The Girl Who Cried Murder Read online

  Chapter Seven

  “It had definitely been cut. Our forensics guys are trying to figure out what kind of blade made it.”

  Mike opened the refrigerator door and peered inside. Thank goodness the intruders hadn’t made it as far as the kitchen. The carton of eggs stored in the door compartment was still intact. “Even if you do,” he said into the phone, “we’d have to find a weapon before we could make a match, wouldn’t we?”

  “Probably,” Maddox Heller admitted. “But maybe we can narrow down the type of blade. Then you can ask Charlie Winters if the description rings any bells.”

  “Yeah,” he said, not adding that he couldn’t be sure Charlie would tell him if she did find the description familiar. She was clearly keeping secrets from him, if her nightmare the night before was any indication.

  “I take it there weren’t any further problems last night?”

  “No, it was quiet as a church.” He’d already made a circuit of the house, indoors and out, to be sure there had been no further attempted incursions into Charlie’s house. He supposed his big F-150 pickup parked in the driveway might have been enough to discourage the intruders from trying again.

  He was curious, however, why they had stopped their destruction halfway through the house. The vandalism had obviously been meant as a warning of some sort. Had they figured one room’s worth of destruction was enough? Or had something scared them off?

  “I don’t suppose the police bothered to ask the neighbors anything about the break-in,” he said.

  “I have a friend on the force. I can ask.”

  “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

  “By the way, Cameron still wants to see you.”

  He jerked upright, nearly hitting his head on the edge of the freezer door. “Oh, damn. I was supposed to meet with her yesterday afternoon.”

  “I told her what happened. She understood. But she says she still needs to see you, today if possible.”

  Footsteps padded softly down the hall toward the kitchen. “I’ll call her and set something up,” he said. “Gotta go.”

  He didn’t wait for Heller to respond, pocketing his phone and turning to look at Charlie as she entered the kitchen.

  She was still wearing the thermal pajamas she’d put on last night after showering before bed, the hem of the top scrunched up enough that he got a glimpse of flat stomach and the glint of a small silver belly ring. Her short hair was a spiky, bed-headed mess, and her hazel-green eyes drooped with weariness. “Coffee,” she groaned.

  He picked up the mug he’d set out for her, a dark green mug with the words First Coffee, Then Coherence on the front, and poured her a cup of the coffee he’d just brewed. “How do you like it?”

  “Hot and now.” She took the cup and swallowed a gulp, grimacing as it went down. But she took another gulp and leaned against the counter, looking at him beneath sleepy eyelids. “How long have you been up?”

  He glanced at his watch. Seven thirty. “About an hour or so. Did I wake you?”

  “No, my internal clock did that.” She took another drink of the coffee. “No new intrusions, I take it?”

  “Not that I saw.” He turned back to the fridge. “Are you a breakfast-eater?”

  “Yes, please. Are you cooking?” Her expression perked up. “Tell me you’re cooking.”

  “I’m cooking, if you can settle for scrambled eggs.”

  “I’d settle for dry cereal, so eggs sound great.” She poured a second cup of coffee, this time adding a packet of sweetener and a spoonful of the hazelnut creamer that sat in a plastic container next to the coffeepot. She fetched a spoon from a drawer and stirred the coffee as she crossed to the small table next to the kitchen window. Morning sunlight filtered through the pale blue curtains, bathing her pale face with a rosy glow.

  “What time do you have to go to work?” Mike asked.

  “Well, I usually like to be at the computer by eight thirty, since that’s when the on-site staff shows up.”

  Mike frowned. “You work from home?”

  She cocked her head. “I told you I had a flexible work schedule.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t connect that to working at home.”

  She set the coffee cup in front of her. “You seem...dismayed?”

  “Well, I was thinking there’d be safety in numbers if you were going to an office somewhere.” He carried three eggs to the stove and looked for a frying pan. “Where’s the skillet?”

  “Over the stove.”

  He found the pan and set it on the stove eye, setting the heat to medium high. “Do you use the laptop in your bedroom for work, or do you have a different computer?”

  “I use the laptop,” she answered, grabbing her cup and walking over to stand beside him. “You’re really worried about my being here alone, aren’t you?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  She seemed to give the question some thought. “I wasn’t. I figured these people don’t want to risk getting caught, so they wouldn’t attack me in my own home.”

  “But they were willing to kill you in your car.”

  “Or maybe they figured I’d think there was something wrong with the brakes before it became dangerous. If I hadn’t been traveling on that particular road heading down a mountain, I wouldn’t have had nearly as much trouble stopping my car, even without the brakes.”

  Heat radiated from the pan on the stove eye in front of him. He poured a dollop of oil into the pan and it sizzled immediately. He forced himself to concentrate on cooking for a few moments, until he was ready to spoon the fluffy yellow scrambled eggs onto the two plates Charlie had retrieved from a nearby cabinet.

  She’d also put a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster. They popped up as he was spooning the eggs onto the plates. “Butter?”

