She Can Tell (25 page)

“You are welcome.” His eyes dropped to her feet, still clad in knee-high riding boots. “May I assist you?”

“I can get it. There’s a boot pull in the mudroom.”

But Cristan merely turned, straddled her legs, and, with a firm hand cupping her heel, eased the boots off one at a time like a pro.

“You’ve done this before.”

“I played much polo in Argentina.” He set her boots by the door and returned to his seat.

Argentina was home to the best polo players in the world, and Cristan had the lean, tough body of an athlete. “Then why are you paying me to teach your daughter to ride?”

“Daughters do not always learn well from their fathers.” Cristan smiled wearily at the den door. Through it, Rachel could hear Alex and Em giggling. “Lucia’s mother died when she was an infant. She needs a strong female role model. It is not easy for a girl to be raised without a woman’s influence.”

His grief left an indelible print on his face.

“I can understand that. My mother was…very ill.”

“I am sorry,” he commiserated.

“Me too.”

A siren blared, interrupting their touchy-feely moment. The sound ceased as suddenly as it began.

Cristan finished his coffee. He rose and carried the cup and saucer to the sink. Since when did she have saucers? Or decent cups? “Will you be able to manage the stairs on your own?”

She nodded. “It’s just a few bruises. I’ve had worse.”

“If there is nothing else that I can do for you, then I will bid you good night.” He called gently for his daughter. Sarah and the three children came in. Lucia greeted Rachel politely and followed her father out the door. “Sarah, thank you for dinner. The company and the food were most enjoyable.”

Sarah flushed. Again. Well, well. Even after all she’d been through with Troy, her sister wasn’t immune to Cristan’s Latin looks and charm. Rachel had to admit, the accent was killer.

Two months of giving Lucia’s riding lessons, and Rachel knew nothing about this man. Basically, they’d argued twice
a week. It appeared as if he wasn’t a complete jackass. Under that layer of arrogance, Rojas was smooth—too smooth. Was he attracted to Sarah? Or was there some other reason for his sudden interest in them? The guy was waaaay too good looking for anyone’s good.

Sean came back in and went into the pantry. A series of soft beeps sounded. He leaned his head out. “We’re done. Can we go over how this all works?”

“Sure,” Rachel said.

Sarah gave the girls each a cookie. She gave them a pointed look. “Sit at the table for a few minutes.”

The left wall inside of the pantry had been transformed into command central. A digital control panel and a black-and-white monitor had been mounted at eye level. “It’s the Bat pantry.”

“Oh, look.” Sarah pointed over Rachel’s shoulder. “We can see the front porch and the back stoop.”

“You need to pick a four-digit passcode,” Sean explained and demonstrated the basic operations of the system.

“You have a bill for me?” she asked when he had finished.

“I do.” He handed her his clipboard, and Rachel read the invoice. The total at the bottom was absurdly low.

“You’re kidding, right? Where’s the rest of the bill?”

“I gave you everything at cost.” Sean ripped the top sheet off and set it on the table. “You don’t like it, take it up with Mike.” He sauntered out.

She planned to. No matter how much she pushed Mike away, he kept coming back with relentless determination. She balked. He said please. She was rude. He was extra polite. It was annoying. And sweet. Bah!

Rachel went into the pantry and punched the passcode into the alarm panel.

Sarah watched. “Little green light’s on.”

“Guess that’s it, then.” She winced. Her shoulder was stiffening by the second. The ibuprofen wasn’t making a dent. She went to the freezer for an ice pack.

“You might want to take something stronger for that.”

“Maybe. I’ll try the ice first.”

Sarah steered the girls toward the hall. “Bath time.”

Slowly, Rachel trailed her sister, nieces, and the dog down the hall. A shower beckoned. “Hey, where’d we get the saucers?”

“Found them in the attic. Must’ve been Gram’s.” Sarah paused on the second-floor landing. “I’ve been thinking. We should have an antique dealer go through the attic and basement. Some of the stuff looks really old.”

“Good idea.” China cups and skeletons. What other surprises were lingering?

Mike spent the hour in his office, signing paperwork and trying to attend to at least a few of the administrative duties stacked up in his bin. Someone knocked on his door. “Come in.”

Ethan entered. “No luck on identifying the owner of that Jeep. The VIN number had been removed.”

“Probably stolen, then. Back-burner it.” Mike’s phone signaled that it was time to walk over to the community center, where the council members had established temporarily offices.

He stepped out into the crisp, damp air and scanned the street. Pumpkins adorned doorsteps, blow-up ghosts occupied lawns, and orange lights lighted bushes. Halloween was just two weeks away.

The four councilmen and the mayor were already gathered at a long table in the large meeting room of the community center. Vince and Lee Jenkins, were conspiring with Mayor Fred at one end. Opposite, pharmacist Frank Bent and Herb Duncan, owner of the Main Street Inn, looked worried.

Mike slid into a seat in the center. He opened his notebook and pulled a pair of reading glasses from his chest pocket. He jumped in with his agenda. “All officers are scheduled for both Halloween and Mischief night.” Mike quickly reviewed the plans that had been finalized since the last meeting, including extra patrols, parade details, and curfew hours. No one objected.

“The next item on my agenda is potential for flooding this weekend. As you all know, local waterways are already topped out from recent heavy rain. There are several bridges I’m particularly worried about. We should prepare to evacuate flood-prone areas and open shelters as necessary.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little premature?” Vince’s condescending tone grated.

