The Girl Who Cried Murder Page 3
She looked at Mike, who was back on his feet. Unlike Eric, he wasn’t smiling. Instead, he was watching her with a knowing wariness that made her stomach twist. After a moment, however, his expression cleared and he motioned her over. “That was actually a pretty good example of one of the things we’re going to talk about today,” he said as she walked with reluctance to his side. “What Charlie did was to use deception to change her circumstances. The more she struggled, the tighter I held her. When she seemed to give up, to stop struggling, I loosened my grip. It’s a natural response—assailants can tire of the struggle as well, even if they’re considerably stronger and larger than their targets.”
Charlie slanted him a skeptical look. He didn’t look as if he’d tired at all. She was pretty sure he could have held her in check a whole lot longer than he had.
He met her gaze, his smile seemingly warm. But he was smiling only with his mouth. His green eyes were narrowed and still wary.
“The other thing she did is what I’d like to address today,” he added. “As soon as she was in the position to do so, Charlie bowled me over. She used her full weight to catch me off balance and send me to the ground. And yet I outweigh her by at least eighty pounds. Probably more. Which goes to show, even if your assailant is larger than you, you have more leverage than you think.”
Charlie wrapped her arms around her, feeling exposed and vulnerable. She edged back toward the wall as Mike Strong walked the rest of the students through an attacker’s vulnerable points and how to strike back at those areas more effectively.
“Put your weight into everything you do. If you can hurt them, you’re that much closer to knocking them down and getting away. Now, I want the bigger partners to suit up and play the part of the attacker. Smaller partners, go after the pressure points. For now, avoid the nose and face. What I want you to practice is putting your full weight into everything you do. Turn your body into a weapon.”
The rest of the group got started. There was a lot of noise, most of it self-conscious laughter. Charlie watched the others for a moment, until she felt Mike’s gaze on her.
She looked at him. He was studying her as if she were some scientific experiment on display. Her cheeks, which had finally started to cool off, went hot again.
She half expected him to ask her what the hell had happened when he grabbed her. Surely he’d seen that her panic had been real.
But when he spoke, he asked, “Have you had any self-defense training before?”
“I was a skinny freckled redhead in public school,” she answered, going for levity. “I had twelve years of self-defense training.”
He smiled faintly. “Formal training?”
“I’ve read a lot. Watched a lot of videos on the ’net.”
“So you’ve done the mental work. Just not the physical.”
“Something like that.”
“I have an intermediate class that meets Tuesday and Thursday afternoons at four. Do you think you could make that class?”
He thought she should go into an intermediate class? Why? She hadn’t exactly covered herself in glory so far.
“I have a flexible work schedule,” she said finally, wondering just what an intermediate self-defense class would entail. “But I’m really just a beginner,” she added quickly. “I just got lucky earlier.”
“That wasn’t luck. That was your instincts kicking in. You’ve internalized the lessons in your head. Now your body needs to learn how to do the things your brain has already processed. But there’s no need for you to start from the beginning when you’d be learning a lot more in an advanced class.”
Charlie narrowed her eyes, not sure she trusted Mike Strong’s motives for wanting to move her out of the beginner class. She’d seen the wariness in his eyes earlier. And even now, there was a hint of tension in his jaw when he spoke, as if he was trying to hide his real thoughts.
“You think I could keep up?” she asked.
“I think so. If you feel differently after a class or two, you can always come back to this class.”
“And is self-defense the only thing you learn in the intermediate class?” she asked before she thought the question through.
His brow creased. “What else would you be looking to learn?”
She cleared her throat. “I just meant—there’s more to protecting yourself than just being able to get out of physical situations, isn’t there?”
Mike looked at her for a long moment, then jerked his attention away, his gaze shifting across the gymnasium, as if he’d just remembered that he was supposed to be supervising the class. “Darryl, the padding doesn’t mean you can be a brute. This is our first time out. Try not to break Melanie’s neck, how about it?”
Charlie watched the rest of the class giggle and grunt their way through the exercises while Mike went through the group, offering suggestions and gentle correction. Right about now, she’d give anything to be one of them, one of the group instead of standing here like a flagpole in the middle of the desert, visible from every direction.
Mike finally wandered back to where she stood. “The intermediate class is mainly about physical self-defense,” he finally answered in response to her earlier question. “But if you have any specific questions about how to protect yourself, you can always ask.”
“If I do, I will,” she said, not sure she meant it. He was giving off all the vibes of a man who was suspicious of her motives, and considering her little freak-out a few minutes ago, she couldn’t really blame him.
The last thing she needed to do was pique his curiosity.
“So, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon in the intermediate course?” Mike glanced at her, his expression suggesting he wasn’t sure she’d say yes.
But he wanted her to say yes, she realized.
The question was, why?