  “Sure,” he answered. He’d hauled and tugged enough debris the night before while cleaning up Charlie’s living room to allow himself the indulgence.

  Over breakfast, he picked up the dropped thread of conversation. “I don’t think you can assume the tampering with your brakes was just an attempt to frighten you.”

  “You’re a very comforting man,” she said drily.

  “I’m serious, Charlie. Someone went to pretty drastic measures to put you in danger. And what happened in this house yesterday afternoon may have been just a warning, but it was a pretty brutal one.”

  “I’m taking it seriously.” She put down her fork. “Believe me.”

  “I’m not crazy about leaving you here alone today.” Mike poked at his eggs, not nearly as hungry now as he’d been a few minutes earlier. “Is there any way you could work from another location? Since you work on a laptop anyway.”

  “I could,” she said with a slight nod, picking up her fork. She tried a bite of eggs. “Pretty good.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But there aren’t any trendy little internet cafés anywhere around here,” she added with a sigh. “And if I go over to Mercerville to the office, they may decide they like having me around there all the time.”

  “And that would be bad?”

  “Very.” She stuck out her chin. “One of the reasons I took this particular job was that I could work from home and keep flexible hours.”

  “Then come to my office.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t leave this place. I can’t. I have one traumatized cat still hiding under my bed and another I have to pick up from the vet today who’s probably going to have to have one of those plastic cones around his head for the next few days. I can’t leave them here alone, and I can’t take them with me to your office.”

  “Then you can take them to my place.”

  His words fell like a bomb in the middle of the room. Charlie stared at him as if he’d lost his mind, and his own gut clenched as
if he’d just taken a sucker punch.

  “That is...an unexpected offer,” Charlie said finally into the deafening silence.

  “Yeah.” He picked up his fork and poked at his eggs, now growing cold. “Kind of surprised myself with it, too.”

  “I won’t hold you to it.”

  He dropped his fork. “I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, Charlie.”

  “Moving into your place with my two special-needs cats isn’t a bad idea?” Her expression oozed skepticism.

  “No, listen,” he said, starting to warm to the idea. “My place has good locks and a state-of-the-art security system. I have two bedrooms, which means I wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor. Cable TV, Wi-Fi, central heat and air—”

  “Are you trying to sell me on the idea or on a time-share?”

  He smiled. “It could work, Charlie. I live close to the office, so if there was any kind of trouble, I could be there in minutes. It’s right near the center of town in Mercerville, easy walking distance from a couple of eating places and shops. And I like cats.”

  “Even crazy ones?”

  “Crazy is my favorite breed,” he said. Of people as well as cats.

  She sighed, her head cocking to one side as she considered it. “Cats can be messy. And temperamental.”

  “I grew up with cats. I’m not new at it.”

  “I can also be messy and temperamental.”

  “I’ll cope.” Was he really sitting here trying to talk her into invading his bachelor territory? After nearly ten years in the Marine Corps, living alone had turned out to be an unexpected pleasure. Not having to account to anyone else for what music he listened to, what television shows or movies he watched, how late he stayed up or how early he rose—why was he suddenly so eager to bring this unpredictable redhead and her two cats into his domain?

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Okay,” he echoed with a nod, wondering what the hell he’d just gotten himself into.

  * * *

  CHARLIE PULLED THE rolling chair closer to the wide oak desk where her laptop computer sat, trying to settle in. It wasn’t that the chair itself was uncomfortable. It was the very opposite, a large, ergonomically built manager’s chair with plush leather upholstery and caster wheels that moved as smoothly as a hot knife through butter.

  No, the problem was the unfamiliarity of the setting and her own growing uneasiness at how quickly she’d allowed Mike to talk her into moving herself and the cats into his house.

  What she needed, she realized, was a best friend. Someone like Alice, who’d understood her and could give her sound advice. The problem was, after Alice died, Charlie hadn’t tried to find a new best friend. Best friends meant opening yourself up to loss and pain, and she’d had about all she could take of that, thank you very much.

  She didn’t need other people. She was a strong, independent woman, damn it.

  She didn’t need a protector.

  So what the hell was she doing ensconced in a strange man’s house, locked in and safeguarded by a state-of-the-art security system?

  A plaintive meow beside her interrupted her fretful musings. His Highness gazed up at her with baleful blue eyes, his dark face framed by a plastic Elizabethan collar the vet had provided to keep him from licking his shoulder stitches.

  “I’m sorry, Hizzy. We all have our crosses to bear.”

  “Everything okay?”

  Mike’s voice behind her made her jump and sent Hizzy shooting under the desk, his collar slapping against the wood and sending him sprawling at her feet. Charlie picked up the cat and whirled the chair around to look at Mike, who shot her an apologetic look.

  “Yeah, peachy,” she answered drily.

  “Sorry about that. I’m heading to the office—I have a meeting this afternoon. You sure you’re good here by myself?”

  “Of course. I’ll be fine.”

