebastian’s under investigation for allegations of excessive force. Five members of the Risso family were killed. Sebastian played the role of Angelo for a long time. They never knew what hit them.”

“Wow.” All those wives and children who lost their dads and fathers...crime family or not, they were loved and needed at home. “Did they get enough evidence to put Jimmy away?”

“No.”

“No?” I guffawed.

“Jimmy the Judge got away.”

Terror ripped through me. “Jimmy knows Sebastian was undercover FBI.”

“Yeah.” The sadness in her voice wrenched my heart.

Sebastian had time off work and probably instructions to lie low. When Jimmy the Judge put a mark on someone’s head, it rolled. No wonder Sebastian was so eager to come to the island and help me out. It was perfect timing, and no one would look here.

I was a hideout for him. My heart sank a little further in my chest.

When I started toward him, he met me halfway. Claire tugged and swiped at her once-white tank top. She kept pace, not speaking. Despite two dozen onlookers, you could hear a pin drop on the street. The occasional bleating tugboat punctuated the tension in the air. Expressions on the crowd of somber faces confirmed my suspicions. No one believed this alleged suicide to be true.

Someone had killed Mrs. McGee. Just like they killed her husband.

“What do you think?” Sebastian approached, coming so near to my side that his hip brushed mine. “I liked her for Brady’s murder. Well, her and the partner. This...” Words escaped me. “I didn’t see coming.” She’d been nervous the last time we spoke, but I assumed it was the telltale sign of a guilty conscience. Now I had to wonder, what did she know?

I took a long look at the crowd. Often killers lurked in plain sight, listening, basking and whatever else crazy people liked to do.

Sheriff Murray stepped onto the porch, one hand in his hair, the other carrying his hat. He looked beleaguered. The deputy mingled in the crowd, taking statements. He scratched against a little black notepad, engrossed in his work. If only I read lips.

“This is bad, Patience. You know that, right?” Claire tugged at my hand. “You were with her before your car was bombed. Now she’s dead. You’re driving a golf cart. Living alone in a haunted apartment. None of this is good.” Wide brown eyes pleaded with me to turn tail and go back to Norfolk with her immediately.

I squeezed her hand and gave my best please-love-me-anyway smile. “Don’t worry. The apartment’s not really haunted.” I crossed the McGee lawn to see the sheriff. He narrowed his eyes when he saw me coming. His mouth turned down at the corners. The midday sun had drawn a line of sweat across his brow and upper lip. He replaced his hat and forced a hard smile. “Miss Price.”

“Hi. Hello. Hi.” I swallowed the brick of fear in my throat with one big gulp. Time to woman-up. He might be the sheriff, but this was my case. He’d all but signed Adrian’s guilty verdict without considering any other possibility. “Has the coroner had a chance to take a look?”

He raised a puffy gray brow in warning.

I rolled my shoulders back. “I don’t think Mrs. McGee committed suicide. I spoke with her the same day my car was bombed. She wouldn’t talk about what happened to Brady. I think she knew something.”

“Knew what?” His beady eyes edged in close behind a long, straight nose. He’d thought I wanted his job when we first spoke. I needed to proceed with care.

“I don’t know. She didn’t say, but she made it clear she didn’t want to talk to me.”

His cheeks dropped into a droll expression. I guessed it wasn’t hard for him to imagine. Not wanting to talk to me likely topped his list of dreaded activities, right above having a colonoscopy or adult circumcision. He widened his stance. “Is there something you aren’t telling me? I can’t do my job without all the information. Is there something you want me to know?”

If he wanted the information I had, he could have easily gotten it. He didn’t bother looking any further than Adrian from the start. No one besides me had considered other possibilities, and now a woman was dead. The sheriff’s question felt like a threat. Threats made me defiant. “No.”

“No?”

We stared into one another’s eyes until my equilibrium strained.

“I’ve spoken with everyone, sir.” The new deputy cast a shadow over me.

“If you’ll excuse us.” The sheriff made a show of walking away with the deputy. Several paces into the yard, he turned back to me. “If you think of anything you’d like to add to this investigation, you know where to find me.”

So it was an investigation. Even the sheriff knew this wasn’t a suicide.

“That went well.” Claire had dried off, tied the bottom of her bespeckled tank into a side knot and pulled her hair away from her face in an easy chignon. She looked stunning even in Gatorade.

I picked strands of crusty hair from my face where it had dried. “Ouch.”

Sebastian lifted a brow in amusement as he admired my parent’s golf cart. Grass and mud covered the tires and headlights. Fruit snacks peppered the floor and backseat. Sticky puddles of orange liquid scarred the soft leather interior. With any luck, a swarm of bees or hummingbirds wouldn’t follow us home.

“We should talk about this. She didn’t kill herself.” I looked at my partners, who nodded.

“Agreed,” Claire said. She studied the cart.

“Here.” Sebastian squeezed a sports bottle of water over the seats and grimaced. He popped the hatch to his Range Rover and tossed a gym towel our way. “I’d offer you a ride, but...”

