Grave Danger (6 page)

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

T
HE BELL ABOVE THE DOOR JINGLED
as Mark stepped into the Coho Diner, the only restaurant in town that served breakfast. He scanned the room, seeing the usual Saturday morning crowd. He ate breakfast at the diner several times a week and more often than not ended up dining with a resident who was anxious over something. The meals provided a casual forum for people to talk about their concerns with the police chief. He was never truly off the job in this small town.

He nodded to Chuck Nalley, the mayor of Coho, and then realized Chuck was having breakfast with none other than Libby Maitland, who sat with her back to the door. The woman had a history of filing charges against cops. If she was dining with the mayor to complain about him, she was in for disappointment. Mark had good reason for the way he’d handled her and the mayor wasn’t one to second-guess police matters. He strode to the table and stood directly behind Libby. “Morning, Chuck.”

Her posture shifted subtly, a slight stiffening of her spine. On the table, the pen in her hand stopped moving and the word she’d been writing became an indecipherable blot of ink on the page. Still, she didn’t turn around, and he had to admire her poise. A small audio recorder sat on the table; the power light glowed bright red. Why was she recording her conversation with Chuck?

“Mornin’, Mark. Have you met Libby Maitland? She’s the archaeologist who’s excavating that site for Jack.” Chuck’s introduction answered one question; they weren’t discussing yesterday’s incident—or lack thereof.

She turned to acknowledge him, offering a wry smile that held an unexpected appeal. “Good morning, Mark.”

“Libby.” He nodded to her. “Looks like you two are busy. I’ll chat with you later, Chuck.” He sat at a table that faced Libby and ordered coffee.

He could tell from her posture she was aware he watched her, but slowly she relaxed. He picked up snippets of their conversation, and Chuck did most of the talking. She laughed at something he said, releasing a warm, natural peal that didn’t mesh with Aaron Brady’s characterization of her. Mark didn’t know Aaron Brady, but he knew and trusted Chuck Nalley.

In a relaxed moment, she glanced his way. He took a sip of coffee and held her gaze, caught by the confusion in her wide green eyes. She stiffened and reached for her water but her hand hit the glass, knocking it over. She snatched up her notebook and recorder. Mark was by her side instantly, throwing his napkin over the spreading water.

“You seem rattled, Libby. Is something wrong?”

Her lips tightened. “Everything’s just peachy. Nothing I can’t handle myself.”

He couldn’t resist needling her. “I’ve seen no evidence of that.”

“That’s because you don’t see evidence, period.”

He smiled. She was quick. “It’s hard to see something that isn’t there.” Mark ignored Chuck’s curious gaze and resumed his seat. He continued to stare at her. She avoided him, turning her seat a few degrees so his view was of her back more than her profile. Interview completed, she packed up her recorder and notebook, thanked Chuck, and left the restaurant without another glance Mark’s way.

He moved to her vacated chair. “Looked like Libby was interviewing you. What about?”

“She’s working on a history of Coho. She needs to interview a lot of locals—especially lifetime residents, like me—so don’t feel bad if she doesn’t interview you. I take it you’ve met her already?”

“We’ve crossed paths.”

A speculative gleam entered Chuck’s eyes. “You know, she’s single. I can tell she’s whip-smart. Attractive, too, I think.”

“You sound like your wife. I can find my own dates, thank you.”

“You wouldn’t believe what she’s working on—instead of a boring history of the town, she’s trying to find out all of Lyle Montgomery’s nasty little secrets.”

“That sounds more tabloid than professional archaeologist. Why is she doing it?”

“A government agency is playing politics with Jack’s construction permit. They won’t give it to him if she doesn’t write a history that a tribal elder has demanded. Jack is in a panic. He must have called me six times yesterday. He’s invested too much money in the Cultural Center to lose it all over one small permit. He’s pulling all sorts of strings to help Libby set up interviews. Jason, too.”

A slow burn began in Mark’s stomach. Was it possible he’d misjudged her? “Jason is helping her?”

Chuck nodded. “She needs to interview Lyle’s family. Jason set it up. Listen, I gotta run. We’re babysitting my grandson today. The missus or I will call you about dinner, okay?”

“That’s not necessary.”

Chuck waved off his protests and left the restaurant. Mark paid his bill. He’d planned to go home, but nagging doubt sent him to the police station. There, he nodded to the desk sergeant on duty. “Anything I need to know about?”

“Just a barking dog and stolen trash can.”

“Sounds like you have things under control.” He continued through the security door and down the drab hallway to the squad room. The station was quiet, a typical Saturday.

At his desk, he flipped through the stack of messages that waited on his blotter until he found one from his ex-partner on the Seattle police force. He picked up the phone and dialed. “What’d you find out for me, Bobby?”

“Not much on Libby Maitland. Far as I can tell, she’s no groupie. No one but Brady claims to have seen her at any cop hangouts. She doesn’t have a history of staking out police stations at shift change. Haven’t met anyone who’s tapped her. If she’s into cops, then she might be looking for a Mrs., not a quickie.”

“I’ll consider that fair warning.”

“I’d consider you lucky. I’ve seen photos.”

“She could be a whack job, Bobby.”

“I’ve dated whack jobs who weren’t half so good-looking.”

“You’ve married whack jobs who weren’t half so good-looking,” Mark said.

“Ouch.”

“How’s the divorce going, anyway?”

“Same old. She’s getting everything but my dick.”

