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It clicked a moment later. “Your sister’s place?”
Lucas set his jaw. The more he thought about, the better it seemed. “Why not? Maria has been trying to re-open her cozy little bed and breakfast for ages now. I know she’s hesitant—”
“Of course she is! Don’t you remember what happened last time?”
His stomach roiled. Underneath his desk, his hands clenched into fists. “That was different. I made sure that nothing like that would happen to my sister again.”
Caitlin saw the flash of determination that skittered across Lucas’s sculpted features. He reminded her of an avenging god at that moment. There was no doubt in her mind that he was fully capable of doing just that.
“I’ve got to question her again. She’s no use to me right now, and I can’t justify keeping her overnight.” Rubbing her tired eyes with the back of her hand, Caitlin came out and said what had been weighing her down since she first realized what it meant to find a man lying strangled in a Hamlet bed. “I don't know what I'm doing. I'm just making it up as I go along, This is the first murder we’ve ever had here. If we don’t count Turner, that is.”
Lucas’s lips thinned. “Why bring up Turner? Everyone in Hamlet knows that was an accident.”
“I know. And I figured that out when we found his wreck.” What else could it be called when an outsider took the wrong turn back out of town and ran his truck off the road and into the gulley that surrounded most of Hamlet? As much as she wanted to call it his comeuppance, she settled on accident. “I don’t think this one’s going to be that easy.”
He had a feeling she was right. He was also not quite sure that it was strictly coincidence that had Caitlin jumping from the topic of Maria to Mack Turner like that. She’d always been intelligent, but she was also shrewder than he ever really gave her credit for. If anyone could figure out what happened, she would.
Lucas had to change the subject back. As far as he was concerned, Turner’s case was closed. There was no reason to dredge all that ancient history up again. It would only make his sister suffer if she had to relive it. He wouldn’t allow that.
Picking up his radio, he asked Caitlin, “Should I call Maria?”
“Yeah, sure. Might as well.” She huffed, unscrewed her thermos and guzzled down the last of her coffee. “Right now, I don’t care where that woman goes so long as she’s not at my station when I get back.”
“I’ll take care of it personally,” Lucas promised.
And that, Caitlin admitted to herself, was exactly what she was afraid of.
9
Mason was watching her so closely, Tess felt like an insect underneath a magnifying glass. She wished he would stop. It unnerved her, her skin breaking out in tiny goosebumps as if she actually felt the touch of his continued stare.
Why wasn't he blinking? It was really beginning to creep her out.
What made it worse was that, as they sat cross-legged and facing each other on the bench stretched across the jail cell, she had no idea why he kept studying her.
Tess was pretty sure she was only one wrong word from snapping under the stress of the day. It bothered her that she couldn’t understand what he was looking for. Did he think she managed to sneak out and choke her husband to death? Or was he watching, waiting to see if spontaneous strangulation was suddenly catching?
She’d already shed enough tears while clinging to him that morning, so if he was expecting another breakdown, he’d be waiting a while for that.
There was a hollow feeling in her chest. Her head kept spinning. The more she tried to concentrate and accept the reality of what happened, the harder it was. The words simply didn’t make sense in her head. No matter how many times she made the sheriff repeat them during her questioning.
Jack is dead. Dead. Jack is dead. Jack. Dead. He’s—
“Tess?”
Her whole body shook at the sound of her name. In that fleeting instant, the certainty that Jack was gone slipped through her hands like grains of sand. It would be back. It was just the shock talking.
“I’m sorry.” She blinked. “Did you say something?”
Concern flooded his deep brown eyes. And she thought, it would be so, so easy to drown in them.
Mason nodded at the pile of cards set between them. “It’s your turn.”
“Oh. Okay.” She drew her card. Ace of spades. Her hand shook. She quickly tucked that card behind the three of clubs. “Nothing.”
The plodding of sensible shoes caught her attention, followed by a soft cough. A hefty shadow fell across the bench.
“How are you kids doing in there? You need me to get you anything before I start getting ready to go off shift for the evening?”
