There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the clicking of his fingers on the keyboard. Had the man forgotten she was here?
“I may wish to interview you about prison life,” he said finally. “I find that fascinating. I usually try to put myself in the shoes of my characters—living what they live—but I haven’t managed to get thrown in jail just yet.”
She frowned, not certain she’d heard him right. “Well, yes. Of course. Anything you want to know.”
He kept typing. “It pays four hundred dollars a week. Forty hours, give or take. I’ll need to know within twenty-four hours.”
She froze and gaped up at him. Did that mean he was offering her the job? Did her prison sentence not matter?
As if he’d forgotten his last statement, he turned back to the credenza behind his desk. It looked like something he’d dragged out of a garbage dump. One of the legs was broken, and a cement block replaced it. He paged through another book. She wondered if he was still interested in forensics, or if he’d moved on to some other subject.
He came to whatever page he was looking for and ran his finger down the paragraphs. “I can’t work with you in the room. I usually won’t be here when you are. I like to write out in the world. Experience real life. I’m not like those wannabes who sit in four walls all day hammering out their drivel. And I know what you’re thinking, but having research books does not make me weaker as a writer.”
She caught her breath. “Oh, no, I wasn’t thinking anything.”
“I simply have to confirm things now and then, find words, details, history, explanations … Do you know what they call the clicker on a lamp? The little black thing that goes in and out, turning the blasted thing on and off?”
“Switch?”
Anger flashed across his face. “Do you honestly doubt that I could come up with switch on my own?”
“No … I—”
“Never mind.” His face twisted as if he’d just tasted arsenic. “If there’s one thing I hate it’s stuttering inanity. It would have been the perfect metaphor, if I could find the cursed word.” He looked around, as if he hoped to find the answer lying on one of the other cluttered surfaces. “If you take the job, you can start tomorrow. I have papers somewhere.”
She caught her breath and wondered if she’d heard him right. “I do want the job,” she said quickly. “I can be here tomorrow.”
“Fine. I’ll have a roll of red tape here for you to fill out tomorrow. We don’t want to give the government another reason to harass me. I have enough to do.”
“All right.”
He left his book open and went to one of the stacks, began digging through. “Your job at first will consist mostly of typing several of my earlier books into the computer. I composed those on typewriter, but I’m having them reprinted by my current publisher, and I’ll need them entered onto a computer disk.”
“I can do that.”
“I want them exact. No comma out of place. No quotation mark left off. Just as I’ve written them.”
“No problem.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She blew out her relief as she left his cottage but knew she would have to get used to the eccentricities if she was going to work for him. She could do it, she told herself. She’d dealt with difficult types among the guards and her cell mates in jail. Even since getting out, she’d had to adjust to the different personalities at Hanover House.
Besides, it might be interesting. Certainly not your ordinary nine-to-five.
She couldn’t wait to tell Sadie that she was gainfully employed.
CHAPTER 6
The former Laundromat that served as the police station was full to the brim with cadets from the local Girl Scout Troop, who’d come for a Saturday morning tour. Cade had completely forgotten his promise to Joyce, their leader, to get someone to show them the workings of the police station. It looked like Alex Johnson had stepped in for him.
In addition to the chattering girls, five computer guys from the GBI were setting up the upgraded equipment the mayor’s office had approved for them and running cables to get them online with the Georgia Criminal Justice Information System Network. Myrtle, the dispatcher, sat at her station with her headphones on, trying to hear the radio exchanges over the confusion around her.
Cade stepped over some of the cables and touched the Girl Scout leader’s shoulder. “Sorry about the mess, Joyce. I forgot you were coming today. You didn’t confirm.”
“Didn’t think I had to, Cade. I talked to you three weeks ago, and you said it was fine.”
He nodded to Alex. “Take them back and show them the jail cells, and then you can lead them out and show them the bells and whistles in Crown’s squad car.”
Alex winked, understanding that Cade needed them out of the building.
“Tell Chief Cade thank you, ladies,” Joyce said. “He’s a very busy man with a lot of work to do.”
“Thank you, Chief Cade,” the girls said in chorus.
Cade forced a smile, but he felt sick at the thought that they would all soon learn of the murder of one of the town’s teens—a girl who could very well have been their babysitter.
When the girls left the squad room, Cade looked around at the mess. The computer guys from the state police had opened up the cases of several of the computers, and cards and peripherals lay open on the desks. Two guys stretched belly-down across the floor, running cable along the walls. It was the worst possible day for them to do this, but he’d been so vehement in requesting the upgrades that he could hardly run them out now.
The moment Jonathan Cleary—Cade’s best friend and Blair’s brother-in-law—had been installed as mayor last year, he’d begun raising funds for a bigger, better police station. So far, it was still a dream. But even if he managed to secure the blessings of the City Council and get the budget to build a new station, it would be at least a year before the CRPD could take possession. Until then, Cade hoped the computer equipment would get them up to par with departments in other cities, so they could get more done from the tiny quarters they had now.
