He was tall, over six feet, and his powerful form was draped in a gunmetal-gray double-breasted suit that rose in a V from his narrow waist to his acre of shoulders. Beneath his fedora, his forehead was broad with brows the color of wet sand; his nose like a boxer’s—slightly crooked with a broken-a-few-times bump. His jaw was iron, his chin flat and square—with a one-inch scar in the shape of a dagger slashing across it. And his eyes were the most intensely piercing gray I’d ever seen.
He blinked at me, then pushed up the brim of his hat with one finger. A tiny smile touched his lips. “Take it easy, baby. You look like you’re ready to kiss concrete.”
I swallowed. My mouth was suddenly filled with cotton balls. “Yes . . . I do feel a bit . . . shaky . . .” I turned away, went to the old wooden desk, and sat down, placing the nickel carefully on the desktop to wipe off my suddenly sweaty palms. I spun the chair to face Jack again—but he was gone.
“Jack?”
“Pen! . . . Penelope?”
The voice was male, but it wasn’t Jack’s. And it was coming from down the hall.
“Bud?” I croaked, seeing Bud Napp pop his head into the storage room. The space had become warm and stuffy again. My throat was still dry, my heart still pounding like a carpenter working overtime.
“I’m about to head out, but Chief Ciders is pulling up. Sadie wanted me to let you know. He’s probably here for Mina’s statement.”
I nodded. “Thanks. I’ll be right there.”
Bud left, and I rose on unsteady legs. I crossed the room to pick up the Stendall file, placed it on the handcart, and rolled it into the hallway. Before I snapped off the light, I remembered the buffalo nickel. I went to the desk, picked it up, and shoved it into the front pocket of my khaki pants.
“Jack?” I called again. But he was gone.
CHAPTER 14
“Mind your own business about my sister Leila,” she spit at me. “You leave my sister Leila out of your dirty remarks.”
“Which dirty remarks?” I asked. “Or should I try to guess?”
WHEN I ARRIVED on the selling floor, I saw Sadie had taken over the register. Mina stood by the new- release table, wringing her hands as she peered at Chief Ciders speaking to Bud on the sidewalk.
I rolled the handcart up to Mina and asked her to help me arrange the titles—a task I’d hoped would get her mind off what was to come. Within five minutes, however, the bell over the front door tinkled and Chief Ciders came swaggering in.
“Mina Griffiths,” he called.
The pale, freckle-faced girl seemed to go even paler.
“Take it easy, Mina,” I said softly. “He’s just going to ask you a few questions.”
“You know why I’m here?” asked Ciders, striding up to her.
“Yes,” said Mina.
“You want to come to the station to talk to me about Johnny or answer my questions here?” asked Ciders.
“There’s no need for Mina to have to go to the station, Chief,” I interjected.
“That’s right,” agreed Sadie, rushing up like a mother hen. “There’s plenty of privacy in the Community Events room. You can talk to Mina in there.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I told Sadie. “You cover the register.” Sadie nodded and I led the way into the adjoining room, set up two folding chairs, and gestured for Mina and the Chief to sit down.
I took my place, standing behind Mina, and the Chief looked at me the same way he had back at the Finch Inn—like a wad of chewing tobacco had just gotten stuck in his esophagus.
“You can go now, Mrs. McClure.”
“Oh . . . um . . . but couldn’t I stick around?” I threw a worried glance at Mina.
“No,” barked Ciders. “Please give us some privacy.”
“Oh, okay . . .” I sighed. At least he’d said
“Mrs. McClure, you’ve already given me your statement. If you don’t leave the
“No, don’t do that,” I said. “I’ll go. I just have to get my purse and car keys upstairs, okay? It’ll take a few minutes.”
“Fine, you do that.”
Cursing silently, I snagged the Stendall file before ascending the stairs. Then I dropped the file on my bed and grabbed my purse and car keys. I told Sadie I’d be back in an hour and, in the words of Chief Ciders, left the premises.
A brand-new All Things Bed & Beautiful superstore had opened recently on the highway and I had yet to check it out. I decided to spend an hour away from “the premises” there. We needed a new shower curtain, Spencer would love a set of Spider-Man sheets, and I hadn’t been able to find imported English lavender shampoo since I’d left Manhattan. If the superstore carried it, I’d probably indulge myself with one bottle of the obscenely expensive product—if only to use as a once-a-week treat for the next six months.
Behind the wheel of my used blue Saturn, I powered down the windows to enjoy the warm summer day. I drove along Cranberry, past the outlying suburbs, and through the thick Quindicott woods where an occasional clearing would reveal a small farm. The radio, which would normally be blaring Radio Disney’s hip-hop “light” for Spencer’s amusement, stayed off as I tried to consider Johnny Napp and whether or not he was capable of murder.
I came to the highway on-ramp and joined the relatively sparse traffic pattern. The thick Quindicott woods flanked the four-lane road. Oaks, pines, and maples flew by as I sped along. After a few miles, I noticed the sunset-orange Comfy-Time Motel sign looming up ahead and got to thinking about what Eddie Franzetti had said— that Victoria Banks and her friends had been staying there last night when Victoria disappeared.
“Jack thinks Victoria had a strong motive to kill Angel,” I muttered. “Which I suppose she does . . . especially if she thinks Johnny killed her sister and got away with it. She could have killed Angel out of spite and revenge and simultaneously set up Johnny as the killer . . . the perfect crime . . .
As I considered that maybe Victoria’s two friends were still at the motel, my heart beat a little faster, and my foot pressed a little harder on the gas pedal. “I’m sure if Jack were here, he’d have me stop,” I continued to mutter. “I mean, what harm could it do to check out the parking lot for a black Jag with a blue and white bumper sticker?”
I jammed on the brakes and swerved to the shoulder. A surprised driver laid on the horn behind me.
“God in heaven! Jack?! Is that you?”
I exhaled, my hands shaking as if I’d just been spooked. Then I realized—I
“I don’t understand!” I cried, automatically searching the empty confines of my Saturn. “I’m not in the
