Beauty and the Chief (16 page)

She grabbed up her tote with her tape measures and sketch pads, and glanced back over her desk if she needed anything else and decided she didn’t. Since she wasn’t driving, there was no reason to worry about her purse. “Nan, I have to run over to the Van Buren place. It shouldn’t take long.”

Nan’s quick “So long,” reached her as she went through the back door. The police car was parked where it had been earlier. She pulled open the door and slid in the seat.

“Do you mind if we take a drive?” she said, placing her tote on the floor.

“That’s fine.”

She froze at the voice. Slowly, she turned. She knew the officer sitting there, but it wasn’t the officer who had dropped her off. “Detective Crocker.” A shot of unease ran through her.

“Where is Officer Brown?” Jillian knew the question came out sounding rude, but the thought of spending more than half an hour with the distasteful man put her on edge.

“He had an emergency. One of his kids had his appendix burst. They’ve taken him into surgery. I’m the replacement. Where would you like to go?”

For a moment, Jillian contemplated getting back out of the car, then she remembered she might have her own emergency on her hands, and she’d promised Mark she wouldn’t go anywhere without a guard. She closed the door. “The Van Buren mansion. Do you know where it is?”

“Sure.”

Silence filled the car as he pulled out on the road. Jillian fought to keep herself from fidgeting in the seat. She jumped when his voice broke the tomb-like atmosphere in the car.

“You’re redoing that old derelict?”

“Yes.” Her voice cracked. “And, it’s not a derelict. It’s a great, historical structure. It will be beautiful.”

Silence returned to the car, only to be broken again by Crocker. “Look, I owe you an apology. The other day, I was out of line, both times. I shouldn’t have said the things I did. It was wrong. I really don’t believe that it was … well, it’s not the victim’s fault. I was just … you look kind of like … I lost someone recently. You remind me of her.” The choked quality in the man’s voice brought tears to Jillian’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.” They weren’t just words. She ached for the man as pain waved through the car.

“She was so good. I couldn’t understand what she saw in me, but she loved me. It’s not fair. I couldn’t save her. I’m supposed to protect.” The words broke off.

“It’s not your fault.” Jillian brushed at the tear that etched its way down her cheek. “You can’t stop all the bad things. They happen. They shouldn’t, but they do.” She tried to swallow back the other tears that threatened. “You say I remind you of her. Well, if she is like me, she wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. If you could have stopped it, you would have. You are a protector, but you can’t save everyone.”

“That’s what the shrinks have been telling me. And I understand that but−”

Jillian knew he was thinking he still failed. “It doesn’t make it any easier.”

“No, it doesn’t, but I wanted to say I was sorry. I took what I was feeling out on you.” The man kept his focus straight forward, but there was no denying the depth of his sincerity. The tension that had invaded her body since getting in the car dissipated. By the time they pulled into the mansion drive a couple minutes later, she felt relaxed around the man.

“I thought you were to meet someone here?” Crocker asked, not seeing any cars in front.

“I am. He must be parked around back by the kitchen entrance, but here in front will be easiest for you to park. There are a lot of materials that have been unloaded in back.”

Crocker pulled up to the massive front steps and cut the engine. He was around the car before Jillian got the tote out of the way. “Here let me take that.” He reached for the bag.

“Thanks.” She handed it over so she could stand. “It’s not too heavy, just bulky. I tend to carry a lot of stuff in it. I never know when I’m going to have to mark, measure, or draw up something, so it always pays to be ready.”

“Are you redoing the whole mansion?”

“Yes, top to bottom.” Excitement washed through her as they went up the stairs. “It’s a dream job. I was fortunate to get it.”

Jillian tested the door handle and was surprised when it actually turned. The foyer was empty except for the scaffolding and heavy drop cloths covering the floor. “You know,” she turned back to the detective, “if you want to give me the bag and go back and sit in the car that won’t bother me. There really isn’t anywhere to sit in here.”