Scott Crown sat at his desk in the corner of the room, and from the look on his face, he was still brooding over what had happened that morning. Cade hadn’t had time to deal with him before going to talk to the Lawrence family. Instead, he’d ordered Crown to do his report on the discovery of the body, and let him stew in his juices for a while.
But defiance still shone in his eyes as he looked up at Cade. “My shift is over. If I’m not going to be used for anything worthwhile, I might as well go home.”
“You know we called in all available officers to help search the riverbank.”
“Then let me go search it.”
His tone made Cade want to send him home. For good. “Come into my office, Crown. Let’s talk.”
“Fine.”
Cade led the kid into his office and closed the door behind him. “Sit down.”
Crown sat, crossing his arms like a child being reprimanded.
Cade took his chair behind his desk. “I don’t have time for attitude, Crown. I’m not a babysitter or a grade school teacher. If you can’t show some respect and admit when you’re wrong, then you don’t belong on my force.”
“But I—”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses, Crown. You messed up big-time this morning. This is not just some minor infraction. You may have jeopardized a homicide investigation. And until you admit that and learn from your mistakes, you’re of no use to me or my department.”
“You didn’t have to chew me out in front of those other guys.” Crown slumped back in his chair. “You know I was trying to do the right thing. How do you think that made me look?”
“I’m not in the image business, Crown. You made yourself look bad. You were trying to be the hero, and it backfired.”
“I knew her, okay? She’s my buddy’s sister. What did you expect me to do?”
“I expect you to follow protocol. You did
n’t even know who she was until you splashed out to the boat.”
His lips curled, and Cade waited for him to say something that would get him fired.
But then Crown’s face softened. His mouth trembled. “I’m sorry, Chief. I really am. Don’t fire me, man. I want to be a cop. I’ve wanted to be one since I was a little kid. It was a dream come true.”
“Didn’t sound like it, the way you talked to me earlier.”
“I know.” He folded his hands between his knees and swallowed. “I shouldn’t have talked to you that way. But give me another chance, Chief. I’ll learn from this. I swear.”
Cade leaned back in his chair and tapped his chin with his finger. “All right, Crown. But I expect better of you. You go by the book, you hear me? You follow policy. You don’t go off half-cocked doing whatever feels right.”
“Okay.” His expression held a trace of residual anger, but he sounded contrite. “Do you want me to go back to work?”
“Not today. Just go home, get some sleep. I’ll see you when you come in tonight.”
Crown groaned, but didn’t argue. He got up, went to the door, then turned back. “Thanks, Chief. I won’t let you down.”
Cade met his eyes. “Make sure you don’t.”
He watched as Crown left his doorway, and hoped he’d done the right thing, keeping him on. He got up and went back into the squad room. Through the front glass he saw that the Girl Scouts were in the parking lot, taking turns sitting in the squad car and turning the lights on and off. He stepped over to Sarah, who had replaced Myrtle for the day shift. “Have you managed to reach all of the off-duty officers?”
“Most of them. Some had already come in, so I sent them over to the river.”
“Get them in here. I need to brief them and give out assignments.”
He went back into his office. One of the computer guys had taken over his desk now and sat in his chair, working at his computer. “How much longer you think you’ll be?”
The man looked up. “Not long, but these things take time.”
Cade leaned back against the door. “I’m not trying to rush you. I just have work to do.”
“Well, you’ll get it done a lot faster and more efficiently when I get this set up. You do want this, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I want it.”
“Okay, then.” Clearly the technician, who looked like Bill Gates before his billions, had a superiority complex. “So I heard on the radio about the girl who was murdered. She your case?”
“No. She was from Cape Refuge, but she wasn’t found here. Not my jurisdiction.” He didn’t bother to tell him he’d just broken the news to her parents.
“These things often cross city lines.” The technician patted the computer. “This baby will help you get all the information you need. Want to know who the repeat offenders are in your area? Child molesters? Rapists? One touch of a button. Want to tap into FBI files? State files? Want to get forensics reports, autopsy results? Check in with the crime lab, or do an ACIS search?”
“I could pretty much do all that before.”
“But not this fast. One touch, my friend, and the world is yours.”
“I’ll look forward to that.”
The man looked as excited as a NASA engineer on launch day. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you how to use everything. We plan to give a training class for all of those who’ll be using it. Can you get everyone here for tomorrow?”
“It’s done. We set it up a week ago.”
Cade slipped out while he had the chance and went into the small interview room. McCormick was just entering the building, followed by two of the uniforms just coming on shift. “In here, guys,” he said.
He went in and waited for the rest of his force to show up.
When they were all finally there, he closed the door and briefed them on the murder. Chief Grant had asked Cade’s department to help with the investigation since the girl was from Cape Refuge. Grant thought they might make more headway doing informal interviews with her family and friends than outsiders might.
