"So, that's a no?"
"That's a nap yesterday afternoon after I got home from the bakery and before I went back at dark."
“How bad is what you and the sheriff found on the surveillance video?”
He was quiet for a beat. Then, "The footage isn't bad in the sense of . . .” He broke off. “It's just . . .” He broke off again. “Wheeler will walk you through it."
"Tessa said the same thing."
"Tessa knows you’re a gentle soul and didn’t want you to be frightened."
"And you're being . . ."
"Practical."
"I was going to say overprotective."
He made a quiet sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "I've been called worse."
“Just tell me the bakery’s okay.”
“It’s fine. Nobody went inside, and no damage was done outside.”
The rain eased and then intensified again. They passed a pasture where a great blue heron waded with slow, stately grace through a broad puddle. Although Reno only glanced over at the majestic bird, he watched it with his whole attention for that moment. Liam used to do the same thing, but his observations took the form of threat assessments. Reno studied things as if he wanted to analyze them until he understood everything about them.
She wondered if that was what made her keep looking at him. He was the first person she’d met since Liam that she wanted to understand. So far she wasn’t doing that great a job of it. She knew he was decent, and kind, and thoughtful. And definitely honorable. But she knew practically nothing else about him.
One thing she did know, though. She wanted to learn more about him.
The Cobbler Cove Sheriff's Department occupied a one-story brick building with less personality than a clod of dirt. Inside it smelled like old carpet and bad coffee and the faint chemical sweetness of whatever they cleaned the bathrooms with.
At the front desk, a woman named Velma Grayhill who had been the dispatcher since before Grace was born, looked up from a crossword puzzle and said, "He's expecting you, Grace. Hey, Reno. I’ll buzz you two through to the back."
"Howdy, Velma," Reno replied.
"How's the leg?" Velma asked.
"Still attached."
She grinned and buzzed them through.
Wheeler was at his desk in a small office off the squad room. His brown sheriff’s jacket was draped over the back of his chair and his tan shirt’s sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. He closed his laptop and stood up when they walked in.
"Grace. Thanks for stopping by. Have a seat." He gestured at two chairs side-by-side in front of his desk. Reno held one for Grace then sank gingerly into the second one, giving his left thigh just above his knee a rub.
She murmured a hello as he picked up his coffee cup and a stack of papers in front of them and set them aside.
"I'll keep this short," Wheeler said. "I want to walk you through what we saw on your security camera and talk about what to do next."
"All right."
"Couple of things up front. One, you did the right thing getting that camera in fast. Two, nobody got inside your shop. Three, what's on this footage is unsettling and you're going to have feelings about it. Take whatever time you need. The footage isn't going anywhere."
She nodded. Her hands were already cold.
Wheeler turned on a small TV monitor mounted on the wall of his office and played the video on it so they could all see. The screen showed the alley behind the bakery, lit by the orange wash of a sodium lamp at the end of the block. She knew the brick wall. The metal door. The little overhang she'd stood under hundreds of times.
The timestamp in the corner said 2:05:08 AM.