“That’s okay. I’d like to have a look around if you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. It’s a fascinating house. I’m going to head back to the kitchen. That’s where we’ve been having the most challenges.”

Jillian took the tote bag and started to weave her way back through the old mansion, having to work around several areas that had been blocked off for construction. Finally, she switched direction to cut across the ballroom to head to the kitchen. The heels of her shoes echoed on the hardwood floor.

She paused to survey the room. It seemed so oppressive. Only wisps of light with dust particles flickering in them made it past the drawn drapes. The heavy material that had once been blue had faded to a dull grayish tone. Still, in her mind, she brought up the picture of how it would look once it was restored. It would be spectacular with the chandelier gleaming over the highly polished, inlaid, wood floor.

She would come to the opening gala with Mark. He would be her husband then, and he would dance her around the room. It would be like a fairy tale.

Love me, Beauty. She recoiled as the words came to her mind. Nausea crept up on her. She pushed it down and continued across the room. The swinging door creaked as she went through it making a shiver scamper down her spine.

“Ryan.” Her voice echoed, and her brows furrowed at the empty room. She turned and listened, but there was no sound to lead her to the contractor. Confused, she went to the door to check for his truck. Unlike the front door handle, this one refused to turn when she twisted it. She fought to release the lock, but it wouldn’t budge. Well, she’d have to get Ryan to fix that, though she was sure that was not the reason he called her here. She turned to look for signs of the man, but nothing looked different from when she’d been there the day before.

An eerie silence draped over her. Never before had she noticed how tomb-like the old, hulking structure seemed.

“Oh, man.” She laughed at herself, talking out loud. “I’m getting paranoid.” The words shifted to a small screech when a crash sounded from the front of the house. She placed a hand over her heart as she drew in a deep breath, then let out the air, steadying herself. Well, at least, she now knew where Ryan was. She headed in the direction, choosing again to cut through the ballroom. This time, she walked on her toes to keep her heels from clacking on the wood.

“Love me, Beauty.”

The words came at her again only this time they were not in her mind. They were loud and clear and coming from the inside of the room. Jillian spun toward the window at the figure that appeared through the shadows. A dark cloak swirled melodramatically around his body. The hideousness of the snarling, animal-like mask made her gasp, but it was the hand reaching out to her that filled her with terror.

“Dance with me, Beauty.”

“No.” The word barely made it out as a whisper.

He stepped toward her. She involuntary moved back as if they were indeed in some kind of dance. “Love me, Beauty.”

Jillian screamed, backing farther away.

The Beast shook his head. “No, Beauty.” His words cut through her. “You are mine.”

The icy certainty in the words spurred her to action. She ran back toward the kitchen. “Ryan! Detective Crocker!”

His laughter reached out as he moved to cut her off. “There’s no one to hear you. It’s just you and me in our castle, as it should be. You will love me, Beauty.”

“No,” she screamed again as he closed in. She swung the tote she still held. It caught him in the side with a surprising amount force, ripping the bag from her fingers. He staggered back and went down. She spun and ran for the front of the house.

***

Mark stood off to the side looking out over the crowd that had gathered. He shook his head in annoyance. The mayor hadn’t even listened when he tried to tell him he was certain that they had the wrong man. The phone in his pocket rang, and he reached for it in partial defiance for the proceedings going on at the microphone.

“What do you have for me?” he answered seeing Andrew’s name on the caller ID.

“The lab guys got the book done. It wasn’t hard. It was pretty much how you thought. The book had been wiped clean. The few prints on the cover and a few pages were Toby’s. Though they did find a couple of smudges of partials on a couple pages that didn’t look the same but not clear enough to run them. They said they could possibly match them up if we have a different suspect.”

“Good. It doesn’t quite clear him. But it’s enough for me, for now.”

“Wait.” The man cut in before he hung up.

“What?”

“I should’ve started with this. While waiting, I was looking over the stuff they laid out that was found in his car. There was a receipt there for the pictures taken of Jillian. The date caught my eye. They were paid for and picked up the same time Tina Kimball was murdered, almost two miles away. Toby couldn’t have done it.”