Cade had hoped to motivate them all into pushing harder tonight, but as they spilled back out into the squad room, the computers were just beginning to work. They all gathered around the monitors to see what the new system could do. Like kids with new Play Station games, they were distracted from what truly mattered: the murdered girl and her grieving family.
But it wasn’t so easy for Cade. No matter what mundane chores required his attention, he couldn’t get his mind off the terrible truth that one of Cape Refuge’s children had been violently murdered.
And her killer was walking free.
CHAPTER 7
I saw this crib at the antique auction last weekend, Morgan, and I thought it was perfect for you.” Clara Montgomery climbed up in the back of her pickup truck and struck a pose beside the crib. “I’ll give it to you at cost. Only five thousand dollars. It’s made out of real mahogany, solid all the way through, probably a hundred years old.”
Morgan stood on the steps of her porch, her hand moving over her belly. The baby was active today, kicking like a soccer player. “It’s beautiful, Clara. But I can’t afford that. Besides, I already have a crib. Caleb’s started sleeping in a bed already, so we’re ready for the baby.”
“Oh, honey, it’s an investment! You don’t want your baby sleeping in that cheap thing you’ve got. It’s practically made of particle board.” She ran her hand along the antique crib’s wood. “Come on, honey, let’s get it in the house, and then you’ll see.”
Morgan didn’t want it in the house. She knew how Clara worked. She was a good saleswoman. When business was slow, she was known to show up at people’s houses with individual pieces of furniture, insisting they were meant for them. Usually, her tactics worked.
Thank goodness Morgan didn’t have five thousand dollars lying around.
“I don’t think I need to be lifting furniture, Clara, and there’s no way I could pay you for that.”
“I could give you credit, darlin’. If anybody’s good for it, it would be our preacher-slash-mayor.”
“You don’t understand. I don’t want to go into debt for a piece of furniture I don’t need. Have you thought of Marissa Brown? Her baby’s due any day now.”
Clara’s face twisted. “Her? She wouldn’t know a valuable antique if it bit her on the toe.” As she spoke, she tried to move the crib off the truck.
Thankfully, the old car they let their residents drive pulled into the driveway, momentarily distracting Clara. Sheila was behind the wheel, and as she got out, Clara called to her. “Sheila, come here, honey. Help me carry this in the house.”
Morgan groaned and came down the steps, putting herself between the truck and Sheila. “That won’t be necessary. It’s not coming in.”
Clara grunted. “Morgan, don’t be that way.”
She breathed a laugh. “I’m not buying your crib, Clara. You’re wasting your time.”
The woman finally gave up, came off the bed of the truck, and slammed the tailgate. “You’re a stubborn woman, Morgan Cleary.”
Morgan laughed and turned back to Sheila. “So how did the job interview go?”
Sheila squealed and threw her hands up. “Tell me, ladies, do I look like the assistant to a famous novelist?”
Morgan just looked at her. “You got the job?”
“What job?” Clara looked from Sheila to Morgan. “What famous novelist?”
Sheila clearly loved Clara’s surprise. She paused for effect. “Marcus Gibson, the New York Times bestselling mystery writer.”
Clara gasped. “Marcus Gibson is in Cape Refuge?”
“Yes. He bought Gabe Stone’s beach cottage a few weeks ago. But from the looks of the place, you’d think he’d lived there for forty years. He must have just moved his stacks of papers in boxes and piled them all around his room, exactly like they were in Atlanta.”
“And he hired you?” Clara looked the woman over. “Does he know your background?”
/>
Sheila’s smile faded. “Yes, he does. He Googled me.”
“He what, dear?”
“Googled. He did a computer search.” Morgan turned back to Sheila, trying to look excited despite her reservations. “So he knows everything?”
“Yes, and he doesn’t care. He wants me to start tomorrow.”
Morgan hadn’t expected the writer to offer the job to Sheila, so she hadn’t expressed her concerns before. But she and Sheila would have to sit down and talk when Clara left.
“I love his books,” Clara went on. “For heaven’s sake, I read one last week, and it kept me up all night. Scared me slap to death, if you want to know the truth. I kept feeling like there was someone staring in the window at me, standing in the shadows with an ax in one hand and a machine gun in the other. See, it was about this woman who married this guy …”
Morgan had a bad feeling she was about to hear the play-by-play of the entire plot, so she looked at her watch. “Goodness, I need to get back inside. Caleb might wake up.”
Clara was still studying Sheila. “Guess that pretty blonde hair didn’t hurt any in that interview, huh? Almost can’t blame a red-blooded male for wanting to hire somebody like you, even if you are an ex-con.”
Clara had a talent for compliments that cut. Morgan saw the joy fade from Sheila’s face, and her patience with the woman reached an end. “Thanks for coming by, Clara.”
Clara opened her truck door and slipped inside. “You call me now, if you change your mind about the crib.”
Morgan could hardly make herself answer as the woman drove away. She sighed and smiled at Sheila. “Ignore her.”
“Don’t tell me she means well.”