As Darkness Fell. Joanna WayneЧитать онлайн книгу.
Detective Turner, is the farthest thing from my mind.”
“Keep it that way.”
And that was it. Not even a thank-you for coming to him with the information, though she knew there were some reporters who wouldn’t have. They’d have played along with the killer in an effort to get a really big story.
Instead, she was playing with Sam Turner. She was certain it was not going to be a fun game.
SAM WATCHED Caroline walk away, a thousand memories tramping through his mind, none of them welcome. He wasn’t sure what it was about the reporter that reminded him of Peg. They didn’t look the same. Peg’s hair had been long, whereas Caroline’s was short, and the color of wheat, whereas Caroline’s was more like café au lait.
But something about Caroline reminded him of Peg and that was enough reason to make sure he kept his distance from her. Something that might prove very difficult if she became his link with a killer.
He’d lost his taste for the burger, but he finished it, anyway. He ate from habit, the way he did a lot of things these days. Eat and sleep and breathe. Go through the motions.
Let it go, Sam, or it will eat you alive.
That had been the police psychiatrist’s advice after Peg’s death. Shows how little the shrink knew about him. Except for the motions, Sam was already dead. And there was no letting go.
IT WAS HER DAY OFF, so when Caroline left the Grille, she went home, glanced at the day’s mail and made herself a salad that she barely touched. Nothing she did took the murder or the note off her mind. Finally she took a glass of chardonnay and climbed the stairs to the second floor to tackle cleaning the huge hall closet, a task she’d put off ever since moving in. But today the thought of escaping into someone else’s old junk seemed more of a reprieve than work.
Thunder rumbled in the distance as she opened the closet door and breathed in the musty odor. No telling what skeletons might climb out when she started rummaging through the tattered boxes. The good thing was, they wouldn’t bear any of her DNA. The bad thing was, neither did any other skeletons she knew anything about.
Wrapping her arms around a large box that sat on the closet floor, she tugged until it was out in the open. The tape that held it closed was brittle and peeling, and it took only a yank to loosen it.
The box was carefully packed, full of sealed plastic pouches. She opened one and pulled out the contents. Yards of teal satin spilled out. It took her a few seconds to realize it was a dress.
Standing, she held the dress to her shoulders to get the full effect. The full skirt hit just above her ankles, hiding most of her legs, but the neckline was plunging. A gown fit for a formal party in the late 1800s—or perhaps a madam in a fancy brothel.
The dress appeared in too good a condition to be authentic. More than likely it had been made for the annual spring pilgrimage event, when many of Prentice’s historic homes opened their doors to the public. It was traditional for the hostesses to dress in the style of the period during which the houses had been built.
Caroline had first met Becky at one of the pilgrimages three years ago, her first year as a teacher. She’d brought a group of her students down to tour the houses and Becky had been one of the guides.
They’d hit it off from the moment they met, more because they were so different than because they were alike. The friendship had paid off in lots of ways. Becky was the one who’d told Caroline about the Times looking for a reporter back when she’d lost her teaching job.
Stripping off her slacks and sweater, Caroline lifted the dress and fit her head inside the opening, letting the dress slide into place. The full skirt swirled about her legs as she danced over to the antique mirror and stared at her reflection. The distortion of the wavy glass was more pronounced than usual in the grayness of the cloudy afternoon, giving the shimmering dress a luminance that seemed almost magical.
The moment ended abruptly at the gong of the doorbell. She wasn’t expecting anyone. But then, she hadn’t been expecting a call to a murder scene last night or a note from a weirdo today, either.
Lifting the full skirt, she hurried down the winding staircase. The doorbell rang again before she got there, this time prolonged. She stopped at the door and looked through the peephole. Sam Turner.
And if he thought her outfit last night was a bit much, imagine how he’d react to this one. She started to yank the low-cut bosom up, then changed her mind and tugged it lower, leaving lots of exposed cleavage and little to the imagination. Might as well shock the detective all the way. Too bad she didn’t have on her stilts.
She swung open the door and smiled up at him. “Hello, detective.”
SAM ROCKED back on his heels, speechless. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t this. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No, I’m just relaxing. Care for a mint julep on the veranda?”
He didn’t answer, just worked to drag his gaze away from the pink mounds of flesh peeking out of her dress. Another fraction of an inch and her nipples would have been staring back at him.
“That was a joke, Detective. There’s not a mint or a julep in the house. I was just cleaning out a closet, found the dress and tried it on.”
“Good. I thought you might be expecting Rhett Butler.”
“No. I hate men who don’t give a damn.” She opened the door a little wider. “Now that you’re here, I guess you should come in.”
“Just for a minute.”
“Were you able to get prints from the note?”
“Only one set besides mine on the right edge.”
“And the one set would have to be mine.”
“It appears that way.”
“I doubt you came all the way over here to tell me that.”
“No. I have a proposition for you.”
“I don’t sleep with cops.”
“Good, since I wasn’t going to ask you to. I’d like you to take a run over to the crime scene with me.”
“You want me to go to the park where Sally Martin was murdered?”
“That’s right. It won’t take long.”
She took a step backward. “I’d rather not go back there, Detective.”
Now that surprised him. Every reporter he’d ever known would have been salivating at the possibility of visiting the scene of the crime with the lead homicide detective. “It could be important, Caroline.”
“Why?”
“I’d like you to show me exactly where you were at all times last night. Where you parked your car. Which areas of the park you were in, that sort of thing.”
“I was only there a few minutes.”
“Long enough for the killer to see you, if in fact he was the one who wrote the note. You may have seen him, too, without realizing it. If we go back there, I can get a better feel for where he may have been standing while he was watching you. It might even trigger a memory of something you’ve forgotten.”
“I didn’t talk to anyone except cops.”
“Look, I know this won’t be as much fun as playing dress-up, but I have a dead woman, a brutal killer on the loose and no leads. Now are we going to stand here and quibble, or are you going with me?”
“Since you put it that way, I don’t have a lot of choice. I’ll need to change first.”
“A good idea.” Hopefully into something that completely covered her breasts. “Make it quick. The storm’s blowing in fast.”
She turned and hurried away,