“Yes,” she said finally. “I’ll be there.”
“Can you stick around for the rest of the class?”
The twinkle in his eyes gave her pause, but she made herself smile. “Should I say no?”
He laughed. “There are still a few moves I need to show the class. And since you’re here...”
“I get to be the damsel in distress?”
He shook his head slowly. “The one thing I’m pretty sure you’ve never been, Charlie, is the damsel in distress.”
* * *
“SO, WHAT DO you think?”
Mike turned his head away from the window, dragging his gaze from Charlie’s little blue Toyota. She hadn’t emerged from the gymnasium yet; when he’d left, she’d been talking to a couple of the other students.
He met Maddox Heller’s gaze. “I don’t know. She’s hard to read.”
“In what way?”
He thought about her reaction to being called to the front of the class that morning. “She can be shy. And then turn around and be assertive. But there was something that happened today—I’m not sure how to describe it.”
“Give it a shot.”
“I was demonstrating how quickly an assailant could strike. Partly as an example, but also because I wanted to know how she’d react. I expected her to fight.”
“And she didn’t?”
“No, she fought. But there was something about the way she did it. It was as if she was somewhere else. Seeing something else.”
Heller’s expression was thoughtful. “Post-traumatic stress?”
“Maybe. She was able to keep herself together enough to escape my grasp, though. And she did it pretty well. Bowled me over.”
“There wasn’t a lot in the background check other than what I told you. The sheriff’s department never liked her story that she could remember nothing. But I don’t know if that’s because of who she is. Or, more to the point, who her family is.”
“Who are they?”
“Does Charlie have a record?”
“Nothing as an adult. If she had any record as a juvenile, it’s sealed.”
“I’ve moved her up to my intermediate class,” Mike said. “The beginner class will just bore her. She might quit.”
“And you don’t want that?”
He didn’t. “Something strange is going on with that woman. I don’t know what yet. But I think it’s in our interests to find out what it is.”
He turned back to the window. Charlie was out there now, unlocking the driver’s door of the Toyota. She slid behind the steering wheel and pulled out of the parking lot, heading onto Poplar Road.
Mike’s gaze started to follow the car up the road, but something in the parking space she’d just vacated snagged his attention. There was a wet spot on the pavement beneath where the Toyota had been parked.
Right about the place where her brake line should be.
He muttered a curse and strode past Heller, already running as he hit the exit. He skidded to a stop at the empty parking place and crouched to look at the fluid on the ground.
Definitely brake fluid.
He gazed at the road, spotting the Corolla just as it started the climb up the mountain.
Without a pause for thought, he pulled his keys from his pocket and sprinted toward his truck.
* * *
THE TOYOTA HAD to be on its last legs. Fifteen years old, well-used before she’d ever bought it, the little blue Corolla had put up with a lot in the five years since she’d bought it with cash from a small used car lot over in Mercerville. The heating and air were starting to falter—never good in the dead of winter or the dog days of summer. And as she crested the mountain and started down the other side, she realized her brakes felt unresponsive, spongy beneath her foot.
That was not good.
She dropped the Corolla to a lower gear, and the vehicle’s speed slowed, but only a little. She thought about putting it in Neutral, but in the back of her mind, she had a fuzzy memory that doing so wasn’t the answer.
Damn. Why hadn’t she read that road safety brochure her insurance company had sent out last month?
Fortunately, there wasn’t much in the way of traffic on the two-lane road, but she was fast approaching a four-way stop at the bottom of the hill. There were a handful of cars clustered at the intersection, far enough away now that they looked more like specks than vehicles.
But that was changing quickly.
She dropped to an even lower gear and gave her brakes a few quick, desperate pumps. They were entirely unresponsive now.
Don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic...
The roar of an engine approaching behind her took her eyes off the road to check the rearview mirror. There was a large pickup truck coming up fast behind her. Suddenly, it swung left, around her, and whipped into the lane in front of her.
What the hell was that idiot doing?
The truck slowed as it moved in front of her, and on instinct, she stamped on her useless brakes. The front of her car bumped hard into the back bumper of the truck, bounced and hit a second time. A third time, then a fourth, each bounce less jarring until her front bumper settled against the back of the truck.
The pickup slowed to a stop, bringing her Corolla to a stop, as well. She turned on her hazard lights and put her car in Park, setting the parking brake to make sure it didn’t move any farther downhill.
The driver’s door of the pickup opened, and a tall, lean-muscled figure got out and turned to face her with a grim smile.
Mike Strong.
What the hell was going on?
Chapter Three
“The brake line’s been cut.” Bill Hardy, the mechanic at Mercerville Motors, who’d taken a look at the Corolla’s brake system, showed Charlie the laceration in the line.