“No, I don’t,” Mike answered. “There are low spots that are already close to flooding, and some of those residents are damned stubborn about leaving. There isn’t much we can do to prevent property damage, but loss of life is unacceptable.”

“We can’t make them leave their homes.”

Mike chewed his molars. “No, but we can get the word out.”

“But if the rain doesn’t pan out, we look like fools.” Vince glared at Mike.

“Our public images aren’t as important as saving lives,” Mike shot back. “And let’s not forget our emergency crews.
They risk their lives every single time they respond to a water rescue.”

Vince opened his mouth, but across the table, Herb cleared his throat. In a cashmere sweater and casual slacks, the former chef looked every inch the country inn owner. “Do you have an update on the fire, Mike?”

Mike consulted his notes. “I spoke with the state arson investigator. His initial impression is that the fire was arson. There were traces of what appear to be accelerants near the point of origin, which was the basement. Labs tests and the official report, however, will take some time.”

“Arson?” Vince smacked the table.

Under his thick white hair, Herb paled. “Someone set that fire? With all those people inside?”

“I’m afraid so.” Mike closed his notebook. “On a positive note, the sprinklers kicked in right away. The stuff that was in long-term storage in the basement is trashed. Upstairs, most of the damage is from smoke. Have you checked with the structural engineer, Fred?”

The mayor cleared his throat. “Yes. He said he’ll get the inspection done by the end of the week.”

“Obviously the fire was an attempt to stop Lawrence Harmon from giving his presentation.” Vince jabbed a pencil at Mike. “You should investigate every single protestor. It’s clear one of them is behind the fire and the vandalism out at the project site.”

“The protestors have stayed well within the requirements of the law. There’s no evidence they had anything to do with the fire.” Mike tapped a finger on his closed book.

“Do you even have any leads?” Vince sneered. “Did you even have a chance to work on the case at all? I heard you spent most of the day with Rachel Parker, and that she had
a body concealed in her basement. She was there last night too. Wasn’t she?”

“Yes. Miss Parker was at the municipal building last night. So was half the town, Vince. And we found a skeleton in her basement, not a body. I’m waiting to hear from the medical examiner, but the person was not killed recently.”

Vince’s face reddened. “You are unable to stop the rampant crime in our town. You don’t know anything about the fire. You don’t know much about remains in your girlfriend’s basement. Why shouldn’t we fire you?”

“Hold on there, Vince,” Herb interrupted. “No one wants to fire Mike.”

“Really?” Vince stood and leaned on the table. “He failed to catch a serial killer operating right under his nose. A woman’s death is on his head. Maybe we need a new police chief.”

Mike’s gut burned. He should have known Vince would try to use that against him.

Herb gave Vince a talk-to-the-hand gesture. “Mike practically works twenty-four hours a day, Vince. What more do you expect? The FBI didn’t catch that killer either. Mike is not responsible.”

Vince jabbed the table with a forefinger. “I expect him to keep this town safe. To protect businesses. To be professional. To not have personal relationships with those involved in his cases. Like Miss Parker.”

Mike opened his mouth to deny it but couldn’t. He did have personal feelings for Rachel, and they were messing up everything.

Herb jumped in for him. “Enough, Vince. We all know you hate the Parker woman because she’s on the opposite side of your boy’s domestic abuse case.”

“My daughter-in-law fell down the stairs. Our chief of police is biased against my son. He has a conflict of interest with the case.” Seething, Vince clenched his teeth. “Talk to the prosecutor and get the assault charges against Troy dropped or you’re fired.”

“And I suppose that’s not a conflict of interest?” Herb rolled his eyes. “You can’t do that without a vote, Vince.”

Mike looked around the table. Vince’s buddy, Lee, was openly gloating. Fred was studying his notes. Guess Vince had the votes. Mike pressed both palms to the tabletop. Listening to a seventy-year-old guy defend him made something snap inside him. He had to get out of this room before he wrung Vince’s neck.

Herb’s eyes went wide with shock. He stared at the mayor. “Fred, you can’t go along with this. Mike’s a damned good cop and you know it. We don’t have anyone to replace him.”

Fred didn’t look up, but his face reddened. It looked like Vince had his majority.

“Thanks, Herb, but I’ve got this.” Mike stood up. Vince leaned back and crossed his arms over his bony chest.

Mike stared at the councilman’s smug face, and all his rational arguments floated right out of his head. His mouth started moving without any consultation with his brain. “You know what, Vince? I’m tired of this bullshit. You’ve been in my face for the past year. But I’m not going to stop doing my job. You want to get rid of me? You’re going to have to fire my ass. But keep in mind, the only people you’re hurting are the residents of this town.”

The five men sitting at the table were staring at Mike, but he kept his eyes on Vince. Cold fury flickered in his beady buzzard eyes.

Mike couldn’t stop. “You’ve been on my ass since you were elected.” Sean’s question played over and over in Mike’s head as he leaned on the table and loomed over Vince. “I can’t help but wonder why. Do you have something to hide?”

Rachel woke from a fitful sleep. The throb in her shoulder echoed her heartbeat. The room was dark, the old house silent, her bed cold. She glanced at the bedside clock. Not even midnight. The long, empty night loomed ahead. Tears burned in her eyes. Though there was no one to see them fall, she blinked them away anyway. Indulging in weakness was as slippery a slope as pain pills.

But despite the fact that three other people were sleeping just down the hall, the loneliness was as discomforting as the bone-deep ache in her shoulder. But if she resorted to medication now, which would she be suppressing?