“Well, considering that’s what’s caused the divorce, I’d say you’re lucky to keep that.”

“You ever consider taking my side?” Bobby asked.

“No.”

He laughed. “You want me to look into Brady some more?”

“I’d like to know if he’s in Seattle right now, and where he was Thursday night and yesterday evening.”

“You thinkin’ she might be on the level?”

“Just covering the bases.”

“Okay. I’ll go to Brady’s favorite bar tonight and see what I can find out. You’re buying, by the way.”

“I owe you.” He hung up. Last night the evidence seemed to support Brady’s claim Libby was a nutjob groupie, but today Mark wasn’t so sure.

His first impression of her had been positive. Hell, more than positive, if the slight rush he’d felt when she told him she was single were any indication. And he couldn’t deny the spark that flared when he’d questioned her at the site yesterday.

Right now, there was no proof a crime had been committed. He could write a report, file it away, and be done. But he’d never been one to take the easy out with a case. It was possible—even probable—Aaron Brady had stalked her in the past. And now that the restraining order had expired, Mark had to consider the possibility Brady had picked up where he’d left off.

L
IBBY SAT IN HER HOME OFFICE
going over the notes she’d made during the three interviews she’d conducted over the course of the day. The doorbell rang. Hallelujah, the pizza had arrived, a welcome and very late lunch. She looked at her watch. Make that early dinner. She grabbed her purse and headed down the stairs.

She paused when she saw Mark Colby at the door. The main drawback to living in a gorgeous old Queen Anne house with antique doors inset with long panels of cut glass had to be that the police chief could see her just as clearly as she could see him. She sighed and opened the door. “This is a surprise,” she said without warmth.

He glanced at her purse. “You on your way somewhere?”

“No. I thought you were the pizza guy.”

“I need to ask you a few questions.”

She stepped outside and shut the door, and then crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe.

“I jumped to the wrong conclusion last night,” he said.

That was not what she expected him to say. She cocked her head to the side and uncrossed her arms, studying him. Finally she said, “Yes, you did. Jason asked me to dinner so he could tell me about his mother’s research.”

His brow furrowed. “You’ve lost me. Why would he want to tell you about his mother’s research?”

“In order for Jack to get his permit from the Corps of Engineers, I need to follow up on research Jason’s mother started in the 1970s. It’s a long story.”

A Volkswagen Beetle pulled up in front of the house and a moment later, the driver walked up the front sidewalk, carrying her pizza.

“Hey, Chief,” the pizza boy said.

Libby dug around in her purse, looking for her wallet. Her fingers brushed against the unfamiliar shape of the Taser she’d purchased earlier in the day. The gun dealer had convinced her to buy a Taser to avoid the five-day waiting period required for handgun purchases. She found her wallet and looked up to see the police chief handing the delivery boy cash.

“You decide between Wazzu or U-Dub yet, Tommy?”

Tommy handed Mark the pizza. “I’m going to the University of Washington.”

“Good pick,” Mark said. “That’s where I earned my master’s degree.” He waved off the change Tommy offered him. “Keep it. You’ll need it.”

“Thanks, Chief.” The boy returned to his car.

They stood on the porch in silence.

Mark took a deep breath. “Smells like pepperoni. My favorite.” He slowly smiled.

The warmth in his eyes and cocksure smile triggered a flutter in her belly, proving her body was a complete traitor. “You wouldn’t like it. There’s pineapple on it, too.”

His grin deepened. “I love pineapple.”

The silence lengthened as she held his gaze and battled her body’s betrayal. She finally accepted defeat. “Would you like some pizza?”

His eyes lit with humor. “Thought you’d never ask.”

She shook her head, laughed and then led him inside. He followed her into the dining room, carrying the pizza. She went to the kitchen to fetch plates, napkins, and drinks. They sat opposite each other at one end of the long, formal table.

“So why does Jason Caruthers need to talk to you about his mother?”

Due to his suspicions, she wanted to make one thing clear from the start. “When Jason invited me to dinner, I wasn’t sure if he was looking for a date, but I’m not in a position to say no to a source of information.” Between bites, she brought him up to date on the project. He asked questions but his demeanor had changed. He seemed to have come over to make amends.

“Tell me why you didn’t mention Aaron Brady the night your truck was stolen.”

“I didn’t think of him at first.” She could see his skepticism. “Really. When my truck turned up missing, I just thought it’d been stolen. When it was returned, I figured that whoever took it decided it was a pain in the ass to drive—which it is—it wasn’t until you pointed out the cold engine that it started to seem like something else. But stealing my truck wasn’t Aaron’s modus operandi, so I didn’t think of him until after you walked away.”

He sipped his lemonade and studied her, but without the open distrust, his gaze was no longer unnerving. “Why didn’t you tell me about Aaron yesterday when I asked who you suspected?”

She frowned. That had been her one mistake. “The truth? You’re a cop. I was afraid to tell you about Aaron. I didn’t think you’d listen.” She paused and then added, “And I’m an idiot.”

He nodded.

She suppressed a smile and gave him an amused glare. “You don’t have to agree so quickly.”

His lips curved in a diminished version of his devastating smile. “Okay, how ’bout we downgrade to ‘foolish?’”

“Fair enough.” She leaned back and studied him. What would Simone think of him? She could guess easily enough—he’s hot, but more than that, focused. Confident. Appealing.

Mark took another slice of pizza. “Do you have any colleagues who are incompetent? Or even negligent?”