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“Nope, but I’m not exactly a bookworm.”
“I did check with the database for the Department of Motor Vehicles, and he has a current-year BMW X5 registered to him.”
“Makes sense the guy has money to burn. He did follow Felicity all over the country for her book tours.”
“You’re surely not knocking the Beemer though?”
“Wouldn’t dare.” Though, she’d never been one for the flashy show of material success, and BMWs certainly qualified. “Let’s go have a talk with Lowe.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Before leaving Central, Amanda and Trent signed the confidentiality agreements as they were and sent them back to Ian Moss. They’d run this move past Malone, who okayed it, even if he wasn’t entirely thrilled by the idea. She had convinced him that it was one way of possibly getting ahead of the game if things didn’t pan out with Sheldon Lowe.
The bookstore’s website noted it opened at nine, so they headed there instead of Sheldon Lowe’s home. The one thing she noticed immediately was the home page had a slider advertising signed copies of Felicity’s The Romeo Killer.
It wasn’t too hard to guess how he came into possession of them, since he had followed Felicity around to all her signings. She turned to Trent before getting out of the car. “I’d like to ask this guy where he got his signed copies to sell. Kristopher said he remembered Sheldon’s name because he’d watched Felicity sign it enough times. He wouldn’t have the books personalized if he wanted to sell them.”
“What are you thinking, then? Felicity would sign some and ship here, or drop by the store?”
“Possibly.” If that was the case, she hadn’t feared Sheldon. But would she let him in if he showed up at her door?
Trent parked in a spot in front of the store. Its Criminal was in a narrow storefront, along the main street in Woodbridge, wedged between an appliance store and a laundromat.
The bookstore was painted bright teal, and a large window with black trim showcased a variety of books atop blue silk. Hardcovers of The Romeo Killer were stacked amid twinkle lights, with one copy sitting in a brass holder on an actual pedestal.
Trent got the door for them, and a bell chimed overhead. Smack dab in front of them was a grandiose display of Felicity’s bestseller that put the window display to shame. There must have been a hundred hardcovers. It was hard to believe a small store like this would move that many copies—bestselling book, regardless.
A woman in her sixties was reading the back of a romance novel, and a man was browsing the cookbooks.
“Good day.” A man was walking toward Amanda and Trent, smiling broadly. The expression struck as genuine. He was wearing black-frame glasses, and the overhead lights cut a glare across the lenses.
“Mr. Lowe?” Trent likely recognized him from the licensing database when he found out about the BMW registration.
“That’s me.” The smile disappeared, and he crossed his arms, narrowed his eyes. “You are?” He glanced at Amanda, back to Trent.
They both held up their badges, and Sheldon let out an audible sigh.
“I’m sorry, but if you’re not here to, at least, browse, I will have to ask you to leave.”
Amanda took a step toward him. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. Detective Steele, and this is Detective Stenson. We have questions about your relationship with Felicity Kelley.” She considered relationship a diplomatic way of phrasing it even if it was stretching things.
He unfolded his arms, started to tuck his hands into his pant pockets, but stopped mid-motion. A flicker shot across his eyes, and then he bolted for the front door. He pushed Amanda in his haste to get away, and she collided with the Felicity Kelley display and crumpled to the floor.
“You all right?” Trent offered to help her to her feet, but she waved his hand away.
“Just get Lowe.” She struggled to get to her feet. Getting jabbed in the ribs by the corners of hardcovers wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience. Ouch! She rubbed her sides as she left the store.
The bell that had added an ambiance of charm before now grated.
She stepped outside and looked left and right. No sign of Trent or Sheldon. No footsteps or voices to alert her which direction they were in either. Nothing until a BMW sped by with Trent running along behind it, yelling.
“That’s Lowe! He’s getting away!”
“He won’t get far.” She pivoted for the department car and held out her hands for Trent to toss her the keys. They got in, she flipped on the lights, and pulled out in pursuit of Lowe. “Call it in, Trent.”
She’d push the gas harder, but there was only so much she could do for the safety of everyone around. The fact they were on his tail might motivate Lowe to turn himself in, though it probably wasn’t going to work out like that. For a scared rabbit already on the move, it was usually all about flight.
Trent gripped the dash as she took a sharp right, having spotted that Lowe’s Beemer had turned down that street. Closer now, she saw him looking in the rearview mirror. There was no question, he knew they were following.