Charlie stared at it in horrified fascination, trying not to relive those scary moments as she’d struggled to bring her car under control on the downhill stretch of Poplar Road. If Mike Strong hadn’t pulled his driving trick to bring her car to a stop—
Don’t think about it.
“How could that have happened?” she asked Bill.
“Well, maybe you could have kicked up a sharp rock or a piece of metal in the road,” Bill said doubtfully.
“But you don’t think so?”
“Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d think this was a deliberate cut.” He gave her a sidelong look. “You haven’t made any enemies lately, have you, Charlie?”
Had she?
She glanced toward the tiny waiting area, where Mike Strong sat in one of the steel-and-plastic chairs pushed up against the wall across from the vending machine. She’d told him he needn’t wait for her, but he’d insisted. And given that he’d more or less saved her life this morning, she could hardly quibble.
“No, no new enemies,” she said.
Except, she supposed, whoever had killed Alice.
She turned her head to look at Mike again and found him standing in the open doorway between the waiting area and the garage. “Any news?”
“Brake line’s cut,” Bill said shortly before Charlie could stop him.
Mike’s eyebrows came together over his nose. “On purpose?”
“Hard to say with certainty, but it’s possible.” Bill looked at Charlie. “What do you want me to do? You’ve got a little body work needs doing on the front now, and the brake line needs replacing—”
“Can I have the damaged brake line?” Mike asked.
Charlie frowned at him. “Why?”
Mike’s green eyes met hers. “Evidence.”
Bill’s brown eyes darted from Charlie’s face to Mike’s and back again. “Should I call the cops?”
“No,” Charlie and Mike said in unison.
“Okay, then.” Bill licked his lips, looking confused.
“Fix the body damage and replace the brake line,” Charlie said. “And preserve the brake line in case we need to let someone examine it to establish whether or not the cut was intentional.”
“Will do,” Bill said with a nod. “Listen, it’s probably going to take me a few days to get this done. You gonna have a way to get around?”
“I’ll figure out something.” Charlie nibbled her lip, wondering if she could make do with her bike for a few days. She didn’t have any meetings scheduled at work for the next couple of weeks, so she didn’t have to worry about a commute. There was a small grocery store a half mile from her house, so she and the cats wouldn’t starve. Even Campbell Cove Academy was within a mile’s ride. It would be good exercise.
“I can give you a ride home, at least,” Mike said.
“Thanks.”
“What are you going to do for wheels?” Mike asked as they walked to his truck.
“I have a bike.”
He slanted a look at her as he unlocked the passenger door of the truck. “What if it rains?”
There was no what-if; rain fell practically every week in the mountains, and often multiple days a week. She hadn’t really thought about rain, but that was what raincoats were for, right? “I’ll deal.”
He waited for her to fasten her seat belt before he started the engine. The dashboard clock read 11:35 and, to her chagrin, her stomach gave a little growl in response. Breakfast had been a long time ago.
“I could go for an early lunch,” he murmured, sounding amused. “You wanna come?”
She looked at him through the corner of her e
ye, trying to assess his motives. “To lunch? With you?”
His sunglasses had mirror lenses, so she couldn’t be sure his smile made it all the way to his eyes. “I suppose we could sit apart, if you like. Though that seems like a waste of a table.”
Mayfair Diner was little more than a hole-in-the-wall, one of three storefronts that filled the one-story brick building on the corner of Mayfair Lane and Sycamore Road. Charlie ate there often, since her house was just a short drive down Sycamore. By now, everybody who worked there knew her by name and called out greetings when they entered.
“What’s good here?” Mike asked as they headed for the counter.
“Depends on how much weight you want to gain.”
He smiled at her blunt answer and looked up at the big menu board. “How are the omelets?”
“I like them,” she answered with a little shrug. “The cheese-and-bacon ones are particularly good.”
“I bet.”
The counter waitress, a plump, pretty woman in her forties named Jean, smiled as she approached to take their order. “Hey, Charlie, what can I get for you and your friend today?”
“I’ll have a grilled cheese with chips and a pickle, and iced coffee with cream and sugar,” Charlie said.
“And you, hon?” Jean looked at Mike, her voice instantly flirtatious.
“I’ll have a veggie omelet and a small fresh fruit cup,” he ordered. “And water to drink.”
Disgustingly healthy, Charlie thought. Would explain his smokin’-hot body, though.
“Find yourself a seat, and I’ll send someone out with your orders in a few minutes,” Jean said with one last flirtatious smile at Mike before she turned to clip their orders to the chef’s order wheel.
Charlie and Mike settled in a corner booth. He took the bench seat that faced the door, she noticed. Always on the lookout for trouble?
An uncomfortable silence lingered between them for a moment before Mike broke it in a gravelly murmur. “You didn’t seem that surprised when the guy at the garage thought your brake line had been cut.”
She looked up sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”