  “Help yourself to anything in the fridge. Don’t worry about answering the phone—the answering service will get it. If I need to reach you, I’ll call your cell phone.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  He grinned. “I’ll be back soon. I can grab something on my way home for dinner if you like. There’s a nice pizza place near the office—you like pepperoni?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “I’ll call if my plans change. Lock up behind me. And set the perimeter alarm.”

  She set the cat on the floor and followed him to the living room. “I’ll be fine, Mike. This place is a fortress.”

  “Okay. Call if you need anything.”

  “Go.” She nodded toward the door. After he left, she dutifully locked the door behind her and checked the security system box to make sure the perimeter alarms were set.

  Then she returned to the cozy office, where Hizzy sat impatiently in the desk chair, gazing at her through slightly crossed eyes.

  “If I take off the collar, do you swear you won’t chew your stitches?”

  He uttered a mournful meow.

  With a sigh, she pulled the edges of the collar apart, releasing him from the plastic cone. He immediately started licking his shoulder.

  “If you chew those stitches, the cone goes back on,” she warned and set him on the floor by the chair.

  She’d gotten behind on some of her work projects while she was dealing with the problems with her car and the vandalism of her house, so she buckled down to handling those tasks, checking every few minutes to make sure Hizzy hadn’t started picking at his stitches.

  An hour later, she had worked her way through the three most time-sensitive documents on her to-do list and was about to tackle the fourth when a loud trilling noise sent a shudder of surprise skating down her back.

  The phone trilled a second time. It sat in a base on the right side of the desk, next to the crook-necked lamp. The phone display lit up with a phone number and a name.

  Craig Bearden for Senate.

  Charlie stared at the number, first with confusion, then with a flood of dismay. Why was Craig Bearden’s campaign office calling Mike Strong?

  Maybe it’s a campaign call, Charlie. Stop being so suspicious.

  Only one way to be sure. She picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Is Mike Strong available?” The voice on the other line sounded vaguely familiar. It wasn’t Craig Bearden, however. Bearden’s voice was a rich, sonorous baritone. The tenor voice on the line spoke in clipped tones, with only a hint of a Kentucky accent.

  “Mr. Strong isn’t in. May I take a message?”

  “This is Randall Feeney. I’d like to reschedule our appointment and apologize for missing our meeting two days ago.”

  Charlie’s stomach sank. Now she knew why the voice sounded familiar. Randall Feeney had been Craig Bearden’s chief aide since his early days on the county commission, back when Alice had still been alive.

  She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. I don’t know his schedule. May I have him call you back?”

  There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. “I’ll call him back later,” Feeney said. He hung up without saying goodbye.

  Charlie set the phone back on the base and slumped in her chair, her mind racing. So, Mike had made an appointment with Randall Feeney, just a couple of days after Charlie showed up in his self-defense class.

  Was that a coincidence?

  She didn’t think so.

  She opened her purse and pulled her phone from the inside pocket, pulling up her list of contacts. She’d had five different phones since Alice’s death, but she had always put Alice’s number in her contact list on the new phone, as if that one small gesture would keep Alice alive for her somehow.

  Had the Beardens changed their number? Would someone answer if she pressed Send?

  Her finger trembled over
the phone screen for a long moment. Then she set the phone on the desk in front of her, releasing a long, shaky breath.

  She wasn’t ready to deal with the Beardens yet. So if she wanted to know why Mike Strong had contacted Craig Bearden’s campaign office, she’d just have to ask him herself.

  She picked up her phone, shoved it in her pocket and grabbed the jacket hanging on the back of the chair.

  And she had to do it as soon as possible, before she lost her nerve.

  Chapter Eight

  Rebecca Cameron was a formidable woman. Not just because she was sleekly beautiful and graceful, a woman of impeccable manners and dazzling intellect. But she was a woman who’d come from humble beginnings, an African American girl raised by a steel worker and a kindergarten teacher in the deepest South, who’d risen above discrimination and oppression with dignity and determination to become one of the most well-respected diplomats in the Foreign Service.

  With her steely will, she had faced down the most aggressively domineering men in the halls of power and won her battles with a smile. And it was with that same core of iron she greeted Mike with a cool smile and waved him into the seat in front of her desk.

  “So,” she said with no preamble, “why have you contacted the Craig Bearden campaign office?”

  Mike tried not to fidget like a kid in the principal’s office. “I was doing a background check.”

  The arch of Cameron’s perfect eyebrows rose a notch. “I wasn’t aware your job description included investigations.”

  “Technically, it doesn’t,” Mike admitted, holding her gaze with a little steely determination of his own. “But one of my self-defense students pinged my radar—”

  “And you thought you’d look into his background?”

  “Her,” he corrected. “And I discussed it with Maddox Heller first.”

  “Ah.” She sat back, relaxing a little. Her long fingers steepled over her flat stomach as she held his gaze thoughtfully. She was a musician, he remembered. A violinist. Those long fingers had plucked strings in concert halls across the globe.

  Her continuing silence started to make him nervous again. “Is that why you wanted to see me?”