Mark released a breath, so Toby was cleared. Jillian would be happy to hear that. “Good work, thanks.” Mark hung up with all intention to call her but was just in time to hear the mayor announce him.

Frustrated, he stepped to the microphones, nodding to the crowd. “I know you all came here expecting good news, that we have the killer in custody. Unfortunately, I have to say that is not the case. The man we have in custody has been cleared. I want to take this time to tell the women, especially those fitting the victim profile, to use caution. Do not go out alone and always be aware of your surroundings. We are putting all our effort into finding this killer. We do have several leads we are following but, until he’s caught, please use care. Thank you.” He stepped back, ignoring the buzz going through the crowd until a shout rose over the rest.

“Chief Richards, is it true you’re engaged?”

Mark paused, looking back at the reporter. “That has nothing to do with this.”

“Then it’s true.” Another reporter said.

After a moment’s hesitation, Mark sighed and stepped back to the microphones. It would come out sooner or later, and maybe they just needed something positive in all the turmoil. “It has nothing to do with this, but yes, I’m engaged to Jillian Taylor, a local interior designer. We’re getting married in a couple months.”

It was an excited ripple that went through the crowd this time. “When did you get engaged? How did you meet?” The questions rang up from the crowd.

He raised his hand for quiet. “That’s it for now.”

The mayor was red-faced when he approached him. “What is this that you don’t have the killer?”

“We don’t. I tried to tell you that.”

“You didn’t say it was positive before.”

“I got the confirmation just before going on the stand. Our suspect’s been cleared.”

The mayor started to say something more just as Mark’s phone rang. Mark reached for it, looking at the number. “Sorry, mayor, I have to take this. It might be important.” Mark didn’t believe it was, but he wanted an excuse to get away from the man. “Richards.”

***

“Beauty” the haunting moan trailed after her as she dodged around the corner, nearly stumbling over debris on the floor. Coming to a blocked off area, she dodged into a small parlor. Ahead, the crossbars of the scaffolding were visible. Behind her, she could hear the heavy footsteps as The Beast pursued her. They weren’t hurried, just an even steady drumming on the floor.

Jillian grabbed one of the pieces of metal tubing of the scaffold and swung under it, then climbed over the next. Her jacket caught on a piece of metal. She pulled, tearing the jacket, and fell to floor, crawling the rest of the way until out.

The second she was clear, she was on her feet, running the last few steps to the door. This time, when she grabbed the handle it failed to turn in her hand. She pulled with added fear spurring her on. Frustration burst in her, and she slammed her hand against the solid mahogany. “Help!” she cried, wondering where the detective was.

“Beauty.” The words wafted out at her.

With one last smack, she broke away from the door, heading down the other hall toward the library and the doors leading out from there. The way down this side of the house was clearer, and she picked up speed, sprinting for the door at the end of the hall.

She slowed to open the door, then ducked through. Caution hit her mind, and she closed it quietly. Turning, she stumbled over a mound on the floor, and she went down. A barely audible groan escaped the man she landed on.

“Detective Crocker!” She reached for him, then pulled her hand back at the sight of blood pooling around his body. Rolling him slightly on his side revealed the gash in his sport coat.

The gasp died in her throat as the other words reached her.

“Beauty, come to me, my Beauty.”

“No.” Jillian fought down the cry and pushed herself up, diving for the door. Her hand trembled as she managed to turn the old locking mechanism.

She went back to the detective. Her heart pounded, but she began to think more clearly. Help was the first thing her mind locked on. They needed help. She patted down the detective’s pockets looking for a cell phone since hers was in the tote back on the ballroom floor.

When she found no phone and his gun holster empty, she knew The Beast had taken them. That meant he had a gun. Not that she figured he’d use it on her − no, on her he would use his knife. Shuddering, terror rose within.

Jillian forced it down. Now was not the time to panic. It was time to think.