“We’re fine.” I folded my body in behind the wheel.

“Ew.” Claire shut her eyes and climbed aboard.

We rode back to my apartment in silence. I followed the Range Rover, taking real roads and stopping at the lights. A swarm of Little Leaguers buzzed outside the Tasty Cream. I cringed, parked and ran up the steps to unlock my door.

Doink.

A baseball beaned Sebastian’s Range Rover and rolled into the street. I motored inside and peeked out the curtain. Clueless, Sebastian retrieved the ball and lobbed it back across the street, where no one attempted to catch it. He rubbed his neck. Pausing to examine the Range Rover for damage, he looked up at me through the window. I dropped the curtain.

Claire was already in the shower. Before I got my key out of the lock, she’d raided my closet and ducked into the bathroom. Water ran full blast behind the closed door. The whole place smelled like Lysol and mildew, but I didn’t risk cracking a window anymore. Summer heat filled every inch of space between my ugly paneled walls and choked me. If the thermostat had worked, it would’ve read
TILT
.

“Why don’t you change and I’ll make us something to drink.” Sebastian walked into the kitchen and opened my freezer. He unloaded a tray of ice before I headed to my room. “Don’t plan on going anywhere soon, either. We need to talk.”

I checked the closet and under my bed before I undressed in my room. Lying on the bed were a pair of cotton shorts along with three T-shirts Claire must’ve considered and passed on. They looked cute to me. Content in a well-worn FBI cotton tee and my black shorts, I dragged a brush through my hair. My hair had survived the Gatorade better than my shirt. I plucked a fruit snack from my cleavage and headed back to the living room, bringing the little oscillating fan with me.

Sebastian worked at the counter, lining up glasses and plugging in my blender.

I stopped at the sink for a wad of paper towels and soap. I washed up surgeon-style to my elbows, then my face and neck. “You want pizza? It’s dinnertime, and I’m too tired to worry about what it costs.”

“It’s well after dinnertime, and it’s my treat.”

I gave him a crazy face. “You’re my guest.”

“I invited myself to stay for a week. You only agreed to a drink, which we never had. The least I can do is cover one meal.”

What could I say? “I’ll call.” I leaned across the counter to grab a pile of takeout menus Mom left.

“You smell good.” Sebastian filled a blender with ice and tossed strawberries in by the handful. “What were you two covered in earlier? Smells like oranges.”

“Gatorade.”

“Why?” A muscle twitched in his cheek.

“We won the Super Bowl.”

The blender whirred to life. Gnawing and crunching flowed into a steady whoosh. Sebastian removed the lid and spooned out a taste.

“Milkshakes?”

“Daiquiris.”

“Daiquiris?”

“I told you. I owe you a drink.”

The water shut off in the bathroom. Sebastian poured three tall glasses of pink froth and wedged a strawberry on the rim of each. I plugged the fan into an outlet near the couch. Sebastian sat on the floor facing the fan and me. My muscles tingled as I sank into the cushions and tucked my feet under me.

“I figured you for a beer guy.”

“I’m flexible.” Good to know.

“What happened with your bust the other night? You were on your way when we spoke on the phone. You never told me how it went.”

“It didn’t go well.” He had the cop face again—no expression or body language to clue me in to his mental state. Was he as worried about his safety as I was? Did he have a plan for catching Jimmy the Judge?

“You want to talk about it?” My mind raced for words in this scenario.
When you deceive a crime boss and he gets away
wasn’t in any of my counseling course books. “Nope.”

“I’m a good listener.”

He shook his head and pressed the glass to his lips. “I’m fine.”

“You’re hiding.”

A flash of heat lit his eyes and faded. “I’m not hiding. I’m helping a friend save her ex-boyfriend’s ass.”

“Drinks?” Claire floated into the room looking refreshed. She dug around in the kitchen for a straw and came to sit with me. “What are we doing?”

“I’m hoping we muscle information out of your BFF here,” Sebastian said. “She’s tight-lipped.”

I snorted, suppressed a comment about kettles and pots and sucked on my straw to keep my mouth busy.

“On another day I’d appreciate discretion in a woman. Today I need to know what she’s gotten herself into.”

Claire pressed the straw to her lips and smiled widely. “Go on.” She nudged me and got comfortable.

“I don’t think Adrian killed Brady,” I said. “I think there’s something else going on here. Something huge. At first I thought Sheriff Murray was lazy or preoccupied with Pony Week coming, but now I’m certain this is all part of something bigger. Brady’s murder wasn’t personal like I thought. I bet whoever killed him was hiding something else and they got rid of Brady’s wife to cover the trail. Just in case he confided in her. In fact, I think that’s the same guy who’s after me. He knows I talked to Mrs. McGee. Probably thinks she told me his secret, which explains the car bomb and drive-by. I think those were warnings. I can’t figure out why the sheriff’s not looking into this more. He can’t think Adrian’s on the run but making time to kill and terrorize women. Maybe the sheriff’s being blackmailed to keep quiet.”